Work Header

This is Home

Work Text:

The bell of the door made a loud ringing sound as Ouma entered the small shop, backpack tucked behind one arm. Brown walls and floors greeted the boy, a pleasant sight to see something so simple and relaxing. He looked towards the various tables, that of which somewhat looked like black metal spiderwebs, in hopes of finding a seat, and was glad to see they were mostly empty, aside from a few customers. Not paying attention to said customers, he set his backpack down on one of the seats, effectively claiming it as his own. He’d probably stay in the the coffee store for awhile, working on school things until he was either done or needed to head to work. If he got lucky, even both.

Pulling his wallet out of his pocket, he glanced nervously at all the customers, hoping they wouldn’t do anything to his backpack (it held his computer, all of his assignments, his journals and sketchbooks- all very important stuff to him,) before going over to the counter where an employee sat idly, scrolling through their phone.

The employee glanced up at Ouma, and the two immediately recognized each other.

“Oh, Ouma! Hello.” Saihara seemed to brighten slightly at the sight of the other boy, Ouma brightening as well. It was nice to randomly see your friends in public sometimes, especially when you didn’t plan it.

“Hello Saihara!” Ouma couldn’t help but smile, the sight of his gay crush close friend sending his heart beating a little quicker and warmer, if that made sense.
“What brings you here today?”

“Oh, um, I’m just here to work a bit on, uh, school stuff. And get some hot chocolate, if that’s ok…”

“Alright, I’ll get right on that.” Saihara offered a small smirk, sometimes the only form of a smile Ouma would get to see when in public, tucking his phone in his pocket and leaving his spot at the counter to start working on the drink.



Ouma walked over to the place where finished orders where placed, a wooden counter awaiting him, watching Saihara make the hot chocolate.

You might want to get your money out now, so that he doesn’t have to see you fumble with your wallet.

Oh yeah! Good idea brain.

He pulled the wallet out of his pocket, rummaging through his bills until he got to a five. They could keep the change? He couldn’t remember the exact price off the top of his head, not with Saihara here, but usually five was enough, and he didn’t mind giving extra to his friend.

Wait was that the reason he was going with-

He pulled the dollar out, barely skimming over his cards to make sure they were still there (Identity? Check. Debit Card? Check. Yu-gi-oh card shoved mercilessly into the wallet? Check.) before shutting his wallet and shoving it back in his pockets. Saihara walked up with impeccable comic timing, holding the hot chocolate out for Ouma. Ouma took it in his free hand, trying not focus on the fact that their hands slightly touched, holding the dollar out to Saihara.

“Keep the change.”

“It’s on the house.”

They spoke at the same time, words overlapping, slightly startling them both before Ouma offered a half-hearted chuckle. Saihara returned it, in awkward attempts to show that it wasn’t a bad thing.

“Are- are you sure though? I can, uh, give you this five if you want…”

“It’s fine, really. No harm done.” Ouma opened his mouth to speak again, but Saihara gave him a look that made him quickly shut it.

“Okay…But like, your boss won’t mind?”


“Uh, ok…” They both stood there awkwardly for a bit, unsure of exactly what to do.

“...You can go sit down, Ouma. It’s alright.”

Please say my name again.


He nervously played with his hands as he went over to where he had put his backpack, placing it on the table along with his hot chocolate so he could sit and sifting through the bag. Setting his newly achieved laptop on the tabletop, he glanced over at Saihara, who was watching him. He immediately shifted his gaze back to his device, undesiring of the sudden eye contact (though he might like it if he was looking first-)

Opening the laptop and logging in, he immediately went to his google drive to try to find the essay he needed to complete. Some war thing, if he remembered correctly. They were supposed to be writing about any war or battle the student wanted, if he was correct.

As a Hamilton fan, this worked to Ouma’s advantage.

He’d written down all the formating stuff that the teacher required at the top of the document so he could remember and delete it later. There where a good amount of spelling mistakes in the list, seeing as he was typing them as fast as he could so he could still listen to the teacher at the same time, but he was able to decipher what they meant anyway.

