Chapter Text
Shuichi Saihara had always preferred things to be straightforward. He liked quiet, predictable spaces where he could focus and think—no surprises, no interruptions. Which made working at Angie Yonaga’s paint shop a little… well, loud.
The walls were cluttered with random splashes of color, unfinished canvases, and drying paint splotches that made it look like an artist had exploded inside the store. The smell of fresh paint was thick in the air, and the overhead lights buzzed constantly.
Angie was always full of energy, darting around the shop with enthusiasm that was sometimes a bit much for Shuichi’s quiet nature. But it was good money. He was learning a lot about paint (more than he’d ever expected to care about) and, of course, Angie had offered him a good deal. She promised to pay him a little extra if he could pick up some of the managerial tasks around the shop and learn more about the business.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it worked.
“Shuichi!” Angie called from the far side of the store, where she was working on an abstract piece that could have only made sense to her. “Can you grab me the greenish-yellow from the second shelf, please?”
“Greenish-yellow?” he repeated. “Err.. which one is that?”
“You know! It’s the one! The one that looks like a weird mango but not a weird mango!” She called back, her voice nearly drowned out by the blaring music coming from a nearby speaker.
He shook his head, half-smiling as he turned to search the shelves. The request was typical. He was used to her eccentric ways by now, but sometimes her artistic vision left him guessing.
As he walked down the aisles, sorting through cans of paint, he heard the doorbell chime. He didn’t think much of it at first—customers came and went, many of them buying random supplies for home projects, some just browsing—but then he caught sight of someone standing in the doorway, hesitating for a moment as though unsure if they’d come to the right place.
Shuichi didn’t recognize him at first—somewhat short, slender, wearing an odd mix of a patchworked sport jacket and ripped jeans, and sporting a set of mismatched shoes that looked like they’d been bought at the last minute. The man had dark hair, messy in a way that suggested it was intentionally styled that way, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of large, round glasses that screamed “I’m doing this ironically.”
“Hello, can I help you?” Shuichi asked, walking back toward the counter, feeling a little awkward. He was used to customers coming in and asking for specific colors or tools, but the person standing before him was off.
There was something… offbeat about him?
The man looked at him for a moment before grinning, like he was trying to decide whether to answer seriously or not.
“Yeah, I guess so,” the man said, his voice light. He didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. “I’m looking for some paint. You know, just… some random stuff for a friend of mine.”
Shuichi raised an eyebrow, glancing over the person’s outfit. “Just… for a friend? Not a specific project?”
He nodded, unfazed. “Yeah. A friend who, uh, wants to do things. You know, the kind of things that require… art.” His voice dropped slightly as if the word had some special, hidden meaning.
“Okay…sure…” he responded, trying to follow the strange logic of the conversation. “What kind of colors are you thinking of?”
The man paused, then shrugged casually. “I dunno. Whatever makes it look like I’m doing something productive. You know, give off that impression.”
Shuichi blinked, feeling like he was being led into some kind of joke. “Uh, okay…” He looked toward Angie, who was still absorbed in her own work. “Well, we have a few colors that could fit that description. I could show you the basics if you want.”
The man glanced over at the shelves. “You seem like you know your stuff. I’m sure you could pick out something good. I’m just here to get the job done.”
Shuichi wasn’t sure what to make of him. There was something a little too casual about the guy’s tone, but it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was almost refreshing. He had a kind of blunt honesty (that sounded like a strategic lie) that was strangely endearing, even if it made Saihara feel slightly more off-kilter than usual.
“Alright, follow me, then,” Shuichi said, gesturing toward the shelves. “We have a range of colors, and I’m sure we’ll find something that works for you.”
He felt somewhat stiff as he nodded to him to follow, walking towards the opposite side of the store and pulling out a few papers. Angie always had a strange way of finding the perfect shades for customers, he knows this now, but with the way the man behind him just… watches felt like he was putting on a last-minute show.
