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This work is part of a series that has chapters before it. To read the previous chapters click here!




“I’d like to try a lot of things to you, Ouma-kun.”

“Hah, hah, a-ah...”

“I want to see more of the faces you make when I hurt you.”


“Listen, Ouma-kun, if you show that face to anyone else… I’ll make sure they never see you again.”

Muffling another small cry, Ouma pressed the soft fabric in his hand to his mouth, the cotton sticking to his wet lips and covering his lower face. It draped over his nose and he was overwhelmed with the familiar scent it carried. That scent, it was Saihara’s smell.

Waking up after everything that had happened was surprisingly easy. Ouma’s body quite literally jumped out of the nurse’s bed and into the air the second consciousness faded into his mind. His thoughts were only focused on one thing.


He almost fell off the bed at his sudden movement, but was able to balance himself in a seated position before he did, startling the nurse herself so much she flinched as well.

“Are you okay? Try not to move so much, your body still isn’t well.” She gave him a precarious look before rolling her chair over to his bedside, putting aside her work for the time.

Ouma couldn’t speak. His throat was still sore, but that wasn’t even the issue. He had no idea how to process everything that had happened, and he was terrified if he opened his mouth something unsavory would slip out.

He wasn’t even sure it was all real.

“I called your father and let him know you’ll be staying home for the next couple days. Don’t come back until you feel fully well, it’s dangerous if you are just going to fall over when you’re alone in the hallways.” She reached out and placed a hand on his forehead, feeling him wince as he shied away from her slightly. “Your fever is gone for now, but your symptoms will last for a while longer. Just focus on getting rest, I’m sure a classmate will bring you the work you’ve missed.”

Ouma wasn’t sure how to tell her that that would never happen.

Rolling away, her hand left a cold imprint on the boy’s forehead. If his fever was really gone, then that meant the only reason he felt so hot was because of the blush overtaking his entire frame. His face was beet-red, but the woman surely had no concept of the degrading truth as to why that was.

Saihara was… gone. He was nowhere in the room, and everything that had signaled he had ever been there at all had disappeared as well. Ouma’s heart was pounding, but it slowed as he started to consider the possibility that it had all been a fever dream. How could his mind think up something so… terrifying and exhilarating at the same time?

His thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt pulse in his neck, a searing pain that throbbed in time with his heart, making his whole body go rigid.

Bringing a hand up to his neck, he slipped his fingers under his collar, and felt dried blood.

“It’s a hassle on others if you push yourself so hard, you know? Saihara-kun from class 2-A carried you all the way here, so make sure you go thank him once you’re feeling better,” turning to look at Ouma as she spoke, the nurse lifted a small, checkered handkerchief in the air. “He left this behind accidentally, so take it along with you when you do.”

The handkerchief sat pressed against his face currently, growing wet in the center as his hot breath panted onto it repeatedly. With each inhale he made, the faint, but unmistakable scent of Saihara overwhelmed his senses and sent a wave of pleasure through his entire body. It was like an electric shock but only made of arousal, not disappearing with time or stopping as he became more and more used to the smell. It still sent him into a spasm each time.

He was touching himself for the 5th time that day, in the same way he had been for the past two days as he stayed home from school, with Saihara’s handkerchief pressed up against his face, when he heard his phone buzz. Ouma paid it no mind, as the sound barely slipped into his consciousness when his ears roared with the memories of Saihara’s words, but the second time it went off it really caught his attention.

“A-Ah… Hah… Why…?” Ouma never got text messages. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he had the app in the first place, as he had no friends to reach out to, and his father definitely never spared him anything other than a threatening phone call. That was why, when most teenagers would have ignored the notifications and finished the deed, he pushed himself up and reached for his phone.

His erection was painfully pulsating and each time it twitched it spread more precum onto his lower abdomen, jumping in protest as he moved. Knowing when he ultimately checked his phone to nothing, he could go back to… smelling his crush’s clothing… it kept his arousal at bay as he swiped up on the screen of his phone.

Saihara Shuichi would like to message you. This user is not on your friend list.


Yes | No

Somehow keeping in a small, disbelieving shout, Ouma immediately clicked yes, his fingers shaking in sudden excitement and past lust.

The two messages previously sent popped up in plain text:

Hey Ouma-kun, what are you doing?


Scrambling to press buttons correctly, and slurring words repeatedly, Ouma typed out a reply he never had a chance to fully correct, as he sent it right away. He couldn’t leave Saihara waiting!

Sorry Saihara-kun! I just saw your message. I’m at home rihgt now.


Breathing heavily, and completely forgetting he was half naked, Ouma watched as Saihara began typing back almost immediately, his body rigid in anticipation.

I know, you haven’t been at school for the last three days… Are you feeling any better?

It was too much, Ouma could feel his face turn a bright red as he re-read the message over and over. He could practically hear Saihara’s caring tone through the black text, his genuine concern shining through in even the simplest of gestures.

Ouma tried not to smile to himself, would that make him look creepy? But he couldn’t help it, he was giggling like a schoolgirl as he typed out his reply.

I’m feeling a lot better, thank you! It’s all thanks to you, Saihara-kun. If you hadn’t helped me to the nurse, I would probably still be sick.

Saihara’s response took longer this time, the typing bubble starting and stopping multiple times as the other considered what to say. He settled on a generic reply, trying to ignore the fact Ouma’s sincere thanks made him blush a bit in return.

I’m glad to hear that.

I tried talking to the nurse, but she said she hadn’t heard from your dad, so I decided to message you.

As Ouma was considering a response, hoping to shift the topic away from his father, he was stopped before he could.

She said she gave you my handkerchief… Do you still have it?

That single message sucked all of the ecstatic playfulness from the air surrounding Ouma and left it freezing cold. He glanced over at the handkerchief in his other hand, and the pile of tissues on the floor, an immense guilt rushing through him at the realization of his sins.

He couldn’t help it… he couldn’t help it! When he thought about Saihara, about the things he had said and done to him, his body couldn’t be controlled. He had tried so hard to leave the handkerchief in a nicely folded square on his desk. He had used all his willpower to not touch it, bring it close to his face and inhale deeply to see if he could relive the scenes that played out in his head. Once that smell hit his nose, it offered a new dimension to his fantasies, and there was no turning back.

It was his biggest, no, his life’s dream to be close to Saihara, and once he had a taste of it…

There was really no way he could have stopped it, but the guilt was still palpable.

I do have it. I’m really sorry, I was going to wait until I got back to school to give it back to you…

Ouma hated having to lie to Saihara, but there was no way he could admit to what he had done. He swallowed tersely as he waited for a reply, his palms beginning to sweat as he thumbed the soft fabric.

That’s okay, thanks for keeping it safe.

Have you eaten dinner? My mom made leftovers and I could bring you them.

That couldn’t happen, especially after how guilty Ouma felt already. Quickly, he replied, almost dropping the phone but managing to catch it before it smashed into the ground.

No, it’s really okay! I couldn’t bear the thought of making you go out of your way for something like that!

I’m feeling better already (^ω^)

Was the face overboard…? Ouma had honestly no idea. He had really never texted another person before, but he knew from television that the emoticons embedded into his keyboard were pretty normal to use. Especially when there was an emotion you couldn’t convey through words, which was a safe haven for him. Words, free of sputtering and confusion, weren’t Ouma’s strong point, so having a way to express his true feelings to Saihara was his strongest desire.

Should he have added a blushing face, then? Because he was definitely blushing, his face warm as he thought about Saihara eating his mother’s home-cooked meals.

Well, unfortunately… I don’t think it’s an option now haha

Ouma furrowed his eyebrows as he received the next message.

I told her about what happened at school and she’s pretty adamant I bring you over some. Sorry, I don’t think she’s going to back down on this one...

Saihara told her?! Ouma’s mind immediately went to everything that had happened at school, including the affair in the nurse’s office, even though the obvious truth was that there was no way he would tell that to his own mother. But still, even being mentioned to someone as precious as that by Saihara, the feelings were overwhelming.

Really…? But I live pretty far away from you, I would feel horrible…

Ouma hadn’t even realized what he had done when Saihara responded quizzically.

You know where I live?

He dropped the phone onto his legs immediately, letting out a painful gasp at the words burned into his retinas. Oh no, he had really gone and done it… He’d revealed more of his rotten self to Saihara unintentionally.

Of course, he knew where he lived…How many times had he followed him home up to this point? It hadn’t been every day originally, the first time he did it he was shaking so badly he was afraid just the rattling of his bones would be noisy enough to alert Saihara of his presence. His hands were clammy as he watched the other step off the train, and after steeling his resolve, he managed to slip out from between the doors just as they were closing.

The walk from the station and through the main streets was simple enough, but once the crowds thinned and the city buildings became residential districts Ouma had to move with stealth. His presence was as small as a flea’s, sure, but if he made a noise or caught Saihara’s eyes on a turn accidentally, it would all be over. There were a few times he had to jump behind a lamppost or a trashcan for his own safety, clutching his bag to his chest as his heart slammed against it unevenly, but luckily he remained unnoticed.

Finally, after a short walk that seemed to go for ages, Saihara stopped in front of a spacious house that spread modestly behind an automatic gate. He input a code and walked inside, letting the gate close slowly behind him carelessly and walking up the steps.

Ouma didn’t like that, he needed to be more careful. Didn’t Saihara know how precious he was…? If he wasn’t more cautious anyone could jump in the gate behind him, overwhelm him, drag him away from his home without a trace…

Ouma’s vision began to fill with black as he considered it, the awful thought causing him to hyperventilate until he could barely contain the volume of the sounds he was making. He couldn’t stand it- he had to jump out and chase after Saihara. He had to stop him and let him know, warn him! If he didn’t, he could be taken by anyone, didn’t Saihara know how horrible others were?

He took one step forward, barely able to see his own feet, when the light flooding the street from Saihara’s front door opened and cleared away the cobwebs from his vision.

“I’m home!” Saihara announced, the door closing behind his thin frame gently.

“Welcome back,” Ouma heard a soft voice call distantly before the door shut with a click, and the street was empty again.

The rush Ouma felt upon seeing Saihara enter his house, safe and out of the blackening streets, was something he had never felt before.

It was if Saihara’s safety was his own.

It became impossible to simply go home after school after that point, if Ouma even so much as tried his mind would think of nothing other than Saihara until it became a constant screech inside of his head that made him want to tear his hair out. If he didn’t see the light turn on in the second-floor room to the right, where he knew Saihara slept, then it was absolutely futile for him to think he would get any rest himself.

He just needed to know, he needed to know Saihara was okay, that he would see him again tomorrow. A life without Saihara was entirely meaningless, worthless to even think about. So, if Ouma knew Saihara would keep on living, then it was enough for him to keep living as well.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how fucked up this was though, he knew stalking was wrong, obviously. Criminals stalked, deviants and violators. But this was different.

Ouma did it out of his love. He had no ill intentions toward Saihara, he would never hurt him, he only wanted him to be safe. He needed to know he was safe. He needed Saihara to be alive, or it was all pointless.

Ouma had already returned from seeing Saihara home today, smiling and pulling his hood up over his pale face once the lightbulb began shining from inside the sanctuary of his room. It was difficult at first when he had gotten sent home, he still felt sick, and walking short distances had been difficult, but not going simply wasn’t an option.

So, he powered through, and it had been worth it in the end, yet each time… His body went hot. It scorched with an insatiable fire he had never felt before, seeing Saihara’s face after… After everything…

He had to return home immediately and touch himself until his body had nothing left to give.

He was completely turned-off at this point though, the fear of all of this being revealed enough to shock his body into a cold sweat. Picking his phone back up slowly, he knew he needed to respond, and saw Saihara had said nothing else after his last, now ominous message.

‘I’m sorry Saihara-kun, I… have to lie to you again!’ Ouma thought, before he typed out a reply, fingers shaking.

We ride the same train, sorry I thought I had told you… Your stop is way before mine ;;

Was it a good enough lie? Did it really count as a lie if it was partially the truth, though? Just a selective retelling. They really did ride the same train!

Oh, I remember that now. Sorry, my fault.

Either way, send me your address and I’ll bring it over, if it’s okay.

Saihara’s message was instant, and it made Ouma relax immediately. Saihara was so kind-hearted and trusting, he believed without any doubt, and while that slightly caused the guilt in Ouma’s chest to double, it made him smile through it.

Knowing he couldn’t object anymore, especially when it was Saihara’s mother insisting, Ouma sent his address and got to work cleaning.

The house was always relatively clean, he always did his part in keeping it tidy. (He didn’t like to think about what would happen if he didn’t) But there was only so much he could do. He couldn’t cover the cracks in the walls, get the stains out from the tatami mats, hide the overflowing amount of beer cans next to the trashcan waiting for garbage day. The evidence was there, no matter how much he swept and washed.

It wasn’t the same type of house Saihara had.

But he had a bigger issue. What was he going to give back?

He couldn’t send Saihara home empty handed, especially after he came all the way to his house, when his family had gone out of their way to give him something out of the goodness of their hearts. Not only was it rude, he had already taken so much, Saihara’s handkerchief, his help, and now his family’s food, if he didn’t give anything to repay them he would really become the world’s most garbage human being.

Looking through the empty cabinets in his kitchen, his stomach felt hollow with a growing ache. He really had nothing… Nothing to give? Dusty bags of snacks and rice? None of it was worthy for even rats, let alone people like Saihara’s family, kind people who were on a completely different caliber from him. He almost started crying.

Until he remembered the decorative box hidden in his room, tucked away in the corner behind his bed. Scrambling back to his room, he pulled it out carefully, the red ribbon only slightly smashed and distorted by the unfit hiding spot. Gently removing the lid, he looked inside at the elegantly wrapped rice snacks individually stacked in rows, with only a few missing. With some easy rearranging, Ouma made the rows appear whole, and he looked down at the precious treats with an unsure face.

He always got stuff like this, only once a year. Whenever his aunt came to visit, on a break from her job in the north to visit the family scattered throughout the rest of the country. She was a relatively successful, single woman, that wore heeled shoes with foreign initials on the bottom and smelled like some sort of unfamiliar garden.

She only ever stayed for a few hours before his father kicked her out, accusing her for flaunting her wealth and ‘bitch body’ to make fun of him. Before this happened though, she always managed to sneak Ouma a small treat, switching from toys to snacks as he grew and had to become stealthier at… generally everything.

