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Ohse is in the midst of another midnight snack run when he spots something—or more accurately, someone—lying on the couch. It's unusual for anyone to remain in the living room at these hours; his fellow housemates typically make themselves scarce and retreat to their rooms, not counting the rare occasion where the seven of them will pile onto the couches for an impromptu sleepover. But there's no impromptu sleepover tonight, making Ohse a tad bit curious to who's sleeping on the couch.
After grabbing a snack of his choice (a cup of Jagarico he knows Iori has been sneaking into the grocery list for his sake), Ohse shambles his way to the couch, hoping to avoid spooking whoever was there with his detestable presence. But he stops in his tracks, almost dropping his snack, when he identifies just who's on the couch.
There laid Rikai, her arms crossed over her chest and still in her regular attire. Walking closer to her sleeping form, he notices she's wearing her glasses and whistle too. Ohse's heart lurches in its chest cavity as he catalogs these details. It's not like Rikai to fall asleep outside as someone who took pride in her sleep habits. He wonders if any of his other roommates had spotted her sleeping on the couch earlier; surely, they would've tried to wake her up in that case, right? Especially when doing something outside of her routine would definitely stress her out.
Ohse decides to take action and wake her up. Even if he's worried to see her reaction, her possible outburst would be ten times worse if she woke up the next morning alone on the couch. He takes a seat on the small sliver of couch space available and places a trembling hand on her shoulder. He rarely has physical contact with Rikai, or anyone else for that matter, to begin with but he knows his voice is too tame to rouse her from her sleep—his shouting session with Sarukawa taught him that after all. So shaking her awake it is, even if his pathetic and repulsive self has no right to lay a hand on her.
He's about ready to shake her shoulder when he freezes at the sight of her head lolling in his direction. The action causes the moonlight filtering through the house's windows to reflect off of her white hair and pale complexion. Ohse's breath hitches: the light gives Rikai a heavenly shine, the type that artists would vie to portray on canvas. If he could, he would immortalize this moment with his paints too, but Rikai's wellbeing comes first.
Still, he can't seem to bring himself to do the task he set out to do. Strands of her hair fall away from her face, lightly tickling his fingers. The contact reminds him of snow, the first droplet that lands on your cheek and cools you. He wants to run his fingers through her hair. He wants to hold her beyond her shoulder. He wants to cup her cheek and rub comforting circles on it.
He wants and wants and wants.
But someone like Rikai—with her 25 years of built-up love locked away for someone special—shouldn't be with someone as lowly as Ohse. She shines so bright, she cares so wholly, she works so hard.
So Ohse channels his courage and shakes her awake.
For someone so gung-ho, he hadn't expected Rikai to be such a slow riser. She first makes a small hum, then rolls her shoulder. Then she rolls her head around once before steadily opening her eyes. Ohse is quick to retract his hand from her shoulder. He's done his part and he couldn't bear to see Rikai's reaction to his touch. He also kicks his cup of Jagarico (he'd subconsciously placed it on the ground) underneath the center table; it wouldn't bode well to stress Rikai out further with the sight of the snack.
"Ohse-kun?" she mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. His face flushes; he's never heard Rikai sound like this before. Some unsavory thoughts pop into his head, but he quickly squashes them. He needs to reassure Rikai, so he nods in response to her.
Ohse watches her sit up and look around, as her expression morphs from groggy to alarmed at the sight of the moonlit living room. Her mouth falls open before she quickly covers it with her hand; Ohse hazards a guess that she had been ready to exclaim her surprise before remembering what time it was. She then glances back at him.
"Um," he starts before asking a question to satiate his curiosity and temper his worry, "What were you doing out here, Rikai-san?" He shyly looks down as she places all her attention on him. She's fiddling with her whistle.
However, Rikai doesn't immediately respond to his inquiry. Fear pools in his stomach; did Ohse step out of line with the question? Was it too invasive? Maybe she didn't want to share why she was sleeping there. Maybe she slept there for a good orderly reason. Maybe he was a stupid idiot for—
"I must've been really tired from today's errands. It's unlike me to be so disorderly."
She stops rolling her whistle around in her hands, causing Ohse to look up at her. She's wearing a rueful smile on her face.
"Sorry you had to see me this way," she says, a tinge of melancholy laced into her voice. Ohse's heart breaks at her tone; he desperately wants to pry and comfort her worries away, but he's not sure if she'd be willing to share them now. So Ohse does what he does best: he vomits a flurry of apologies instead.
"No, no, no. You don't need to apologize to a piece of shit like me. I mean, I only came down here because I wanted a snack and I know it's bad for my health and I know I shouldn't be up this late but I was hungry. So if anyone should be apologizing, it should be me...," he loses steam in the middle of his ramble, as he inadvertently confesses his reasons for being in the living room in the first place. Now, he's irritated Rikai further and she'll be mad and scold him further and he really will kill himself for doing so.
But the lecture he expects never happens; instead, he is treated to the sweetest laugh he's heard in his life.
"Well, I won't deny that you shouldn't be eating snacks at such a late hour," she says, mirth now coloring her voice, "But if you didn't come down, you wouldn't have found me laying here."
"So, thank you," Rikai smiles softly, "You really are kind." He's struck by an overwhelming desire to kill himself after hearing her words. Him? Kind? he thinks, hand itching for a plastic bag or rope or knife, That only applies to you Rikai-san.
Clueless to his inner turmoil, Rikai pats his head then cards her fingers through his hair. Ohse leans into the touch as he tempers the part of him screaming to end his life now; he doesn't want to scare her and neither does he want to ruin the moment. So for once, he indulges in the affection. However, the moment ends too fast, as Rikai retracts her hand and gets off the couch.
"Now come along Ohse-kun, we ought to get some proper sleep," she extends her hand out to him. He hesitates, unsure if he deserves to take her hand in his. But if Rikai's the one offering, if she's taking the initiative, then it should be fine for him to hold her hand. So he does.
Rikai's grip is firm and warm, as she pulls Ohse off the couch and leads him out of the living room. He trails after her dutifully, making sure to stay a pace or two behind her; she's already allowed him one too many indulgences tonight, so he'll draw the line at walking side-by-side with someone of her stature. However, Rikai doesn't immediately head straight for her room. Instead, she brings Ohse to his room first. Once they get there, she opens the door for him.
"Now promise me you'll head to bed after I leave," she touts as quietly as she can so as to not disturb their other housemates. He nods his head; tonight's already been a rollercoaster for Ohse's heart, so he doubts he'll stay awake any longer.
"I want to hear you say it," Rikai reiterates, her words bouncing to a melodic thrum.
"I promise I'll go to bed."
"That's a good boy," she squeezes his hand tight, "Well, goodnight Ohse-kun!" She finally releases his hand from her grasp then pivots to head back to the staircase and to her own room.
"Goodnight Rikai-san," Ohse calls out meekly to her back, before he retreats to his room. After he shuts the door, he pats around his pockets until his fingers find the cold hilt of his pocket knife. Ohse stands there to consider for a second. And another. And an extra second longer before he reaches a decision: he shambles towards his desk and drops the pocket knife besides his computer's keyboard. Then he slips into the confines of his sleeping bag, holding close the hand that held Rikai's as the memory of her warmth lulls him to sleep.