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With no preconceptions of what life after the killing game should be like, Shuichi can hardly say that he’s surprised by any of it. In the first place, he’d never imagined that he would wake up afterwards to find that none of it had been real. Rather—it was real, it happened, they have twelve episodes of proof of this fact, and plenty of shared memories of the event besides—but that it had been a simulation. It wasn’t real in the sense that it did not tangibly happen. Shuichi is one of the first to pull him out of the little pods, nursing a fierce headache and cramps all over his body, but he’s far from the last. Harukawa and Yumeno are quick to follow him. After, Shuichi gets the first look at some of their dead friends he’s had in weeks.
It is, on the whole, more of a good thing than a bad thing. Reuniting with Akamatsu and Momota is a sort of sweetness Shuichi doesn’t have the language to describe, particularly because it’s not a phenomenon you hear of often. Coming to terms with someone’s death, resolving to move forward in their memory after seeing them killed in front of you, and then… seeing them again after. That just doesn’t happen. And Shuichi isn’t the only one with friends to reunite with. Yumeno cries for so long she says she feels nauseous after, and once Momota’s finished making the rounds, Harukawa grabs onto his arm and refuses to let go. Understandably so, as well.
Once the dust has settled, though… Shuichi isn’t exactly sure what the standard procedure is, for situations like this. They’re ushered to bedrooms by employees, staff and nurses, all wearing the same Team Danganronpa brand shirts. Shuichi gives as best an explanation as he can to his friends, to those who ask. Some are more inquisitive than others. Hoshi and Shinguuji are adamant that they learn the truth of the situation right away. Angie and Gonta seem more focused on the others in the group, which, well… Shuichi can’t say he’s surprised by that, or that he particularly begrudges them the quality time.
Still, it rankles to think of any one of his friends getting that explanation from the staff, rather than one of them. Shuichi is aware more than ever that there are intricacies that expand beyond his personal understanding of what happened. But waking up this way, seeing the logo emblazoned on the walls, on the clothing of the staff—it’s obvious there was a lot of truth to everything Shirogane had to say to them. Particularly the bits about their personalities being faked, their memories being fiction… Shuichi wants them to hear that from him.
The weight of it, the responsibility he’d taken onto his shoulders back in the game, seems to settle easily back upon his shoulders. He’d been able to give his friends clarity, even closure with his explanations. Takes pride in doing so, to the best of his abilities. Had learned to do so with Akamatsu and later Momota’s guidance. That skill that had been such a burden on him, Shuichi wants nothing less than to let it go to waste in a circumstance where it would be useful again.
But he’s tired, too. Fatigue catches up quickly, along with that persistent ache. It occurs to him that after so much time spent unconscious, muscle atrophy is only natural. Shuichi has to wonder how they’ve managed to keep him fed and hydrated over the past month or so. It isn’t as if he remembers the circumstances leading up to his entering the simulation, after all. Whatever the case, he’s alive and in one piece, and so is everyone else.
By the time he reaches his assigned bedroom, though, the exhaustion crashes over him in waves. A combination of physical and emotional tiredness, from the weight of standing again and embracing friend after friend and explaining the truth of the situation as he knows it. Shuichi manages to shower and put on a change of clothes, to lay himself on the cot in the room in some semblance of order. He does not manage to keep his eyes open for much longer than that.
They’re required to stay at this—what the staff call the rehabilitation facility— for a period of three months following their time in the simulation. Longer, in fact, than the game itself had been. Shuichi assumes this is a protective measure against lawsuits, not that that’s going to stop him, but he intends to walk before he runs. They’re put on a schedule as well, with periods during the day allotted for both physical and emotional therapy, the extent of both depending on the traumas each of them suffered within the game.
There are also communal meal times, with the option to take food alone in your room. Shuichi, naturally, opts to eat in company. Entering the cafeteria, he finds that the majority of his friends have done the same, with obvious—perhaps predictable—exceptions in Shinguuji, Iruma, Hoshi, Shirogane, Toujou… and Ouma, who Shuichi realises he hadn’t gotten the chance to speak to the day before. That he isn’t here doesn’t come as a surprise in the slightest given how things had gone down in the game. What is somewhat—notable, Shuichi supposes, is how much he notices it.