“My boss loves this brand, and I think it suits you too, Ouma-kun. It’s sweet, but there’s a tang underneath it I think you’ll taste.” She handed over the box when his father was out of the room, and Ouma looked down at the painted top with a quivering gaze.

When he thanked her with an unnecessary bow, she only laughed, placing a hand on her nephew’s head as her face went serious.

“Keep working hard, Ouma-kun. But don’t push yourself, if you ever need anything… I mean anything, call me, okay?”

Ouma used to love his Aunt, her visits were the only part of his years that made his heart warm. Looking up through his bangs at the sheer pity in her eyes then…

He hated her.

He ripped open one of the crackers and hastily shoved it into his mouth, chewing through his bitterness to taste they were still fresh and equally delicious as he remembered. He didn’t want them, he didn’t deserve them.

If she knew, and he could tell in her eyes that she knew, why did she do nothing?

That was why he hated her in that moment, even through his overwhelming guilt the sentiment flashed through his mind. Not for her pity, or for her kindness, but for proving to him what he already knew. He wasn’t worth saving. No matter who saw his life, the outcome was the same, and it only confirmed one thing.

He wasn’t even worthy enough to escape it, that was why no one did anything. His agonizing existence was his own fault, it was never the result of the dice of fate. Someone like him deserved this, she didn’t have to say it, her actions spoke enough. Whatever she said, it was inconsequential in the face of the fact that she really did nothing to help him. What was a cracker worth when she handed them over to him when his face was bandaged and bruised?

But Saihara… Saihara was different. He was the first person to blame everyone else, to insist it wasn’t his fault.

Ouma hadn’t even realized he was chewing with tears falling from his face when the doorbell rang, making him jump as he sat pitifully crouched on the floor. Slamming the lid back on the crackers, he placed them on his desk, and ran up the stairs as fast as his legs could take him. Halfway up he faceplanted on the wood, but it didn’t stop him, quickly pushing himself back up and scrambling on his hands and knees over the remaining flight to the top.

He pressed his fingers to his nose lightly to feel if there was any blood, but he only sniffled wetly as pain throbbed in his nose. It didn’t matter, though, he brushed the tears from his face and pat the invisible dirt from his body before he immediately went to the door, opening it quickly after a shaky breath. He couldn’t leave Saihara waiting.

Saihara blinked as the light poured from inside and overwhelmed the pitch-black outside, blanketing the wrapped food in his hands in a yellow glow. It was the first time he had been on a street where no one left the outdoor lights on in their homes, and it was a tad terrifying. He couldn’t see more than what he needed to step in front of him, and every stray cat that lingered just outside of his vision was warped into some horrid monster rattling trashcans and following the scent of the cooked fish hat wafted from his plates, hungry for not just the food.

On top of that… Well, Saihara had never been to this side of town. If his mother knew where he was right now exactly, she would have changed her mind completely.

“Oh- Good evening…” Saihara said awkwardly, his fingers clenching around the rubber-lidded plate in his hands. Ouma looked more flustered than he ever had before, which was certainly saying something, one hand clutching the door as the other played with the worn hem of his black sweatshirt nervously.

“S-Saihara-kun! Good evening!” Did he have to be so embarrassing? He was looking at Saihara, no, observing him like he was some sort of specimen, the slight sparkle in his eye not negating the repeated up-and-down stare he gave him over and over.

“Um… Well, I’m sorry for the intrusion,” Saihara offered politely, but his eyes were cast to the side, doing anything to avoid Ouma’s attentive and affectionate gaze. He swallowed thickly and glanced back flittingly, seeing Ouma scatter to the side and open the door wider.

“Oh, of course! Please, come inside.” Ouma ushered him inside attentively, almost like a grandmother would, closing the door after Saihara with a slight struggle, having to shove it into the frame to keep it in place. As he did, the slouched collar of his old sweater slid to the side, and the purplish-yellow marks that snaked around his neck were visible for barely a second, making a bead of sweat slip down Saihara’s throat. They were the exact size and shape of his own fingers.

“I’ll um… I’ll take these from you so you can take your shoes off…?” Ouma offered his hands out to the plates in Saihara’s, shuffling a bit awkwardly as he tried to settle the nervousness building in his heart. He had never had anyone else in his home before, and on top of that, it was Saihara, just days after… that had happened… Just how was he supposed to act.

“Ah, uh yeah, thank you.” Fortunately, Saihara seemed just as awkward and unsure, unsteady as he handed over the food before taking off his loafers. As he slipped them off, he paused a minute to take a deep breath, and observe his surroundings, steadying his annoying jitters. Keeping his eyes low, he scanned the entryway that should have normally been packed with various shoes and slippers, but was completely barren aside from his own. Only one other pair sat against the wall, which he recognized as Ouma’s school shoes, but that was all the lonely entryway had to offer.

This was a space that was supposed to speak to the life and vitality of a family, and it was practically a desert.

At least, with Saihara’s now there, it was less desolate, and when he lined them up straight against the step it gave the scene a little more life.

Ouma was waiting above him, watching him intensely again as if the way he removed his shoes was some sort of practiced artform. After standing, Saihara coughed to signal his discomfort, which made Ouma begin to dance uncertainly back and forth on his feet.

“Oh, let me put this in the kitchen! Um- It’s this way, here, after I do I can go get your handkerchief and u-um-“ Ouma turned on one of his heels and began marching down the hallway without finishing his sentence, looking both determined and terrified with each step he took in his slippers. Saihara had to hold in whatever weird sort of laugh the scene made him have, instead scratching at his cheek as he followed the other’s light walk.

So, this was Ouma’s house, huh? Saihara made an excited noise as he glanced around, eagerly welcoming the new information and compartmentalizing it into what he knew about the other. He liked the vulnerability of it.

Ouma’s house looked on the inside about what you would expect it to look like from seeing it on the outside. Saihara wasn’t going to make assumptions, but given the personality Ouma grew up to have he guessed his home life had neither nurtured nor nourished him, and he seemed to be correct. There still was no sign of any other person in the household, and by the way the stairway sagged, and the floor creaked dangerously each time he walked, whatever other being was in charge of the place clearly didn’t seem to care a single bit for it.

Then maybe they didn’t care for Ouma either…?

His musings set to the side, Saihara turned into the equally empty kitchen, seeing Ouma slide the plates carefully onto the countertop with smooth fingers. Once it was safe, he turned to Saihara, his fingers fidgeting in front of his lap.

“I… I don’t really know how to repay your kindness, Saihara-kun. You really didn’t need to go out of your way to bring me anything, after everything I’ve done already…” Shifting, Ouma glanced over at the food, before back up at Saihara, immediately darting his eyes away when he saw the other was watching him as well. “Especially something as precious as this.”

Saihara could only clumsily laugh at that, walking up to the food, but making sure he kept a good distance between his own body and Ouma’s, as he knew already the other would flinch if they got too close. Almost as if he was dealing with a skittish kitten, or more accurately, a bunny.

“It’s not much, really-“ Removing the lid to the food, he sheepishly showed it to Ouma, watching the other’s eyes go wide. “Just what was left after our dinner. My mom was actually really mad I didn’t tell her beforehand, she wanted to make you more.”

On a double-layered plate, there was half of a fish, rice, a salad, some vegetable sides, and even an individually wrapped cookie with a smiley face on the plastic. Taped atop the shrink-wrap was a pink note, reading the words ‘Get well soon!’ in a sweet, curling handwriting, the flowers on the edges of the paper elegantly completing the scene to homey fullness.

Ouma could have cried, the food was so beautifully displayed, accentuated only by the sheer care and thought put into the gesture. And on top of it all, it was from the Saiharas, a family Ouma felt gratitude and respect to without any hesitation. To have raised Saihara into such a wonderful person himself, he was sure they had to be only the most beautiful people on the earth.

Unaware his hands had shot up and he was covering his mouth, Ouma lowered them so he could thank Saihara, his words shaking with emotion, “Th-Thank you, I can’t thank your family enough.”

“It’s really no- Ah, well…” Giving up on his embarrassed objections, Saihara rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the food one more time. “I was going to bring you your books today, and my mom wasn’t going to let me come without making sure you had eaten.”

“M-My books?” Ouma looked away from the gracious gift for a moment, watching Saihara nod as he began to remove his schoolbag from his shoulder.

“You still hadn’t come to school today, so I figured-“ ‘I figured no one had come to give you your work.’  Was the truth, but Saihara switched his wording to carefully avoid the uncomfortable fact. “I thought I would come give it to you so you wouldn’t get too behind.”

Reaching into the bag he shuffled around, collecting the large stack of books that had honestly made his shoulder ache after the long day of lugging them home and now to Ouma’s house. It was all impossible to pull out in one movement, and he had to fish around twice before the heavy collection was in his hands, weighing down his fingers until he eventually had to start setting them on the counter.

Organic Chemistry+, Calculus 2, Advanced English… The books were much thicker than anything Saihara normally carried in a day, and as they piled up, he was struck with the nagging question.

“These books are kind of… Well, I didn’t think anyone in your grade was learning this stuff already.” Saihara certainly wasn’t, and he was even a grade above him, the last book thudding into the stack as he chose his next words. “You’re really smart, aren’t you, Ouma-kun?”

Saihara looked up with a supportive smile, trying to convince himself his compliment hadn’t been awkwardly timed when he saw… Ouma sobbing. He was biting onto his bottom lip ferociously to hold in his noises, which is why Saihara hadn’t noticed before, sniffling quietly but violently as the tears coated his face. Covering his eyes in shame, Ouma wiped them pointlessly from his face, only clearing more room for the new ones to cover over his full cheeks.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ He grounded himself with a small gasp, the choked noise sounding pathetic against his fingers. “I’m not upset, I promise… I-I’m just so happy… no one’s ever brought me my books before… And this food, there’s no way I can accept it, I’m sorry Saihara-kun!”

“What are you saying…?” Saihara was genuinely caught off guard, a bit thrown off even that his genuine gestures were being rejected so easily. Was this why people disliked Ouma…? If you just denied everything someone tried to do for you, even if you thought you were being polite, it was only natural for them to become miffed, and even if Saihara wasn’t at this moment, he could see why others would feel that way.

But the way Ouma was acting was too pathetic to even feel an ounce of anger toward him. To cry so easily over natural kindness, things every other person took for granted in their daily life, it didn’t leave you with an anger in your stomach. Just… pity.

It was pitiful, Ouma Kokichi was a pitiful human being.

It made Saihara’s blackened heart ache.

“There’s just nothing I can offer you in return… the guilt is…” Of course, this wasn’t the only thing Ouma felt guilty for, the other secrets he was holding inside were what was making him react this way. But the actual happiness he felt at the idea of Saihara showing him such unfettered kindness was enough to truthfully bring him to tears.

“…You don’t have to give me anything. Just talk to me some more about Danganronpa, okay?” Saihara raised an eyebrow, and Ouma nodded between his sniffles, finally shutting off the faucet in his tearducts for only a moment. Saihara was right… There were ways he could work at repaying him, better ways than crying, for one.

But his family, that was a different story.

“I do have something for your mom though, to say thank you. W-Wait here!” Ouma took off from the kitchen, running past Saihara without looking him in the eyes, but the other could see he was still working at clearing his face fully of tears.

Left alone in the kitchen, Saihara took a moment to pull out his phone, checking behind himself despite knowing Ouma wouldn’t be back for a moment.

The message was still there.

Don’t tell anyone I sent this to you…

But I wouldn’t keep being nice to Ouma if I were you. You’ll get mixed up in some really bad stuff.

I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you Saihara-kun…

One Attachment: Video

Hanging out with perverts like him will ruin your reputation… So, don’t worry about taking care of him anymore. You’ve already been nice enough!

The video was black, and Saihara’s finger hovered over the play button hesitantly, knowing he shouldn’t, knowing he should keep ignoring it like he did the entire walk here. But it was itching at him, whatever was in this video… Would that offer the truth as to why Ouma was so hated. And that phrase… ‘pervert’… Ouma had said he was a virgin. Was that a lie? Were his exaggerated tears all a lie too, then?

The thought made Saihara’s blood boil, his finger angrily slamming down on the triangle button with fervor before he even consciously realized it.

Downstairs, Ouma had collected the rice crackers and the freshly washed handkerchief, taking a second to smell it and make sure it didn’t carry any extra… scent with it. It was clean, and it no longer smelled like Saihara, unfortunately, but it would be going back to its owner where it belonged. Was it wrong for Ouma to be jealous of an inanimate object?

Folding it neatly atop the box, he began the ascent up the stairs, thinking of ways to apologize to Saihara along the way. If only he didn’t have to cry at everything… It was just so hard to contain his emotions when he was the happiest he had ever been in his entire life. It was his first time being noticed, his first time being in love, and being touched, his emotions had been a wreck for the last few days. Internally he thought he had been prepared to face Saihara again, and thank him properly, but it looked like that wasn’t the case.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he heard the muffled roar of voices, unfamiliar at the distance he was at. Turning the corner, he called out hesitantly to Saihara, his steps echoing loudly down the hallway.


The noises stopped immediately, and he heard Saihara moving around in the kitchen quickly, as if he was shifting around. When he finally made it to the room, he saw he was still standing, his bag back on his shoulder and his phone in his hand.

“Sorry, did I keep you waiting?”

“Ah-Uh, no, not really…” Saihara glanced down at his phone, seeing the screen was black and holding in a small breath. Moving his gaze from his hands, he looked at Ouma’s, seeing the box and his handkerchief on top. “Oh, my handkerchief. You actually had it…”

“O-Of course I did! And-“ Ouma held out the gift, shuffling in discomfort as he presented the unworthy trade. “These are a gift for your family… And you! To thank you for everything.”

“That’s really not necessary-“ Saihara began, but was forcibly cut off as the gift was shoved into his chest, Ouma bowing deeply as he held out the box.

“Please, accept it! It’s not anything worth enough to repay you, but it’s all I…” Ouma trailed off, and Saihara understood, taking the box from him and placing his thumb on the top to keep his checkered handkerchief in place.

“I’ll make sure to give it to my mom when I get home, then.” There was something off about Saihara’s voice, and Ouma couldn’t place it. Almost like it was… empty?

