Chapter Text
Ever since Ouma was little, he has never believed the lies people tell him. When he was just a tiny toddler, waddling around his house spouting nonsensical jibber-jabber and earning coos from his parents, most kids had still believed there was a monster lurking beneath their bed, waiting for the chance to strike. Ouma was the kind of kid who left his table scraps on the floor next to his bed to lure his supposed “monster” out, just so he could prove it was all lies (or, at the very least, relieve his impending boredom). Having a knack for telling the truth from those lies, he has never had the problem of being gullible, even as an adult.
That is exactly why he chalks the supposed “Sea Monster of Hope Bay” up to be just that: a lie.
Ouma sighs into a cup of coffee he doesn’t even like, rolling his eyes at the local news program. They must be desperate, he muses. Hope Bay has always been such a quiet, sleepy place and, likewise, boring. Not much to report about, he supposes, so he can’t very well blame the news reporters as they show footage of a completely wrecked sailboat. There’s another clip of rippling water farther out in the bay, close to where it’s closed off as to not let anything such as a “sea monster” in in the first place. It’s probably just an overgrown fish, no need to get excited.
Deciding he’s had enough of the news’s bullshit, Ouma switches off his television, more than well aware that he’s moments away from being late to work. But a small, boring town such as Hope Bay can’t afford to fire people when there’s hardly enough to employ in the first place, so Ouma knows he can take all the time he needs.
(Of course, taking “all the time he needs” entails him finally arriving at his work building exactly forty-five minutes late. But he just had to take the shaded route, the hot summer sun is especially wicked this time of day.)
When he walks into work fashionably late and holding a cup of gross, now-cold coffee, Ouma is first greeted by the extremely unimpressed glare sent to him by none other than Iruma Miu herself. She really shouldn’t be one to judge him, though, seeing how many times she’s bailed to do god knows what with Akamatsu--but that’s not something Ouma wants to think about. No thank you.
Iruma continues sending him a death glare as he cheerily puts his things down next to hers. Such a shame that today’s shift is with her of all people. (Though, he supposes it’s better Iruma than someone else.) She huffs out the usual insult, something along the lines of, “Can’t you get your shota ass here sooner?!” but Ouma doesn’t take much care to listen.
“Not my fault if someone drowns,” he says with a hum, tugging his shirt over his head.
Iruma scoffs with a hand on her hip. “That’s literally what you’re fuckin’ here for,” she says, making a face at him. “And do you have to change right here?”
Ouma promptly throws his shirt at her face, sticking out his tongue. “Yeah, but it’s not my fault if someone drowns on your watch.” He grabs his bright red shirt from out of his bag, pulling it over his head. “And don’t lie, I bet you enjoy it,” he says with a grin.
“L-like hell, I do,” Iruma mutters, crossing her arms over her own matching lifeguard shirt. “But it would be your fault for not being here to save them. And besides, it isn’t even my shift right now. I just got off-- Hey you little brat, stop it, not like that!” she yells, swatting at him across the counter. Ouma continues to giggle, easily avoiding Iruma.
“Waiting for your giiiiirlfriend, then?” he singsongs, taking great joy in the flush on Iruma’s cheeks as she sputters out some sort of refusal. “At least I don’t have to work with you, then, smelly skank. Sooooo, who’s out there waiting for me, huh?”
“S-skank?!” Iruma shrieks, bright red, but Ouma waves it off, ushering her to continue. “Ugh, probably Suckhara. I would feel bad that he’s had to spend the past hour alone if he wasn’t waiting on you.” Ouma scoffs, but purses his lips, deflating a little. Of course, he has to work with Saihara today.
It isn’t as if he has anything against him; or, better said, he shouldn’t have anything against him. But he does, not even he can lie about how he grimaces at even the mention of him, ugly feelings bubbling up to the front of his throat. Because before Saihara, Ouma was the top lifeguard. Despite his size, he makes up for it in speed. He could probably pull a full-grown man to safety, no problem. Living in a beach town inevitably makes someone a better swimmer, and Ouma was proud to be the best.
But then Saihara came along. Ouma’s blood boils at the thought, Saihara being so much faster and stronger. And it isn’t just that, because Ouma really shouldn’t feel this way about saving people. It’s that no one ever sees Saihara doing it. He’s gone in an instant, and then in the next, the person in need of help is safely laying on the beach next to Saihara.
It’s a mystery, one that Ouma doesn’t like in the slightest. (Yet, one that still intrigues him to no end.)
“Don’t look so sad,” Iruma complains, throwing him an annoyed glance. “I know you two have your little spat, but for Christ’s sake, at least try to get along.”
“What do you mean?” Ouma says, tilting his head and plastering a smile onto his face. He grabs the sunscreen from his bag, waving it around. “Saihara-chan and I are the best of friends! Though I guess you’re just too dumb to see it.” Ouma’s grin widens at Iruma’s offended scoff as he lathers sunscreen over his arms and face.