He only changed them because he hated the sight of that ugly, red line that appears beneath it. That bright, swirly red line. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure why he disliked it so much, but maybe because it was so noticeable and attention-grabbing. Like it was trying to scream his mistake for all to hear. To try to crush any confidence he has in his skills.

...He’s being childish again. It’s just a line.

Thanking google docs for giving a quick-fix option, he used the spellcheck it had to rid of all the horrendous red lines. Giving the tiniest smirk as they were gone, he reigned victorious.

Focus. This essay is a big part of your grade.

Heart now pumping a bit faster due to anxiety, he quickly skimmed over what he written for the essay part so far.


He had various things he wanted to mention in the essay rambled about vaguely beneath each source (said sources mostly being wikipedia, videos about hamilton being wrong in certain aspects so he was accurate, and the hamilton soundtrack. God, he was kind of obsessive, wasn’t he?) Sighing, he opened a tab for “info essay outline” and was about to start typing the essay when…

“Whatcha working on?”

...Saihara suddenly spoke up, standing at the other side of the table. Ouma mentally scolded himself for not noticing the other boy come over sooner, his heart thumping loudly in his chest at the sudden appearance of his crush friend.

“Oh, um, school stuff. Essay. But if you want to talk, we can…” He looked away from Saihara, unable to hold eye contact for too long.

“Oh, well, if you’re working on something-”

“I- I mean, it’s not like I want to do it.”

“...Are you saying we can talk?”

“, yeah?” Saihara let out a chuckle that came out a bit like he had tried to strangle it, setting himself down in the only other chair, placed opposite to Ouma.

“You say that like you’re asking permission even though I’m the one who asked.”


“So what’s the essay about this time?”

“Um, the teacher just said that it had to be an informational essay about a war or battle from the past.”

“The battle of yorktown?” A feeling of happiness flashed inside Ouma as Saihara guessed basically correctly. He liked having someone who understood him, even if that meant they knew he was extremely...dorky.

“Well, the whole revolutionary war actually since that’s easier, but yeah.” He gave Saihara a small smile, both happiness and anxiety hitting him like the truck that hit Celeste in her execution.


You always look ugly when you smile, his mind reminded him. Your cheeks always do that thing where there’s an extra line beside them. It makes you look old, because you’re so ugly and sweaty and gross.

He forced down the smile, although it still showed the smallest bit. Saihara simply blinked.

“When is it due?”

“Um…” Ouma took a bit to rack his brain in memory. “Whatever the date is for two weeks from now. I want to get it done by the end of the week, so I can just edit it or do my own thing during school when the teacher tells us to write.”

“You don’t have to answer this, but...why is it so important? Very few people actually care as much as you do. Just like having it done? Not saying you shouldn’t care about school and grades in stuff but, you almost treat it like it’s a necessity…”


Like an ocean wave washing over a rock, the happiness in Ouma was replaced with anxiety. He was shaking now, he could see it in his hands. But he couldn’t tell the truth, that would mean Saihara worries about him, and he doesn’t want to bother anyone, especially not Saihara. He doesn’t want to feel like he made him feel something bad.

They take away your-

He was staring at his hands, willing them not to sweat and shake, refusing to look at anything around him. From the Saihara he knew was waiting, to the customers as they chatted to themselves, to the lights everywhere in the small shop, to the table he was sitting at, to the computer in front of him, to the backpack on the floor he couldn’t forget about. Forcing out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he cracked each knuckle individually, a nervous habit he accidentally developed at some point when he was younger.

“...Nevermind.” Oh god. Saihara sounded disappointed- and maybe it was just because it was because it was Ouma that let him down, but he couldn’t help but think that he sounded more disappointed then he usually did.

Ouma did his best to curl up in a ball, shoulders hanging over his body, legs slightly raised, hands now wrapped around himself in a hug-for-one of sorts.

Your an awful person, he rationalized. It made sense, after all.