“A-And, give her my thanks too, please!” Ouma added, still unsettled when Saihara only curtly nodded, his eyes seeming faraway as his hand curled over his bag’s strap over and over. “If you want… I could walk you to the station, since it’s kind of far-“

“No, it’s okay. I’ll have to head back now anyway.” After he finished, Saihara began walking toward the door, leaving no other explanation as to his quick departure. Not that Ouma minded, the sooner Saihara got home, the sooner he would be off the streets. Ouma would have followed him home as well, but his father would be home any minute, and there was no excuse he could give for his absence.

It was okay, after seeing how well Saihara had gotten here on his own, Ouma knew he could trust him to get home. Besides, he needed to eat the food fully before his father got home, or else…

“I-I understand!” Ouma chased after Saihara, and managed to pass by him on the way to the door, stepping down before him. He opened the door, and the stuffy night air crept into the house as Saihara slid his shoes back on, much slower, and deliberate this time. When he stood, he looked at Ouma carefully, and the other slid back, his hand coming up to clutch at the collar of his large sweater habitually. As he did, the marks were revealed again, and Saihara couldn’t avert his attention this time, staring at them intensely with swirling emotions in his eyes.

“Um-“ Ouma was about to wish him a goodnight, before Saihara reached out and pressed his hand to his throat, his fingers falling perfectly over the marks already there, matching to the smallest centimeter. Ouma gasped, but didn’t withdraw, instead letting Saihara keep his hand over his quickening pulse as the soreness in his neck ached sweetly.

Yeah, those were his marks, there was no doubt about it. Letting out a relieved sigh, Saihara withdrew his hand, a small smile crawling onto his face.

“Have a good night, Ouma.” Saihara leaned forward after speaking, placing an indecisive, fluttering kiss to his forehead, the other’s eyes growing wide as he felt the wetness on his warm face. Was that… enough? Saihara really didn’t know, he had never dated anyone, or been fuckbuddies with someone before. Were they either of those things? Why did he even feel compelled to do that in the first place?

After what he had done, he had this odd compulsion to care for Ouma, or at least make sure he was okay. Like… Aftercare, maybe?

Covering his own embarrassment, Saihara turned toward the door, and walked down the front steps, hearing Ouma breathe heavily behind him.

“Th-Thank you, Saihara-kun! Please get home safe! Text me when you get home!” Ouma stumbled out of the door, and cupped his hands over his mouth, calling out as the night air cooled his vibrantly blushing face. “I’ll be waiting! Please get home safe!”

‘Please, please never leave me.’

Ouma couldn’t help but smile, and he pressed the tips of his fingers to his forehead, his skin tingling with the leftover electricity Saihara’s kiss had spread over his skin.


When Saihara was a good distance from Ouma’s house, and in an area where he could use his headphones without any fear of his surroundings, he slipped them into his ears after glancing around.

One Attachment: Video

Shakily, he pressed the video again, no hesitation this time. He had only seen a few seconds before Ouma had interrupted him before, and he needed to make sure… Well he needed to figure out what he was looking at.

It started with the screen black.

“Make sure you get his face in it.”

“Hahaha, ohmygod, are you serious right now?”

“Dude, how the fuck do you work your camera?”

“Are you an idiot? Fucking- Just give it to me-“

The video shifted slightly, and the blackness faded into a dimly lit bathroom, only illuminated by the obscured afternoon lighting filtering through the frosted windows. As the low quality focused more, Saihara knew what he was looking at, the abandoned bathroom on the 2nd floor of school, that was permanently condemned as they worked to fix the bad piping in the last few stalls.

No one was supposed to use, or even go inside of it, it was taped off from the outside. But well, clearly that rule wasn’t followed.

The camera panned up, and Saihara saw the familiar face of a third-year delinquent, squatting on the floor alongside some of his other friends.

“Is it focused?”
“Yeah, as much as your shit phone can.”

Flipping off the camera momentarily, he moved on to other things, opting to ignore the fight for whatever he had squished under his foot.

It took Saihara a minute to realize it was a human head.

“Alright, alright, so today we have Shrimp here, making up for his deadbeat dad’s debt.”

“3 million fucking Yen. 3 million!”

“Is he spendin’ that money to get you into a good college, Shrimpy? Or is he losing it at the tables?”

The boy ground his foot deeper into the person’s head, and they whimpered, their noises muffled against the grungy tile of the bathroom floor. Clearly unsatisfied with the answer, he pressed his sneaker harder into the back of their head, and their whole body spasmed in pain.

“Are you gonna answer? Come on, use that smart mouth of yours!”

“If you don’t answer us, your dad is as good as dead, y’know!”

“He’s worthless at this point! Can’t pay a single thing back.”

Grabbing onto the back of the person’s head, the bully wrenched their face up from the ground, a loud and wet gasp gargling as they begged for air through the pain.

Ouma’s face was covered in snot and tears, blood pooling from his forehead and running down his nose from a deep gash in his skin. A matching one accompanied his cheek, both clearly severe enough to be from some sharp object, making Saihara stop in his tracks.

His breaths were audible as his hands began to shake.

“Pl-ease, don’t hurt my dad, please-“

There was only uproarious laughter at his heart wrenching pleas, the camera shaking as whoever filmed bellowed out a hearty laugh alongside everyone else. They kept laughing as Ouma cried, his bird-like shoulders trembling underneath the weight of the other foot shoving them into the ground.

“That’s not up to us. Kuzu’s dad is real mad about it at this point, mad enough to ask guys like us to make this video for him.”

“Got it? If your daddy doesn’t pay up, this video is going out to everyone in the school. Not just the school, every person in the whole town. Try getting a job after this gets around, hah!”

Ouma closed his eyes, slamming his lips together as he whimpered helplessly, sounding broken and defeated.

“Pretty sure my dad would just kill himself if he saw a video of me like this.”

“Wouldn’t even be worth it to move away, this video will follow your family wherever you go. Probably better to just die, at that point.”

“How’s it sound, Shrimp? Want your dad to die?”

Ouma shook his head vehemently as everyone around him laughed, letting out a small ‘Ow!’ as his hair was pulled back tightly, revealing more of his bruised and damaged face. The purple marks went down his neck, and Saihara could even see a bit of blood leaking from his ear, dripping to the floor and over his jacket.

“Please, don’t kill my dad! I promise we’ll get the money, I promise! I-I’ll get it myself!”

His desperate admission was only met with rancorous guffawing, the camera panning to the whole group as they lost their minds over the admission. Did Ouma even care about his own preservation…? This video… It would destroy his life. Yet all he thought of was his father’s safety, when he clearly didn’t deserve it in Saihara’s mind.

Could it have gotten worse? Unfortunately, Saihara’s question was answered before he finished thinking it.

“And you got the money for that? What, do you have a little side job?”

“Ew, that’s fuckin’ nasty.”

“Hey, I’ve been thinking for a while though…”

The man with the camera spoke, passing off the phone with some loud shuffling and crackling against the speakers. Once it was in his another’s hands, he stepped in front of the camera, brushing the leader to the side and taking a spot behind Ouma.

“Isn’t this kinda boring? I mean, won’t the boss be mad? Who even cares if shit like this gets out in this day and age?”

“What are you even saying?”

Answering his friends with action, the boy ripped Ouma’s head out of the other’s grip, and forced it back at a new angle, violently enough to make him let out a loud cry. Saihara could feel the roots of his own hair throbbing at the simple movement, and he couldn’t even imagine the pain Ouma felt as he closed one eye and grit his teeth through the blurry pixels.

“What I’m sayin’ is… Shouldn’t we make it more embarrassing for him?”

The room in the video was quiet except for the sound of feet shuffling, no one else seeming to quite understand his suggestion. Saihara’s breath increased, the wet layer of sweat that had formed underneath the brim of his hat rubbing against his forehead as he realized, reluctantly, that he knew exactly what he meant.

Was it true that certain minds thought alike?

“He kinda looks like a girl right? He’s all small, and gets that look on his face when he begs.”

“Oh not this shit again…”

“I’m serious this time though, more than I was the other times. Here-“

Running a finger under Ouma’s chin, he trailed the rough pad of it over his Adam’s apple, the way Ouma quivered visible even through the low quality.

“I say we make him cry some more.”

Without any warning, Ouma’s face was abruptly slammed into the tile, the sick sound of his skull bashing into the ground enough to make Saihara jump in real life. The video was eerily silent, even those around unsure how to respond, the only noise their heavy breaths as Ouma whimpered against the ground helplessly.

After grinding his nose and eyes into the grime, he lifted the blubbering boy’s face up again, a clear line of drool mixing with the blood exuding from his burst bottom lip.

“Pleashe- Sto-“

“Huh, what was that? Can’t hear you!”

He smashed his fingers under Ouma’s chin, squeezing it tightly so his lips smushed and his mouth was deformed. Unable to properly speak, the boy only gurgled, though it was clear he was trying his hardest to do as he was told. There were a few nervous laughs as the bullies waited to see how far the others were willing to go, but when it was clear they were all united in their enjoyment, they all bellowed with hilarity and knocked shoulders with one another.

Properly displaying Ouma’s face to the camera, the other student towered behind him, somehow looking animalistic and gigantic compared to the trembling boy beneath him. How did he look so much older and threatening, when Ouma himself looked quite literally like a puny slab of prey? They had to be close in age, yet somehow the malice emanating from the other was enough to age him by decades.

But he still remained a child, the sheer, youthful enjoyment he was getting from the situation shining through his sadistic grin.

“Better speak up, Shrimp, or he’ll crush your skull!”

“Hahaha, this is too funny.”


Ouma’s mouth struggled against the strong grip, trying to mash out letters and syllables but failing, to the others’ delight. They continued their laughter as he wilted under their hands, somehow managing to speak through it.

“I-I don’t understand wh-at you-“

“Come on, use that smart brain of yours to convince the boss to give your useless Dad a lil’ more time. Maybe if you tell him how much you like being used as payment, he’ll keep him alive for a little longer.”

Ouma shook his head, not in defiance, but in clear confusion, the fingers ripping at his hair distorting his face slightly.

But Saihara wasn’t confused, he knew exactly what they were going to say. Unfortunately, it was true certain minds thought alike.

“B-But I don’t-“

“Are you an idiot? Don’t think we can’t see how you’re wiggling your hips, are you actually getting off on this?”

“That’s fuckin’ gross!”

“We found someone that’s even a bigger pervert than you, haha!”

Saihara’s body erupted into a hot fire, the empty pit that had once opened in his stomach now filling with rage and another unspeakable emotion. While the others joked and teased, he felt fury build inside of him, propelling him forward as he was no longer shocked enough to stand still.

He was propelled by his indignation, zooming past the other pedestrians around him in a black, ferocious blur.

Stupid Ouma, stupid Ouma, stupid Ouma, stupid…!

“But I don’t-!”

“Wrong! Do it right!”

“Yeah, beg properly or your dads going to die!”

Ouma’s face was slammed to the ground with a sickening crack as a warning, too many times to count at this point. He whimpered as his face was lifted again, his nose clearly bleeding now as it was turned to square with the camera, looking the viewer straight in the eye.

The laughter in the video was baited at first, before it turned into full on cackling, the group feeding off each other. None of them were as twisted as the new ring leader, but they could pretend, the high of kicking around a pitiful, weak thing enough to fluff their imbalanced egos

Fucking amateurs, they didn’t deserve to see something like this. Fakers like this didn’t deserve to lay a hand on Ouma…!

“U-Um, I wouldn’t mind being- If you enjoy it, I don’t mind-“

“Speak up!”

The bruised boy flinched as if he expected to be punished again, but when no physical blow came, he let out a shaky breath loud enough to be captured by the camera’s microphone. His body trembling, and his legs squirming around nonstop, he steadied his gaze. His words were timid yet said with conviction,

“I’m fine with being used to pay off my dad’s debt, so please don’t kill him! Please don’t kill my dad!”

Swallowing so his neck bobbed, Saihara could see the sweat that had collected on his face and body. Was it sweat of terror, of fear, or something else?

When it was clear he hadn’t said enough, Ouma continued on, the space around him surprisingly silent.

“I really don’t mind, I-I mean, I enjoy it! I like being used as a hostage for my dad’s debt!

If you enjoy this video, please give me a little more time to get the money…!”

His back was freed, and with his new range of movement, Ouma brought his hands out from underneath him and put up two, trembling peace signs with his short fingers. He set them against his face, and flashed a smile with his split lips, bright and innocent.

A pure smile, one of virginal joy.

‘Stupid Ouma, stupid Ouma… showing those faces to others! Making that face around such worthless trash!’

“I like getting beat up, I promise! I’ll do anything, a-anything to make up for it!

So… So please, please…! Hehe…”


Saihara hadn’t realized he had been ripping off chunks of his nails until the entirety of his upper thumbnail was gone, falling between his lips and hitting the ground as the slightly sensitive skin now sat exposed and burning against the saliva inside of his mouth. Looking at Ouma’s face made him sick, he had never felt sicker in his entire life. It was like something had died inside of him, turning the last few white spots of his body curdled and rotten.

But more than anything, he was mad at them.

When Ouma’s speech was done, the bullies burst into unrestrained glee, laughing and spouting off the same nonsense they had the entire video. All useless talk, it was baseless and banal. They had no idea what they were even saying, they had no right to even touch Ouma in that way, make him say the things he did.

The video ended as if shiftily panned away, Ouma now free and pushing himself up shakily on his weak arms. It went black, and Saihara came to a stop, realizing he was at the station’s gates.

“Man, that’s fucking hilarious.”

“Should be good enough for now, send it to the boss.”

“Seriously, if my dad ever found out about something like this I would just kill myself.”

He closed the video, not before saving it, and deleted the messages.

He swiped himself into the train station silently, slinking past the stray attendants and turning left to the bathroom. There was only one other person inside, and they exited as he approached, brushing past him and out of the deep blue doors.

Choosing the last stall in the empty, dingy room, he closed the door behind him. The metal was cold as he pressed his undeniably quavering body up against it, using it to support his weight as his knees lost their strength. He was looking down at his phone with a mixed expression, the sweat under the brim of his hat feeling cold in the dank air.

He had to show the police.

That was the only answer, right? There was enough evidence in this video alone to get the low-level gangsters arrested, sure, but they could also potentially trace it to the top. They had said the boss’ name after all, hadn’t they? Idiots.

An anonymous tip line was surely the answer. He could send it in, then…

Then what?

The video had clearly made its way out to the student body, which meant Ouma’s dad hadn’t succeeded in paying back his debt. If the police got a hold of this video, not only would they have to present the humiliating, shameful evidence to his father, they could potentially arrest him as well for illegal loaning and gambling. Where would that leave Ouma? On the streets if he was lucky, or in an orphanage if he wasn’t.