A small scoff comes from the doorway, and Ouma spins around. “I’d hardly call us friends, Ouma-kun.” Oh, great. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
“Saihara-chan!” Ouma sings, walking towards the boy with outstretched arms, though he’s quickly avoided by a nervous-looking Saihara. “That’s so mean! You don’t want to say hi to your best friend?” Ouma’s lip quivers and he pouts, staring at Saihara with watery eyes. But the other lifeguard is far too used to his tricks as he hardly bats an eye at the theatrics. Ouma shifts gears. “Huh, you’re not shaken up at all,” he says disappointedly, shaking his head. “What if I was actually upset? You’d just stand there and watch, huh? You don’t even care!” As Ouma giggles to himself quietly, Saihara waves him off.
“I know you don’t actually care, Ouma-kun,” he says, turning his attention back to Iruma. “And we aren’t exactly friends, either.” Ouma absolutely isn’t upset by that. Humming disappointedly, he puts his hands behind his back and follows Saihara back to Iruma.
“Eh? Why do you think that?” he asks as Saihara continues to ignore him. “We’ve known each other forever, of course we’re friends!” He giggles at the way he seems to be grating on Saihara’s nerves, watching his shoulders tense. “Or maybe Saihara-chan wants us to be more?”
Clearly sick of the teasing, Saihara huffs out an annoyed breath before telling Iruma, “You’re allowed to leave now, I think.” Ouma thinks he hears her mutter something that sounds suspiciously like “about time” before she’s gathering her things and walking out the door. “Have a good day, Iruma-san!” Saihara calls after her. She waves before disappearing from view.
“Kicking the pig out to be alone with me? How very scandalous, Saihara-chan!” Ouma says, looking around the small shack they’re in as if he hasn’t been in it a million times by now. He internally groans at the prospect of having to spend an entire afternoon with Saihara without Iruma to defuse the situation. Ouma almost finds himself grimacing at the fact that he’s practically missing the vulgar girl.
“Uh, n-no,” Saihara quickly says. “We just need to get back to work.”
Ouma frowns. “Always such a buzzkill,” he whines, crossing his arms. “But if Saihara-chan insists.” Without much more complaint, Ouma lets Saihara lead him out of the cabin and onto the beach. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be too many people there yet, most just idly laying in the sun, a daring few stepping foot into the freezing water. Ouma’s thankful he doesn't have to get in all the time, or he’s sure he’d be a living popsicle.
Ouma’s favorite part of the job has to be climbing up into the big chair that looms over the sand, giving him an overhead view of the entire beach. It makes him feel tall, like he’s the king of the world! Or, at least, the small stretch of Hope Bay.
Scrambling up the ladder, Ouma happily plants his butt onto the scorching hot frame of the chair, jumping a bit on reflex. Iruma must have forgotten to put the umbrella up, of course. With a sigh, Ouma winds the umbrella and balances it, blocking the miserable sun from view.
Surveying the beach, Ouma grins to see Saihara obviously peeved about not making it to the high chair before Ouma. Unfortunately for him, there’s only one. “Pretty boy lifeguard will just have to suck it,” Ouma mumbles to himself with glee before shouting, “How’s the weather down there, Saihara-chan?”
He hears Saihara grumble a bit below him, reaching a hand to take off his shirt. “Great, thanks for asking,” he says with a shake of his head as he pulls his shirt over him, laying it across one of the many chairs adorning the shore.
It’s not like it's Ouma’s first time seeing the man without his shirt, obviously. Even Ouma takes his own off when the heat is too unbearable. But he still stares. Ogling Saihara shirtless is something Ouma is far from proud of, but can he really be blamed? Ouma hates Saihara’s guts, but objectively, he’s pretty damn attractive. Ouma would have to be blind to not see it. Even the straightest of straight guys wouldn’t be able to deny the fact that Saihara is hot. A solid ten out of ten, would ogle again.
Ouma still doesn’t like him.
He still hates his guts.
(And he really needs to stop internally monologuing about Saihara’s pecs.)
“You’re pretty shameless,” Ouma hears a voice below him giggle, and he snaps his head around to meet the gaze of none other than Akamatsu Kaede, one of the beach’s most popular visitors and resident best friend of, you guessed it, Saihara. Just Ouma’s luck.
He slouches back in his chair, tipping the umbrella to fully cover his face. “Piano freak!” he chimes, watching in amusement as the blonde girl’s face twists up at the nickname. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Akamatsu pouts, shielding the sun with her hand to look up at Ouma in his chair. “Why were you staring at Saihara-kun?” she asks him instead. The cogs in Ouma’s brain immediately start churning for some sort of believable lie.
“I wasn’t staring at Saihara-chan!” is the best he can come up with, and Ouma internally scolds himself as he scrambles for something better. “I was staring at the shirt next to him, obviously. Such a bright red, eugh!” He sticks out his tongue, crinkling his nose up in disgust. “Draws too much attention, if you ask me. How am I supposed to look away? And then I’ll get fired for something I can’t even control, all because I’m too distracted by such a blinding shirt that I don’t even see the person drowning in front of me!”
