Chapter Text
He shook, his small, bony hands held right in front of his face. His hands were pale and they were cold, but they were sweating just as much as the rest of his body was. He trembled furiously, his eyes desperately trying to focus on the sight held so up close to his eyes.
Nothing.
It wasn't working.
Of course it wasn't.
You're good for absolutely nothing but being a goddamn nuisance.
Usually, these thoughts didn't get to him. Or at least he liked to pretend they didn't. He liked to act like all these harsh words people threw at him and the thoughts he held in his mind were nothing other than just words. That's all they were- words without meaning. That's all they were until nighttime.
He pulled his knees to his chin, his legs pressing against his heaving chest. His breathing was heavy and his eyes felt just as much. He dug his nails into his legs as hard as he could, repeating the same phrase in his mind over and over.
Pain is just an illusion.
He clawed his nails deeper into the fabric until he could feel it stinging and piercing his skin like a sharp knife.
Pain is just an illusion.
A sharp empty rush courses through his veins and shoots through his chest, leaving him to shudder out empty cries.
Pain is just an illusion.
The sensible part of his mind tells him that he should try to distract himself from such thoughts, maybe even get someone to be around instead of being alone right now, because clearly that only fueled the situation even more. But Ouma's mind was far more insane than sane, and he didn't listen. He covered his ears and shut his eyes tight, humming loudly and frantically in hopes of drowning out the piercing silence in his cold, empty room. He was alone. That was right.
He dug his nails into his scalp, vigorously shaking his head and chanting "No, no, no," under his breath as he began to kick thin air. He wasn't quite sure why, maybe he just needed movement. Maybe he was trying to run away from the one thing he knew he couldn't ever escape-- hint, his mind.
Whatever, he looked like a terrified young animal. He felt like one too. Like a helpless little baby waiting for someone- something- to just make it stop. To end it. He wanted it to end. He wished he could end it himself, but needless to say, he thought himself a heavy coward.
Coward. That's what he was.
He thrashed around, his whispering cries increasing in volume and morphing into cracking squeaks- Like an old door hinge going through puberty. He wanted to laugh at that. He wanted to laugh it all away. He wanted to pull his mask back on, but he was far too afraid. He was far too deep under the surface, and pulling out the mask this far under would only break it. He figured he'd rather save the mask for when he was around people. So, he balled back up in the corner of his small room, before convulsing violently.
His breathing pace began to increase, as well as his heart rate. Get a fucking heart attack and die, you worthless scum. He should stop before he really did. Before it was too late. He subconsciously began to reach up, grabbing onto anything he possibly could. He heaved himself, pulling himself to his feet and looking like a baby giraffe learning to walk. His legs shook as he began to slowly trudge over to the bathroom.
Vomit.
He felt like he was going to fucking lose it. His head throbbed, his eyes felt heavy, his muscles were sore, his stomach hurt, and his throat stung —
Before he could even make it to the toilet, he had already regurgitated twice on the way. He didn't give a shit. I'll clean it up later. It wasn't like anyone was going to come in any time soon, anyway.
He crashed to the ground, pulling himself upright again as he sat up and leaned over the toilet bowl. He let it out, crying audibly as he did so. He hoped to God these walls were soundproof. His tired eyes scanned the floor of the bathroom, before slowing down at the base of the bottom of the toilet.
He shouldn't.
He really fucking shouldn't...
But he does, because he's too fucking overwhelmed.
He reaches his shaky hand around the side and feels around against the toilet's outer bowl for a moment. Then his fingers graze a small flat bump on the back and underside. He picks at it for a moment, before it comes loose and falls into his hands. He pulls his hand back to him, staring at the small object in his hands. What an odd moment, he concludes as his full violet eyes study the razor resting gently in his palm. He runs his fingertips against the smooth side, contemplating. He wonders what good it would do. None, he tells himself. This would've been good if it weren't for the whole reason why he decided otherwise.
His mind whispered a dark thought to him. A thought he might've pondered once or twice before in the past, but brushed off before he could really even think more about it. But right now he had all the time in the world. Right now he wasn't mentally stable. He wasn't himself.
So he turned that thought over a couple of times, like a rock under inspection. He took on the challenge.
He scrambled to his feet, shakily reaching for the handle of his apartment door. It felt cold in his hands and he subconsciously smiled weakly at the thought of it being someone else's hand reaching out to him, offering help. But alas, it wasn't, and he was voluntarily shaking hands with his doom instead.