But more importantly, it begged the question… Did Ouma know about this? Did he know that everyone had seen this video and was laughing about it behind his back, not lifting a single finger to help change the situation?

Saihara could imagine that if anything like this had ever happened to him, and he knew every single person in his life had seen it, he probably would have killed himself like the bullies suggested. But behind Ouma’s broken surface, there was still a light inside of him. A small, glimmer of hope in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t completely shattered, he still saw meaning in living.

There was no way he knew. He had no idea that everyone, especially Saihara, had seen this video.

Saihara looked down at the video one more time, shakily pressing the play button and watching it churn to life, loading up the same image of Ouma’s face forced into the dirty ground with a shoe on top of his head. As the words began flooding his ears again, sick and faraway, he reached a hand down to unbutton his pants.

This was fucked up.

Watching Ouma’s head get wrenched back painfully, and seeing the hurt expression he wore through his bruises and cuts made Saihara’s hips jut forward, sliding down his boxer briefs until the stale air hit his exposed erection. The entirety of it was smeared with precum that had soaked his underwear each time he saw Ouma’s face get bloodier, and his warbling voice that crackled through his headphones had made it almost painful for him to walk. Any inkling of self-control he had was lost as the pressure from his fingers ran past his hardness, and he focused on the pixels that made up Ouma’s face intently.

He couldn’t ignore it, when he saw Ouma begin to smile, the peace signs happily displayed next to his beaten face, Saihara had to use his free hand to cover his mouth to shield his uncontrollable moan that escaped him. That smile… was it the distortion from the quality, or was it really like the one he had seen himself?

He was panting behind his fingers, his dick twitching in a beg for stimulation as his lust never wavered, but only grew with each messed up second that passed.

The video ended, and getting his breathing under control, Saihara replayed it, before his hesitant hand wrapped itself around his leaking cock and began pumping it. And then he replayed it again. And again. And again. And again.

It was unforgivable, Ouma had no right to show those faces to other people, especially guys like that. It just wasn’t right, they were fakes, they had no idea what they were dealing with. No one else could do it right, Saihara knew this, so why was Ouma getting excited from this half-assed child’s play?

There was no other choice, those guys, those absolute wastes… Saihara knew what he had to do.

The rage and hunger built up inside of him as his orgasm hit, making him let out a small, barely muffled cry as his cum splattered onto the ground and dripped onto his shoes slightly. Ouma’s pure face smiled up at him through the distorted LCD, and he felt his body convulse, the tepid air around him doing nothing to ease it.

The lucidity after his orgasm didn’t change the thought, yet, somehow solidified it.

He was going to kill them.




“Saihara-kun… Did you get my message?” The girl’s words pulled Saihara from his reverie of scrolling through his phone, and he had only enough time to turn it facedown on the desk so she wouldn’t see what was on the screen before she was at his side. He saw her feet dancing in nervousness next to his desk, and he looked up to her face, the same unsureness plaguing its plain features.

“Yeah… I did,” Saihara chose his words carefully, watching her only falter in response.

“Oh, ah… Well, I wasn’t sure since you didn’t respond,” was her only explanation, glancing to the side where her friends sat huddled around a nearby chair, doing their best to listen yet seem preoccupied.

“I just wasn’t sure what to say is all.” Saihara decided to go easy on her, for now, if not just to see what her excuse for herself was.

“I-I guess that makes sense… I’m sorry you had to see something so horrible, I just thought…” Throwing one more nervous glance at her friends, she steeled herself and brought her hands that had been clasped behind her to fiddle in front of her skirt. “I just figured you hadn’t seen that video, since you’re such a nice person! You don’t really get involved in stuff like that… Oh, not saying I am! My friend sent it to me, I didn’t know either until the other day!”

When Saihara only gave her a tired, yet clearly disinterested smile her own fell slightly, but didn’t fail, “I had heard you offered to take Ouma-kun’s books home, and that’s what made me think you didn’t know… What kind of person he is, and his family too. I know you’re a really nice person, Saihara-kun, but you shouldn’t put yourself in danger for someone like that!” There was a blush on her face as she lowered her gaze to her fingers before speaking the next part, “I was worried about you…”

Worried about… him?

After seeing everything Ouma had gone through, knowing the type of hell he faced every day, she was worried about some boy from her class?

Saihara couldn’t find the words he needed to say, so he abruptly stood, his lanky fingers spread out on the desk in an attempt to ground himself. His head was bent, so his face was hidden beneath his hat, but he could imagine her expression, taken aback and ever-so-faintly afraid.

“I appreciate it, really, thank you for showing me that video,” he offered sincerely, snatching his phone from the desk and shoving it in his pocket. “I think I need to use the bathroom now.”

“H-Huh? Oh, well, it was no problem! Um, actually, if you’re free after club today, wanna get some cake at-“ She called uselessly after him as Saihara pushed past her and stormed out of the classroom, the slam of the sliding door causing her to jump and end her unheard grasping at a normal school life.

The bell chimed as Saihara made his way to the stairs, only the stragglers left as they rushed to make their way into the classrooms before their presence was noticed missing. One bumped into Saihara and stopped to apologize, but he only continued in a straight line, never lifting his head up from gazing at the floor.

His feet cycled almost methodically as he took one flight down on the worn-out stairs, fliers and posters whipping past his gaze as they surrounded his vision. It was quick and easy to get to the 2nd floor when the halls were empty, and at the end of the floor stood his objective, bright yellow and unusually inviting.

Saihara heard it before he saw it, honestly, the distant sounds of deep voices conversing freely. As if they didn’t care they were skipping class, or that anyone could hear them. The yellow caution tape was next, strapped in two lines over the doors entrance, but easily avoidable if you had the will to break through.

Which Saihara did, and he knew the other students inside did as well.

“It’s not even fun today, where’d the spunk go?” One voice questioned, the soft sound of something thudding carelessly to the ground following him.

“You probably beat it out of him, ain’t got nothing else to give.”

“He really doesn’t care about his dad anymore?”

“I mean, it’s pretty clear he isn’t going to pay shit back, so why even bother.”

“Probably better to just die at this point.”

There was a disinterested sneer as Saihara heard the sound of a can opening, the fizzing noise the carbonated soda made echoing unfittingly against the conversation. It was too natural and normal for the dismal assault happening around it.

“That’s not on us, the boss’ll hire someone else to do that. Like hell I’m going to jail for murdering some worthless kid and his dad.”

“The judge would probably just let you go. It’s a public service. You’ll get a prize and everything.”

There was a chorus of laughter, punctured by the crushing of cans and idle shuffling. Saihara stood by the door with his sweaty fists clenched, his heightened senses picking up on every little decibel of sound that reverberated from the abandoned bathroom, somehow pushing him back and shoving him forward at the same time.

He hadn’t expected them to be there already. Fuck, did that mean his plan was ruined…? What plan, anyway? Even now, he was moving forward without a thought, the sharp object in the back of his pocket shielded, yet still pressing ominously against his upper thigh.

He had planned to hide in the last stall, the one broken and without any use, until they surely came in to waste their youth trashing around a dusty bathroom. Saihara didn’t care how long it took. If they came during homeroom, if they came during lunch, if he had to spend the entire school day and into the evening curled up on the toilet waiting for them he would.

Because he knew they would bring Ouma here. They were alike, in that way, once they had a taste it wouldn’t be enough. Saihara had barely handled a few days without him, and he had just had a chance to play around with him. Imagine if you had that power under your hands, whenever you wanted, however you wanted…? There was no way they went more than a day without taking out their banal frustrations on the boy, hiding it behind their joke of a loyalty when they secretly got off on it.

Ouma had been gone for three days, no doubt their animalistic urges were acting up in their tiny brains. And it seemed Saihara was right in his thoughts.

He hated to admit they were alike, more than anything in the world. But it was inevitable, so he just needed to put that aside and secure Ouma’s safety. Well... ‘safety’ was used for the lack of a better term.

Saihara inched closer to the door, his body a livewire, pulled taut at every joint and connection. He didn’t care about his plan at this point, seeing their bodies sprawled on the floor, eyes blank and grinning no more was his only goal. It excited him, he felt a sheen of sweat shiver across his body, his hand shaking as he put it against the obnoxiously yellow tape.

Their dead bodies… He wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw them-!

All of the eyes in the room turned toward the entrance as Saihara swiftly walked through, coming to an unsure stop as they surrounded him.

It was deathly quiet, the shuddering heap on the floor beginning to lift his head as well as the silence stretched into an uncomfortable length. Saihara’s blood was red hot and freezing cold, steeling in his veins until the world around him seemed to move at a languid, muddy pace.

Ouma’s eyes widened almost painfully at the sight of Saihara in the doorway, the afternoon light blanketing his frame as the caution tape sliced it in half behind him.


“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

The only boy standing took a step forward in a laughably weak way, his stance somehow making him seem even more unsure and pathetic.

“What the- Man, no one in their right mind knows to come inside of here. Can’t you see the cau~tion~ tape?” Another pointed toward the slightly jiggling tape that Saihara had just walked under, sticking his tongue out in some sort of jest.

“O-Oh… Sorry, I always use this bathroom…” Saihara stopped walking forward when it was clear if he made one more move forward he would be too far into the lion’s den. He took a hesitant step back, even if it was only faked, and the gang glanced at each other uneasily.

“This kid’s gotta be a junior, never seen him before…” A large, cumbering student stood, his presence overwhelming enough that Saihara almost regretted his actions. They had seemed so much smaller on his phone screen, burned into his memories as he watched it through the night. Almost.

“You sure? I heard Yasu’s gang is recruiting young, likes to keep ‘em fresh…” With an untrusting glance tossed his way, Saihara felt he was at his most comfortable, easily slipping into the rhythm he knew well. There was a small smile on his face, making him seem tinier and more unassuming than he really was, his hand creeping to his back pocket as his sickly normalness covered the movements.

“Really, I’m sorry Senpai, I didn’t mean to… Usually when I go here there’s no one around.” The boxcutter was cold in his palm as he clicked it two places from its shielded position, the sharp, glinting tip seen by no one. Casting his eyes to the side, he played off his nervousness with embarrassment, faulting on a lie he found explained easiest. “I can’t go with other people in the room…”

There was a solid minute of silence, before the laughter bounced off the walls, rattling Saihara’s bones. They were thrilled, slapping each other’s shoulders while they chortled through their sloppy mouths, as if it was the funniest thing they had heard in their entire lives. Saihara had a vivid image of slamming the boxcutter into each of their necks.

“’Senpai’, he says! Like Yasu’s slags could have that respect.” Completely oblivious, the ruffian walked forward, putting a hand on Saihara’s neck that was so heavy and oppressive, it was almost threatening. But by the look on his face it was clear it was goodhearted, his harsh grip on his shoulder only caused from his natural enormity.

If he moved three more steps Saihara was going to dig his fingers into his stomach.

“Get some more confidence in yourself, kid. At least you aren’t like this shrimp,” The most sadistic of the bunch, Saihara knew his face well, approached him, smiling warmly, though he knew this was a wolf’s grin disguised. “Try going while this runt is on the ground and you’ll feel ten times better about yourself. Grow up, already,” leaning into Saihara’s ear, the weight now smothering on his other side, he whispered, making the boy’s once boiling blood chill. “And don’t ever come to this bathroom again.”

“Yeesh, lighten up. You’re gonna scare the piss out of him.”

“Awe, but he can’t go with other people around.”

Mocking Saihara’s voice, the rest of the boys chucked jokes back and forth light-heartedly, as light-hearted as bullying can be, but obviously found no threat in the weak, smaller intruder. Their brains only functioned on their primal instincts, they had no concept of what was lurking right under their noses. They had no grasp on just how terrifying the human mind could be. As they all stood from sitting and crouching, brushing dirt from their unkempt uniforms, their sighs of boredom were a clear sign they were done with the whole situation, Ouma included.

“Man, I’m tired of this. Let’s make Mishima buy that new fighting game for us after school.”

“Nice idea.”

They passed by Saihara in a faceless mob, very obvious that they had no interest in him anymore. As they slunk their broad frames through the small opening in the caution tape, there was no longer a hand on Saihara’s shoulder anymore, yet one presence remained.

It was that one, next to his ear, the one that had started all of this to the point it was unavoidable. He was still so close, like he was sniffing Saihara, observing him through his sideways cast eyes with alarming intensity. When the shorter boy chanced a glance up at him, he saw the other’s eyes narrow, steel gray and black.

Could he sense it…? The bloodlust radiating off of Saihara, the pure, unfettered lethal wave of thoughts practically screaming out of him. Saihara’s fingers were shaking as he gripped the weapon in his hand tighter, accidentally cutting into his palm, a searing cut opening and spreading blood down his fingers.

Saihara wasn’t going to back down, they may have had their similarities on who they enjoyed to mess up, but there was one major difference between them. And it shone as the single drip of blood hit the floor loudly, the boxcutter shifting closer under his sleeve to conceal it further.

Saihara wasn’t a fake.

And Saihara knew how to slit someone’s neck.

You had to do it from ear to ear, fully, or it wouldn’t be right. And you had to do it with conviction, or the vocal chords wouldn’t get severed. His tan skin would split and he wouldn’t even be able to scream, he wouldn’t even be able to cry about his own death as it crawled up on him. He’d bleed out on the floor, and Saihara would laugh. Then he’d take a big, deep breath, until his chest puffed out, breathing healthily in a way the other never would again. Then he imagined he’d laugh some more.

“Tch-“ Turning his head away, his neck now shielded from hidden threat, the other walked out of the room, hand lifting the tape lazily as if to indicate he had no idea of what almost just transpired. When his footsteps echoed down the hallway, Saihara let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, suddenly understanding why his vision had been so warbled and dark.

Light filled the tunnel that had once previously threatened to encloud all of Saihara’s vision, and he let out a sad, almost sort of wheezing sound. His body was shaking, adrenaline dissipating through his limbs after the vivid thoughts had flashed through his head in rapid succession, still somehow seeing the outline of that other towering over him burned into his retinas.

Ouma’s call of- “Saihara-kun!” kept him from collapsing, pressing his uninjured hand to his chest to feel his fluttering heart instead. When he saw Ouma’s shoes enter his vision, he lifted his head, seeing the other covered in dirt but relatively unharmed.