Not just in entering the room in seeing the man isn’t present, but taking food, selecting a table. Exchanging shallow banter with Harukawa and Momota like everything is exactly the same as it was before. Shuichi chews his way through a bowl of unseasoned rice pudding and scans the room again, as if Ouma would’ve suddenly materialised while he was lost in thought. This is not the case. And Shuichi is sure he shouldn’t be expecting anything different. Most likely, after the way that Ouma died, more or less alone and misunderstood, he won’t be taking any of his meals in company.
That feels wrong, somehow. It isn’t as if Ouma was ever their enemy. In the end, he died for a greater cause than any of them, with the intention of putting an end to the killing game. It might have worked, too, if Shuichi hadn’t charged blindly ahead—and it occurs to him now that Ouma must be learning about that now, the way that Shuichi foiled his plan, effectively rendering his sacrifice pointless. No wonder he isn’t joining them for breakfast. Shuichi wouldn’t want to look anyone in the face knowing that.
What had been bland pudding suddenly tastes sour and rancid, like drinking from a rain puddle. Shuichi pushes his bowl away.
Across the table, Akamatsu tilts her head to the side. She hooks her ankles around Shuichi’s and offers a gentle smile, the one he’d missed so much. He still misses it, even with her sitting right across from him. Meeting Akamatsu’s eyes makes his chest seize like he’s having an allergic reaction. He doesn’t look away, though.
“Everything okay?” Akamatsu mouths. Momota, next to her, is too distracted with whatever story he’s telling Harukawa to notice. Shuichi appreciates her discretion. He reaches around his bowl and extends his fingers, releases a breath when Akamatsu takes the cue and twines their pinkies together.
“Fine,” Shuichi says, because it is. Truly, this is more than he could have asked for. He clears his throat, though, because he doesn’t want to lie to Akamatsu so soon after losing her. “I just… have you seen Ouma-kun, since waking up?”
Akamatsu’s head tilts in the other direction, blonde hair sweeping off her shoulder. “Hmm… I think I did see him yesterday, in the big computer room…” Her index finger trails a path over Shuichi’s knuckles, her lower lip tugging between her teeth with thought. “We didn’t talk, though. I could never get a good read on that guy.”
“None of us could,” Shuichi offers. “Um—well, Momota-kun probably spent the most time with him, but other than that—”
“Oi!” Momota interjects, apparently having been listening after all. “Don’t put it like that, it sounds weird! Me and that jackass have nothing in common.” He deflates like a hot air balloon as soon as he’s gotten in his two cents, waving a hand at Shuichi’s apologetic smile. “I haven’t seen him around either, though. I let him know what happened with the plan and all that, since I figured I owed him as much… Didn’t get much of a reaction. Not gonna go looking if he wants to be alone.”
“Momota Kaito respecting someone’s space, how new,” Harukawa comments.
“Oi,” Momota says again, before breaking into a grin. “Listen, it’s not like that. Just don’t know if I’m… I mean, you can say what you want, Shuichi, but me and him in the exisal hangar was like a mutual hostage thing. You’re the one he was always prattlin’ on about.”
Shuichi rubs the side of his neck. He’s sure that isn’t true. Yes, they’d spent some time together before everything got so bad—Ouma had this way of sticking in his mind, not unlike a tick or a barnacle. He was mysterious, and mysterious was dangerous… More than that, if Shuichi is being truly honest with himself, he’d been intrigued by whatever it was Ouma had going on. It had kept him coming back to those ridiculous tea parties, despite repeated attempts on his life. The last time they hung out, Ouma had gotten reckless, prompting Shuichi to bandage his finger and give him a bit of a lecture.
After… Shuichi had walked away with the hope of a closer friendship. And then Ouma manipulated Gonta into killing Iruma.