The roof of the apartment building is much higher up than Ouma initially anticipated, but he doesn't mind. He's sitting on the ledge, kicking his feet back and forth as he lets his legs dangle over the edge. He wants to slide off already, but he lets himself take his time. No one was going to be looking for him, anyway.
There was one last thing he wanted to do before he brought this disaster to an end. One he'd been stalling.
His eyes intently watched his thumb trembling, hovering over the call button on his phone. He wanted to get this over with already so he could just skip to the good part; So he mentally started counting down.
Five, four, three—
His thumb quickly slammed the call button, and the phone began to ring quietly. The sound vibrated his phone, and he giggled at the buzzing feeling in his numb fingertips.
Click. Voicemail.
He didn't expect anything other than such, so he continued.
"Heyyy Shumai!" He began, his bubbly voice kicking back in as he forced a grin. His feet subconsciously began to kick harder, his nervousness apparent. "I know it's like, three in the morning, but I wanted to call you and tell you how much you mean to me!" His eyes shifted up to the starry night sky, telling himself it was to focus on the beauty of the night rather than to stop the tears forming in his eyes from falling.
"I know you probably don't care, but I'm letting you know anyway because I don't really care what you think."
He gritted his teeth, the empty feeling in his stomach wavering and growing as he began kicking his feet even faster.
"So listen here, Saihara. It's important, yknow!" He bit down on his lip briefly, but just hard enough to draw blood. He licked his lips before continuing on. His eyes peered down to the traffic down below, and his eyes were met with millions of pretty city lights. All reds, blues, greens, and even his favorite- purple. He felt like royalty, and the building was his high throne. He was a king in his place, watching over his subordinates.
"I think it's really cool that you're able to figure out when I'm lying or not." He began. "It's so interesting, Saihara! You're so smart and talented." He cringed at how forced his tone sounded. "Or maybe that's a lie. Who knows! So I've got a game for you..." His voice lowered, and he finally felt the cold air getting to him. It whipped his face and nipped at his nose. He momentarily wonders why he didn't bring his coat, before remembering this would all be over soon anyway, so he guesses it's not too big of a deal.
"Let's play two truths and a lie."
He didn't expect it from himself either, but his tone shifts. It isn't as bubbly anymore- Rather... somewhat scary. His voice is deep, much deeper than usual. "I'll start." He insists, as though he's actually on a phone call with Saihara.
"One, I am craving take-out right now." Lie.
"Two, I am currently outside freezing my ass off." True, he shivers.
"And three, I don't actually think you're boring." He lists, trying to perk up his tone again.
Truth.
He isn't sure why he lists these, but part of him is aware that he's trying. He's trying to call for help, wave all his red flags desperately like a man lost at sea. He just isn't very sure it'll work.
"If you find out the lie, Shumai, I think I might actually fall in love with you." He grins, staring down at the road stories below him. He pauses a moment before laughing. "Good night," He hangs up, before pulling the phone down to his chest. It aches. He wonders if he should call again, this time, telling the whole truth.
No, he's come this far. Why would anyone pass up such a good chance to end their life in such a non-boring way? And besides, it's not like the truth matters. Whether Saihara believed him or not, it didn't matter. Saihara wouldn't care if he was dead or alive, just as much as the next person. He hated him just as much as everyone else hated him. And just like that, he's convinced.
He lifts his phone up by the top corner, pinching it between his index and thumb. He holds it over the edge of the building, and without any hesitation, lets it go.
He watches as the phone falls, spinning and flipping mid-air before it collides with the concrete and creates a loud clattering noise. This catches the attention of multiple bypassers, who quickly look up to see Ouma. He grins and waves like he's some actor who just got recognized in public. In some sort of sick and twisted way, he feels like one. After all, a liar is just an actor with a bad sense of timing.
The people begin to shout and pull out their phones, some holding theirs up like cameras to snap pictures, some raising their phones to their ears or beginning to punch in numbers. He stands up, which attracts an even larger crowd. That's sick, he thinks. People must really be entertained by this. He giggles a little, given he hasn't really even done anything and his audience is already eager for him to nosedive off the roof and right into the concrete. He closes his eyes and tilts his head up at the sky, appreciating the smell of the fresh night air. What a good time to be alive.
Er... Rather...
What a good time to die.