Extending a hand, Saihara bent down, aware his own fingers were still shaking. Over the tips of his fingers he saw Ouma’s shocked face, his violet eyes wet, unsurprisingly. It took him a moment to grasp what he was supposed to do, but when Saihara nudged his hand forward to reassure him, Ouma placed his own, filthy hand on top of it.

It was like Saihara was his prince, rescuing him, lifting him off of the disgusting bathroom floor until Ouma was on his feet. But there was no smile on his face.

“S-Saihara-kun, oh God, Saihara-kun are you okay?!” Ouma was frantic, bouncing around Saihara’s face as if he was looking for some sort of wound that wouldn’t be there. His hands were lifted and shifting about even faster, each time tentatively reaching for him but pulling back right before they got close enough to touch.

“I-I’m fine, Ouma-kun… Shouldn’t you be worried about yourself?” ‘You were the one being beaten around after all. By someone other than me.’

“Wh-Wha-? Oh, no, I’m fine, I promise! It wasn’t really… They didn’t do anything to me…” Ouma turned his attention to himself momentarily, trying to brush the scattered patches of dust from his dark uniform to cover his lie. “Those guys… They just like to m… make fun of me sometimes. You don’t have to worry, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

 Ouma’s gaze, ever sharp and always watching, noticed something off about Saihara when he let his eyes slide over to him hesitantly. More specifically, his right arm. It was shaking, and between his legs, Ouma saw red droplets splattering to the floor with each shiver it made.

“Y-Your arm! Saihara-kun you’re bleeding!” Ouma made a movement to sprint around him, toward his arm, but Saihara stopped him before he could even budge. “Let me see-“

“It’s fine,” he said a bit sternly, yet the other wasn’t shaken.

“But it’s bleeding-“

“I said it’s fine!” Saihara’s agitated voice bounced from the walls of the empty bathroom, the tile somehow enhancing the shrill vibrato of it. Ouma froze at that, his face a mix of shock and fear.

‘Saihara-kun yelled at me…’

Bringing his injured hand back from behind him, Saihara uncurled his palm, the box cutter slipping out of his wound and laying in his hand. It was deeper than he had originally thought, the rush of the situation must have covered the pain enough to where he hadn’t noticed. The sliced part of his flesh oozed out thick streams of blood, seeming to pulse each time it appeared it would stop, spilling down his wrist and staining his white undershirt.

After a moment’s thought, he brought the wound up to his mouth and licked it, a large helping of blood collecting on his tongue and trickling down his throat. Ouma watched in semi-horror, semi-captivation, his legs pulling together slightly as Saihara dragged his tongue over the entire wound thoroughly.

It tasted… different. It was different from Ouma’s, the consistency and flavor was all wrong. Naturally, he had tasted his own blood before, but it had all seemed like a distant memory once he had gotten his lips on someone else’s.

He had to say, now being the somewhat of a connoisseur he considered himself, he wasn’t a fan of his own blood. It still excited him, the once present adrenaline immediately rushing to his crotch, but it wasn’t enough. It made all those times he had playfully slit his fingers or his upper arm seem like a joke.

He’d much rather… have Ouma’s.

Flickering his eyes up, he saw Ouma observing him with a slightly open mouth, his emotions flittering across his face in a constantly changing range of expressions. Saihara got the general idea; confusion, horror, worry, and the tiniest, most miniscule hint of attraction.

Licking his lips, Saihara moved the box cutter to his other hand, the sting in his hand somehow doubling with the movement. He only winced a bit, before he looked at the clean blade, flecks of brown and red coating it.

“I was going to kill them, you know.” Ouma sputtered when Saihara spoke the words so frankly, his head still fuzzy after the scene that had just played out before him.

“Kill- Who, wait, you mean those guys?” The concerned boy drew his eyebrows together.

“Yeah, I was going to hide in the last stall and wait for them to come in. Then I was going to stab them one-by-one, until they weren’t even recognizable.” Sliding the box cutter out more, it clicked loudly until two more slats were revealed, bright and shiny compared to the splattered tip.

Ouma felt his heart in his throat like a fluttering bird, each extra piece of the blade revealed making him flinch. Flashing his eyes between it and Saihara’s eyes, Ouma tried to rationalize the weapon’s existence, and the other’s plan.

“Why… Why would you do that?” Was all Ouma could manage to ask, and a disgusted sneer crossed Saihara’s face.

“Why…?” He dropped his hand, and the box cutter bounced against his leg, threatening to rip his pants, though it was obvious he didn’t care. “Why would I do something like that?”

Saihara laughed.

It sounded unhinged, his throat gurgling and cracking halfway through with his own bitterness. It was more like a singular cackle, before he continued, his eyelids pulled back wide to reveal the entirety of his vivid irises.

“I was going to do it for you, Ouma-kun!”

Ouma’s breath caught as he heard Saihara laugh again, curling his fingers into his sleeves in an attempt to steady himself. For him…?

“I saw it, you know.”

“S-Saw it?”

“The video.”

Ouma still looked perplexed, the severity of the words not hitting them as Saihara thought they would. Was he ignoring it to feign innocence, or had he truly forgotten all about it, as if it was typical? Or maybe, he just refused to believe it?

Saihara couldn’t understand Ouma’s actions half the time, and it incensed him. The leftover, unreleased rage he had let fill inside of him in preparation for his admittedly ill-thought out plan to take the lives of his classmates was switching his bewilderment to fury, and not at the correct person.

“The video of what they did to you, do you really not remember? Do you just let them do that to you all the time, then?” Saihara took a step forward, and Ouma one back, his eyes finally filling with broken realization. “You said you would do anything to keep your dad alive.”

“Y-You didn’t, they couldn’t have… It wasn’t supposed to… They weren’t supposed to show anyone else-“ Ouma shook his head quickly, the burning beginning behind his tear ducts as a gross emptiness cut a pit into the bottom of his stomach. There was no way Saihara had seen that… It had to be a lie. If Saihara had seen that, Ouma was just going to kill himself.

“I saw it, I really did. Everyone else has seen it too you know, they’ve all heard you say you like being beat up.” Saihara’s mouth was wavering between a grin and scowl, closing the gap between him and Ouma as he squeezed the handle of the box cutter viciously. “It really surprised me, to hear you say something like that. I guess it doesn’t matter who does it, you’ll be fine with whoever roughs you up. You really are a pervert.”

“Th-That’s not true! They made me say that! I would never-“

“Stop lying!” Saihara cut the air between them with the box cutter, Ouma letting out a sputtering gasp as it sliced the area just in front of his neck close enough that he felt the breeze. “You know, no one in their right mind would say that unprovoked. You came up with that on your own, all by yourself. Was it really that serious of a situation? You could have just screamed for help, you know? You know that, right Ouma-kun? Go ahead, try it. We’re in the same room as that video after all, go ahead and scream, I’m sure you’ll be heard.”

Saihara’s fist was shaking, his rottenness building up inside of him as his mouth spewed whatever it wanted, constructing a scenario as he spoke. Ouma looked devastated, his mouth continually opening to get a word in edge wise but stopped every time by Saihara’s ranting.

“But you won’t scream, because it would ruin your plan. You know what I think, Ouma-kun? I don’t think you actually like me,” he saw the boy physically break as he said the words, tears slipping out of his eyes as he stood in stunned silence. “You found out that I liked Danganronpa, and you used it against me. You used me, you found out the type of person I was, and you knew I would kill those piles of trash for you. You couldn’t get your own hands dirty, naturally.”

‘What…?!’ Ouma couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was so ridiculous, even the suggestion of it, he just couldn’t process it through his spinning mind. It had to be a joke, but the ever-deepening pit in his stomach let him know that wasn’t the case, no matter how he contested it. Saihara really thought these things?

Lifting his hands in a shrug, Saihara giggled, the box cutter twirling between his fingers, “Well, you thought right, but too bad your plan got ruined. I found out before you intended. It must suck.”

Ouma shook his head weakly, as if even his soul had been torn out of his body, unable to believe the words he was hearing. Did Saihara really think that? What had Ouma done to twist his perception so badly? Didn’t he know Ouma loved him? What was he supposed to do? What was Ouma supposed to do now? His heart was a painful collection of shattering glass in his chest, slicing at him each time he breathed.

He had to refute it, and he tried, but Saihara only spoke over him.


“Luckily for you, I still would have done it. That’s just the type of person I am, but maybe you already knew that.” Laughing in resentment, Saihara tilted his head, his eyes glaring down at the crying boy in front of him. “But, that isn’t good for you. Because it means I’ll still hold you to your promise.”

“W-Wait, wait, Saihara-kun. I don’t understand anything you’re saying, I th-think you misunderstood. I would never-“

“Shut up!” In a flash Saihara had pressed the edge of the box cutter to Ouma’s neck, directly underneath his chin. The other inhaled quickly in shock, tilting his head back as far as he could as the blade was pushed deeper against his skin. It pierced through the top layer, and a trail of blood trickled down Ouma’s neck, the pain dulled by his own throbbing heartbeat and mental anguish.

“Only mine, you said you were only mine. And yet you let those other guys put their hands on you!” Saihara pushed deeper, making Ouma stumble backward to avoid being impaled, slamming into the sink behind him and pinned there. Through the mirror behind him Saihara could see his shoulders shaking, and when he let his eyes focus on Ouma’s frightened face, slick with tears, a burn began in his abdomen.

A familiar sensation, the switch had long ago flipped, forcing him forward with the need to feel more of Ouma’s soft flesh split under the blade. His blood bubbled around the entrance of his wound, and a broken cry came from his lips, causing more pain in his neck as his vocal chords moved and dragged against the knife.

Curling his fingers into the edge of the sink, Ouma couldn’t find it in him to escape. Even now, he couldn’t leave Saihara, regardless of what he thought of him. If he ran away, he would only prove Saihara’s point. If he ran away, he may never see him again. His head was swimming, and no proper response could be found in the pool of thoughts, just a strong desire to fix what was unraveling before him. Whatever he needed to do, he would do it, but his mouth wouldn’t open. For some reason, all he could think of was the way Saihara’s mother’s fish had tasted.

The thought made Ouma cry harder, which seemed to delight Saihara more, his smile twisting up at the ends into his cheeks. Unable to speak, and unsure what to say, Ouma only sobbed, wishing he could rip his heart out to show what his true feelings were.

“Your face of despair is so cute, Ouma-kun.” Pressing their bodies flush together, Saihara let out a stuttering breath as his already hard dick was pushed up against Ouma’s abdomen. The trapped boy’s disbelieving gasp covered up his own ashamed reaction, his body going hot at the feeling. No matter when, no matter how, as long as it was Saihara touching him, he could never help himself.

“It’s okay, it just means I have to mark you, so everyone knows you’re mine.” Sliding the knife down slightly, the cut deepened, and Ouma let out a small whine. Was it one of pleasure or pain? Saihara could never tell, but it made him laugh either way.

Pulling the box cutter back, Saihara grabbed onto Ouma’s chin, forcing his head back so he could get a look at the cut. Ouma let out a strangled noise, but he ignored it, instead observing the wound with interest. It wasn’t large, or deep, by any means, it wasn’t like he had been trying to kill Ouma, but it was there. Trailing his finger over the small amount of blood, he finally brought it to his lips, trembling as his tongue flicked out to lap it up eagerly.

His hips tipped forward instantly, rutting himself against Ouma’s waist as the taste spread over his tongue. That was it, that was what he had been missing. The drug that had made him insatiable only over the last few days.

“S-Saihara-ku- Hiie?!” Ouma cut off his own words with a small squeal when Saihara’s mouth latched onto his neck in a flash, his tongue flat against the twitching skin as it licked up the entire length. His hips squirmed but he had nowhere to go, trapped against the cold ceramic and Saihara’s shifting body, his legs slotting between Ouma’s and applying pressure to the smaller boy’s sensitive yet growing erection. Each time he rolled his hips forward, his thigh rubbed it, making Ouma shift and squeeze his legs together.

“Saihara-kun, Saihara-kun wait- This is, we’re in the bathroom and there isn’t a door. Someone could-“

“That’s the point, did you not hear me?” Pulling back, a small growl in his clarion voice, Saihara looked up under the brim of his hat at Ouma’s flushed face. “If anyone were to see us, it would be for the better. Then they’d know you’re mine, not some slut that’ll go around with whatever guy will fulfill your masochistic urges.”

“Sl-Slut?!” Ouma gasped when Saihara went back to kissing and sucking on his injured neck, paying extra attention to the sensitive skin around the cut. It had no time to heal, each time it attempted to plug itself up Saihara was swiping his tongue over the blood and it leaked more. The word running on a loop in Ouma’s mind in Saihara’s voice, he had no time to focus on the pain of the laceration, his thighs trembling as he attempted to hold himself up while the strength felt knocked from his body at the single syllable.

‘A slut… Does that make me Saihara-kun’s slut, then?’

“What would you even care if someone saw… You know everyone has already seen that video…” Saihara muttered absentmindedly in a low voice as he was focused on rubbing his teeth into Ouma’s pale skin until it bruised.

But Ouma didn’t want to be reminded of that. It felt like a void had opened in his heart, all of the pleasure, and pain, draining from his body as a coldness crept up his limbs. He felt his legs fully falter, and his entire weight was put on Saihara’s singular thigh pressed between them, surprising the other enough to pull his face back. He saw Ouma inhaling brokenly, his whole body wracked with sobs as he squinted through the globular tears in an attempt to keep his vision clear.

“I-I can’t believe… I never wanted you to see that, Saihara-kun. I just can’t…” Blinking rapidly, Ouma looked up at Saihara’s blank face, before suddenly darting his eyes away, unable to say the next words while looking at him. “I can’t live knowing that. I-I’d rather die…” Keeping his eyes cast down, he spoke truthfully, surprised when Saihara’s frigid voice reverberated as soon as he closed his mouth.

“You realize I can’t let you do that?” Ouma lifted his head, mouth agape and eyes wide as he watched Saihara’s cold expression. “I already told you I came here planning to slice those guys open, regardless of how you feel about me. Do you still not get it?”

Ouma felt the wind leave his chest in one strained noise as a hand, that hand, wrapped around his throat, almost like it was returning home. It clicked into place, settling perfectly over the now yellowing marks that circled his throat from their previous encounter, urging a dull pain out from the muscles. There was a sting where Saihara’s bare skin pressed up against the fresh wound, but not even a hiss could escape Ouma’s mouth at the sensation.