Ouma wants to slap himself. He’s done much better.
But he frowns, lip quivering as if he’s actually fearing for his job. Akamatsu looks at him skeptically. “So you weren’t looking at Saihara-chan?”
Ouma promptly shakes his head. “I would never! He’s my sworn enemy, after all.”
“Didn’t you say last time you were star-crossed lovers?”
Ouma giggles. “Did I?” Akamatsu just sighs, looking back over to Saihara thoughtfully. Ouma relishes in the silence, which is strange for him since it’s usually silence that puts him on edge. Maybe he just doesn’t like being pressed about the issue.
After another moment, Akamatsu says, “Hey, Ouma-kun?” Ouma hums, inspecting his nails again, already bored of this conversation and ready to get back to work (or ogling Saihara, he hasn’t decided yet). “Is it that you like Saihara-kun?”
Ouma freezes, his nails suddenly not all that interesting anymore.
Uh.
What.
“Eh?” Ouma asks once he recovers. It’s not like he should be panicking in the first place, because that’s simply not true. Sworn enemies, remember? “Why would you think that? Evil supreme leaders don’t get crushes, Akamatsu-chan! Have you forgotten already?”
Akamatsu just taps a finger against her chin in thought. “Right, because you lead a huge organization of ten thousand--”
“One hundred thousand,” Ouma corrects her, tutting.
“Last time you said--” Akamatsu starts to say before realizing arguing is pointless. “Because you lead a huge organization of one hundred thousand people,” she finishes skeptically, as she should.
“Yeppers!”
“Right,” Akamatsu repeats, still sounding quite unconvinced. Ouma doesn’t really care either way, because she can’t prove anything either way. “Well then, I guess I’ll see you around, Ouma-kun.” Ouma waves as she walks away, back towards Saihara (who’s still shirtless, his brain oh-so-helpfully points out).
He’s a bit relieved once she’s gone, feeling a little less cornered. Why she came over just to interrogate him, Ouma doesn’t know, but he fully relishes in Akamatsu’s departure.
His momentary happiness comes crashing down, though, when he remembers that he has to sit out here in the hot sun for the next few hours with no one but Saihara and a few screaming children to keep him company. Groaning, Ouma pulls his knees up to his chest. Being a lifeguard sucks.
(But at least he still gets to stare at Saihara for the rest of the day.
He still doesn’t like him though.)
☀☀☀
As summer continues, so does the news about the Hope Bay Sea Monster. The sightings and news coverings are fewer, but Ouma still catches word quite a few times over the past couple of weeks about the creature lurking in the bay. He still doesn’t believe it, despite what his crazy neighbor two doors down likes to tell him.
But besides the sea monster, there’s another thing that’s been getting on Ouma’s nerves. And he hates it, because it’s so stupid.
It comes to him in a rush, a quick realization. And with that realization comes too very import, very stupid, things:
1) Akamatsu was right
2) Fuck, he likes Saihara, doesn’t he?
Ouma’s never been more disappointed in himself. This is his enemy! (Or so he likes to call him.) He can’t seriously be crushing on Saihara of all people, can he? Ouma absolutely hates it, and then hates it even more the moment he imagines the smug look Akamatsu will have when she finds out. So he just has to make sure she doesn’t.
“Ouma-kun, there you are!”
Ugh. Why must fate be so cruel?
Ouma slips a smile onto his face, greeting Akamatsu with a wave as she walks over to where he’s seated in the significantly shorter lifeguard chair of the two on the beach. Unfortunately, Iruma managed to snag the high chair before he could get to it. “If someone isn’t dying, I don’t wanna know,” he says, lounging back in his chair. He grumbles as his feet actually hit the sand instead of him being able to wave them around in the air like he can on his precious high chair.
“You and Iruma-san both get off in a few, right?” Akamatsu asks, ignoring Ouma completely. Rude.
“Nope!” Ouma lies easily, flipping his sunglasses up to meet Akamatsu’s gaze. “We’re both here ‘til sunset. Better luck next time, Akamatsu-chan.” He pauses before a mischievous grin pulls at his lips. “And ‘Iruma-san’?” Ouma laughs. “I thought you were calling her ‘mommy’--”
Before he can continue, Ouma is interrupted by a loud shriek and a smack to the top of his head. “F-fuckin’ shota, don’t go sayin’ stuff like that!” Iruma screeches, glaring at Ouma with cherry red cheeks. Ouma just laughs harder. It’s fun to mess with her, he always gets the funniest (and grossest, if he’s being honest) reactions.
“Uh, anyway,” Akamatsu continues, visibly uncomfortable now. “You only have a few minutes left, right?” This time she asks Iruma, seeing as Ouma won’t give her an honest answer. Iruma seems to gather herself before nodding.
“Actually,” she pauses to glance at her cell, “we’re off riiiiight...now!”