“If he was doing any—prattling, that’s news to me,” Shuichi mutters. “But… I would like to talk to him, at least once. I owe him an apology for ruining his plan.”
“You don’t owe him anything,” Harukawa retorts, furrowing her brow.
“No, I do.” Shuichi shakes his head. “Regardless of the dangers, Ouma-kun sacrificed his life for that plan… I should apologise to you, too, Momota-kun. If I’d thought about it for a moment longer…”
Momota puts his hand up and shakes his head. “Why don’t you save that for him, huh? No good hero holds grudges. Besides…” He scrubs his hand through his hair, frowning. “I dunno. It was a good plan. Maybe would’ve worked too, but I couldn’t have ever risked you guys like that. That was all him. You put an end to it all eventually, yeah? Focus on that.”
The thing about Momota is that—as much as he wasn’t an awful liar, it’s easy to know when he’s being sincere. The lack of grand gesturing and that big heroic grin can tell you that much. Shuichi is relieved by the reassurance, but only slightly. Perhaps because Momota has a point, because there is only really one person who Shuichi can’t stop thinking about in this context, and it isn’t his friend.
“I… I’ll go find him later,” Shuichi says. “If he would even want that… You said you were leaving him alone, should I do the same?”
Akamatsu hums. She’s still loosely holding one of Shuichi’s hands, and squeezes it to remind him. “I think you should do whatever your gut tells you,” she suggests. “You have really good intuition, even if you don’t always want to trust it. I still have faith in your opinions, so if you think you should, then I do too.” She offers an encouraging smile. “Ouma-kun is one of our friends too, right? He deserves to be reached out to. If you want backup, I’ll wait outside the door and start knocking really urgently if something goes wrong. We can come up with a signal.”
Despite the topic, Shuichi can’t help but laugh. He doesn’t think it will be necessary, going to that length—but Akamatsu’s encouragement still means a lot. Means a lot, enough that he can feel his eyes going kind of misty, even though it isn’t about him. He squeezes her hand back and takes a breath, nods, sets his shoulders back to calm himself.
“I’ll have to figure out what I want to say, first,” Shuichi muses, “but in that case… I’d better go talk to him. I don’t want him to think he’s being avoided.”
I don’t want him to think he’s being avoided is what Shuichi tells his friends, and he means it, too. When he says it. It is also precisely what he ends up spending the next several days doing.
Not… consciously. Or rather, he is conscious of it, but it’s not like he ever wakes up in the morning with the intention of avoiding talking to Ouma. It would be easy to say that the days just get away from him, with all the therapy and time spent on other parts of their reintroduction to society, but truthfully… Shuichi is nervous.
It isn’t really anything Ouma did. Which—he did a lot, but Shuichi doesn’t feel the same trepidation about interacting with Toujou and Shinguuji, and they both betrayed the group for much less grounded or altruistic reasons. (Toujou was arguably altruistic, but Shuichi is less inclined to feel bad for her given how ugly her exit had been.) That may even be the reason why Shuichi hesitates. He truthfully knows very little about Ouma. His time in the game had been spent with the mask high up on his face, spouting lie after lie in the slow moments and continuing to stir the pot when the stakes were high.
He’d made his exit with the cameras off, with Momota as his only witness, and there is very little that Momota seems to be willing to say about it that he hasn’t already said. Shuichi also wouldn’t ask him to revisit those memories knowing how traumatic it must have been. Which leaves Shuichi…
Unsure, is perhaps the best word. He doesn’t know how to navigate this, or how Ouma will respond. He’d been predictable back then, and that had been a facade. And even that is only speculation. Perhaps, when Shuichi goes to talk to him, he’ll be the same as he always was.
In the evenings, when Shuichi’s opportunities to go find his former peer have passed him by and he has nothing to do but return to his room, he finds himself ruminating. For all of his avoidance, Ouma is never far from his thoughts. It would only be natural to dwell on the huge things Ouma did, the orchestration of Iruma’s murder and Gonta’s execution, his grand exit further down the line… but Shuichi, more often, ends up remembering those hangouts they had. The stories Ouma was always telling, the little bits of truth that seemed to be woven within them.