Saihara held his neck sternly in place to make his eyes focus on him, watching the way the other’s pupils quivered but refused to look away, obeying his silent command.

“You’re mine, Ouma-kun. You aren’t dying, or going anywhere, unless I say so.”

Through the pressure, and the strangulation, Ouma actually moaned.

He couldn’t think of a better way to be talked out of suicide.

As his face turned a deep red from the lack of oxygen, his hands managed to scrape against Saihara’s hips, begging him to come forward. His inhibitions were gone, a warmth overtaking his body as he scrambled for the other, only wanting to feel his body once more pressed against him. Saihara complied, melding their chests together and rutting against Ouma as he slammed their lips together.

The leftover taste of his blood was salty, a warm tongue slipping into Ouma’s mouth with a smooth feeling. His head felt dizzy and pleasant, both the grip on his neck and the sticky sweet emotions dripping down his heart enough to send him into a swirling mess. He felt like he was falling back into the state he was when they first felt each other this way, but this time he wasn’t sick, so what excuse did he have? Was he simply addicted now?

That scared him, more than it should have. He didn’t know if Saihara was still mad at him, or if he really meant those things he had said. If he did, why was he still kissing Ouma like this, and making those soft, aroused noises between each of their movements? He sounded almost vulnerable, and Ouma couldn’t help but dig his nails into his side at the thought that maybe…

Maybe Saihara was angry because he was jealous.

Sliding his hands down Ouma’s waist, tracing the curved shape of his thin body, Saihara made the presence of the box cutter known by sticking it into his hip. It was enough that Ouma felt a tiny split open in his skin beneath his pants, and he wiggled, gasping against the lips refusing to move away from his own. A warm trickle rolled over his hipbones as the blade ran lower, his pants and underwear making a ripping sound as they sliced along with his skin.

Ouma couldn’t even make an objection, Saihara’s tongue was too deep inside of his mouth and his head was too fuzzy as the hot blood slid down his thigh. With his eyes closed, all he could see was Saihara kneeling in front of him, extending a hand to lift him up from the pitiful ground, the light haloing him like some exaggerated painting. Saihara had saved him, and no matter what he thought of him, Ouma knew he would never, ever leave him.

Wanting, needing, to see him again, Ouma let his eyes creep open, the blurred outline of his face hovering over him enough to make him stifle out another strained moan. They were really kissing again, regardless of all the ways Ouma fantasized about it happening it never did any justice to the real thing…

The air stung when Saihara pulled the box cutter back again, his lips following, looking down to see the dark, wet spot around the cut in Ouma’s pants where the fresh mark sat. Ouma was panting, his hands shaking as he attempted to maintain a grip on the sink’s edge, that and Saihara’s thigh the only thing keeping him standing.

The clicks the box cutter made seemed louder somehow when it was closed than it had when it opened, the bloody tip disappearing into the black plastic as Ouma watched with baited breath. He was putting it away already…? Wait, why did that surprise him?

“Hah… Ahaha, you know Ouma-kun, I didn’t know if I was going to actually do this, but you make it impossible,” as he spoke Saihara slipped the weapon into his back pocket where it had been originally, lifting his jacket to pull something different from the opposite side, a small bottle.

“Wh-What is that?” Ouma managed to ask, his throat a bit sore but soothed by Saihara’s saliva leftover inside of it.

“You mean to tell me someone like you doesn’t know what this is?” Lifting it up, he shoved it closer to Ouma’s face, making the other flinch and close one eye in response. Attempting to get a clear view of it, Ouma opened both eyes to read the lettering on the blue bottle slowly.

“Oil based… lubric-“ Ouma froze immediately after his mind finished reading the word, ending his audible recitation with a short wheeze. His gaze flashed up to Saihara’s in incredulity, seeing no sense of joking in the other’s expression, his face heating up at even looking at Saihara with that thing in his hand.

“So, you do know.”

“N-No! I mean, yes, I do know what it is, but I don’t know why you have it. What are you- Why are you bringing something like that to school?” Honestly it was more shocking than the weapon was, and Ouma fought the natural urge to hide behind his hands at the thought of what that liquid meant as he spoke.

“Because, just giving you marks on the outside isn’t enough. It seems like anyone can do that,” popping the cap of the lube off, Saihara squeezed it slightly, the clear liquid bubbling up and leaking from the opening while he grinned. “I need to mark you on the inside.”

‘Inside?! He can’t mean…’

Before Ouma could interject even a word, regardless of if it was an objection or something else, a hand was firmly planted on his hip and flipping him around. His stomach slammed up against the basin of the sink and he coughed, glancing back over his shoulder to see Saihara looking down at him with a wild glint in his eyes.

“Saihara-kun, Saihara-kun wait! We can’t- You can’t do something like that here!” Ouma did his best to plead, but it did nothing to penetrate the other’s sure movements. “If someone were to see… Th-Think about what would happen if someone saw us right now!”

“Haah, that’s exciting, Ouma-kun…”

It wasn’t a joke this time, as if it ever was, but beyond serious. Ouma… Ouma knew. He knew how loud he could be. When his own fingers went where Saihara was suggesting… It was something he could barely do, out of fear of alerting his own father in his house. And if it was Saihara that was touching them, there was no doubting how dangerous it could get.

But that wasn’t even the biggest issue here! It was the fact they were in the school’s bathroom, the specific bathroom Ouma spent a lot of time facedown in. The sound was clearly hidden well here, but the bullying was different, if it was discovered and interrupted, the least he would get was a scolding. And whatever happened to those other guys… It didn’t matter.

Now, it was Saihara in here with him, his hands not as large or corrosive as the previous inhabitants. They were touching him gently, down his waist, to his backside, his hips and obvious erection settling against his ass. Ouma didn’t want to pull away, he was terrified yet intrigued about what was going on in Saihara’s mind, but he knew he had to.

Because if they were caught, in this way, it wouldn’t be a scolding. Saihara’s future would be over, he would be expelled, left with a smear across his record that could never be rubbed clean. It would be all over the fact that he had tried to protect Ouma, change his fate, and through it all, Ouma had somehow managed to upset him. He could never do anything right, and he was suffering for it.

But he couldn’t let Saihara suffer for it too…!

“Stop it!” Ouma yelled, sounding more sure than he had intended to. He attempted to twist his waist around to spin in place, but one of his hands slipped from the edge of the sink, and sent his upper body toppling forward. His face smashed into the grungy mirror with a loud smack, making the loose frame it sat in shake as his skin rubbed off the dirt there.

Saihara had stopped out of pure shock, but when he saw Ouma fall face first into the wall, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you really mean that?” He asked, and all Ouma could do was whimper, unable to argue against the truth. No, in his heart, he didn’t.

“It’s okay, Ouma-kun. I thought a lot about it, and I found a way to make it as quiet as possible.” Sliding a hand to the front of Ouma’s pants, Saihara fumbled with the button, succeeding in opening it after a few tries. When the zipper slid with a low noise, Saihara’s hand passed over the bulge in Ouma’s underwear, and he cupped it with his palm.

“Does it excite you? To know I thought about this? Fucking you in a disgusting bathroom, where anyone could see?” As he massaged Ouma’s erection, coaxing more hardness to stick out from the opening in his pants, he leaned forward to whisper into his ear. Ouma closed his eyes as hot breath ran over his neck, his tense arms threatening to buckle under the overwhelming pleasure. Saihara licked over the shell of his ear, before biting the tip, sinking his teeth in deeply and making Ouma let out a whispered shout.

“I-I don’t- I want…” Ouma couldn’t figure out what it was he wanted and didn’t, hearing Saihara’s even breaths slipping directly into his ear making all of his inhibitions disappear. He wanted… he wanted to touch him. He wanted to be close to him. He wanted to make love to him.

He couldn’t’ believe his luck, even after everything, Saihara was still touching him this way. But it didn’t make sense, shouldn’t their love be consummated on a soft bed, with the sweetest of smells and the cleanest of sheets? The cold metal was unfitting, the pungent smell next to his face was breaking the fantasy in half, yet it was still happening. Saihara’s hands were still on him, touching him in ways Ouma could only dream of, his tongue licking the curves of his ear hotly. Saihara was going to fuck him, not make love to him. He was going to cut him instead of kissing him.

This was their reality, it was just the way the cards had fallen into place.

And Ouma had to admit, as he moaned while Saihara’s hands reached inside of his underwear to touch him directly, he loved it.

He squirmed and whined as Saihara’s thumb rubbed over his leaking tip, spreading the precum that dribbled out over the rest of the bright red skin. He pulled Ouma’s foreskin back, and the other boy cried loudly, his eyes rolling back in his head for a brief second in pure ecstasy.

“Shush.” Saihara put his other hand over Ouma’s mouth, the bottle of lube dangerously close to his eye as it sat between his fingers. Ouma nodded quickly in understanding, but felt like crying, the pressure in his hips enough to send another broken call out of him, muffled by Saihara’s fingers.

He couldn’t help it, he had known this would happen. But what was Saihara’s plan? He clearly couldn’t keep using his hand, he needed them both to… Ouma couldn’t finish that thought out of the sheer embarrassment of it. He would leave all of that up to Saihara, who seemed to be able to say and handle these things with a confidence Ouma never had.

“I didn’t want to do it so quickly, but I guess there isn’t a choice…” Saihara pulled his hand from Ouma’s pants, making the other whimper in emptiness, before he reached for the cold-water faucet in the sink. Turning it a few times, the rust and groans of protest of the pipes the only noise in the air, he felt the sink rumble before water splashed out and into the basin.

“You just can’t keep your mouth shut."

Ouma made no sound, his mouth still blocked, but only managed to look down at the slowly filling sink with quivering eyes.

With his free hand the taller boy began pulling at Ouma’s waistband, sliding his pants down a few times awkwardly before it became apparent he would need both hands for the job. Removing his fingers from Ouma’s mouth, he swiftly tugged his black pants the rest of the way, along with his underwear, and they fell to the ground with a soft thud.

Ouma’s attention flashed from his confusion at the water, to the shock of being revealed. He wanted to reach behind himself to cover his backside, but couldn’t move his hands from their position holding him upright, as it would have sent him crashing into the frigid water and unforgiving ceramic below. Instead, he just turned his head around to watch Saihara, a patch of dirt on his cheek from where he had fallen into the filthy mirror.

It was the first time someone had seen him there… That Saihara had seen him there.

Entranced, again captivated by the pleasure of touching a body other than his own, Saihara put his hand on Ouma’s white flesh and kneaded it in his fingers. It was soft and warm, and in this position, he got to see the way the boy’s back arched as if his entire body all led up to this singular point. Sinking his fingers into his ass, watching intently as the divots by his nails raised the fluffy fat, he heard Ouma letting out small whines.

Ouma honestly thought he was going to die, with Saihara looking at him so intensely in such a dirty place. The site was too much, and he forced his eyes closed to keep his heart from faltering on himself. If he died now, what sort of explanation could Saihara offer the teachers?

He thought it might work, that he might stay sane this way, until he felt his cheeks spread and his body spasm. His eyes flew open and he let out a call of protest, seeing Saihara looking at his most intimate place with concentration.

“H-Huh?” Ouma struggled to get his backside out of his grip, but Saihara was firm, keeping him in place and open. “D-Don’t look there! Saihara-kun, really, don’t! Please!”

Saihara wasn’t responding, just watching still, with that unreadable expression. Ouma felt tears prickle against his lashes, humiliation blanketing his mind as he felt his hole twitch against the freezing air.

“It’s dirty there, you shouldn’t look so closely. I don’t want you to, I-I mean, I don’t- Ah!” Ouma arched his back and let out a cry when he felt something wet trickle between his cheeks and over his hole. It was cold, and slippery, sliding down his thighs and over his dick as well, making his legs shake violently in a wave of pleasure.

“It’s all twitchy, Ouma-kun. It hasn’t stopped this entire time…” Smirking, Saihara pressed a digit against the entrance, feeling it quiver around the tip of his finger. It felt like it was going to drag him in, sucking on his finger sweetly and beckoning it inside.

‘If you insist…’ Saihara thought, his smile widening.

“Th-That’s because, well, it- Hah!” Ouma really didn’t know why it was, but he didn’t even need to reply, the single finger shoved inside of him unceremoniously interrupting any explanation he would have given. The lube made a squishy noise as total warmth enveloped Saihara’s finger, clinging onto him tightly and pulling him inside deeper.

A lone tear rolled down Ouma’s cheek as he sat with his mouth open, the air leaving his lungs in a single exhale, his vocal chords stuttering to respond at all. Saihara’s fingers were bigger than his, so much bigger, and they reached farther inside of him to the point he thought he might break. It was only one finger; how did it feel so deep?

Saihara offered no respite, immediately swirling his finger around and exploring the spongy feeling. Ouma’s body made wet, gushy noises as he fingered him, trying every which way he pleased to satisfy his curiosity. Ouma was still either too shocked, or overwhelmed, to respond, only shaking furiously with a choked expression on his face.

“It’s all squishy inside Ouma-kun, it feels really different from mine… Do you touch yourself often?” Saihara spread Ouma with his other hand so he could see clearly as he fingered him, his finger slipping in and out easily. Ouma ended his silence with a broken, crying moan, his head hanging down as he looked between his legs at Saihara’s hand just behind his twitching dick.

“N-o,” Ouma moaned disjointedly as he was spread, trying to object what he knew was the truth. “I-It’s not my fingers… It’s my first time!… If you… Don’t touch there, S-Saihara-kun. You’ll make me- Your fingers are r-really big, so if you put them there-“ Saihara touched himself there too? Is that why he was so good at knowing where to play around inside of Ouma? As if he was directly disobeying his pleas, Saihara hooked his finger forward and applied pressure to a spot Ouma could rarely reach himself, his body convulsing violently.

The boy squealed as his cock jumped, and he heard Saihara giggle joyfully through the rush of blood in his ear. It was the best, Ouma looked like he was in pain even though the other knew he was experiencing the most pleasure he ever had in his entire life. Riding the wave, Saihara slipped another finger inside, and heard Ouma cry out again, his voice bouncing off the walls loudly.