He tried his best to ignore the feeling of eyes on his back as he pulled out the color charts from the drawer.
The man behind him hadn’t said much since their brief exchange, and yet, there was an undeniable presence that seemed to fill the air. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, just… odd. Like a fly in the room that was too still to swat.
As he sorted through the sheets, the man spoke again. “You know, I bet you’re one of those people who’s really good at figuring out what people need without asking, right?”
Shuichi glanced over his shoulder, meeting the stranger’s eyes. They were looking at him now, not in a judgmental way, but more like he was watching a fascinating experiment unfold. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it. The man was calm, sure, but there was something in his gaze that made Shuichi feel like he was under some weirdly polite kind of scrutiny.
“Yes, well, I guess I’ve been working here long enough to get the hang of it,” he replied, offering an awkward smile. He moved his hand over the color samples, trying to distract himself by focusing on the task. “Angie’s really into finding the perfect match, so I’ve learned a bit from her.”
The man hummed in response, stepping closer, inspecting the colors with exaggerated seriousness. “Ah. So you’re saying this whole paint thing isn’t just, like, a front for some wild, underground art scene?”
Shuichi froze for a second. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the question. His eyes slowly gilded towards the side, eyeing the man next to him. “What?”
He shrugged, his grin growing wider. “You know, like some sort of secret society of elite artists who, when they’re not at work, are making… real art in some dusty warehouse somewhere? Maybe painting on walls, or… I dunno.. building something?”
He blinked, trying to wrap his head around the bizarre scenario the man was painting (no pun intended).
“I don’t… I don’t think that’s what happens here,” Shuichi said slowly, glancing back at the paint charts with a sheepish smile. “It’s just a regular shop, really.”
The man seemed to think about this for a moment, tapping his chin with a finger, as though pondering the possibility of a secret underground paint cult. Then, he grinned again, clearly amused with himself. “A shame. I was really hoping for an invitation to some hidden art gathering. Maybe next time, huh?”
Shuichi let out a small, breathy laugh, his shoulders loosening up a bit. He wasn’t sure why this guy was so weird, but there was something charming about how easily he seemed to switch between being serious and joking around.
“Right, next time,” he replied, now feeling a little more at ease. “But, uh, for now, do you want to look at some of the colors I’ve got set up now? I mean, it’s the least I can do after you’ve already piqued my interest in underground paint societies.”
The man chuckled, leaning casually against the shelf with a relaxed, almost theatrical posture. “You know, you’re more fun than I thought you’d be,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Didn’t expect you to go along with the joke. Most people would’ve gotten weirded out by now.”
Shuichi shrugged, a bit flustered. “I guess I’m used to Angie’s weirdness. This is nothing compared to the things I’ve heard.”
The other raised an eyebrow. “Angie, huh? You guys work well together then. She’s got that ‘artist in the clouds’ thing going on, doesn’t she? And you’re the one who keeps everything grounded?”
Shuichi couldn’t help but smile a little again. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but yeah. She’s… well, herself.”
The man seemed to appreciate this, his smile turning into a softer grin as he leaned back against the shelves. “She sounds like someone I’d get along with,” he said, eyes flickering over to the display of paints. “Anyway, back to business. How about this one?”
He reached forward, pointing to a deep blue shade that looked almost identical to the color of a clouded sky right before sunset.
Shuichi looked at the shade, then back at the man. He couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “I think you might be looking for something a bit lighter than that. This one’s more of a stormy sky kind of vibe.”
The man leaned in closer, inspecting it with a mock serious expression, like he was studying an ancient relic. “Hmm… Stormy, you say? Yeah, I think that’s about right. I do want my friend to feel like they’re caught in a little storm… Not too much though. Gotta leave room for the sunshine, right?”
Shuichi smiled, despite himself. There was something about this person’s energy, his blunt humor, that made everything feel a little less rigid.
He hadn’t expected someone so unpredictable, but in a way, it was very refreshing. Very much appreciated.
