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One of the many recurring nightmares that haunts Shuichi’s existence is that he’ll someday be asked to present something he brought, he’ll reach into his pocket, and it won’t be there. A pencil, for example, or a con at a print, or his student ID… there are all kinds of situations where it’d just be absolutely disastrous.
This, though, is probably the worst way it could’ve transpired. His drink costs a total of 526 yen, not awful for a 16 oz at a café, but when he opens his wallet, he finds he’s 26 yen short, without any other loose change in his wallet. He could use his card, but he doesn’t remember how much is left on it, and he just spent a lot on a used figurine last night—in his defense, he’d been looking for it for such a long time, they don’t even make that figure anymore, and at the price it was going for it was a total steal—and it would be even more embarrassing than having to cancel on the drink if his card declined.
Shuichi chews on his thumbnail, sweaty fingers running over the studded edge of his special edition Kirigiri wallet while he tries to figure out what to do. He could cry? Maybe the barista would feel bad for him… but Shuichi can’t cry on command, even if he sort of feels like crying right now, he’s pretty sure he’d just get asked to leave… and besides, according to Kaede, he’s less of an “endearing” sort of pathetic and more of the “kick you to the side of the road and wipe your shoe” pathetic, so it probably wouldn’t work anyway…
“Is something the matter?” the barista asks in a dull voice. Crap. From the look on her face, she definitely isn’t the type of person who will feel bad for you and give you a 26 yen discount. Shuichi swallows past a dry throat.
“U-Um… actually, I-I don’t have enough, so um,” Shuichi gestures a little at the cup the barista is still holding, with his name and order still written on it, “you can just, can just put that away… I’ll j-just go home and come back later…”
The barista blinks slowly at him, but nods, as if to dismiss him. She doesn’t seem upset, but she still looks so unimpressed that Shuichi can feel his insides shrivelling. His shoulders curl in, and he turns to leave, curling his shoulders in as he goes and blinking hard so he won’t actually start crying.
Before he can get more than a step away from the counter, though, a warm hand lands on his shoulder and guides him back around, a low voice mumbling, “Hold on a minute. I’ll cover it—and can you add a 16 oz chai to that?”
Shuichi stiffens. Not because of the unexpected touch—though maybe that’s part of it—or the kind gesture—actually, there’s just a lot going on right now—but because he recognises that voice. He recognises it intimately, in fact, just as much as he recognises the silver rings on the fingers that rest against the lapel of his school uniform, the green curls he catches a glimpse of out of the corner of his eye. Even the smell of pine-scented aftershave is familiar, from his allotted two minutes and forty seconds at the last DanganCon— but there’s no way it’s actually…
The barista has turned a brilliant shade of red, nodding stiffly as she hastily turns to pick up a second cup for the chai. “R-Right, and the—name on your order?” Almost immediately, she cringes, as though deeply regretting her misspeak. Shuichi can relate. He’s barely breathing right now, much less thinking about speaking, but if he were to open his mouth, he’s pretty sure he’d do the exact same thing.
A chuckle sounds from above him, rich and warm and so much clearer than Shuichi’s ever heard it on TV. He lifts his head, chancing a quick glance at the man out of the corner of his eye, and finds that Amami Rantaro’s gaze is focused quite devotedly on the barista, but that he’s smiling, the charming, toothy grin that made Shuichi’s heart flutter the first time he saw it. In fact, it makes his heart flutter now, even though Shuichi is sure that it’d stopped beating when Rantaro first came over and touched him.
“That’ll be Amami,” Rantaro says, sounding amused. “How much do I owe you?”
Sounding a bit faint, the barista puts in the order and relays the total. Rantaro swipes his shiny credit card, and Shuichi watches him leave a big tip. Some stupid voice in the back of his head nags, It’s totally like Amami-sama to tip twice as much as he’s actually being charged… but the rest of him remains frozen, hyper aware of the weight of Rantaro’s hand on his shoulder, the way goosebumps rise on his arm every time Rantaro shifts even minutely.