“Stop it,” Saihara shushed him, his eyes glancing toward the hallway. But Ouma wouldn’t listen, letting out a constant string of broken moans and blubbers of Saihara’s name, drool slipping out of his mouth and splattering against the almost full sink below him in a gooey line. It was partially his own fault, he wouldn’t stop thrusting against Ouma’s favorite spot, addicted to the way his insides clung to him each time, like a mechanical fucktoy. Still, could he at least be aware of their situation? He was the one that had protested it so much in the first place.

Or did it really feel that good…?

When Ouma continued to flippantly ignore his warning, Saihara pulled his fingers out, watching Ouma lift his head in surprise. He turned to glance back at Saihara, looking positively wrecked, his flushed cheeks spreading his blush down his neck and too his now clotted wound.

Tossing the lube to the floor, it clunked with an empty sound as the bottle bounced. Ouma was breathing heavily, about to ask what had happened, when he felt a sharp tug on the back of his head.

His neck craned backward as Saihara pulled on the roots of his hair, the soft, purple strands almost slipping from his grip, forcing him to curl his nails deeply until it knotted. Ouma cried, feeling for the first time the water now lapping up against his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut to minimize the pain in his forehead.

“O-Ow! Saihara-kun, what’s wrong?”

“Do you want someone to find us?” His incredulous voice asked, and Ouma tried shaking his head, but it was wrenched in place by an unforgiving grip.

“It’s not that, that’s not true!” Ouma scrambled at his hold on the sink as it got wetter, making it unsure and slippery, threatening to give under his weak fingers. “I can’t help it, it feels so good when you touch me. B-But I’ll be more quiet, I promise!”

“You’re vile, Ouma-kun.” There was a clinking sound as Saihara spoke, and when the vibrating noise of a zipper undoing followed, Ouma felt his eyes flash open. There was something pressing up against his ass, and Saihara let out a sigh as he thrust his hips slightly, the overheated skin of his dick sliding against the lube smeared over Ouma’s twitching skin.

‘This can’t be real, are we really going to have sex? Saihara-kun is actually going to put that inside of me? He’s going to mark me on the inside? Sex with Saihara-kun? Is it going to fit? He’s going to force it inside and have sex with me?’ Ouma’s mind was unraveling, wishing desperately he could turn around and see what was happening behind him. When he saw something flash below him, he realized the mirror had a clean spot thanks to his previous clumsy move, and if he strained his eyes low enough he could see a sliver of his surroundings through it. Forcing his eyes to focus on the single patch of reflection surrounded by dust, he was able to catch a glimpse of Saihara’s face as he rubbed his cock up against him.

His cheeks were flushed pink and his hat sat uneven on his head, like he had accidentally knocked against it to wipe his sweat away. The older boy’s lips were open slightly as he focused on watching his dick slip between Ouma’s cheeks, his free hand spreading them to cover it in the excess of lube. A grin twitched at the edges of his lips, and Ouma watched with baited breath as he seemed to decide on something.

“You wanted to make noises loud enough that someone would come rescue you now? Toooo bad,” giggling as he spoke, Saihara’s eyes flashed upward, catching Ouma’s in the mirror and making the other gasp quietly. “Like I said, I know a way to keep you quiet.”

There was something pressing against Ouma’s entrance, something much bigger than any finger ever was, and before he could make any reaction, his head was shoved downward. He had no time to prepare himself before he was underwater, the freezing liquid rushing up his nose and into his ears. He opened his mouth to yell, but it instantly filled, turning his cries gargled and muted.

Watching the bubbles rise to the surface while Ouma struggled underwater, Saihara felt a rush as he slammed his hips forward, Ouma’s tightness giving way and sucking his cock in powerlessly. Even more bubbles seemed to arise at this, and the rough movement forward caused the sink to overflow, water splattering against the ground and covering Ouma’s shoes.

Ouma’s fingers scrambled against his hold on the sink, once he realized he could lift himself up, and he attempted to push upward to get his head out of the water. Saihara saw his pointless struggle, and laughed, pushing down harder on his head until his arms buckled and went back to being folded against the edge of the ceramic.

It was pulsating warmth inside of Ouma, so sticky and tight Saihara thought he would get lost in it. He had never felt anything like it, no hand, no toy, no anything had clutched onto him so sweetly in his entire life. Like it begged for him to stay inside, to stir it up until it ate him up completely. His legs were quivering, but he managed to keep his balance, panting loudly as he pulled himself out, and shoved back into the vibrating heat.

There was a low grunt underneath the water as Saihara thrust into Ouma, and he paused for a moment, almost forgetting the other was still drowning. Lifting his head from the water, Ouma pushed back against his hand, quickly freeing himself from the choking substance and coughing viciously. There was water spilling from his every orifice, drool dribbling from his tongue as it hung out of his mouth while he wheezed pathetically.

Air entered Ouma’s lungs and he let out a wracked cry, gasping harshly as his stomach wretched slightly. He couldn’t ignore the pressure behind him, the dick ripping him open while he struggled to breathe and get a grip on the sink. It was overflowing fully now and dripping over his pantlegs, staining his already destroyed school shoes a dirty color.

“See, it works perfectly! Next time you need to moan, just let me know, and I’ll put you back underwater~,” Saihara grinned and thrust himself into Ouma again, making the other cough sweetly. His hair clung to his face in purple strands, blanketing his nostrils as he tried to breathe, making it impossible to smell anything other than the dirty water he had struggled under before.

“S-Saihara-kun-“ was all Ouma could say, his nails grinding into the ceramic under his hands. Starting a constant rhythm, Saihara began fucking him, rocking his hips slowly to pull out fully then force himself completely back inside.

Ouma was going to break, he was going to split in half. It was so deep, wider and longer and harder than he had ever imagine it would be. It was Saihara’s dick, and it was fucking him unforgivingly without any signs of stopping. It felt so good. Ouma’s tongue hung out of his mouth and he felt his whole-body spasm, eliciting a surprised, high-pitched moan from Saihara as he clamped around him inside.

He could still feel the water inside of his nose, and it felt like it had drowned his brain too, the whole thing throbbing and froggy. Unsure what to do, and terrified, he reached back with one of his hands and wrapped it around Saihara’s wrist that was planted on his hip, holding on tightly to steady himself and remind him of his presence. He wished he could see his face, but as he felt his solid pulse he was eased, a particularly deep thrust making him let out a cry.

Saihara was already losing himself, the feeling of Ouma’s ass clinging to him making his mind go blank. Picking up the pace of his movements, he watched Ouma’s body bounce unevenly, his unequally timed thrusts jarring the other as he mewled each time. It was his first time after all, he couldn’t be expected to do everything perfectly.

But Ouma loved it. He loved the way Saihara thrust into him, whether it was slow or fast, even or frenzied, he could feel his body jump in ecstasy each time. He had never felt more full, or more accurately, more complete in his entire life, like a puzzle piece had fit inside of him and filled the hole that was always there. Having Saihara inside of him meant they were one, connected and inseparable, combined forever in their shared pleasure. He wished it would never stop.

“Saihara-kun, Saihara-kun’s dick is inside of me, Saihara-kun’s dick is filling me up,” some more water escaped from the side of Ouma’s lips as he spoke, but he ignored it, his words slurring. “Sho deep, it’s s-so deep, I feel like I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“O-Ouma-kun…” Saihara groaned as the words infected his body with a sick sweetness, filling his heart in a strange, burning feeling.

“Please, don’t leave, don’t take it out. I-I want to forever, I wanna have sex with Saihara-kun forever!” The embarrassing admissions kept rolling out of his mouth without him thinking, but he was desperate. He truly didn’t want it to stop, he wanted to keep him inside of him and feeling this pleasure until they both left this world. If Ouma died now, he would be happy.

But Saihara wasn’t.

Forcing Ouma’s face back to the water, hovering it over the surface, he heard the other shriek quietly. Saihara didn’t stop fucking him, but went even faster now, looking down at his frail body bent over the sink with narrowed eyes.

“You’re a liar, Ouma-kun! You don’t care if it’s me, you’ll say whatever you want to anyone, as long as they give you what you want.” Ouma felt his heart shudder painfully at the untrue words, squirming to keep his face away from the running faucet that spit cold droplets onto his skin.

“Th-That’s wrong! I like you, Saihara-kun! I like you!” The water stirred slightly and Ouma let out a broken cry, his toes curling in his now soaked shoes.

“Then, what about those things you said to those other guys?!”

“It wasn’t true, they were lies! B-But I’m not lying to you, I promise! Ah-!” Ouma arched his back as Saihara’s dick slammed against the deepest part of him, making him spasm wildly. “I only want Saihara-kun to h-hurt me!”

Why did admitting this feel so good? Was Ouma really that perverted? It was true… it was true he wanted Saihara to break him. He wanted Saihara to do whatever he wanted to him. He wanted…

“You don’t even like Danganronpa,” Saihara laughed brokenly, punctuated by a bite of pleasure to hold back the noise he really wanted to make. He felt Ouma shake his head violently under his grip, and he curled his fingers deeper into his roots to the point the other boy yelled out an ‘Ow!’.

“I do! I do!” Ouma saw his tears hit the water in a splatter, unaware when he had started crying. It was all too much, the pleasure, the pain, the want for nothing other than Saihara Shuichi, it was making him go insane. “I love Danganronpa! I love Danganronpa!”

Saihara’s eyes widened as he heard those words, splashing Ouma’s head underwater as he moaned loudly. He had hoped the sloshing noise would cover it up, but he didn’t even care at this point, his whole body was on fire from the tip to his toes. He needed to cum, he needed to mark this boy as his own in a way no one had ever before.

He knew now, he knew Ouma was a virgin. Lifting the other’s hips slightly to get a better angle, he fucked into him as fast as he could, the strained noises of Ouma drowning making his cock throb in titillation.

At the new angle, Ouma felt his entire body go hot when a burst of pleasure erupted inside of him. Saihara was scraping against something very deep, and very foreign, that place he hadn’t been sure even existed. All of the buzzing satisfaction he had felt up until his point was culminating in this single moment, and the single thread of sanity he had been holding onto was fully snapped.

Through the swirling water around him, Ouma saw the fluffy outline of his air leaving his body each time he opened his mouth to moan, choking out the last of his breath until his vision began to waver. Why did it feel so good? It was like before, only tenfold, as if his entire body was shivering in anticipation for each time Saihara fucked inside of him harshly. It was humiliating to admit, but his walls were clenching in desperation every second, and the more air he lost, the more intense it became. It only took a few extra pumps from Saihara's hand on his dick to send him over the edge.

‘I’m cumming… I’m cumming but I’m going to die. This is the last thing that I’ll ever do… The last thing I’ll ever feel is Saihara-kun inside of me.’

The bubbles underneath the water stopped, and it cleared enough that Saihara was able to see Ouma’s face, that familiar, blissed out smile stretching over it.

‘I’m so happy!’

Saihara came with his hips pressed directly against Ouma’s, his eyes going wide in disbelief as all of it spilled inside of him, getting swallowed completely. Not a single drop was wasted, Ouma’s body coaxed every single bit of Saihara’s cum out as it could, like it was greedy and begging. It was the most powerful orgasm he had ever experienced, the soft, silky strands of Ouma’s wet hair brushing past his knuckles underwater as if they were comforting him as his whole body shook violently.

He couldn’t even describe the noise he made, an elongated shout that was broken in the attempt to lower its volume. His soft voice trembled as he continued the string of vocalized pants that accompanied each pulse his dick made until he physically couldn’t release anymore, and he was left trembling in intervals as Ouma continued to spasm around him.

Ouma’s cum covered the floor by his feet, splattered unevenly as Saihara had jiggled his body with his thrusts. The other boy had really cum from despite all of that? It was becoming more and more clear that he was truly made to be used, used by Saihara specifically. Realizing the absence of the other’s noises, Saihara swiftly lifted his head out of the water, relieved to hear him cough shrilly. He really thought he had killed him for a second.

Ouma’s orgasm had left him utterly destroyed, his first time experiencing anything on that scale. And in that place too… It was like something had burst inside of him and sent his mind into complete blankness. Even remembering it now his dick twitched, but nothing came out, everything he had to offer spread across the floor and on his shoes.

His muscles had stopped working, his face was lax and his tongue hung out as he pant for oxygen. If it wasn’t for Saihara holding his head in the air with his hand and his waist in the other he would be crumpled on the ground, in a position he was familiar with. But he wasn’t, Saihara was supporting him, and it made his overstimulated body shiver in bliss.

Letting go of Ouma’s head, his fingers managing to detangle from it with only a slight battle, Saihara wrapped his other hand around his body to keep him upright. Ouma’s head slumped immediately, bent down, as he struggled to get his neck to respond after being wrenched back for so long.

Saihara had no idea what to do. Had he really broken him this time? His impulsive nature had led him here again, with a shattered doll he had no idea how to care for. But when Ouma made a bit of movement, he let out the breath he had been holding, his weak arms beginning to shake from his weight already.

“So much…”

“Wh-What?” Saihara asked, not hearing him through the loud dripping of his hair against the ground and the quick pounding of his heartbeat. His head was bent into Ouma’s shoulder, his face buried in his neck as he breathed heavily, feeling his own cum beginning to slip out and spread down Ouma’s thin thighs.

“Ehehe… There’s so much of Saihara-kun inside of me, its spilling out…” Still inside, Saihara felt Ouma clench around him again, as if he was attempting to keep it all in. “Y-You really marked me on the inside. I’m not a virgin anymore, so that means I can’t marry anyone… I’m so happy I can be with Saihara-kun forever… hehe…”

Saihara felt his heart clench as Ouma shuddered in his arms, seeing a small smile peek out from between his veil of soiled hair.




“I’m back…” Saihara called as he stepped into the dilapidated bathroom through the tape once again. The room was empty, just as he had left it, but shuffling at the far corner signaled it hadn’t been abandoned. The last stall’s door jiggled slightly before Ouma slinked out of it, his arms hugging himself tightly as he moved with a slight limp. He emerged like some ghostly urban legend, his soaked button up all he wore on his upper body with Saihara’s jacket draped over his shoulders. He shivered as he glanced up from the ground at Saihara, before immediately darting his eyes away, his face bright red.

“I managed to grab some gym clothes.” Saihara lifted the white shirt and blue shorts in his hand, and Ouma acknowledged them barely at them, still keeping his head low, before averting his eyes once again.

“Thank you…” When he made no effort to come forward, but just shifted quietly in place, Saihara furrowed his eyebrows, before being flooded with understanding. He couldn’t walk.