Ouma stands from his seat as Akamatsu grins, exclaiming, “Great!” Ouma stretches, hearing a few cracks sound undeniably from sitting in one spot for so long. “A few others and I were gonna rent some of those pedal cars, do you guys wanna join? We could race, or--”
Ouma immediatly grins, grabbing Akamatsu by the wrist and pulling her away. “Sounds great!” he says at the mention of racing. He’s always had quite the competitive streak, and this sure sounds more entertaining than sitting around waiting to burn in the sun some more. “Lead the way, Piano Freak!”
Akamatsu huffs but does as she’s instructed, pushing Ouma off of her and leading him and Iruma to a small group of people gathered around the pedal cart rental station. And, of course, stood right in the center of that group is none other than…
“You’re kidding me.”
…Fucking Saihara.
(He doesn’t even have work today! Ouma thinks bitterly. The universe sure is cruel to him.)
“Saihara-chan!” Ouma greets with a sickeningly sweet smile. “What do ya know! Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Saihara stares at him for a moment before brushing Ouma off with a quick, “Akamatsu-san wanted me to come.” Ouma pouts. What a boring reaction. Oh, well. If Saihara has to be here, Ouma’s going to make it his problem. (And not because he just wants to be on Saihara’s mind. Nope, not at all, and that’s not a lie.
Probably.)
Akamatsu gathers the attention of the group of--Ouma quickly counts--fifteen people, if he’s including himself. Ouma already knows some of them. Obviously, he knows Akamatsu, Iruma, and Saihara. But he also spots also Kiibo, who works shifts as a lifeguard, too, despite his all-too-obvious fear of water. Ouma hasn’t had many shifts with him, but he’ll forever remember the girly screech Kiibo made when he tried to pour a bucket of saltwater over his head.
There’s also Amami, who works at an ice cream parlor not too far from the beach, and Momota, another one of Saihara’s friends whom Ouma despises even more than Saihara himself. All he ever does is bum around while Saihara is working and mooch off of his employee snack discount.
So Ouma’s not too happy that he’s here.
“Alright, everyone!” Akamatsu chirps, as lively as ever for such an excruciatingly hot day. “Uh, since there’s supposed to be four people pedaling per cart, I guess we can just get four of them?” She turns her head to Saihara, who nods in agreement. She grins, telling everyone that she’ll be back in just a moment to grab their carts and that everyone should form teams.
Naturally, Ouma beelines for Saihara.
Already chatting with Momota, Saihara’s relaxed visage suddenly turns downward as he spots Ouma approaching. He sighs when Ouma bounds up to him, head held high. “Saihara-chan, I’ve decided to join your group,” he declares, stopping right next to Saihara. (He hates that he has to look upward to meet his eye, that doesn’t help his image of a terrifying evil leader at all! He’s supposed to loom over him while Saihara quakes in complete and utter fear! He internally curses his unfair gene pool.)
Momota appears just as disappointed with Ouma’s sudden appearance as Saihara. “We already have four. Me, Shuichi, Harumaki, and Akamatsu!” He grins at Saihara before frowning back at Ouma. “So scram, go find someone else to bother.”
Just as Momota is speaking, Akamatsu returns with their four carts in tow, having gotten some of the people waiting to help her take them over. Ouma watches with amusement as Akamatsu immediatly walks over to Amami, saying something to him quickly before climbing into one of the cars with him. So much for joining Momota’s team.
“I think you were just ditched for Amami-chan,” Ouma snickers, reveling in Saihara’s tense shoulders and Momota’s gritted teeth. “So looks like you’re down a member. Lucky for you, I’ve yet to join a group.”
Saihara lets out a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I guess he’s got a point. Fine, Ouma-kun, you can join,” he says, though the look on his face tells Ouma that that can change very easily.
Ouma cheers at his success, throwing an arm over Saihara’s stiff shoulder, which is very quickly shoved off. “Wait ‘til Harumaki here’s about this! She’s going to wanna kill me,” he says with a slight tremble in his voice. Then he pauses, surveying the group along the beach slowly filing into the pedal cars. “Speaking of, where is our favorite little assassin girl? I haven’t seen her anywhere.”
“Oh!” Akamatsu pipes up from her spot in the car behind them. “She called me earlier about having a babysitting gig today, so she couldn’t make it. I guess you guys will just have three instead.”
In all honesty, Ouma is a little relieved. Harukawa isn’t exactly his favorite person. She reminds him of some sort of stealthy serial killer assassin kind of chick, and he isn’t all too fond of it. Plus, she’s downright terrifying when she wants to be. How the hell does she work with kids?
“Awww,” Momota whines, running a hand back through his hair with pursed lips. “How come she never told me? I totally woulda’ kept her company!”
Ouma snickers. “That’s probably why you didn’t know.”
“Uh, we should just get into our cart,” Saihara helpfully interjects, casting a nervous glance between the two before hurrying over to the closest car. “Though I don’t know exactly how fair this will be with only three people on our team and four on the others.”