Annoying, stupid, anxious, oblivious, dependent, forgetful-

He noticed Saihara’s hand extended across the table, palm facing upward, waiting for him. With a bit of anxiety-relief and anxiety-worsening, he took the hand offered to him. Saihara gave Ouma’s hand a small squeeze, to show it was okay.

It helped him decide, even if it felt like slowly vomiting up the worst thing he had ever tasted, he decided to say it.

“They…” he paused, suddenly unsure of how to word it. He decided to just wing it. “...they take away my eating rights. Like, what I can eat and when. Or at least what they’ll pay for. If I can do well on this test, I might be able to get my grades to all Cs or higher, which means I can eat lunch again…”

“What else have taken away…?” He asked it so quietly, if Ouma blinked he would’ve missed it.

Wait that’s not how it works-

“Breakfast, half of my dinner and most rights to snacks. Um, no sweets or caffeine...They wouldn’t be happy with me getting hot chocolate, actually.” Ouma finally made eye contact with Saihara again.

Saihara looked like he was malfunctioning. He was trying to give no hint of emotion, but it was in fact, very clear in his face. An odd mix of concern and anger and the feeling of learning an answer to something you were curious about, along with not wanting to show any emotions, all making the recipe to the dish that is Saihara’s features at the moment. His mouth was open, like he was trying to say something. His grip around Ouma’s hand had tightened strongly, to the point where he’d have to tug suddenly and sharply to free it.

“Oh, but, I’m okay Saihara. I’m used to it, and they’re only doing it because we’re kind of poor,…”

I don’t deserve to eat anyway.

“...yeah.” Wow. How convincing he was. Saihara still had that weird blend of emotions decorating his features. Like he wasn’t convinced.

“...No,” is what ended up coming out of Saihara’s mouth.


“No. Ouma, that’s not okay. You shouldn’t be kept from something that you need to survive because you don’t...understand.”

“I’m fine, really it’s-”

“If you’re about to say it’s okay, I’m going to fucking punch you.” Ouma froze, any and all confidence and stubbornness being sucked out of him at the words. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, the only thing seemingly louder possibly being his head beginning to beat in sync with his heart. Curse his anxiety.

Saihara relaxed as soon as he noticed, letting go of Ouma’s hand.

“...Sorry. I didn’t mean that in the slightest. I just…” Saihara trailed off, searching for what to say. “Want you to be okay.”

“But I am okay.” The words slipped out of his mouth, and he immediately covered it as he processed what he said. He stared at the tabletop. He couldn’t make eye contact with Saihara now.

“Ouma, you’re living situations aren’t okay at all.”



“Will you at least stay the night at my house…?” Ouma removed his hands from his mouth, looking at Saihara. Why would he want gross and pathetic Ouma at his house? Saihara was genuinely rich, wouldn’t Ouma just make it super messy and disorganized and he was gross and he wouldn’t deserve to go and-

“Just one night. So we can feed you,” Saihara explained. Oh. That’s it?

“Okay.” Saihara let out a sigh of relief, one neither realized he’d been holding.

“So when do you want come over?”

“Um, I have to work at Shinguji’s flower shop for a few hours and i think I need to be there at four…? So after that.” He glanced over at the corner of his computer screen, where he would supposedly be told the time. 3:22. Saihara nodded, accepting of the answer.

“What time is it?” Saihara asked.

“Three twenty-two.”

“Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Um, could I have a ride…?”


“Thank you.”

Ouma offered another smile, Saihara returning the gesture with a small smirk.

He suddenly remembered that he had yet to drink his hot chocolate.

Wrapping his fingers around the cup, he could tell it wasn’t very hot anymore, but amazingly, still a good temperature for his tastes. Despite it not being as hot as before, it could still burn his tongue in big amounts, so he made sure not to down it all at once.

The whip cream had melted by now, leaving a warm, chocolaty-yet-creamy taste in his mouth. The temperature of it sent welcomed chills of heat through his body, calming him in its own odd way. He’d always like hot chocolate.