Closing the distance between them himself, through his body’s screaming awkwardness, Saihara presented the measly offering with a raise of his hands. Unfurling from himself, Ouma somehow managed to take them without ever looking up, keeping his face turned downward.

They stood in silence for a few moments before Ouma turned away, shuffling over to a corner to change his clothes. He glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw Saihara still watching him, he whipped his head back around to stare at the wall, seeing an ant absently crawl by with wide eyes.

He clutched the clothes to his chest and felt his heart beating painfully fast inside of it, his body shivering yet boiling at the same time. The embarrassment was eating away at his very soul to the point he couldn’t even look at the clothing Saihara had gone out of his way to get him, the thought too much for his mind to bear. How was he supposed to put them on?

Closing his eyes and swallowing heavily, Ouma tucked them under his arm and began to undo the buttons on his shirt, his thin fingers feeling ten times larger than normal as they fumbled with the motions he reenacted every day. Why couldn’t he get it to work?

He could feel Saihara’s eyes on him still, and he stumbled harder, his finger slipping past the button and loudly cracking his nail against it. It wasn’t going to work, this wasn’t going to work, he had to… Go somewhere else. And quickly.

His eyes flashed over to the bathroom stall next to him, and without warning, he sprinted into it, as fast as his sore body would let him. He slid the lock into place as it echoed through the bathroom, terrified of what lay on the other side, trying not to imagine Saihara’s shocked and hurt face. Pressing his forehead up against the door, he tried to let out his rapid breaths as quietly as possible, his pupils shaking as he looked down at his soggy shoes.


Why on earth had he said that? What had compelled him to say something so… so… unfair? Of course, it was true, but he had never meant to say that so soon! Saihara had to be so uncomfortable, he had to be outside of that door right now, sneering in disgust.

Ouma was disgusting, he had ruined it all. His mouth was useless, if he could just slice it off that would make him happy. If only Saihara had pushed that box cutter a little deeper, then neither of them would have to deal with-

“Ouma-kun…? Are you okay?” There was a knock on the door, jiggling Ouma’s brain and forcing him to back up in a few reeling steps. Saihara’s concerned voice radiated in from the outside, and Ouma held his breath, not aware of how loud he had been hyperventilating.

“I-I’m okay! I’m just changing!” Ouma called, holding the clothing closer to his chest as he heard Saihara shuffle away, the confusion even audible in his steps.

They had done all of that together, and he was still too embarrassed to change in front of him? Saihara backed away from the door without an argument and walked to the other side of the room, passing by where the ground was soaked in water. The now empty sink was still dripping, as Ouma’s school jacket hung from it, repetitive drops slapping against the ground and growing a puddle that would undoubtedly evaporate without anyone ever noticing.

Pacing a bit before the door, peeking into the hallway a few times to ensure it was still empty, Saihara lifted his hat off his head and ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. Without anything to busy his racing mind, he squat down, looking down at his hands and examining them closely. They were clean now, but somehow, they looked stained irreparably.

‘Forever, huh?’

The stall opened once again and Ouma walked out, wearing the gym uniform uncomfortably and tugging at the shorts in an attempt to pull them down. Saihara tried to keep his eyes up, but when he realized Ouma had caught them wandering he simply looked away, curling his hands in on themselves.

“Thank you for getting these for me…” Ouma stepped forward and paused, continuing only when Saihara glanced back over at him.

“It’s really nothing…” ‘It’s my fault, anyway.’ He was the one that had cut his clothing and submerged them in water, after all. Why was Ouma thanking him?

“A-And thanks for letting me borrow your jacket.” The boy stopped in front of Saihara and handed him his jacket, offering a constructed, half-smile as he passed it off, the treasured object leaving his hand. He wished he could keep it… It was probably the last time he would ever touch anything related to Saihara. If he could keep it, then maybe he wouldn’t be considering dying so much. If he had his scent, his warmth wrapped around him just one more time, that would be nice.

Having accepted his fate, he moved to sit down next to Saihara, wincing a bit as his lower body throbbed in dull pain at the ordinary movement. Saihara heard the struggle in the noises he made, and he had half the heart to feel bad, but it never fully settled inside of him.

Once Ouma was on the ground, he pulled his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around his bare knees as the wet collar of his folded shirt pressed into his lap. There was the distant sound of desks scraping across the floor above them, and the monotonous drip of the water on the ground to fill the extending silence, but it only lasted for so long.

“About earlier-“


Ouma buried his face into his legs to cover his mouth, and Saihara’s head turned to look at him, seeing how he pressed his knees tightly into his face to blanket any sound he made. This again?

The silence prolonged, Ouma’s eyes only staring straight forward, no matter how long Saihara looked at him, like he refused to look over. He could see the other was shaking, his shoulders vibrating constantly to keep his small frame shuddering. Glancing down at the jacket in his hands, Saihara unfolded it, placing it over his waifish shoulders, finally making Ouma’s head whip over and look at him.


“If you’re cold, you can wear it.” It settled on his frame like a warm blanket, instantly ending his trembling and causing his face to heat up. So he wasn’t actually cold? Or was it something else entirely?

Ouma’s eyes began to fill with tears at the gesture, spilling over his chubby cheeks in thick blobs that caught on his chin. His mouth quivered in a line until he eventually opened it to wail, his hands flying up to rub at his eyes fruitlessly. More tears spilled over them, almost doubling in defiance, and he began to wrack with sobs.

The weight of Saihara’s jacket wasn’t calming him, but making him feel worse, like it was pushing him into the ground with its significance. Yet still, he never wanted to take it off, and he lowered one hand to grip at the front of it, curling his fingers into the deep black fabric.

“Ouma-kun? What’s wrong?”

“I-I’m sorry! I ruined everything! I’m so sorry Saihara-kun!”

“What…?” Saihara watched the almost childlike display of emotion before him with confusion, feeling a deep, foreign tug inside at the pathetic sound surrounding him. When was the last time he had felt like that? Was it season 34 of Danganronpa when his favorite character died…?

“Calm down, Ouma-kun… It’s really okay…” He lifted a hand to reach out, but his own frozen body prevented him from doing it, like he didn’t know where to touch.

“No, it’s unfair! I was so happy, the whole time I was the happiest I have ever been!” It was nice to hear, and Saihara was still confused as to what the issue was, until Ouma clarified. “But you were mad at me, I was so happy even though you were mad. That’s so unfair…”

Saihara watched the other wipe at his face with an incredulous look, tilting his head to the side slightly. Did he mean…?

“You know I wasn’t serious about that stuff I said before?” Ouma lifted his face with a small, doubting noise, seeing Saihara looking down at him without a shred of regret in his eyes. “I just thought it would be cool, like you were the type to manipulate me into becoming the blackened. I thought you would get it and play along.”

“Th-The… what? You mean-?” Ouma’s fingers hovered over his cheeks as he tried to process the words, the guilt still heavy in his body even as he slowly began to understand, or at least he was attempting to. “You really aren’t mad at me? You mean you don’t think I was using you, or that I was looking at anyone other than you…?” That was the most important part, as long as Saihara could confirm he didn’t see Ouma as some evil, conniving monster, he could begin to rebuild himself.

“Huh? Ah, well…” The first question was easy to refute, but the part tacked on the end made it a bit difficult for Saihara to confirm without a blush. “No… I know the real you wouldn’t do that, Ouma-kun.”

Tears were dripping out of Ouma’s eyes, but for a different reason now, gaping in silent awe at the person above him. So Saihara really wasn’t mad at him? He was going to stay with him then? And they could do more of those things together?

He dug his fingers into the treasured jacket draping over him, and let out a relieved sigh, his unsure lips twisting into a smile. He tugged the fabric around him tighter and curled in on himself, giggling as he managed to wipe the last of the wetness from his face, his heart now full and assured.

“I’m so glad, you know, I really don’t want anyone else other than Saihara-kun to do… those… things to me,” his face warming, his body following not long after, he kept his eyes low, his focus scattering across the floor as he tried to collect courage from the dust and dirt. “I wouldn’t mind if… If you… If you did that again. You know, with th-the knife, if you wanted to!”

Saihara could hear Ouma sniffing at his clothes, and as he watched the tremoring boy in front of him, he felt his hand absentmindedly reaching for his back pocket. With the knife? He meant the box cutter?

“Then, you’d be fine if I…” Saihara slipped the sleek, black object from behind him as his words caught Ouma’s attention, forcing the other to stop obsessing over his jacket enough to catch a glimpse of it. Ouma froze, his now steamy body letting out a single bead of sweat that trailed down the back of his neck and under the baggy shirt draping his frame, cold down his raised spine and making his hair stand on end.

Saihara hadn’t even finished his sentence and Ouma was already nodding, vigorously, though his wide eyes made him seem a bit terrified. He was, but more than that, he was intrigued, excited by the way Saihara’s pupils expanded as he towered over him, his ever-approaching frame making the boy lean back until his hands were propping him up off the ground. The noises Saihara had made when he cut him before were ringing in Ouma’s memory, causing his pulse to quicken, his ears longing for the sound even after hearing it only a short time ago.

“Y-Yeah, I wouldn’t mind… Wherever you want to, Saihara-kun.”

Saihara licked his lips and looked down at Ouma, more specifically his thighs, that stuck out like little, pale twigs from underneath the navy shorts he wore. Seeing where they were focused, Ouma began spreading them, adjusting his position so he was no longer perpendicular with Shuichi, but facing him, his legs open wide.

“Then, I guess I’ll carve my initials into your thighs, for starters. Just in case anyone happens to see.” Saihara’s voice was nothing more than a whisper as he saw the shorts slip back in Ouma’s new position, exposing more of his fleshy upper thigh.

Normally, Ouma would protest that, assert that no one other than Saihara would see him there, but he was too fixated on the small smirk that was tugging at his love’s face, and the tiny tip of his tongue that kept peeking out to swipe at his lower lip. The box cutter clicked up two places, and Ouma’s frenzied eyes glanced over at it, before back up at Saihara, a smile quivering on his lips.

“That’s okay! Do whatever you want, Saihara-kun!”

“That’s no good, Ouma-kun, you shouldn’t just let me do what I want. That’s boring…” Bringing the box cutter to his mouth, Saihara licked it, careful to keep his tongue off the edge. It was tangy with leftover blood, and he saw Ouma gulp in response. “Why don’t you tell me how much you want me to cut you up?”

Were they really going to do this again? They were like a pair of horny, rabid animals, unable to stop themselves as they slunk closer to each other. Once Saihara started, he wasn’t going to be able to stop. The pure white shirt he had managed to steal for Ouma was going to be stained, the bathroom floor was going to turn into a murder scene. There would be so much blood if he just pressed the tip into Ouma’s thin skin, he could almost feel it breaking under his quaking fingers as he brought the blade down, hovering painfully close to the inside of his thigh.

Ouma’s eyes brightened intensely, the eager, and enthusiastic look on his face one he wasn’t sure he had ever made before. What was happening to him? Was he really turning into this much of a pervert? What had Saihara done to him? Or had it always been there from the start?

“I-I want you to! I want you to carve your name into me, cut me up with your name-“


The hallway bell shrilly interrupted the pair and Saihara felt his sweat drip to the floor in one, concluding drop. Their shocked faces lingered over one another for a few seconds, as the doors slid open distantly and voices poured into the hallway, before they jumped away from each other in a flash.

Ouma managed to collect himself and stand on his shaky legs at the same time as Saihara, brushing the dirt from his backside and knees in an attempt to tidy himself. Saihara hid the box cutter back in his pants, glancing to the doorway every few seconds as Ouma scrambled about to pick up his clothing. Neither spoke a word as someone strolled past the opening, their shadow casting over the room, remaining close to the wall in hopes that they wouldn’t be discovered.

When it seemed clear, Saihara tossed a glance at Ouma to make sure he was ready, not even realizing his jacket was still over his shoulders in his rush. They only had a limited amount of time before another shady person came to mess around in this room, or a truly nervous student decided to relieve themselves here, and they had already missed an entire period doing whatever you could classify what they did as.

He stepped into the hallway through the tape, luckily avoiding the eyes of the lingering students down the hallway. Ouma, however, wasn’t so fortunate, tripping as he maneuvered around the caution tape and skidding over the floor, wobbling to keep his balance while the rubber on his shoes squeaked across the wood. He caught himself on the wall and Saihara had half the heart to be mad but knew he couldn’t, watching the other straighten up immediately in a soldierly stance, failing miserably to appear unassuming.

“L-Let’s get to our next class, we already missed homeroom.” Saihara spoke quietly, hoping to blend in, but unfortunately aware of the stares he was receiving. He was a senior on a younger classes floor, but more noticeably, he was walking side by side with an out-of-uniform, wearing his jacket, still slightly soggy Ouma Kokichi. A few girls whispered as they made their way past the first classroom, and Saihara tried not to notice, though he felt the eyes on his sensitive skin like needles.

“O-Okay.” Ouma was trailing behind him by a few steps, as if he was trying to detach himself from Saihara as much as possible for his own good. He made the mistake of glancing over when he heard a giggle, making eye contact with one of his classmates as she covered her mouth and observed his out of place outfit, and it caused him to run a few steps, finally cowering behind Saihara closely.

The taller boy kept his eyes forward, trying not to feel Ouma’s breath on his arm, his hat pulled down as far as it could to shield his eyes. No one had any way of knowing what they were doing, so why did it feel like they were doing the walk of shame through the halls of their own school?

“Oh, your clothes… I could have my mother sew them, if you want…” Saihara kept his voice as low as possible, and Ouma’s hair slapped against his arm as the other shook his head behind him.

“It’s okay, I can just sew them myself when I get home.” This made him finally look back, seeing Ouma tugging his jacket around his shoulder as much as he could, trying to hide his body that felt dirty and unclean. He felt like everyone could see what Saihara had done to him, even if the mark on his neck was hidden by his chin and the cut across his hip had stopped bleeding. It wasn’t just that… Could they see the way he was limping, from having his virginity taken by Saihara in here of all places? He almost enjoyed the thought, through his own shame. Actually, he really enjoyed it, and excitedly he knew Saihara did too.

“You can sew?”

“H-Huh? Yeah, not very well though,” Ouma looked up in confusion as he spoke, seeing Saihara watching him closely. When they both averted their eyes, Saihara turned his head to the side, catching a glimpse of the trees shuddering in the wind outside of the long windows.

He had learned something new about Ouma.