He opens his eyes and peers back down at what used to be a small crowd. By now, it's a fairly large size. Ouma rolls his eyes at this, feeling like he's truly famous now. What a sick and twisted form of entertainment the people are getting from this. They whip out their phones, and the ones who take pictures make him feel like he's being papped. He poses and sticks one leg out over the edge, balancing himself on only one. The people shout and yell, but Ouma just laughs and settles back down on his own two feet.
He takes the moment to acknowledge how he still hasn't quite stopped shaking a little bit yet. He wonders if he should wait to see if Saihara ever comes. He wonders what he would do if Saihara did or didn't. Would he still jump if Saihara came? Would he still jump if he didn't? Does it matter?
Ouma sighs frustratedly, shaking his head. No, he thinks. No it doesn't.
Just as he begins to shuffle himself over the ledge he sat on, he hears the roof doors clatter and the sound of muffled shouting. He immediately feels grateful for locking it up with a chain like he initially thought to. His eyes meet a shimmering gold from afar, and it takes him a second to process who it is that's staring him down with such intense eyes.
"Ouma?!" He hears, which reels him back to reality. He blinks his wide, violet eyes in return.
"Eh?"
"Ouma? Oh god.. Let me out, please!" He's practically begging, but Ouma's poor insatiable heart craves more. More proof that someone, anyone could care. More proof that he could mean something to someone; Mean something in this world. His heart and head crave a damn good reason not to jump off the fucking roof right then and there.
He stares blankly at the terrified expression watching him from the slender window of the roof doors. "Ouma please, listen to me. It's okay. Just let me come over to you and we can talk, I promise." Ouma wants to believe the voice trying to lure him over is genuinely caring, but the darker, more poisonous side of his mind- that's what overtakes him. It whispers words he shouldn't have to hear and they spread throughout his chest like a plague. Ouma subconsciously clutches his chest, hoping to convince himself that his pain is just an illusion.
"Now why would I do that, Saihara?" Ouma forces a wicked grin, which would terrify the other if not for their circumstances. Saihara knew damn well his smile was one of utter fear and ache, he just wasn't quite sure how to calm him down enough to let him through. "Please, Ouma, listen to me. In fact, you don't even have to let me over, just come here so you can hear me out. Please." He softens his voice, frowning as he hopes his decrease in yelling makes up for possibly scaring the shit out of the smaller.
The boy on the roof seems to stand still for a good couple of moments before snapping out of his trance and slowly inching closer. "That's it, there you go.." Saihara softly speaks, tossing a reassuring smile. Ouma stops a couple of feet away, and Saihara silently blames himself.
"What do you want?" Ouma's expression is flat. Annoyed, even. Saihara frowns, staring Ouma in the eye. "I.. heard the yelling from my window.." he began. "So what? I don't care." Ouma furrows his eyebrows, clenching his fists. Saihara quickly tries to explain. "I... came up here to see if maybe I could convince whoever it was to... to come down..." Ouma didn't seem very interested in listening, as his eyes instead examined the starry sky above him. He then looked back to Saihara, hands on his.. oddly bony hips.
"My bad! So sorry I woke you from your sleep. You can go back to sleep, you know. It'll be over within a couple of minutes and you'll get your rest for tonight. Hell, maybe you'll get better sleep for the rest of your life after tonight! You know, after knowing I'm no longer here to pester anybody. I promise." Ouma tosses a slightly pissed look, which worries Saihara. He's afraid he's said the wrong thing. "That's not it at all. I chose to come up here, Ouma. I was worried." Saihara bites his bottom lip, shuffling a bit closer to the door. He notes Ouma's uncomfortable shift away, despite being a good distance from him already. "Right. Because you help people, right? That's your job, that's what you do. Right?" Ouma's tone grew less serious by the second. Saihara's worry grows as he tries to figure out what would be the best response. He doesn't understand Ouma well, so it's difficult to figure out what would be the right and wrong things to say to him- Especially in such a vulnerable situation where thinking too long may lead to an accident he could've prevented.
"Cat got your tongue, detective?" Ouma smirks, raising his index finger to his chin mischievously. Even with the distance, he sees how pale Ouma is. It's frightful, to say the least. He looks like a ghost.