The barista hobbles off to work on their drinks, and Shuichi only unfreezes when Rantaro squeezes his shoulder, guiding him over towards the pickup counter. There are eyes on them, Shuichi can tell—he can feel them all over his body, little pinpricks on his arms and the back of his neck—but none are so intense as the weight of Rantaro’s gaze, which finally lands on him when they’ve stopped moving.
Rantaro’s charming smile falls, his eyes creasing with more of a concerned look. “Are you okay? I don’t mean to be blunt or anything, but you looked like you were going to pass out.”
All at once, Shuichi is struck with the realisation that what he says here is going to be important. Not just because Rantaro is his favourite Danganronpa protagonist ever—and even makes his top five characters overall, though nobody is going to beat Kyoko or Nagito—but because in a few months, Shuichi is going to be auditioning for Season 53. The next season of Danganronpa, and also… Rantaro’s next season. Sure, survivors are generally sent in with their memories of the previous season wiped… but what if they meet inside of the simulation and Rantaro gets struck with some kind of deja vu feeling about Shuichi being a loser? He’ll be a Danganronpa character then—a detective no less—and thus not a loser… but he could screw it all up right here if he’s not careful! Damn it!
He has to pick his words carefully. He has to—he has to be cool, composed, more nonchalant and uncaring like Kaede. What would Kaede say if she was in Shuichi’s place? Hey, maybe, in a low voice, flick the hair, act like she doesn’t care…
Shuichi clears his throat. Says, “I was about to pass out.” Fuck! No! “I-I-I mean—no. I wasn’t, umm, that was just a—just a joke. I was just kidding. Hahaha.”
Failed step one. Shuichi groans and has to take a step back from Rantaro, covering his face with his hands. That’s it, it’s over, he screwed it up and now Rantaro is going to think he’s a stupid moron for the rest of forever.
Rantaro laughs. “It’s anyone’s worst nightmare to realise you didn’t bring enough money to pay for something, you don’t have to be embarrassed. That used to happen to me all the time before the game.”
Huh. Shuichi peeks through his fingers. Rantaro was extremely wealthy in his backstory, though, so it’s weird that he would relate to that… oh, maybe he just forgot his card a lot because he was so airheaded! That’s definitely what happened to Shuichi. (It’s not like he’s ever short on cash, really… just occasionally running low due to inadvisable merch purchases.)
“R-Really?” Shuichi brings his hands down, peering out from under the brim of his cap. “I g-guess even cool people like you would, would have mishaps like that sometimes, Amami-sama…” Oh, he didn’t introduce himself, did he? Shuichi flushes dark. “A-Ah, umm, I’m being rude—my name is—”
“Saihara-kun, right?” Rantaro’s brows raise. “We met at the convention a few months ago. I signed a print for you.”
Ah. Shuichi’s mouth falls open, and he stops breathing again. When he finally remembers to swallow, wiping his face with his sleeves, he can barely muster the breath to say much more than, “You—really?”
“Yeah?” Rantaro smiles, almost a bit incredulously. “It was art that you did, wasn’t it? I thought it was really good.”
It was really good—Shuichi is still proud of that piece, that’s why he got it signed—but the idea that Rantaro could have actually remembered it—because of his talent, when Rantaro is always surrounded by people with Ultimate-level talent… Shuichi’s knees suddenly start to shake, and he has to prop himself up against the counter.
“Oh,” Shuichi says, intelligently. He clears his throat and tries again, “O-Oh, um, I didn’t realise. W-Well, yeah. That’s me. Umm. Hi, Amami-sama. It’s good to see you again. Um. Thank you.” Shuichi’s eyes widen a little as he realises that is, in fact, the first time he’s thanked Rantaro for buying his drink and bailing him out. “Er—thank you! R-Really, I’ll pay you back! I’m so sorry for the inconvenience!” Shuichi bows so low and so quickly, his hat gets dislodged, and he scrambles to hold it in place. One of Rantaro’s hands lands on top of his, and Shuichi squeaks, pulling away, only to regret it immediately as Rantaro’s warm, calloused palm brushes against his clammy skin.
