Chapter Text
The first thing Saihara registers is the thick stench of blood. It’s much more familiar than he wished. But of course it was, after two trials, two executions, and two bodies he had just finished examining.
…But- this is—
Ouma is lying down in front of him, his white clothes creating a stark, sickening juxtaposition with the puddle of red blood spilling all over the floor. For a moment, all Saihara can hear is the sound of faint ringing digging into his ears. He barely registers Harukawa going stiff beside him.
Saihara couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Ouma has always come off as so… infallible, with his dark eyes, gleeful voice, and the plastered, permanent smile resting on his mouth with every death and every execution. He acted like he was above everyone else. And sure- it’s not like Saihara liked him- but to see him… see him like this… dead—
Then he catches Ouma’s finger twitch. Saihara’s pounding heartbeat stutters with relief as Ouma raises his head, his eyes cracking open amongst the blood dripping down his face. He grins, and Saihara never thought he’d feel something like reassurance when seeing it.
Ouma pulls himself up, stumbling on shaky knees. “Nishishishi~ did I surprise you?” he asks, still grinning. “Were you gonna scream and cry in terror, huh?”
It’s clearly meant to be mocking, but Saihara can’t find it in himself to let the typical annoyance that usually plagued him when he talked with Ouma take over. “Wh-What are you doing?” he croaks out in response. Next to him, Harukawa relaxes just a smidge as she rolls her eyes.
“I suppose you must think this is funny,” she spits, and for a second Ouma looks like he’s going to reply. But then his eyes waver, and Saihara notices how… wobbly he’s standing.
“...Oh, sorry,” Ouma says. His grin does not falter, but his voice is strained. “I- I’m just a little light-headed from the blood loss. Yeah, this is real blood…”
Saihara stares. “Ouma-kun? What happened?”
He’s trying to talk like his injury isn’t a big deal. I would believe him, but… the physical signs tell me otherwise. Does he have a concussion?
Ouma answers quickly, and his voice sounds almost normal again. “I got curious about something, so I decided to search the empty room next door. Then suddenly… I stepped through a floorboard.”
Methodical. A perfectly reasonable explanation, Saihara thinks, and a part of his brain immediately kicks into gear. So, the floorboards are loose here too… that sounds important.
“You stepped through a floorboard?” he asks.
“Yeah. Geez, it got me good,” Ouma giggles, and a drop of blood drips down his chin and soaks into his scarf. “...Cuz of that, I- I tripped, and fell pretty hard. But it’s no biggie.”
Harukawa presses her lips to a flat line. “If you’re going to lose consciousness, do it after you tell us everything.”
“Nishishi… it surprises me, Harukawa-chan, that you would think that. I thought you were good enough at your job so that your victims would be killed right away, instead of s-succumbing to injuries…”
Harukawa’s eyes flash. “You—”
“Wait, don’t,” Saihara interrupts. I can’t let her be provoked by Ouma-kun like that, not when I need more information to find the truth.
“Don’t antagonize her,” he addresses Ouma. “Can you just explain, Ouma-kun? We’ll leave when you do.”
Those dark, unreadable eyes land on him again. There’s a pause- short, barely noticeable- before Ouma responds.
“O-Oh sorry, my bad…” he manages. Despite how his voice is getting shaky again, his usual confidence shines through and hides twitching vowels and struggling words. “I guess- there was no crosspiece supporting this floorboard, so I kinda… stepped through… A-haha, what bad luck…”
The crosspiece was gone? Does that mean— the logical part of Saihara immediately begins to theorize, but some other part stutters, dragging his attention to Ouma’s hunched posture, bloody face, even as the smile on his face remains as plastered as ever. But before Saihara can do anything, the sound of the school bell brings his thoughts to a halt. Monokuma’s voice echoes from the speaker above them, droning about a trial.
Harukawa sighs. “I guess time’s up.”
“Aw maaan, because of you guys I didn’t even have enough time to check something,” Ouma whines in that familiar, frustrating way of his.
“What were you trying to check?” Saihara asks.