"O- Of course it is." Saihara manages to sputter out quickly, hoping his talking was giving him enough time to figure out how to handle the situation. "Saihara, do you do what you do for the sake of your pride or because you actually care?" Ouma's eyebrows are raised, his expression a clear state of disappointment with the detective. "I- Of course I do it because I care! I don't do it for me, I do it because I care about others. Ouma, listen, I'm here not because I want you to get it over with so I can go back to sleep, I came because I care..." Saihara pleaded, his eyebrows furrowed as his lips twisted into a frown. His hands pressed up against the metal door, and his face was just inches away from the window.
"Then after all of that, how have you not realized it?" Ouma tilted his head, blinking his doe eyes at Saihara. The sight itself could've given him nightmares on end, being trapped on the other side of the door- the one thing keeping him from helping Ouma- while he stares back, unphased by their circumstances. He looked like an innocent child waiting for the sky to fall. He could see the way Ouma's fragile and small frame trembled. He could see the messiness and tiredness in Ouma's appearance as he stood against the dark blue canvas of nighttime that engulfed them. Saihara was afraid. He was afraid of ever seeing such a terrifying moment in his life again.
"R-Realized what, Ouma..?"
"You don't really care, Saihara. You only care because your job requires you to. You have to care. It's what you do. You can't save people you don't care about. But saving people is your job. To save people, you have to care. You don't have a choice. Your choice to care is not of your own free will, you're here because you have to be. Otherwise, you'd be just as unphased as the rest of them." Ouma grinned ear to ear, proud of himself. It was almost as if he'd just figured the puzzle out.
"What are you on about? Of course I care, Ouma, I.. I'm here and talking to you and.. I don't care because it's my job, I'm not even on duty! I care because I just do!" Saihara's not even sure if he's trying to convince himself or Ouma at this point, but he speaks out anyway. "It could be anybody else on this roof, Saihara, and you'd be up here anyway, wouldn't you?" Ouma takes a moment to erupt into laughter. "Well Of course. I'm not sure what you're getting at.." Saihara frowns. He's a little afraid he's bitten off more than he could chew, coming into this situation.
"...You didn't even know it was me."
One moment he's blank,
"... You didn't even check your phone, did you?"
The next, Ouma's smile softens a little. The sight is like watching glass shatter.
He's watching Ouma fall apart. He's watching him crack into a million little pieces. This boy isn't okay. Has he ever been?
Saihara feels like he's watching the most fragile thing on Earth- his gut twists at the sight of Ouma's bitter smile, his breath hitching. It's eerie. "My ph- My phone..?" Saihara looks down at his pocket where his phone rests, quickly slipping it out. He glances up at Ouma through the window, who watches patient as ever as he crosses his arms and stares blankly from afar.
One missed call, one voicemail. He shudders. Ouma's contact. Forty-three minutes ago. His eyes meet the sight of Ouma once more and he's greeted with a nod, as though a sign of confirmation, urging him to proceed.
Saihara unlocks his phone and opens the voicemail. He shudders at the eerie context of it all. Had he not come to the roof, Ouma would've more than likely been dead and he would've awoken to the voice of a dead man he barely even knew. Saihara's eyes must've given him away, as he lowers his phone slowly and turns to meet the sight of Ouma. He grins, this time baring his teeth as he rests his hands behind his head.
"The world is a funny place, isn't it?"
Saihara watches as Ouma turns around and walks back toward the ledge.
"Ouma, wait." He protests softly.
"Ouma," he pleads. Ouma gets further and he begins to shout. "Ouma, wait! Please!" Ouma's hand is wrapped around the railing at this point, he's overlooking the crowd that stares back up at him in both fear and anticipation. Ouma hears Saihara calling out for him, and it isn't until he's got his foot on the ledge, that Saihara catches his attention once more.
Ouma turns around, glancing in Saihara's direction where a noise catches his attention. The slamming of his fists on the door. "Why does it matter so much to you, Saihara? You don't care." Ouma recalls, his neutral expression staring down the boy frantically punching the door with all his might. "Ouma, I do- I do care. Just- Just listen to me, okay? Please, please get down from there.." Saihara begs like a scared little child and Ouma wants to listen, but it just isn't enough.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't die tonight," Ouma demands. "I care about you, Ouma." Saihara's quick to speak without much thought, and it pisses Ouma off. "You don't even fucking know me!" He hisses, which catches Saihara off guard, evident when his lips part and a quiet gasp slips through. Saihara looks taken aback and Ouma's toxic mind only pushes him further. "You don't even fucking know me and you're saying that you care. You're really funny, you know that? You don't care, Saihara. Nobody does." He growls, Saihara's relentless punching ceasing as Ouma watches his shoulders slump. Perhaps Saihara was giving up.