The bell at the top of the door rang, signaling a new customer. Saihara left his spot at the table and began to help the customer and their various children, working behind the counter.

Ouma tried to focus on his essay, but he could only get in something that barely passed as a paragraph when his imagination of what could happen tonight at Saihara’s filled his mind.

...Thinking back on it, what had happened was something straight out of a cheesy fanfic, like the ones he and Iruma would write and work on together about various characters (mostly ship fics using whatever works best for the thing that they need to gush about. Judge away, haters, look at what you’re doing right now.)

(Iruma was the only one he had told about his crush on Saihara.)

Maybe while they where there, they would be given the classic “there’s only one bed situation,” and they would argue for a bit, before Ouma inevitably lost or they compromised and snuggled together.

Wait, was Ouma staying the night, or was he just getting food?

...He was pretty sure it was the former option, but he could ask later, just in case.

Maybe he would find himself pushed into a corner. Saihara was kissing his neck (How does that feel anyway? It’s not like he knew.) and probably making some odd noises, until Saihara got selfish and decided Ouma didn’t need-

He’s not about to think sexual things now.

Like how there’s that one position-


Okay, let’s make this more safe for work.

Saihara holding Ouma close to his chest, just because he wants and likes him there, hugging him close. Not letting go. Just holding Ouma close to him, until they grew so tired that they snuggled. Huddled close, breathing on one another.

You’re breath smells terrible and you know it.

Or another scenario, watching a movie together wrapped in blankets sitting as close as possible as they greedily ate the popcorn nearby, staring at the screen as various images flicked on and off. (If that were to happen, they’d probably be watching Danganronpa. Let’s be honest. When they had done things similar to this in the past, it was always something about that series. Always.)

Not to manipulate the situation, but a thought popped into his head, one that would be both nice and work in both platonic and romantic situations.

(Also because it was fanfiction worthy.)

He’d just need to hope the Shinguji’s were okay with it.

With fanfiction-only timing, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.

[ Time : 3:30 . Alarm: Begin walking to work fool ]

Ah. The flower shop was about a half an hour walk away with Ouma’s usual pace, so it was best he started walking now. Shoving his computer into his bag, he tried to wave bye at Saihara. He didn’t really notice if the other boy responded as he noticed his hot chocolate cup still there, grabbing it to toss it out as he left.

Ahh, Shinguji’s flower shop.

It was a welcoming place to Ouma, although he was sure he only got hired to do part-time cashiering there because he was a classmate of one of the children (Korekiyo Shinguji, Ouma usually called by his last name but around his family he was Kiyo,) and he was apparently a lot better with flowers then Kiyo’s sister. He was still catching on to how to take care of flowers from them since he wanted to learn, but they were surprisingly patient. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were patient with Kiyo’s mysterious sister.

No one was there at the moment except for Kiyo and Ouma, so as Kiyo tended to some of the flowers (he would be learning if not for what he needed to do at the moment,) he texted his parents about his sudden stay-over at Saihara’s.

Kokichi: Can I stay over at Saihara’s tonight?

Dad: Can he give you a ride to school tomorrow?

Kokichi: I think so

Dad: If he can, then you can stay at his house

Kokichi really didn’t want to have to ask Saihara for yet another favor, since he had already ended up asking for a ride to his house. He decided to wait a few minutes before texting his dad back.

Kokichi: He said he can

Dad: Great. But don’t forget to come back after school tomorrow

Ouma tried to ignore the feeling of dread in his stomach.

Kokichi: Ok

Now it was time to gush to Iruma.

...Actually, wasn’t he going to do something while he was at this shop? Yes, yes he was, and thinking of Iruma reminded him to do that.

“Hey Shinguji?”


“Can I ask a question?”

“Technically, you’ve already asked two.”


“Go ahead.”

“Uh, do you know anything about flower language? I want to give someone some flowers as like, a thank you gift, and I want to see if I can give them something with that kind of meaning?”

“Sure, but what are you thanking them for?”

“Um...Well...for trying to help me, I guess?”

“Ouma I need a bit more context.”