Ouma scoffs, climbing into the front seat on the right, jumping right over the hood of the cart. He imagines how cool he looks, like one of the badass supervilains suited head to toe in leather in some American action movie. Sure, the bright, calm ambiance of the beach doesn’t quite fit the aesthetic he’s going for, but he pretends there’s something blowing up into smitherines behind him as he slides into his seat. “We’ll be fiiiiiine. With me on your team, we won’t even need the extra person.” Momota looks about ready to pop off, but Ouma quickly interrupts him. “Hey Shumai, come sit up here with me! I don’t trust Momota-chan’s driving skills.” He very, very maturely sticks his tongue out at Momota.
Momota grumbles something under his breath, flipping Ouma off as he climbs into the back of their car. (Much less coolly than Ouma did, might he add.) “Can you even reach the pedals?”
“Of course I can!” Ouma reaches his feet down to prove his point. But they, as a matter of fact, do not reach. “Uh,” he so eloquently sounds, shifting to the very edge of his seat and pointing his toes. Then, he just barely manages to hit them, but not enough to properly pedal. But Ouma, determined to make this work, swallows his pride and just stands instead. “There!” he exclaims, gesturing to his feet now fully on the pedals. “Seeeee, I can reach perfectly fine.” He holds onto the steering wheel in front of him to stabilize himself, grinning triumphantly.
“Right,” Momota deadpans with a roll of his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything more. He can reach, so that’s got to count for something. “At least you’re not the worst choice.” Momota jabs a thumb behind him at another group getting situated. Ouma only recognizes Gokuhara, a big friendly giant whom he actually doesn’t mind the presence of. But next to Gokuhara is the shortest man Ouma has ever seen. He snickers as he watches the man attempt to stand to reach the pedals as well, but only the very tips of his hat poke up over the railing. So maybe it isn’t all bad.
But Saihara, the stupid prick, just shakes his head. “Poor Hoshi-kun,” he mumbles, sending an accusatory glare towards Ouma. And while Ouma’s primal instincts tell him to shift the blame over to Momota (because it’s totally his fault), he just turns around in his seat, disinterestedly picking at the nonexistent dirt under his nails.
“Is everyone ready to proceed with the race?” Kiibo calls to the group, gaining their attention. Murmurs and nods of agreement float around the space, and soon enough Ouma is moving his feet and pedaling up to the agreed-upon starting line.
“Just wait ‘til I wipe the floor with y’all!” Iruma cackles from her seat beside Akamatsu.
Ouma grins, yelling back, “I’d say the same thing, but a slut like you would probably like that, huh?” Iruma squeaks while Ouma is nudged by a disapproving Saihara’s elbow. “If it’s too much for you, Saihara-chan, you can go join the pig’s group instead.”
Saihara frowns. “It’s a little too late for that, Ouma-kun,” he says just as Akamatsu is telling them to get ready.
“Ready!” Akamatsu yells, and Ouma focuses his attention on the path up the hill ahead of them. “Set!” Bending his knees a bit to be able to propel himself more on the pedals, Ouma grips hard onto the steering wheel, grinning to himself. “Go!”
Immediately, the cart is rushing forward and Ouma is pressing down on the pedals with all his might. His grin instantly turns to a scowl as Iruma’s group passes by them, the putrid girl sticking her tongue out at Ouma as the teams start to advance up the hill.
“Pedal harder!” Ouma tells Saihara and Momota, hearing minimal complaints at his commanding tone before they’re heading up the incline even faster, legs pumping as their speed increases.
Ouma laughs as they catch up to Iruma about a third of the way up the hill, now tied for first place. Chabashira’s team seems to be having a hard time working together, and Ouma doesn’t think that Hoshi’s team really cares about winning. So it’s just him and Iruma now. (And the others, obviously.)
“What?!” Iruma screeches upon seeing Ouma’s cart right beside hers. “Move faster, you damn virgins! Don’t let the fuckin’ twink beat us!”
“Too late, Iruma-chan!” Ouma singsongs as they manage to pass her, securing first place. Or so Ouma thinks. Turns out Iruma isn’t willing to give up so easily, and she’s decided to play dirty. Ouma flinches when he’s suddenly struck by something right in the back of his head about halfway to the finish line. He swivels his head back to see a shoe bouncing back onto the ground.
Saihara makes a confused noise beside Ouma. “Did she hit you with her shoe?” he asks, half in confusion and half in disbelief. Ouma just huffs, rubbing his head.
“I guess she’s amping up the difficulty,” he mutters, tightening his grip on the wheel. “But I’ve always liked playing games on hard mode.” Grinning, Ouma decides to fight fire with fire, slipping one of his sandals off and chucking it with all his might back at Iruma. By the sudden yelp that escapes her, he knows he’s hit his target head-on.
“Get back here you little abortion!” Iruma yells, and Ouma can see her team coming up close behind him from his peripheral. But they’re close! They’re almost to the top, they can make it!