"Ouma, I'm sure somebody out there cares about you, whether you know it or not..." Nope, Saihara tries to reassure one last time before Ouma completely loses it. Unfortunately, Ouma lost it quite a while ago. Now was just his snapping point.
"You don't get it, do you? The whole reason I'm doing this is because no one cares! Not you, not me, not the people standing around here waiting for me to fucking swan dive over the edge- I don't know if you noticed, but nobody gives a shit, Saihara! Nobody gives a shit whether I'm dead or alive! It doesn't affect them, or their lives, or their friends, or- Hell, even their family. It really doesn't. It doesn't affect me, either! Did you notice that, Saihara? It doesn't matter to anyone whether I'm dead or not. Not even me." Ouma shouts, flailing his arms. Saihara's afraid that with all his flailing, he very well may fall to his death. "Everyone either just doesn't fucking care enough about me to keep me alive, or they hate me enough to want to watch my demise. So I hope to God I'm keeping everyone entertained with my death, here! Though, you're sort of stalling it. Mind moving this along? I've got Hell to greet, soon!" Ouma grins, grinding his teeth and smothering his hurt with rage.
Saihara begins to frantically shake the door and ram his body- full-force- into it. Ouma's smile drops blank as he turns around. "Ouma, listen. It doesn't have to be like this, I swear! Things can change! Just- Just-" Saihara desperately searched for the right words to say, before he hears Ouma's gentle voice overbear his own.
"..Just listen?"
It's soft, and he looks up from his pounding against the door to see Ouma looking out over the edge. "I'm tired of listening, Saihara. Maybe it's time that you listen to me." He turns around, tears welling in his violet eyes. Fat tears threaten to spill as he stares down Saihara from the edge. "What does it matter that I die, huh? It doesn't bother anybody. I'm not hurting anybody's feelings. I really am not. It's not such a big deal, Saihara. It isn't. Nobody's going to think of this moment in ten years or even tomorrow. Everyone will forget who I am or that I even existed. In fact, I hope that they do. I'm not much of an interesting memory, anyway, right? I'm just... me. I'm a liar. A forgettable liar. Nobody likes a liar, yeah? You said so yourself. I'm alone, I always will be. You may have people who care about you- people who would stop you from making the same decision I'm making. But me? Don't you get it? Nobody gives a shit. Nobody. It doesn't matter and it won't matter. And do you know why?" Ouma forced a pained grin as he watched Saihara's face turn pale.
"Because I'm alone and I always will be, Shuichi."
And with that, he turned around...
Time felt like it had slowed down from the exact moment Saihara watched the scrawny boy's child-like facial features leave his sight. His eyes were no longer met with childlike rosy cheeks or eerie grins. He watched as the small pale hand of a boy he thought he once knew, clutch into a fist at his thin sides. He looked broken. He had never seen Ouma in a more shattered state than in this very moment.
He looked like an ant.
Small, weak, and helpless,
in a world full of ant eaters.
He watched the purple-haired boy stand and embrace the cool night air like one last embrace, wrapping his porcelain skin in a bittersweet goodbye. His hair swayed carefully in the breeze and he watched as Ouma glanced up at the night sky, raising his arms at his side as he planned to fall. Saihara's adrenaline kicked in and he shut his eyes tight. He didn't know exactly why, or even at all how, but he took a step back, and faster than anything he'd ever known, slammed his entire body weight against the roof doors as they whipped open and he stumbled through the now-opened entrance. He quickly recovered, quick to act on his feet as he scrambled over, tripping numerous times as his feet felt as though they were moving through water. His whole body felt submerged in a numb blanket.
Nothing. He felt absolutely nothing.
Not until he felt the cold, soft skin of a delicate hand in his own, and he snapped back to reality.
"S- Saihara?!" Ouma shrieked, Saihara tugging him back over as Ouma wriggled in his grasp. "Ouma, please-!" Saihara cried. "Let go! Let me go!" Ouma wailed, trying his best to shake himself from Saihara's hold.