“Are you giving them to Saihara?” Ouma shot Shinguji a look of surprise, and the tiniest pint of betrayal.

“How did you know?”

“Are you kidding me? You two are constantly together, one of you is always staring at the other, you’re the only one who can get him to smile, like seriously it’s so painfully obvious you two are a couple.”

“We aren’t a couple. I don’t think he likes me back anyways…” That last part slipped out of his mouth as a mumble. Unfortunately, Shinguji caught it.

“Wait. You two aren’t a couple?”


Shinguji didn’t say anything else, and that made Ouma’s anxiety heighten. The taller of the two looked suddenly lost in thought, and if his mouth wasn’t covered by a coughing mask, he would even say that the boy was smiling. Thinking something devious, perhaps? A chill shot through Ouma’s body at the thought, making him squirm. Finally, Shinguji responded.

“If you’re thanking Saihara for something, I would recommend peach roses. A brighter color might be better. They show appreciation.”

“Peach roses…?”

“They’re a peach orange in color, hence the name-” “Oh.” “-and they aren’t overall too hard to find, although other rose colors are certainly more common.”

“Don’t roses symbolize love and romance, though…?”

“Some do. Not in this case, however. If you want one, I recommend a brighter color, since I’ve been told that paler ones are usually given to young girls. And we wouldn’t want to offend your boyfriend, now would we?”


“Wow, are you even going to point out that I called him your boyfriend?”

“Wait- that’s what you said? I didn’t hear,” Ouma’s gaze dropped to the ground in embarrassment, arms hugging himself protectively.

“Oh. That makes more sense.”

“Um, about the roses…” Ouma sucked in a breath, not wanting to add to the list of favors done for him today. “Do you have any of those here? I can pay if you want me to.”

“We do,” Shinguji mumbled. He walked over to another part of the store, where all the roses were kept. Ouma had to shift in his seat to still see him. Shinguji picked up one of the plant cutting things Ouma forgot the name of, looking through the flowers for one he deemed worth giving to Saihara. Eventually, he cut one off, setting the tool to the side and handing the flower to Ouma.

“How much?”

“Free ninety-nine.”

“Three ninety-nine?”


“Oh. Sorry, thank you.” Ouma took the flower from Shinguji’s hands, staring at it and observing its many petals. He enjoyed the warm orange color it offered, reminding him somewhat of what the sun looked like at sunset, or like-

A memory popped into his mind, back when things were a lot different for him.

He was doing something with his family, before they had started taking away his food because of his grades. In fact, they were going out to eat at some place, and they ended up being sat next to a large and clear window.

The sky that day was very monochrome, grey plastering the sky and clouds wherever you looked like placing a grey filter on a drawing. Even the streets where looking duller because of the reflection of the sky against the land, making it seem somewhat like they were in an old film from the 1900s. There was only one thing in the sky that had any semblance of color.

The sun was a neon orange-red, standing out harshly against the dying skies. Everything the sun’s light hit was illuminated in its bright color, casting a warm glow to whatever was lucky enough to be touched by its presence. When he asked his parents about the source of such unusual colors, his parents immediately started to blame it on pollution.

He would be lying if he said that he didn’t think the sight was beautiful, then and now. He could only vividly remember it at this point in his life, but occasionally he would be scrolling through Pinterest and a similar looking picture would appear and he would be reminded of the memory.

He was sucked back into reality by Shinguji.

“Ah, it looks like your shift is almost over. Do you have a way to get home?” Ouma took a moment to process what he said and reply.

“Um, I think Saihara is going to pick me up and take me to his house for the night.” He didn’t even need to look at Shinguji to tell that he was smirking beneath his mask. “Not for anything kinky.”

“I didn’t even think of that until you brought it up, so I’m not the one at fault here.”

“Damn it.” The curse slipped out of his mouth, and he physically cringed, panic flashing inside him as he covered his mouth. “Sorry.”

Shinguji shrugged, dismissing the words. “I think that’s him pulling in.” Shinguji stared through the glass doors. “Is it?”