Ouma had always seemed enraptured whenever Shuichi had anything substantial to say. Which, outside of class trials and investigations, was not often. Shuichi second-guesses himself too much to speak frequently, but Ouma had always been fishing for it, had seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. Had almost seemed to hang off his words, like he was just waiting for the next piece of information that Shuichi would divulge about himself. Truthfully, next to such a bombastic individual as Ouma, Shuichi hadn’t felt like there was really very much to say. But Ouma hadn’t seemed to agree.
Shuichi had enjoyed that time together, is the weirdest thing about it. Ouma’s lies were tiresome to keep track of in the worst of moments, but at their best… It was like reading a mystery novel where the ending wasn’t decided from the moment you sat down. Always something new with Ouma, some new tall tale or game. And beneath that was this feeling like someone truly intelligent was listening to you, interested in you… and now Shuichi knows that Ouma, from the start, had been—
If not well-intentioned, then his heart was always in the right place. He hated the killing game just as Shuichi did. He’d made an appeal to him, too, back in the Neo World Program. Had Shuichi stayed to listen to his proposal, would things have turned out differently? Would it have been him who eventually lowered the press on his greatest what-if?
There is too much to think about, hence Shuichi’s avoidance. He tries not to shy away from the truth these days, but it’s hard when it’s so easy to keep busy. By the time they’ve reached a week out from the simulation, it feels borderline ridiculous to have waited this long. Any longer and Shuichi is sure he will come off as disingenuous; he should have tracked Ouma down from the start, as Momota did.
With that thought at the forefront of his mind, he skips breakfast with the intention of finding Ouma’s room instead. It isn’t difficult, either. Their rooms are organised in death order—which is morbid, but exactly what you’d expect of Team Danganronpa— so Shuichi is able to find Ouma’s door sandwiched between Gonta’s and Momota’s. Plain, nondescript. Nothing to identify it as Ouma’s except its physical location.
Last chance to back out, Shuichi supposes. He takes a breath, feels the butterflies flutter in his chest, and then releases it all at once through his teeth. Lifts a hand to knock, falters, then tightens his fist. He raps three times.
Ouma’s voice is muffled through the door. “Entrez!”
Shuichi does so, turning the knob and pushing in. Ouma’s room is identical to his own, but messier, with papers strewn about the floor and the bedsheets undone. Ouma himself is seated under the window with a breakfast tray at his feet, the food on it untouched save for the bowl of rice pudding, which has spilled over. Ouma has drawn a smiley face in it. He’s leaned back against the wall and looking bored, but when his eyes meet Shuichi’s, they widen slightly.
Then they return to their prior position, a mask of cool neutrality settling over his features. “Oh. It’s you.”
Shuichi swallows the instinctive urge to apologise upon receiving such a non-reaction. “Hello, Ouma-kun. Um… are you… busy?” Shuichi eyes the rice pudding again before looking back up.
“Oh, you know. The usual stuff. Meetings and showings. Honestly, I don’t have a ton of time to spare, but I’ll always pencil you in, Saihara-chan… or, something like that. That’s what I would have said before, right?”
Ouma’s more listless than Shuichi has ever seen him. He feels guilty about it, but it soothes his nerves somewhat. Momota and Akamatsu, the wonderful people they are, have more or less returned to the people Shuichi knew them as in the simulation. This is to be expected, but with everything that happened to them—a noticeable sadness, a new… subdued disposition, should only be natural too, right? Yet it’s like nothing ever happened at all. They’re so quick to dismiss Shuichi’s apologies as well, always acting like Shuichi has nothing to apologise for in the first place.
With how Ouma looks away from him, Shuichi gets the sense that he won’t be receiving that kind of reception here, and it truly is relieving. Shuichi inches further inside and shuts the door behind himself.