“I guess Iruma-chan is all bark and no bite,” Ouma giggles, leg muscles straining from pedaling so hard for so long, but he’s not giving up now. Iruma throws what looks to be a volleyball (why the hell does she have that with her?!) at them next. It successfully lands right in front of their cart, making Ouma and Saihara swerve to avoid it, nearly toppling the car over in the process. They still manage to hold first place, somehow, though not by much.
“The hell are you guys doing?” Momota yells from the backseat, clearly worried. “This has gone too far, man.” Ouma decides to ignore him.
“We’re close, Momota-chan! Just a little more!” Ouma yells back, sticking out his tongue in concentration while he throws his head back and flips off Iruma for that damn volleyball.
Then, Saihara starts chuckling next to him, amused by the antics and stupidly high stakes Ouma has placed upon this. And the shorter boy usually would yell at Saihara for getting distracted and to not stop pedaling, but he turns his head to him and his brain shuts off. It’s probably from the lack of oxygen that enters his lungs, because Ouma swears he stops breathing.
Saihara’s head is tipped back as he laughs, eyes shut and smiling wide. Ouma just stares, noticing how the beautiful hues of orange and pink and violet surrounding Saihara combine and make him seem to glow, the light fazing through his hair and making it appear soft to the touch. Saihara looks, for lack of better words, godly.
“O-Ouma-kun!” the so-called “godly” man’s voice breaks Ouma from his trance, and he locks eyes with Saihara for a moment. “Watch out, we’re--”
Just in time, Ouma remembers that he’s supposed to be driving, looking ahead to see them headed straight for a big tree. He jolts, swerving the cart as hard as he can. They all immediatly stop pedaling, sitting for a moment to catch their breaths as they sit in the unmoving cart now just next to the tree.
And to make everything worse, Iruma just won.
(He hates this stupid crush.)
Grumbling, Ouma tells them to keep pedaling. The others are still a bit farther back, so he’s not surprised when they make it to the top and claim second place. But Iruma still has first and, by extension, bragging rights, which she’s dead set on shoving in everyone’s face.
In third place comes Chabashira, Yumeno, Yonaga, and Shirogane. Chabashira curses out Ouma’s group of “degenerates,” and accuses them of cheating somehow. Saihara apologizes before Ouma gets to say anything about it, though.
In last place, over a minute after Chabashira’s group finishes, comes the group of Shinguuji, Hoshi, Gokuhara, and Toujou. They seem indifferent to the fact that they lost, and at least they aren’t bragging in Ouma face about their stolen victory.
“Congrats on winning, Iruma-san,” Saihara, ever the nice guy, says to her, only proving to boost her already inflated ego.
She grins, hands on her hips. “Of course I won!” she laughs as Ouma frowns, bitter from his loss. “I, the Golden Girl Genious Iruma Miu, never lose!”
Ouma decides to hold his tongue, knowing provoking her at this point will be pointless. Besides, his mood has been soured now, there’s no fun in it anymore. (That doesn’t mean Iruma won’t fear his wrath tomorrow, though.)
Deciding not to worry about it, Ouma walks away from the rest of the group over to the edge of the hill. Even without Saihara in front of it, the sunset really is beautiful. He sits, legs dangling over the edge of the steepest part of the hill that stands tall over the water. He’s certainly glad none of the carts made it over here, because taking a tumble down that cliff with one of them would certainly end in some casualties.
“Be careful there,” Ouma hears a voice behind him, footsteps approaching. He leans his head back, locking eyes for the second time this evening with (upside down) Saihara. He grins lazily at him, eyes hurting from looking so far back. He faces his head forward again, rubbing his temples as it throbs in protest.
“Saihara-chan!” he chimes, shaking past his headache. “What brings my beloved over here? I thought you’d want to celebrate our almost-victory with your friends. Unless,” Ouma gasps, eyes following Saihara as he carefully sits down next to him, “You’ve finally accepted that I’m your best friend!”
“Er, no,” Saihara quickly says, blanching. “We’re still not friends, Ouma-kun. I already know you don’t like me.” Ouma’s face falls blank. Saihara thinks he doesn’t like him, huh? Sure, he likes him, but he doesn’t like liking him. If that makes sense. It probably doesn’t. But he could use this to his advantage.
“What makes Saihara-chan say that?” he asks, placing his head in his hands and falling back to lay against the grass, staring up at the golden sky. Hesitantly, Saihara follows suit, laying back with him.
“You just… “ Saihara starts, furrowing his eyes at the sky and refusing to meet Ouma’s gaze. “You’re like a puzzle I can’t figure out. One moment, you seem appalled at the mere mention of being around me, and the next, you’re calling me ‘beloved’ and acting like we’re friends.”
“But we’re not friends, Saihara-chan,” Ouma says with a smile, turning his head to the lifeguard. “You said so yourself.”
Saihara sighs, shifting onto his side to look at Ouma. “This is what I mean. I mean, it’s obvious you don’t like me, so why bother me?”
“Maybe it’s just funny to see sweet Saihara-chan hot under the collar.”