“Yep,” Ouma confirmed, seeing the familiar car pulling into the parking lot. “Thanks again!” he waved at Shinguji as he walked out the entrance doors, trying to hide the flower from Saihara’s view the best he could.

He sat down in the row behind the driver’s. He just...didn’t feel like he deserved to be in the passenger seat, if that makes sense.

“You can sit in the passenger’s if you want,” Saihara said.

“...are you sure?” Saihara quirked an eyebrow at the question, like he didn’t understand why he was asking that. To be honest, Ouma didn’t completely know either.

“Okay,” Ouma said. He left the car and entered into the passenger’s seat this time, which made him unable to hide the flower this time.

“What’s the flower for?”

“Oh, um…” He sucked in a deep breath, his heart beating quickly from both anxiety and the warmth that came with liking someone. But mostly anxiety. “For. You, actually. Um...thanks. For letting me stay over. And the hot chocolate from earlier.” He awkwardly handed the rose to Saihara, who looked somewhat confused on how to respond.

“Oh...thank you.” He laughed at his own awkwardness, something Ouma wishes he could do. “I don’t usually get gifts like this. Aren’t roses a bit of a romantic thing?”

Ouma flushed at the question, unable to completely deny it. But he tried to explain the intent. “If Shinguji wasn’t lying to me, then they’re supposed to show appreciation? But other colors show romance, I think.” He stared out the window, not really wanting to make eye contact for too long. He hoped that Saihara wouldn’t be offended he got help.

“Mm. Fair enough.” Saihara began to drive away from the shop, heading away from the shop to his house. Ouma didn’t mind too much that they didn’t talk as Saihara drove. Nuzzling the car seat and listening to music was a relaxing past time, because he could think about whatever he liked.

It mostly ended up being about Saihara.

A warm, heavy feeling greeted his lips, and while he was no expert on sexual desire, seeing as he hadn’t really experienced it in the past, he tended to take that as wanting to kiss them.

He imagined himself kissing Saihara- any and all knowledge on kissing was gained from fanfiction, so he probably wasn’t all that good at it. But if he kissed Saihara, would it be warm? Cool? Would his lips feel wet, or chapped? Would it be long and gentle or short and passionate? Would there be any tongue? Would it be so passionate that they found themselves clinging onto one another just to stay standing? Or so gentle that he wanted to burst into tears of happiness? And where would it happen? When? Would the kiss even be on the lips, or somewhere else?

Licking his lips, he found himself really wanting to know.

God, you are a creep.

Technically, that wasn’t wrong. Not in Ouma’s view at least, and probably not in anyone else’s either.

“We’re here,” Saihara said, pulling the car into a parked position. Unbuckling and stepping out of the car. Ouma took a moment to process the words before stretching his arms and legs out. Unbuckling and grabbing his backpack, a warm feeling thickening inside his chest as he noticed Saihara holding the rose, observing it with an almost delicate care.

What if he touched you like that?

Not wanting to erupt into a blushing mess, Ouma smothered the thought. The two entered Saihara’s mansion of a house, both knowing full well where they would probably end up staying.

Ouma greeted the familiar merch-covered walls of Saihara’s room with a smile. The walls where covered head to toe in posters and drawings, mostly of danganronpa things. Saihara had a specific corner for all his Kirigiri related things, including but not limited to countless posters and a body pillow shoved into the wall, along with an ita bag and a few figurines.

Saihara had a lot of money to spend on useless things. He was rich, after all.

Among some of the posters where drawings Ouma had given to Saihara. A Celesgiri drawing of the two in a fantasy au, with Kyoko in detective attire and Celeste in a bit of a rogue-like outfit that looked somewhat odd on her. That one was actually from a fic he had written (and left unfinished) awhile back, before he really knew Iruma, where Celeste was married to King Togami but then the king found out that Celeste wasn’t actually royalty and she went into hiding with Kyoko. Another drawing included Kyoko and Celeste in the teacups ride, spinning calmly while Sonia, Gundham and Kazuichi where spinning rapidly in one to the side.