“Sorry, sorry,” Rantaro is apologising as Shuichi straightens up, “I didn’t mean to startle you, I just reached for your hat at the same time as you did.” He smiles again, but this time it’s sheepish and apologetic. Somehow every single smile looks absolutely perfect on his face. “You don’t have to pay me back or anything. Really, I have more money than I know what to do with… it’s a relief to have gotten to spend it on something nice like this for once.”
That’s… true. Rantaro has survived two consecutive Danganronpa games and is about to go in for a third… he’s probably completely loaded. Shuichi fidgets with his tie. His parents are quite well-to-do, but he has to admit he has no concept of that kind of wealth. Even if he won Danganronpa (and he doesn’t totally plan to, just participating would be enough for him) he would only have half of Rantaro’s current fortune. It’s a little mind boggling to think about.
Shuichi can’t help but smile. This is just like a fanfiction or something. “R-Right… umm, right. So… what are you doing here? I didn’t, I didn’t realise you drank at cafés like this.”
“Where else would I get my coffee?” Rantaro winks with a charming grin, and Shuichi’s knees get a bit weak again. “I was out for a walk, was all. I popped in to check the menu, and I was actually going to leave, but I managed to catch your predicament, so I stepped in.”
Wow. Rantaro did all of that, went out of his way… just for Shuichi. Shuichi leans against the counter and rests a hand on his chest, just to feel his own heart beat painfully against his ribcage. Amami Rantaro… came here for him. Helped him. Is currently looking at him, with those beautiful green eyes and that heart-stopping smile and his head slightly tilted and…
…He’s just… a loser. Shuichi swallows. He’s not in Danganronpa yet. He’s no Ultimate Detective, just a stupid fan Rantaro happened to remember meeting at a con. He’s nowhere near worthy of this attention, so what is Rantaro doing here…? Could he truly be so kind? Shuichi’s smile fades, and he looks down at the ground, pulling on the brim of his cap.
“I’m, I’m sorry for wasting your time, Amami-sama,” Shuichi says quietly. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to pull you away from your walk, or make you buy a drink you didn’t want.”
Rantaro seems a bit taken aback for a moment, his smile flickering, before it falls entirely and his brow furrows. He leans closer, and now Shuichi is unable to look away as Rantaro’s eyes fall beneath the brim of his cap.
“I don’t think this is a waste of my time at all,” Rantaro says, quite seriously. It reminds Shuichi of the voice he’d used back in Kikuchi Taku’s free time events, reminding him that he had value outside of the work he did for his father as a grave digger. The stern, slightly concerned voice paired with the knit brow and the crease in his forehead. Only… there’s an intensity in his gaze that Shuichi doesn’t quite recognise, lines running from his eyes… actually, when he isn’t smiling, Rantaro almost looks… tired, deep indents in the sides of his face like that frown tugging at his lips has been there a lot recently.
That makes sense, he frowned a lot during the trial and investigations, Shuichi thinks. But something about it still doesn’t feel quite right.
“Actually, between you and me, I’m glad I’m here,” Rantaro continues. He doesn’t smile this time, but his eyes soften. “I’m sort of glad for the chance to just step away from all of it, you know? They keep me on a pretty tight leash.”
Of course they do… Rantaro has another killing game coming up. Nothing can happen to him before then. Rantaro’s wording almost makes it sound stifling, though. Shuichi rubs his arm.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Rantaro’s hands slide into his pockets. “So, you really did me a favour, and I don’t want you to apologise. Is that okay?”
He’s so patient and gentle… Shuichi looks away, worrying his lower lip, and nods silently. If Rantaro really means that, then Shuichi supposes he can accept it… he was a pretty good liar in the game, but not good enough to look that completely convincing, and Shuichi’s watched every episode from start to finish more than once. He’d like to think he knows what it looks like when Rantaro is being truthful.
Still, Shuichi can’t help but sneak a peek back at Rantaro, taking in that intense frown. He… just seems so… different? Subdued maybe. Maybe that’s just how they look off TV, but… it hadn’t been like that at the con.
“A… Amami-kun,” Shuichi ventures, “are you… um, are you alright? You seem tired.”