“But you don’t seem like the kind of person to commit to something so insignificant so easily,” Saihara says thoughtfully. Ouma doesn’t say anything for a moment, turning back to the sky.
“What’s with the sudden interrogation, detective? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Saihara-chan actually wants to be friends,” Ouma giggles, hoping to play off the fact that he’s scared Saihara will end up hitting too close to home. He doesn’t already know, does he? Hell, Ouma only just found out a few days ago himself!
“That isn’t what I’m saying,” Saihara says, biting his lip. Ouma hates his eyes for not being able to look away for a good few seconds. “I just want to understand you more.”
Ouma’s gaze snaps back up to Saihara, and he thinks about his next words carefully. “Saihara-chan likes puzzles, doesn’t he?” he asks slowly, a smile growing across his face as he thinks of an absolutely brilliant idea.
“I…” Saihara murmurs, studying Ouma closely. “I suppose I’ve always had a knack for them.”
Ouma’s smile widens. “I have a grand idea, Saihara-chan!” he declares, sitting up abruptly. He almost loses his balance in the process but saves himself before plummeting to his doom. He swallows, glancing wearily at the cliff before back at Saihara.
“What?” Saihara asks, clearly suspicious of Ouma’s plan.
“What about--” Ouma says, pausing for dramatic effect. Saihara rolls his eyes, waving for Ouma to go on, “--a bet.”
Clearly, that’s not what Saihara was expecting. He raises his eyebrows, watching Ouma quizzically. “A bet?” he echoes. Ouma nods enthusiastically as Saihara (much more carefully than Ouma) sits back up as well to dangle his legs over the edge of the cliff.
“Yep! A bet.” Ouma glances back at Saihara, giddy at his own idea. Sure, he’s probably making a terrible decision right now, and yeah, he’s putting his heart on the line, but it will make his summer significantly less boring.
“What’s this bet, then?”
Ouma smirks as he stands up, dusting the dirt off of his shorts. “If Saihara-chan can figure me out, as you put it, before the end of the summer, he wins!” he declares, looking down at Saihara. “Pretty easy, right? Obviously, if you can’t, I win. But Saihara-chan’s such a great detective, I don’t stand a chance.”
Saihara hums, covering his hand with his mouth as he thinks. “So you’re betting against my investigation skills,” he mutters, staring at Ouma.
“You can think of it like that,” Ouma says, folding his hands behind his back and leaning forward. “I like to think of it as betting for my incredible lying skills.”
Saihara chuckles, seeming to really be considering it. Ouma is surprised, he expected to be immediately shot down. “What do you get if you win, then?” he asks. Ouma pauses, thinking about it. Obviously, he wants something out of this, or else there’s no point, but how does he word it?
“If I win,” Ouma says, face blank again as the cogs in his head turn, “I want Saihara-chan to resign as a lifeguard.”
Saihara’s eyes widen, and he stares at Ouma, quite obviously surprised. “W-why?” he asks, part skeptical and part nervous.
“Maybe you’ll just have to figure it out, Saihara-chan,” Ouma says, grinning again. “And what is it that Saihara would like if he wins?”
Saihara stops for a moment, considering what he could ask of Ouma. And sure, Ouma’s a little nervous as to what his request will be, but he patiently waits for Saihara to think it through. He just hopes that Saihara also doesn’t want to kick him from his job. No matter how much he dislikes some things, Ouma really does love his job.
“You have to stop lying to me,” Saihara finally says.
Ouma purses his lips. He expected this, but…can he really stop lying just because Saihara wants him to? Maybe this isn’t a good idea, he could get hurt and lose his way of keeping others at bay and--
Taking a breath, Ouma sticks out his hand, not letting himself overthink this. Saihara looks up from the ground at the hand reached out to him. “Do we have a deal, then, Saihara-chan?”
Saihara smiles softly, grasping Ouma’s hand with his and letting himself be pulled up off of the sandy earth. “We have a deal, Ouma-kun.”
☀☀☀
A week into their bet, Ouma starts having second thoughts about it. Yes, he knew it was a risk, but he doesn’t expect Saihara to be so… good at this, he supposes. Day after day, he picks apart Ouma’s lies. They’re small things, like his favorite ice cream flavor or his preference for the high chair, but Saihara doesn’t have to even blink to know he’s lying. That’s what scares him. (Is he really that much of an open book?)
“Hey, Twinkma!” Iruma calls, snapping Ouma out of his thoughts.
“What seems to be the problem, Iruma-chan?” he asks cheerfully, giving her a small break from the constant insults and bickering. He’s not in the mood.
“You’re done, dipshit,” she says, walking over to his perch in the high chair. She glares at him, hand on her hip. “Now come down, I need that chair before Suckhara gets out here.” Ouma perks up, pulling out his phone to check the time. Sure enough, his shift is over, he’s free to go. With a grin, Ouma hops down from the chair, holding his arm out to it with a bow.
“All yours,” he says, watching in amusement at Iruma’s embarrassed huff.