“I’ll make it quick, then,” Shuichi says quietly. “I just wanted to apologise to you, Ouma-kun. Um, I should have come to do so sooner, but I’ve been…” busy is what he means to say, a needed white lie, but instead when he opens his mouth again the truth comes out. “...Avoiding it. Um. I’m sorry. I just haven’t been sure what to expect, or whether you’d even want to see me—but I didn’t want you to think—I mean, I don’t know. I just, you were a member of the group too, so I figured… I ought to.”
Ouma’s eyes flit, briefly, in his direction. Then away again.
“I’m really not interested in your pity, Saihara-chan,” Ouma says, tipping his head back to gaze at the ceiling. “If you’re going to give me some Akamatsu-chan or Momota-chan speech about how I’m one of your friends and we should just move on, save it. There’s a whole lot of reasons why we should hate each other’s guts. That’s not always a bad thing, you know.”
“I don’t hate you,” Shuichi blurts. He presses his hand against his forehead after—not because it isn’t true, but because it isn’t exactly what he’d planned to lead with. By starting with it, he’s implying that he should, or that there’d be a reason for him to. And there is, and Shuichi doesn’t have any intention of deluding either of them about that—but he doesn’t need to come in here acting like he’s doing Ouma a favour by showing up. He clears his throat. “I don’t… I really do not hate you, Ouma-kun. And I don’t pity you either. I understand that—it must seem that way, for me to come here now, but could I ask that you… just listen to me for a moment, before assuming where I’m coming from?”
That pulls Ouma’s gaze back to his face, this time without staying. “...That’s fair enough.”
“Okay.” Shuichi exhales. He opens his mouth, closes it, then takes a seat. Folds his legs under himself and wrings his hands. They make for a decent place to focus his eyes. “I… misunderstood you. Of course, I believe that was your intention, so I haven’t been… There is only so much culpability that I or anyone else can have in believing the lies you told on purpose, even if there was always… who I feel was a good person behind those lies. Or—perhaps I misunderstood that, too, in trying to pretend like you and the lies you told were separate entities, as if the fact that you lied at all was a bad thing. I’m—still trying to make sense of it, in the wake of everything that’s happened. What I mean is… I think that I believed what you wanted me to, but I still feel badly about it, because you were on my side.”
Ouma doesn’t interject. It feels unusual for him, but when Shuichi thinks about it, it was never really Ouma’s thing, cutting in when someone has something substantial to say. He was very talkative, very sociable. But when it came down to it, he listened to the important parts. He paid attention. Shuichi squeezes his own fingers, presses his nails into his palms.
“I would have wanted to help you, if I’d known,” Shuichi continues. “Not to say that you would have needed or wanted my help, or that you were someone that was—pitiful, or in need of saving. I truthfully couldn’t find the opposite to be more true. You understood the game more than any of us did, and faster, too… Certainly, faster than I did. If I’d had even a little bit of the clarity that you did, if I’d just paid attention, I could have… well, I don’t know. I’m trying not to dwell on that either. But I just—I would have wanted to help you. I would have wanted to stand by your side, because the plan you made was—it was a good plan, and you did a really, really unbelievably good thing—and that doesn’t undo the harm that you did and I don’t think that was your intention in the first place, but I just want you to know—I’m so sorry for… ruining that. For being the reason why it failed. And I wanted you to know I would have tried to help, if I hadn’t been so stupidly shortsighted.”
Shuichi takes in a breath at the tail end of his apology. It’s a little hard to breathe—he doesn’t think he’s panicking, but there’s so much he wants and has wanted to say to Ouma, it suddenly feels like he won’t ever have enough time. He most definitely will not have enough time like this, where Ouma is just listening to him. Shuichi swallows thickly before he keeps going.