“I wanted to research the seance again, so I brought this document with me,” Ouma replies as he pulls it out, being noticeably careful to prevent any stray droplets of blood from tainting it. “But unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything new that could be used as a clue. Shinguji-chan perfectly reenacted the seance as what was described in here. He drew his magic circle in the exact same way as in this picture. N-not only that, he used the exact same tools, too. There’s n-nothing s-suspicious about this whole thing… Well, I wanted to check the finer details, but…” Ouma pauses with a swallow before continuing, words going from shaky to slurred. The document slips from his hand. “I-I’ll tell you about it later… a-at the… class trial…so…see ya- ya there…”
He really doesn’t look okay, Saihara thinks even as the rest of him is rapidly absorbing the new information. He purses his lips as Ouma turns to leave, stumbling along the way—
“Wait,” slips past him before he can stop the word. “I’ll come with you.”
Harukawa blinks, clearly surprised. “What?”
Ouma pauses as he tilts his head at Saihara. “Eh? Why?" Then he giggles, again. “You gon- gonna kill me, or something?”
“What- no, don’t joke about that,” Saihara frowns as he steps away from Harukawa to Ouma. Ouma wavers, like he wants to lean against Saihara before quickly stopping himself.
“We should go to the infirmary… well, that might be too far away, but- the restroom at least, to get you patched up.” Saihara explains hurriedly. “You’re still bleeding, you know.”
Ouma blinks at him, and then his grin widens. “Nishishi… you’re so sweet, Saihara-chan~! Man, I can’t even be mad at you if you do kill me n-now…”
Harukawa furrows her brow as Ouma seems to accept this turn of events and allows Saihara to support him. “...I don’t know if I’m comfortable with leaving you here with him, Saihara-kun. Especially alone.”
The implications behind her statement are as clear as ever. Yonaga and Chabashira are both dead, and out of the remaining students, Ouma was the farthest one from trustworthy. But right now, something tells Saihara that he wasn’t in any danger by doing this. It’s not like someone could fake bleeding from the head, and he really doubted Ouma could trick him into thinking he was more injured than he was by stumbling and slurring and whatnot. While it’s true that just like everyone else, Saihara wasn’t immune to Ouma’s lies, when it came to this sort of thing…
Ouma’s dark eyes close, and take an abnormal amount of time to reopen. “Y-yeah. I’ll definitely murder Sai-Saihara-chan… like this… totally. I mean, I’m so strong, and- and definitely not short, and definitely not- bleeding...”
He trails off, giggles a little, and presses his face into Saihara’s arm. Saihara sighs as he feels the warm blood stain his sleeve. He’ll have to wash his clothes later.
Harukawa frowns, then sighs. “Okay, fine. He’s all yours. Do what you want.”
With that, she turns and leaves, almost a little too quick. Though considering what transpired shortly after Tojo’s execution, that was to be expected.
“Let’s go,” Saihara declares. He pushes the memory of Harukawa’s fingernails digging into Ouma’s neck as they head to the nearest restroom. Ouma limply holds onto his arm as they walk, and for once he doesn’t try to make any insensitive jokes or whiny insults or anything. Judging by how concerningly labored his breath was getting though, Saihara isn’t surprised.
They reach the restroom after a few minutes. Saihara sets Ouma down on the toilet lid, and in the back of his mind he thinks of how embarrassing this situation would be if Ouma was fully lucid. The amount of innuendos… he’s almost glad the other was in a state like this, where staying quiet was more preferable to mocking him.
Then Ouma winces as he hunches over, and more blood spills onto his uniform. Saihara changes his mind. There’s nothing to be “almost glad” about right now.
Without speaking, he takes off Ouma’s scarf and turns on the sink to dampen it. Then he kneels to dab at Ouma’s face and cleans the prevalent blood. Ouma’s rigid shoulders slump a little as Saihara wipes his chin. His knuckles go white as Saihara carefully swipes at his forehead, where the wound is.
Saihara swallows. It’s silent. So silent, that for a second, he forgets just who he was tending to— the two-faced liar who manipulated Gokuhara, rolled his eyes at Akamatsu’s limp, hanging body, who mocked them, toyed with them, and did whatever he wanted without any care for anyone.