“Well, we could always look for something that feels a little more sunny, if you’re aiming for balance,” Shuichi suggested, scanning the shelves again. “Maybe something with a warmer undertone?”
The man shrugs, scrunching his nose. “You’re the expert here, I trust your judgment!”
Shuichi shuffled through the paint swatches, trying to focus, but the man beside him wasn’t making it easy.
“Must be kind of suffocating, huh?”
He glanced up, thrown off by the sudden statement. “Hm?”
The man gestured vaguely at the shelves surrounding them, rows and rows of carefully labeled colors. “Just, you know… being surrounded by all this.” His voice dropped into something almost conspiratorial. “You stare at paint all day, and eventually, the paint starts staring back. Do you ever feel like they’re watching you?”
Shuichi blinked. “No?”
The man sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Man. Would’ve been more interesting if you said yes.”
Shuichi wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He was still caught up on how casual this guy was, like they were already familiar. He didn’t seem like the type to care much for personal space, either—leaning just a little too close as he eyed the swatches in his hands.
“Alright, expert,” the man continued. “Pick for me. Something nice. Something that says, ‘Wow, what an amazing guy, he has such excellent taste in color’—but also—‘I respect his artistic vision and would never question his decisions in life.’”
Shuichi adjusted his grip on the swatches, thrown off by how seriously the request was phrased despite the obvious exaggeration. “That’s… a pretty specific vibe.”
“I know, right?” The man grinned. “Hope you’re up for the challenge.”
He hesitated, then handed him a few shades. “These have warm undertones. They’d probably work well for whatever you’re planning.”
The man accepted them with an exaggerated nod. “Sounds inviting. Or vaguely threatening. I like it.”
Saihara wasn’t sure what to do with that statement, so he chose to ignore it. He watched as the man lifted his comically large glasses—finally—and perched them on top of his head. And that’s when he found himself staring.
He didn’t mean to, but it was almost instinctive. Without the ridiculous lenses in the way, the man’s eyes were… striking. A vivid violet that seemed too sharp, too full of something unreadable.
He realized he was staring a second too late, quickly looking away and clearing his throat. “Do you, uh… need anything else?”
The man studied him for a beat before casually extending a hand. “Ouma.”
Shuichi blinked again. “What?”
“My name,” he clarified, smirking. “Ouma. Figured if I’m gonna have an expert personally selecting my paint, we should at least be properly introduced.”
He hesitated before taking his hand in a brief shake. “Saihara Shuichi,” he offered in return.
Ouma hummed, as if testing how the name sounded in his head. “Sai-ha-ra,” he repeated slowly, dragging out the syllables like he was committing it to memory.
Shuichi pulled his hand back, unsure what else to say.
“So, Saihara-kun, be honest,” Ouma continued, tilting his head. “How often do you get customers coming in here with zero idea of what they actually want?”
Shuichi gave him a look. “Considering how you just asked me to pick your paint for you… I’d say very often.”
He burst into laughter, clearly unbothered by the callout. “Okay, fair! But hey, you handled it like a pro. I think I’ll survive.”
Shuichi exhaled, somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. There was something about his energy that was both exhausting and weirdly easy to fall into step with.
“By the way,” Ouma added, glancing around the store. “You’re the only one working right now, right? No boss breathing down your neck?”
“Angie’s in the back,” Shuichi said. “She gives me space when things are slow.”
Ouma raised an eyebrow. “Sounds chill.”
Shuichi shrugged. “She is. In her own way.”
The other smirked like he was going to press for details, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he gave a lazy salute with the paint swatches. “Well, thanks for indulging my total lack of decision-making skills, Saihara-kun. I’ll make sure to tell my friend it was all you if they end up hating the color.”
Shuichi crossed his arms. “That’s not very reassuring.”
“Shouldn’t be,” Ouma said cheerfully, before casually making his way toward the register.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Something told him this wasn’t the last he’d see of him.
And for some reason, that thought made his stomach do something weird.