“I don’t come here because I want to pretend like nothing happened, or that people haven’t been hurt by what you did, or because—I do believe you are a member of the group, no matter what. But when Akamatsu-san says that regardless, you’re one of our friends, I can understand why it comes off as… I can understand why that might not be what you want to hear after everything that happened. I just mean to say… I think that I did wrong by you too, and that I could have been better, and I wasn’t… and as a result, you died painfully, and then even after that, I still didn’t catch on until it was too late.” Shuichi unwinds his fingers. They’re pale at the knuckles and pink at the tips with how hard he’s been squeezing them. “So… I’m sorry, Ouma-kun. You don’t have to forgive me, but I just wanted you to know.”
When he’s done, Shuichi finally sneaks a look up at Ouma’s face. He’s bad at apologies, not just because he rambles, but because he gets so in his own head about it. He’s not just overthinking the words themselves, but the reactions to them, how it might come across if he says one thing or another. His own guilt and self-loathing tend to leak in despite his best efforts, and then he finds himself overthinking that too. It’s just a miserable mess. That he didn’t even look at Ouma once through the whole spiel must have come across as terribly insincere, and Shuichi is half-tempted to apologise for that as well, but he stops when he sees the face Ouma is making.
He doesn’t look… upset. That blank look is still there, but softer now somehow, like he’s genuinely surprised. His eyes are a little wide, his lips parted. No creases or inclination, but on Ouma’s face…
“I’m—” Shuichi bites his tongue, mulls over what he wants to say. “Um, I can, ah, go, if you want some space to—”
“It’s fine,” Ouma says, before he can finish. “I just… wasn’t expecting that, Saihara-chan.”
Shuichi looks down at his hands again. “Well, me either,” he offers. “I mean, in those words exactly. I had a whole speech planned.”
“I’m sure you did.” At this, Ouma lets out a light chuckle, prompting Shuichi to look back at his face, the little smile on it. “You know, you don’t have to apologise to me for foiling the plan. You were my biggest obstacle in the first place, so I figured you probably wouldn’t be tricked. It was just a matter of whether you figured out what I was trying to do before it was too late, and if I’m honest… I dunno that I thought Momota-chan would be the guy to communicate that information. That’s why I wanted you as my partner.”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t realise,” Shuichi mutters. “I would have said yes, if I’d understood.”
“If you really wanna blame yourself for suspecting the suspicious guy, feel free.” Ouma rolls his eyes. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t suck, Saihara-chan. It’s not just the plan either, but everything else. Being in this place and playing along like they’re helping me with their therapists and nurses… and every time I want to tell a lie or lash out I remember they programmed me to do that. So no matter what I do, I’m playing their game. Really stinks, doesn’t it?”
“Ouma-kun…” Shuichi furrows his brow.
“But hey, maybe the solitude was just making me go a little stir-crazy. It already feels dumb thinking about in retrospect, since I can still get saps like Saihara-chan to pour their hearts out to me.” Ouma grins. “It was what I wanted to happen, so I never felt any sort of way about it, but the worst part of that plan was knowing Saihara-chan hated me. I’m kinda relieved to hear you don’t anymore.”
“I… didn’t hate you,” Shuichi says cautiously. “Even back then, I…”
He can still taste the words; they’d burned a little on the way out. You’re alone. You always will be. It had been his honest feeling at the time, but even in that moment, he’d been more disappointed and confused than hateful. Angry, but in large part because Ouma’s actions hadn’t made any sense. Ouma in their third trial had been contradictory and at times annoying, but never malicious. He pushed Yumeno into expressing her feelings. He got so excited to show off his lockpicking talent. The person Shuichi knew, or thought he knew, wasn’t the type who would orchestrate a murder.
“I couldn’t figure out what you were doing, which only made me angrier,” Shuichi explains. “In retrospect… What you did was still wrong, but I can understand what you were trying to do. And in a way, I think being willing to sacrifice what you were willing to sacrifice… I think you were the only reason I was able to put an end to it at all.”
“You do like to give credit to others for your accomplishments, don’t you? You’ve always been that way.” Ouma tilts his head to the side. “Or maybe that’s just how they wrote you.”