Both drawings had taken awhile, and he had ended up printing them both, since he was a lot better at “professional” (it wasn’t professional but he put more work into it) digital drawings then traditional. He was genuinely surprised when Saihara had asked if he could make private posters of the drawings, but he didn’t decline, either. The posters hung side by side against the wall, slightly separated from the others, as if to emphasize their importance even though they were shitty drawings anyway. The two plopped themselves on the bed, sitting next to each other. The rose had been placed delicately on Saihara’s desk, away from the two.

“So, what do you want to do?” Saihara asked.

“Um, perhaps watch something, if that’s ok?” Ouma said.

“Yeah sure. What do you want to watch?”

“Um, I don’t really know...anything you want to watch?”

“We could always watch Danganronpa again, if that’s cool…Or fandom stuff from it.” Honestly, Ouma expected that answer.

“Sure, I’m okay with that.” Saihara gave a genuine smile at the response, causing Ouma’s heart to suddenly enter a race against galloping horses and try to win. So, very, very fast.

Saihara didn’t like showing much emotion in the public, so it was always a nice surprise to see Saihara’s emotions. He only really showed it when he was alone, and or when talking about danganronpa, which he rarely did in public, since most people immediately decided that his interest in it made him creepy. Which wasn’t exactly what he was going for with his whole facade thing.

Saihara grabbed a fluffy blanket and wrapped it around himself, extending an arm out so Ouma could also be wrapped in the “blanket of hugs,” as they called it, since they tended to use it whenever they would watch something together. Always a nice experience.

Ouma snuggled up next to Saihara, doing his best to let himself relax. Other people even being around him tended to give him anxiety, but Saihara was an exception to this. A smile grew once again on his lips as Saihara wrapped his arm around Ouma, both of them leaning on each other as they tried to find something to watch. After a bit, they settled on a playlist of character analysing that they ended up not paying a lot of attention too, aimlessly talking as the videos played as white noise in the background. They found themselves talking about Ouma’s and Iruma’s upcoming fanfictions.

“We aren’t really sure yet, but we wanted to try a fluffy Ibuki and Mikan fic where Sayaka helps Ibuki write a song to confess to Mikan. Non-despair au of course, since in game is kind of…” he trailed off, not wanting to criticize his friend’s favorite franchise. “...Sorry.” Saihara didn’t seem to mind, just kind of squeezed him in a way that he assumed meant that it was okay.

“Feel free to keep rambling.” Saihare knew well that Ouma liked to ramble about fanfiction possibilities, just because they were so much fun to think about.

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I’ve been thinking of trying out a Pokémon and Danganronpa crossover, since you know I really like both. I don’t know if I could get Iruma on board with it though, or Idabashi. And writing with them is a lot of fun, and I wouldn’t really feel comfortable doing it on my own...Also just; Rotom Chiaki. Think about it.” Saihara laughed at that, for a little longer then Ouma would’ve expected.

“It’s an interesting concept,” Saihara agreed.

“Thanke. Oh! And I can easily see Hajime as the recently announced Morepeko, since they can switch between two personalities that are basically good and evil. Plus the annoying puns with Peko could be hella fun to play with.” He then realized the swear that slipped out of his mouth. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Saihara mumbled, wrapping his other arm around Ouma. The motion startled Ouma, but he found himself happily melting into the hug anyway. Saihara was very warm, and with the blanket adding extra warmth and comfort, he didn’t want to leave this position.

...Was Saihara smelling his hair…?

The two stayed that way for an uncountable amount of time, but they were still rambling in that position when Saihara’s computer died. Neither really seemed to care, just kept rambling. But as the night grew on, it became harder and harder for the two to stay awake.

A desire for sleep in their limbs, they found themselves snuggling each other into sleep, the only sound being each other’s breathing and the feel of a beating heart.

It wasn’t until Ouma had completely fallen asleep in Saihara’s arms that he had one last thought before sleep completely overtook him as well.

They forgot to eat.