Rantaro’s brows raise, and his smile comes back. “You think so?” He lets out a chuckle. “I guess I had a pretty rough sleep last night, but it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it, Saihara-kun.”
That’s not exactly reassuring. “Are you sure? Why didn’t you sleep well?”
“Uh…” Rantaro rubs the back of his neck, and Shuichi realises he’s overstepped. He opens his mouth to apologise, but Rantaro beats him to it: “Honestly… I just have a lot on my mind is all. The games, you know?”
Huh. Shuichi fiddles with his cap. He knows that the games must take a lot of Rantaro’s head space. He’s a Danganronpa character, after all, and he has another game coming up. Plus, well, Rantaro gets so much media attention, it would be silly if he wasn’t thinking about it. But… Shuichi isn’t amazing at reading tone, but something in Rantaro’s voice almost sounds… bitter?
His smile isn’t like that, though. Shuichi must be imagining it.
“I-I see…” Shuichi adjusts his hat. “But you’re, um, you’re okay?”
“Sure I am.” Rantaro smiles. “It’s sweet of you to worry about me, really.” He rests a hand on Shuichi’s shoulder, and his stomach fills with butterflies in the second before Rantaro’s eyes widen and that hand retracts. “Ah, sorry. I forgot, I shouldn’t be touching you without asking.”
Actually, Shuichi wishes he’d put his hand back, but it’s so sweet and courteous he can’t quite complain. “It’s, it’s okay.” I liked it is just too embarrassing to say, so instead he turns around to watch the pick-up counter. The barista is still a bit pink as she delivers their drinks to the counter, nodding shortly at the two of them before she rushes over to the other side. Shuichi can hear Rantaro chuckling as he steps past to pick them both up.
Shuichi’s fingers brush against Rantaro’s when Rantaro hands him his coffee. It really is just like a fanfiction, though there’s no jolt of electricity or anything. Rantaro’s fingers are just warm. Shuichi’s face feels that way too, along with his heart and his stomach and his everything else. He stammers out a thanks and hastily drinks from his coffee, which is way too hot, so of course it burns as it goes down… but the drink actually helps him calm his nerves a little.
“So, Amami-sama,” Shuichi starts. Rantaro looks at him curiously, but before he can say anything else, the door to the café opens, and a woman in a suit sticks her head in.
“Amami-kun! Do you know how long it took me to find you?!” The woman, a pretty brunette with glasses, storms inside and right up to Rantaro, whose shoulders have curled in a little, an almost abashed smile on his face. “This is the fourth time this week—I told you, you need to stop wasting our time with these stunts!”
“I went for a walk,” Rantaro says, frowning. His tone is mild, but his posture strongly indicates that he’s uncomfortable; elbows tucked in, knuckles pale on his cup. Shuichi frowns, looking between them. Is this woman someone he doesn’t like…? “I’d hardly call that a stunt.”
“Without clearance,” the woman hisses out pointedly. “You went on a walk without clearance. That’s the same as running away, and after what happened last time, I would think you’d—” Her eyes suddenly land on Shuichi and widen, as though she hadn’t realised he was standing there. “O-Oh, is this—” Her gaze darts obviously from Shuichi’s face to his book bag and its many Danganronpa charms. “Is this… a friend of yours, Amami-kun?”
Rantaro’s eyes slide over to Shuichi. Shuichi swallows, expecting Rantaro to dismiss the question out of hand, but instead he says, “He could be. I didn’t realise I had to run friends by you, too.”
That’s… sassy. Shuichi cups his mouth with his hand. It’s attractive, but also very… not Rantaro. Rantaro is mild-mannered and patient, only occasionally sarcastic in a way that involves all parties. He’s never biting or rude. He’s rarely even directly oppositional towards the people he doesn’t like… just assertive during trials. So hearing that is…
The woman rolls her eyes. “Of course not. But if you want clearance to grab a drink with a friend, all you have to do is ask.” She looks at Shuichi. “I’m sorry. Amami-kun had a meet and greet today that he’s half an hour late to—do you think you could reschedule?”