Ouma is quick to remind him though. “Nishishi, Saihara-chan is cleaning me up~” he sings quietly, and even swings his legs like a little kid. “If it wasn’t for how you acted during the last two trials, I’d have p-pegged you for a brainless, naive idiot like Gokuhara-chan…”
Immediately, the sense of peace Saihara had felt from that silence dies. He frowns.
“Gokuhara-kun sees you as a friend, you know. Despite everything. Don’t talk about him like that,” Saihara says, feeling vaguely like he’s scolding a child. Ouma giggles.
“That’s- not… my fault. I never asked that freak to be friends with me,” he replies, the cheerful, cheeky expression on his face contrasting sharply with his words. Saihara stills from where he’s cleaning Ouma’s wound. “Oh- you know what the biggest twist of the century would be? If Gokuhara-chan ended up killing someone!” Dark, purple eyes glimmer, and Saihara’s jaw tightens. “Of course, I don’t think he killed this time… but next time… oh, what if he ends u-up killing Harukawa-chan, or Momota-chan—”
Ouma cuts himself off with a “shit” as Saihara accidentally digs at his wound with the scarf. Saihara blinks. Oh—
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Saihara apologizes quickly. What was he doing, getting riled up like this? No matter how infuriating Ouma could be, he was bleeding from the head, and- and…
The memory of Ouma lying collapsed on the floor returns to Saihara’s mind, and dread stirs in his chest. His throat feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Slowly, he cradles Ouma’s face as he cleans the last of the blood, with more tenderness than before. Ouma’s shallow breath skitters across his fingers.
“It’s no fun when you’re all serious like this,” he whines, high-pitched and grating, but Saihara doesn’t even spare him a glance, much less a reply. Something tells him there’s no point in getting mad right now, no matter how provocative Ouma could be.
Provocative. He’s doing it on purpose. But why…?
“Seriously, you’re acting gloomy a-again, just like when we were being forced to watch a whole eight hours of Akamatsu-chan getting executed. That sure was boring.”
Familiar anger rouses in Saihara, but he ignores it in favor of letting the analytical part of his brain spin through the mystery that was Ouma. That, and it’s also pretty difficult to be mad at someone when their blood is coating your hands.
“Saihara-chan, are you ignoring me? Saihara-chan, Saihara-chan, Saihara—”
“You sound healthier already,” Saihara says softly. He lifts the scarf and begins to wrap it over Ouma’s injury. Ouma’s eyes widen just a little at the tone of Saihara’s voice before narrowing.
Then he smiles, all wide and threatening and in a manner that Saihara had seen countless times before. “Great! Now I can kill you, and have a real shot this time!”
Saihara stares.
“But of course, I’m lying, since I’m a liar—”
“Why do you keep trying to make me upset?”
The question spills from his lips before Saihara can reign it back in. Ouma’s grin doesn’t falter, and his posture is relaxed, but at this short of a distance Saihara can just barely see something deeper in dark eyes.
Then that something hides away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my beloved Saihara-chan~,” Ouma cooes, and it’s such a blatant lie Saihara wants to throttle him a little. But as always, he doesn’t.
“Yes, you do,” he says instead.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes you—”
Saihara pauses. If he kept going, they would be doing this forever, wouldn’t they.
Ouma smirks, seemingly reading Saihara’s thought process. “So? Are we done now, or are you gonna keep pitying me some more, Saihara-chan~~?”
That wording…
“I wasn’t pitying you,” Saihara says, feeling a little insulted.
Ouma rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”
Saihara should’ve dropped it then, but he doesn’t. “I’m being serious. I wasn’t.”
“Sure,” Ouma says dismissively.
Something in Saihara’s chest twists. “…Is it really so hard to believe that I care about you?”
For a heartbeat, there’s silence. But when Ouma responds, his voice is as casual and curated and blasé as ever.
“Can we get to the trial already? Or are you gonna keep wasting both of our time with pointless questions, Saihara-chan?”