"Ouma-"
"Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck having stupid hope! Fuck you and your stupid lying to me! You don't even care, just let me go!" Ouma threw a punch at Saihara's chest, momentarily catching him off guard. But to Saihara's luck, Ouma was way too weak from fatigue and hunger. Saihara held on tight, before catching sight of something truly horrific. His stomach sank. As Ouma tugged back, he had exposed himself, showing what Saihara wasn't able to see from far away. Saihara's grip relaxed. Ouma froze. Even with his eyes shut and head turned away, he knew exactly why Saihara had become gentle. Saihara let out a barely audible gasp through his parted lips, golden eyes examining the pale arm decorated messily with scarlet slashes. Saihara's eyes quickly shot to Ouma, searching desperately for an answer.
"Ouma..." He breathed.
"..How long have you been hurting like this?" Saihara whispered softly, watching as Ouma shook and trembled under his grasp. "It- I... It's not a big deal." Ouma mumbled, not bothering to meet Saihara's gaze. "Not a big deal? Ouma, this is your life we're talking about! It's more than a big deal!" Saihara frowned. "Let go of me, it's not your business!" Ouma yanked back his arm, slipping from Saihara's grasp.
Standing a couple of feet from the edge after Saihara pulled them back, Saihara's instincts kicked in. He reached for Ouma again, this time pulling the small boy to his chest and backing them up from the edge. He held the fragile boy in his arms. To his surprise, this time, Ouma didn't seem to wriggle away.
Saihara slowly backed up to the roof door, pressing his back against the wall and sliding down carefully. He cradled Ouma in his arms, one arm wrapped around his back, while the other rested on his head, pulling the boy closer to Saihara's chest. He wondered to himself why Ouma hadn't resisted, before it hit him. He sat staring at the starry night sky, listening to the soft, shaky breathing of the boy on his chest. He felt a trembling warm breath against his neck and quickly caught on. Ouma was crying. He was letting himself cry in front of Saihara.
Well- Somewhat.
Saihara glanced down slowly and carefully, worried about the boy clutching his own fists in nervousness as he pressed himself lightly against the warm body harboring him from the storm. Subconsciously, Saihara frowned at the sight, brushing his slender fingers through Ouma's messy hair. Despite the knots, this seemed to calm the smaller man down. His erratic breathing slowly fell into a soft, gentle pattern, as they both fell into silence. But this couldn't go undiscussed.
"Ouma..?" Saihara's voice was raspy and low as he kept his voice down to a whisper. There was silence before a gentle whisper brushed his neck. "You don't mean it.." Saihara shuddered. "Ouma, I do. I mean it. Of course I would care if it was anyone else on this roof, but that's not the only reason why I care. Every innocent life is valuable, yours included. I care, Ouma, I do." Saihara makes sure his voice is still gentle with him as he runs his fingers through Ouma's hair, twirling plum strands around his finger as he finishes speaking. There followed a silence, where only he could hear the beating of Ouma's heart. He can lie about it all, and many may believe, but his heart rate was racing. And it raced faster than anything he'd ever known. Ouma was truly terrified and Saihara was the one who- Hopefully- had a chance at saving him. "and.. I'm sorry for not showing it enough." Saihara mumbled, looking up at the night sky. He tried so very hard to wrap his head around what was possibly going on inside Ouma's mind. He felt guilty. He should've noticed it before.
The only one who had ever stumped him- Kokichi Ouma- was wrapped up in his arms, crying into his chest. What an odd experience for both of them.
I think... I think this is the most vulnerable I have ever seen him. And Saihara is right. Never had Ouma ever let himself break in such a fashion in front of anyone. And yet, here he is crying into Saihara's body because of the unsurmountable pain he'd kept under wraps for God knows how long. There was no doubt of his struggle now, and Saihara felt his gut wrench at the thought of what could've happened. His thoughts began to branch. Ouma was hurting this entire time and nobody cared enough to notice. Those who did, didn't care enough about him to make sure he was okay.
Guilt crept through Saihara's veins.
Now wasn't the time.
He shifted Ouma off of his lap, the boy sitting up and looking away. He turned his body away from Saihara, raising a hand to his eyes- Most likely to brush away the tears he didn't want Saihara to see. He sat and he didn't move. He just sniffled and stared at his arms with a silent plea for help. Saihara frowned, reaching to tap Ouma's shoulder to get his attention.
"What..?" Ouma coldly responded, not turning to meet Saihara. Fair. He understood why.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not noticing earlier as I should have."