“I-I—” Shuichi wasn’t really expecting to get addressed directly. He looks to Rantaro for help, and Rantaro’s brow creases minutely.
“It’s fine. I’ll just go.” Rantaro exhales, taking a step forward. “The meet and greet isn’t far from here, is it? It shouldn’t be a big deal.”
The look he gets from the woman is exasperated, like she has a lot of things she wants to say to that, but instead she just shakes her head and stalks back out the door. Rantaro moves to follow, but Shuichi feels something in his chest lurch, like—like something about this is very, very wrong, and he should say something, even if—even if he’s no Ultimate Detective and all he is is just some loser who enjoys a TV show… he shouldn’t just let Rantaro go.
“A-Amami-sama, is that woman—” Shuichi cuts off, biting his lip, unsure how to word it. Carefully he asks, “Is she… um, upsetting you?”
Rantaro glances over his shoulder, halfway to the door, his eyes a bit wide. He softens into a smile. “No, she isn’t. It’s alright, Saihara-kun. I’ve just been causing her a bit of trouble is all.”
A bit of trouble… by going out for coffee? Shuichi swallows. Maybe it’s a bit rude to do that when fans are waiting for him, but…
“I-If you… if you need reasons to get out more,” Shuichi tries, “I could always, um…”
No, that’s stupid. Why would Rantaro want to hang out with Shuichi? Shuichi shrinks back and tugs down on his cap, scoffing under his breath.
“Nevermind, I don’t, I don’t even know what I was going to—”
“Wait, Saihara-kun.” With two large strides, Rantaro ends up right in front of Shuichi again, taking the wrist of the hand that he was using to hold onto his hat. “Sorry, I don’t want to assume what you were going to say, but…” He leans forward again, lowering Shuichi’s arm to his side, forcing Shuichi to meet his green eyes. They’re intent again, but in a different way, a lopsided grin on Rantaro’s face. It’s… different. Shuichi’s never seen it before.
It feels like his heart is doing a track routine.
“I’d like to see you again,” Rantaro says. “If you’re okay with that being the reason… I wouldn’t mind getting to know you a little better too.”
Me, really? Shuichi wants to ask. You want to get to know me? Wait for me to join the killing game, then I’ll be someone worthy of your time.
This isn’t about Shuichi right now, though. Not… not at all. Shuichi swallows dryly. Social media managers really are the worst, even from any company, huh…
“S-Sure, Amami-sama,” Shuichi manages weakly. “That’d be… that’d be amazing.”
“Okay.” Rantaro smiles even wider, still lopsided and wry but somehow just as handsome. “You have to call me Amami-kun, though. I don’t want to be addressed by an honourific like that if we’re going to be friends.”
It’s a reasonable request, but addressing Rantaro like they’re peers still makes Shuichi feel like he’s going to faint. He can only nod wordlessly as Rantaro leans back, pulling a sharpie from his pocket and reaching for Shuichi’s cup. Numbly, Shuichi hands it over, then watches Rantaro jot something down on the side.
“That’s my phone number,” Rantaro explains, handing back Shuichi’s coffee. “Text me when you get a chance to, okay?”
Putting the ball in Shuichi’s court is a little mean, given that he has anxiety, but he’ll do his best to send that text, if only so Rantaro will have his phone number too. He nods again, weakly, and forces himself to speak.
“Okay.” Shuichi’s voice cracks. He’s going to collapse the second Rantaro walks out that door. “O-Okay, Amami-sa—kun. Thank you.”
Rantaro laughs. “You don’t have to thank me. But you’re sweet, Saihara-kun. Thank you.” He takes a quick glance over his shoulder, frowning. “I guess I should head out now… enjoy that coffee, though. And I’ll see you later, alright?” He steps back with that, waving, before turning on his heel and jogging to the door. Shuichi’s heart beats so loud he can hear it in his ears, even after Rantaro has completely disappeared from the café.
His knees start to wobble again. This time, Shuichi just slides down to the floor, holding his coffee—and Rantaro’s phone number—against his chest. Somewhere above him from behind the counter, he hears the barista mutter lucky bastard.
Yeah, no kidding.