“Damn shota,” she murmurs, walking past him, but she stops before climbing up. “Well, go on! I don’t need a perv like you staring up at my gorgeous ass!” Iruma laughs, then looks at Ouma expectantly. He shrugs, turning around back towards the boardwalk.
“Not that there’s anything to stare at anyway,” he chimes, smiling at the offended shriek he gets as he walks away. It’s still fun to mess with her, sometimes, he supposes.
As Ouma heads back towards the small lifeguard shack, he nearly runs face-first into Saihara himself, of course. Because fate seems to be cruel, and really wants to torture him.
“Uh, hello, Ouma-kun,” Saihara says a bit pensively. It’s obvious he still doesn’t like him, which Ouma understands. He still likes to think of them as “enemies,” despite the crush that just seems to manifest itself deeper and deeper inside of him every day. It’s growing a home there and he does not approve.
“Saihara-chan!” Ouma greets, placing his hands behind his head as he notices that Saihara just has to be shirtless again. Fate really is cruel. “Back to figure out your unsolvable puzzle?” Ouma grins lazily, tilting his head in question.
“I’m back for work,” Saihara says before walking past Ouma, apparently more interested in his boring job than with Ouma’s game. The shorter man frowns, whining as follows Saihara.
“Saihara-chan’s so rude , just ignoring me!” he exclaims, faux tears threatening to spills down his face. “And I thought we were becoming--”
“Ouma-kun,” Saihara interrupts him, stopping and turning back around with an unamused gaze. “We’re not friends.”
Ouma pouts, latching onto Saihara’s arm to stop him from going anywhere, much to the man’s surprise. “But Saihara-chaaaan,” he cries, noticing how Saihara doesn’t struggle against his hold despite the fact that he could easily break out of it. “You agreed to play with me, why wouldn’t we be friends?”
Saihara pauses for a moment, sighing. “This isn’t a game, Ouma-kun, I--”
Saihara is cut off by a sudden scream from someone on the beach, followed by Iruma’s worried cry of, “Hey, you two virgins, get your asses back here quick!” Ouma exchanges a look with Saihara before they’re both running back towards the beach.
Iruma meets them halfway, hurriedly pointing to the water. “Some dumbass went out too far, and--” Saihara doesn’t even wait for Iruma to finish, following where Iruma is pointing to see someone out past the Buoys, frantically splashing about to keep above the relentless waves. Ouma doesn’t react quite as quickly, and by the time he spots the person, Saihara is already speeding down to the water.
In a moment of defiance and undeniable curiosity to actually see Saihara in the water, he rushes after him. This is his chance to prove to Saihara that he’s the better lifeguard!
Saihara runs down to the edge of the water, jumping onto one of the docks and darting down it. Ouma follows, just a bit behind him, as Saihara dives under the rolling waves. It’s shallow, and Ouma doesn’t completely trust his diving skills, so he jumps in after him instead, shocked to see how far Saihara has already made it through the water.
Determined to win, Ouma swims after him, watching the top of Saihara’s head bop just above the water and then back down, but never enough to bring in any air. Ouma decides not to worry about it, he must just have good lungs. Kicking his feet even faster, Ouma starts to gain on him, but not enough to see him, and Saihara is rapidly approaching the drowning person.
Gritting his teeth, Ouma swims as fast as he possibly can, working past his burning limbs. But Saihara still makes it to the person first, lifting them up enough so they can breathe, yet he still stays underneath the water himself. On his way over, Ouma grabs the lifesaver that was apparently thrown out in an attempt to save the drowning person, pulling it along with him and tossing it over to Saihara, who slips it over the person’s head.
Finally, Ouma reaches them, glad to see the person is securely hanging onto the lifesaver and safe from the ruthless water. But Saihara still hasn’t come up to breathe.
A little worried, Ouma shouts over the crashing waves, “Saihara-chan, you need air.” He frowns, reaching down into the water to grab Saihara by his arm. He tries to pull him up, confused when he’s met with defiance. Ouma starts to worry more, tugging harder on Saihara’s arm. There’s no way he can last this long without air.
After a moment of struggling, Ouma manages to pull Saihara’s arm up and out of the water. But as he starts to tug again, trying to get Saihara fully above the surface, he realizes the arm is…blue?
“What the…” Ouma mutters, mouth gaping. Suddenly panicking that something happened, Ouma dives under the water, opening his eyes despite how they protest against the saltwater. And his vision is blurry, but Saihara almost blends in with the water. His entire body is blue.
But then Ouma notices, when he looks to Saihara’s legs, that they’re not there. Instead, a long, glimmering tail is in their place, wrapped around the torso of the all-but-forgotten person the two saved, keeping them afloat.
Ouma gasps in realization, something he immediately regrets as his lungs are filled with water. His eyes widen and he propels himself above the waves, chest burning as he wheezes and hacks, struggling to stay up.
And in a moment of stupidity, between ragged coughs, he screams,
“Monster!”