Shuichi shrugs. “I’m… trying not to dwell on that. However they wrote me, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m thinking and feeling, that I’ve experienced so many things that have shaped the person that I am now. You made an honest attempt at doing the right thing and got closer than almost anyone else. I’ve been… missing you, this week, because nobody else is better at making sense of the things that are confusing and painful. And I think that really is you, Ouma-kun. Not them.”
The bit of mirth that had been sparkling in Ouma’s eyes diminishes at that. He glances away. “Like I said… you really do give me too much credit, Saihara-chan.”
“We’ll agree to disagree.” Shuichi hesitates, then reaches out. He brushes his fingers over Ouma’s wrist. It’s warmer than he expects it to be, a touch thinner than Saihara’s own. “I’ll… leave you to your own devices now, Ouma-kun. I’m sure you want time to think. Just… you don’t have to be alone, anymore. I know what I said back then, and it… wasn’t true. If it’s ever something you want, something you think you might need… We’re all alive now, so. It’s the perfect opportunity to give friendship a second shot.”
When Ouma doesn’t reply, Shuichi draws back and gets to his feet. He turns to leave, his throat sort of dry, feeling simultaneously elated and deeply embarrassed, like he said all the wrong things in one go. Behind him, Shuichi hears Ouma shuffling, but only looks when he hears the man speak.
“Saihara, wait.”
Shuichi pauses with his hand on the door handle, meets Ouma’s eyes. Just like before, there is no trace of a smile on that face—but this time his eyes are a little tight, as if he might be about to cry.
“You mean it,” Ouma whispers. “All of it.”
“Of course I do,” Shuichi responds, matching his volume. “When have you ever fallen for one of my lies, Ouma-kun?”
Ouma’s lip twitches, threatening a smile. In the end, his expression stays the same. He slumps back against the wall and nods, and Shuichi takes that as his cue to leave.
The rest of the day passes without incident. Physical therapy alone is enough to get Shuichi’s mind off of it, though like before, his thoughts continue to veer back to Ouma, now with nothing specific to dwell on. Just idle curiosities as to what he might be doing, how he might be feeling. If this is it, and Shuichi’s said his piece, and it’s over now.
Breakfast arrives, though, and with it a new menu item. Shuichi is trying to decide if he’s desperate enough for variety to trust the cafeteria eggs—as good as the french toast looks—when he happens to glance over to the double doors, right in time to watch them open.
Ouma stands there in the doorway, looking a bit out of depth for a moment before their eyes meet. When they do, Shuichi can’t help but burst into an instinctive smile. Ouma only raises an eyebrow, like he thinks Shuichi is being ridiculous. Uncaring, and french toast forgotten, Shuichi jogs across the room to meet him, coming to a stop when they’re about a foot apart.
For how much of a presence he’d been in the game, Ouma really is diminutive in person. He has bags under his eyes, too, and his hair is tied out of his face, which somehow only adds to the effect. Shuichi offers another, more normal smile, and watches Ouma tilt his head to the side.
“Hi,” Shuichi greets. “Here for—um. Breakfast?”
Ouma’s eyebrow raises higher. “Is there something else I would be here for?”
“Well, ah—no. I just—” Shuichi bites his lip. Can’t help grinning around it. “Sorry. I’m surprised—no. Happy to see you.”
“Hmph. You’re as corny as your dumb friends.” Ouma hesitates only a moment before looping his arm through Shuichi’s, pressing in with his cheek against Shuichi’s upper arm. “Well? Better show me the ropes, Saihara-chan. I’m pretty hungry.”
“Ah, alright.” Shuichi swallows past the sudden rush of butterflies back in his stomach, wheels them around slowly to face the buffet. “I wasn’t sure about the french toast, it looks good, but on the other hand…”
Shuichi is mostly rambling, and about nothing particularly important at that. Ouma seems content to keep listening though, his gaze solely on Shuichi, even as Shuichi gestures over at various buffet items.
It’s… alright. A start, even, for all it makes Shuichi’s stomach feel like it’s doing somersaults.
Weirdly, he can’t call even that feeling a bad one.