“…”
Saihara feels annoyance sting at him, as it always did when it comes to Ouma, but he refuses to indulge in it. Because, when they're in a situation like this…
When something is still lingering in Ouma’s masked expression and pulling at the threads of Saihara’s mind. Right now, Ouma isn’t the bratty, confident sort of prick Saihara had long since seen him as. No, he resembles more of a puzzle. A stranger wrapped up in infinite layers, countless masks, and changing voices.
Saihara thinks back to when he had brought Ouma to the restroom, and how Ouma had been quiet and leaned onto him for support. How pale his face was, and how the pain had washed away his mask, if only for a second or two.
A puzzle, but still a human.
Saihara wonders if he would’ve ever thought about Ouma like this if he hadn’t offered to escort him to the restroom and spent the time to clean him up. Probably not. But that was in some other timeline and not this one. This Ouma is sitting in front of him in a dingy restroom on the lid of a toilet, and Saihara’s sleeve is still stained with his blood.
“…Helloooo? Saihara-chan?”
But Saihara’s still too wrapped up in his thoughts to hear him.
Why am I even wondering about Ouma-kun like this? He’s a liar, a manipulator, and no one besides maybe Gokuhara-kun even likes him. But then, why do I have a feeling it isn't as simple as that? Why…
Even after all this time together, he’s still a stranger. Who is he really?
What is the truth?
“Saihara-chan~?” Ouma’s hand waves in front of Saihara’s face, effectively snapping him out of his stupor. Ouma giggles. “Wow, your face went superrrr scary there. You were looking at me like I was a dead body, or evidence, or something…”
“Oh. Um, sorry,” Saihara responds sheepishly. “I was just…”
Then his voice fails him. He doesn’t know what to say. How does one confess to seeing another like they were something to solve? Would Ouma get upset? Saihara really wasn’t in the mood to see those crocodile tears again.
But, luckily, Monokuma’s voice rings through the speakers and shatters the awkwardness that had found itself in the air.
“Saihara-kun and Ouma-kun! Report to the trial grounds, right now! Don’t make me repeat myself, or else!!”
Right.
“You were right, we should go,” Saihara says. Ouma grins at him and stands up. His legs are still a little wobbly.
Saihara offers him his arm. “Do you need help? I can—”
“Oh, you’re too kind, Saihara-chan,” Ouma croons a little too sweetly. “But I’m all good. ‘Sides, we don’t want to ruin that lovely Ultimate Detective reputation of yours now, do we?”
“I don’t care about stuff like—”
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Ouma interrupts and walks off, legs still twitching a little. Saihara reluctantly follows him. Their steps echo through the silent corridor, which predictably does not stay silent for very long.
“Sooo, who do ya think killed ‘em?” Ouma asks. “Do you have any ideas~?”
“…We can talk about that during the trial.”
“Nishishi… so professional. But tell me- you’ve gotta tell me this at least; do you think I’m the culprit? Or one of them?"
Saihara blinks, a tad caught off guard. He wasn’t expecting that kind of question.
“…No.”
“Why’s that? While I was not a part of the student council, I was a part of the seance. I volunteered, in fact. I also could’ve been faking my injuries. Or is it that you believe in me because you trust me, Saihara-chan?”
“…It isn’t about trust. I just don’t think you did it, is all. And if I’m wrong, and you did do it, then we’ll know the truth during the trial. But right now, I doubt you’re the killer.”
Ouma tilts his head. A little color has returned to his pale face, and Saihara finds himself unexpectedly grateful for that.
“You always were my favorite, Saihara-chan…” he says under his breath, and it’s just loud enough to reach Saihara’s ears. Despite hearing that line before, Saihara feels flustered for a moment. Maybe it was the fact that they were alone, or that they just had that moment in the restroom, or that unlike all the other times before, the phrase seems to be shrouded with less layers of deception than usual.
Only a few more minutes until we reach the others.
“…Ouma-kun.”
“Hmmmm?”
“After the trial is over, we should… hang out,” Saihara mumbles. He can’t quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth— who would ask to spend time with someone like Ouma? He can already imagine Momota’s look of blatant disbelief if the other student ever found out about this. But then again, it wasn’t as if Momota was Saihara’s dad or something. And he wasn’t requesting this because he liked Ouma.