...
"It isn't your fault, I'm the best liar out there."
Ouma turned to face Saihara with a painfully forced grin. "Hey, Saihara, I'm tired." Ouma rubbed his puffy red eyes. Saihara tilted his head, watching empathetically. He shouldn't brush it off like this, but he didn't want to wear Ouma down even more than he already was.
"Come here," He stood up, reaching his hand out to Ouma. Ouma stared at his hand for a brief moment, before reluctantly taking it in his own. Saihara carefully helped Ouma stand, then pulled Ouma close to his side. "You alright to walk on your own?" "Mmh..." Ouma seems to ponder the idea before tiredly grinning at the boy holding his hand. "Perfect." He stated before looking away. Saihara sighed, frowning. He felt another pang of guilt punch him in the gut. That was more than enough motivation to convince him to just do it. As Ouma headed toward the doors, Saihara trailing short behind, he took his chance. He scooped Ouma up in his arms, surprising the small boy. Ouma let out a startled yelp before settling in Saihara's arms.
"What the fuck are you doing, Saihara? I said I was-" Ouma began, slightly irritated. "Ouma," Saihara interrupted, his tone stern. Ouma quickly shut up, his lips gluing together in a tight hold and his body tensing up as though he expected to be yelled at any minute now. He blinked, staring at Saihara with the vaguest hint of fear. Saihara's eyes locked with Ouma's as he carried Ouma down the stairs from the roof. "It's fine." He gently explained, eyes watching him with obvious concern. Ouma kept quiet as he looked away.
Saihara opened the door to his dark apartment, shutting the door and shuffling his way to the living room. The apartment was quiet and felt as though nobody had been inside for months. It was somewhat messy, to Ouma's surprise, but it didn't bother him. It was warm, minus the gentle breeze drifting in through the parted window on the other side of the room. The room felt calm, especially with the dim light from the tv screen lighting up the room faintly. Saihara gently placed him on the couch before walking away to the kitchen. Ouma wasn't quite sure what to do, so he allowed his eyes to drift to the window.
At that moment, he wasn't quite sure how he felt. In fact, he wasn't sure of a lot of things. He wasn't even quite sure how he got there in the first place. It all felt like it happened so fast. He thinks to himself, running each and every negative thought through the scanner in his head, analyzing and responding to each individual one.
It's his job, you're nothing special.
Yeah. That's right.
You were supposed to jump.
Yeah, you should be dead right now.
Nobody wants you alive, they just don't want to feel responsible for your death.
Saihara fucking pities you. Look at what you've done, you piece of shit.
You're supposed to be the ultimate supreme leader? You're a shit excuse for a supreme leader, if you ask me.
If anything, you should be the ultimate waste of time. Ultimate coward.
Nobody can save you, you know. No matter how hard they try, you're still going to find a way to slowly kill yourself.
You're still a nobody.
You're still alone.
Saihara re-entered the room with a bowl of soup, carefully setting it down on the coffee table. "Ouma," He spoke quietly. Ouma didn't bother to look at him. He kept his eyes fixed on the dark night sky outside the window. "Ouma, I know this doesn't fix anything at all, but I want you to know that I'm so sorry for what you've been put through. I'm sorry I couldn't see your suffering. I'm so sorry that you think you don't deserve to live. I want you to know that I care. I care, I just... I couldn't see how much you were hurting." Saihara intently watched Ouma for a response. Ouma was well aware, he just simply didn't bother to give him the response he was hoping for.
"Yeah. I'm sorry that you couldn't see it either." Ouma coldly replied.
Why the fuck are you being such a dick to someone who is trying to show you they care? Because he doesn't really care. He doesn't. He's just saying that he does. People preach about telling the truth, yet here they sit spewing utter bullshit.
Ouma glanced over to Saihara, who had still yet to look away from him. He assumed maybe if he stared back, it might make him uncomfortable enough to quit staring. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Saihara kept his target in focus and the only one who grew uncomfortable was Ouma, himself. Saihara watched Ouma with heavy intensity, practically dripping worry and concern. Ouma awkwardly looked away, for once avoiding Saihara's eyes. His stomach sank and his heart ached.
He really felt like dying tonight.
"You aren't alone." Saihara spoke. "I'm right here, Ouma."
Ouma took one look back to Saihara before speaking.
"Then tell me, Shuichi. Why do I feel like I am?"