He was requesting this because he didn’t know Ouma.
A new case, his brain supplies. Someone to figure out, behind all those lies and laughs and empty smiles. Was the Ouma who let Saihara patch him up the same as the one who remained unruffled as Tojo fell to her death? Why did Ouma keep pushing everyone away? Why did he keep antagonizing people? What was he really after?
“Eh? Is Saihara-chan trying to seduce me?” Ouma asks, mischief dancing in his eyes, and despite himself Saihara feels his cheeks heat up.
“No, that’s- stop messing around, Ouma-kun.”
“Nishishishi… well. If Saihara-chan really wants to hang out with me, he can be my guest,” Ouma beams. He seems strangely happy with the request. Saihara tentatively smiles back as they reach their destination, where the rest of the students are waiting for them.
Momota’s eyes meet Saihara’s, then slowly drag down to land on the person next to him. Beside Momota, Harukawa feigns disinterest as she stares off at the water splashing against the fountain. A sense of self-consciousness pokes at Saihara, but he does his best to ignore it. He would’ve regretted it if he allowed someone bleeding from the head to wander off alone, even if that someone may have been Ouma. What he chose to do was simple common decency.
(Asking to spend time with Ouma was a whole different thing, but Saihara decided not to dwell on that. He had already made his choice.)
“It would appear that at last, all of us have gathered here. But it seems our numbers continue to dwindle,” Shinguji murmurs.
“Less friends mean it that much harder to solve mystery,” Gokuhara declares, and Ouma snickers.
“Well, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ve gotten a little smarter by now, Gokuhara-chan,” he says meanly. Gokuhara, as per usual, does not pick up on Ouma’s sarcasm.
“Y-Yeah… Gonta do his best to help…”
“Good. I’d like it if you graduated from super-idiot level to at least Momota-chan-idiot level,” Ouma remarks, and at this Momota snaps into attention.
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean!?” he snaps. “And more importantly, Shuichi! What were you doing, hanging around with him!”
“...Harukawa-san didn’t tell you?” Saihara blinks.
Harukawa crosses her arms. “I did.”
“It’s not that I’m mad you patched him up or whatever,” Momota scowls, “even if I think he was probably faking it. But you were taking so long- I thought something happened. Why didn’t you have Harumaki come with you?”
“I—”
But Ouma beats Saihara to it. “C’monnnn, Momota-chan! I know you have some sort of hero complex, but don’t act like Saihara-chan is all helpless. I was bleeding all over the floor. If anything, he would be killing me, not the other way around. So use the five brain cells you have left in that empty head of yours, mkaayyy?”
Momota’s scowl deepens. “You-!”
“Stop it, both of you. Let’s just get to the trial,” Saihara says, suddenly feeling exhausted. Momota and Ouma, as expected, were behaving like children, and they were going to have another trial. More trials, for more deaths, and more executions.
As if on cue, the ground rumbles, the ugly Monokuma statue goes underground, and an elevator appears. The whole process happens much earlier than normal, but Saihara isn’t surprised. He and Ouma had arrived late after all.
They head into the elevator like usual. It’s silent, like usual. Saihara leaves Ouma’s side to go to Momota without glancing back at the other student. Ouma doesn’t say anything, but Saihara can practically feel his eyes boring into the back of his skull.
“Kaito,” Saihara whispers, ignoring the staring, “Sorry for making you worry.”
Momota huffs, then adopts his characteristic grin. “...It’s alright. I’m just glad you’re safe, sidekick. But you should really stay away from that asshole from now on. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have helped him, but… he’s bad news. Y’know what I mean, right?”
Saihara looks away. “...Yeah. I know what you mean.”
…I shouldn’t tell him about mine and Ouma’s conversation, at least not right before the trial. Maybe later.
The doors slide shut, and the elevator descends down into yet another trial. Saihara takes a deep breath and readies himself. He casts all thoughts of Ouma’s dark eyes and teasing smiles from his mind. Better to solve one case at a time.