Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

June, which should have been the most mundane point of the year, greets Ouma with a forced eviction.

“—and that’s why, Ouma-kun, we think it’s best that you take this time to learn how to live on your own.”

Akamatsu pushes Ouma’s purple suitcase in front of him with an apologetic smile. The shorter boy isn’t fooled by appearances, however; he’s certain that Miss Goody-Two Shoes is secretly elated to kick him out of their communal home.

The fucking audacity, Ouma seethes. This eviction, planned behind his back, would explain why everyone— all five of his roommates— had opted out of his movie nights for the past month. And to think, after Ouma personally went out of his way to pick out B-rate movies that would appeal to their shit tastes too— honestly, Ouma Kokichi doesn’t get even a fraction of the appreciation he deserves in this household.

“I thought we were family,” he bites out after a moment of (dramatic) silence, “and family means nobody gets left behind—”

Cutting him off before he can unleash the waterworks, Akamatsu continues with a pressed smile: “Toujou-san made arrangements with a close friend of mine, so you’re going to be sharing a room with him.”

Ouma draws back with an exaggerated gasp. “I’m surprised that someone tolerates your existence outside of little ol’ me!” Fake binch, he silently adds.

The blonde rolls her eyes at him in response. “Well, I’m always full of surprises, aren’t I.”

Before he can shoot a clever retort, Toujou, resident mom and self-proclaimed “maid extraordinaire”, takes this moment to pop out from behind Akamatsu. As gracefully as one could be in evicting their fellow roommate of one (1) year, Toujou extends an orange envelope towards Ouma. “The legal documents and all other information pertaining to your sublet is inside this packet, Ouma-kun.”

With a scowl, the purple-haired boy snatches the envelope from her gloved hands (honestly, who wears black velvet gloves in June), tearing open the seal with righteous fury—

“You forged my signature!!!” Ouma lets out a scandalized (and slightly impressed) gasp. By the look of the perfectly replicated scrawl, he confirms Maid Extraordinnaire never half-asses things, even when it comes to illegal activities. Shaking the sublet agreement in his hands, he hisses, “Right under my nose, you planned to boot me out of this house for,” squinting, he reads, “—the next three months?!?”

Ouma has half a mind to tear the document into pieces, but knowing their resident mom, she had likely prepared ten extra copies on hand, in addition to an electronic copy of said document protected under encryption. The shorter boy decides there are better ways to expend his precious energy.

Gripping his suitcase with one hand and illegal sublet agreement in the other, Ouma jerks his chin at the two girls standing by the door. “You know, I normally never announce my murders in advance, but for the sake of our year-long friendship— which I seem to be the only one who cherishes, by the way— you all better watch your backs.”

Neither of his roommates appear fazed by his very heartfelt threat.

“Try not to cause Saihara-kun too much trouble, Ouma-kun.” Blondie gives his shoulder a light pat, then proceeds to shut the door in his face.

Ouma’s face twists in distaste. “You think I can’t live on my own?! I’ll show you! You’re gonna miss me but I won’t pick up when you call!”

Silence.

He waits around for another five minutes, then turns to head down the stairs of their rental apartment and looks back one last time— as expected, no one bothers to open the door to check up on Ouma again.

Out of spite, Ouma swears he’ll go full AWOL when he moves to his new place.

He cracks when he discovers the stove at said new place runs on gas and he has no idea how to operate it.

“Hey there, kiddo. Sorry I couldn’t see you off—”

“Amami-chan, how could you?! I trusted you!” Ouma bawls into the speaker, clutching his cellphone tight in his hands. “Were you lying about considering me as your younger brother?? You know I hate liars the most—”

The older man chuckles from the other line.

“Slow down, Kokichi— of course I cherish you like family.” There’s some shuffling in the background, then Amami speaks up again. “That aside, I would think you would know why the others came to such a decision.”

Ouma glances at his nails nonchalantly. “Can’t say I have a single clue.”

“Kokichi.” Amami sounds amused. “You haven’t kept to the cleaning schedule as per roommate agreements, and you’ve been… excessive in terms of your mischief to the others.”

“Ehh?? Mischief??” With a drawn-out whine, the purple-haired boy flops onto the living room sofa. “I was merely trying to keep everyone on their toes, you know? I’d be so terribly upset if our dear friends, who have the survival instinct of a rock, suddenly get kidnapped by an evil organization that wants to force them into a killing game!”

“Is that so.”

“That’s a lie! I don’t actually give a shit about those ungrateful backstabbers. Besides, I have a more pressing concern.”

“Oh?” There’s a hint of mirth behind the statement, but Ouma decides to let it go. Drawing a breath, he pauses for dramatic effect, then—

“Amami-chan, there is nothing in the fridge.”

The other end of the line falls silent for a few seconds.

“...Well, it’s about time you went grocery shopping on your own, isn’t it, Koki—”

“Amami-chan, you don’t understand, there is nothing in this fridge. Nothing. Doesn’t that strike you odd, considering that there should be some trace of living?? Also, I should mention, the stove runs on gas and I’m deathly afraid of spontaneous combustion or dying from gas poisoning. I’m going to starve here; I bet this was all Harumaki’s doing— she’s always wanted to murder me all along but I never thought she’d choose such a cruel, contrived means to do so…!” Ouma sniffs into his sleeves. “When I die, you can have my collection of checkered scarves to remember me by, Amami-chan.”

“Kokichi, you’re not going to die.” He’s sure the green-haired man has a fond expression on his face; if Ouma was having this conversation with Amami in person, the older man would be ruffling his hair at this point in spite of Ouma’s indignant protests. “You can ask your roommate on how to operate the stove, and go over some of the recipes Kirumi left in your suitcase.”

“...Man, that sounds like sooooo much work,” Ouma whines petulantly.

Amami chuckles lightly in response. “Good luck, kiddo. You know you can always call big bro Rantarou if you need help, right?”

“What’s the point if you’re not going to come pick me up from this hell,” Ouma mutters.

“Good night, Kokichi. I’ll check in again in a week, okay?”

When the call comes to an end, Ouma grabs the seat cushion next to him and screams into it.

Five minutes of cathartic screaming and a ruined seat cushion later, Ouma spends the next hour exploring his new unit. He comes across several new observations:

1) There are thick black curtains that block the sunlight from the bedroom window.
2) The kitchen utensils are barely touched. None of the frying pans show a hint of wear, and Ouma is certain there is dust settling on the drying rack.
3) The apartment complex— or rather, this particular unit— does not have A/C. Neither is there an electric fan in sight.

Considering that his roommate was supposed to have lived in this tiny LDK for the past 3 years, Ouma is 100% sure his ex-roommates have sent him to live with a serial killer. Briefly glancing at the wall clock, which reads 2:00p.m, Ouma begins his preparations to assert his dominance over his new roommate.

Or at least, that had been the plan. Somewhere between setting up booby traps and waiting for his new roommate to return from god knows where, Ouma had fallen asleep. A completely rookie mistake, to lie vulnerable and exposed before his would-be assassin— which would explain why Ouma was going to die at the young age of 21 from a kitchen fire.

“Ah, s-sorry, did I wake you up?”

Pale Lanky Beanstring— his new roommate, by the looks of it— appears frazzled and worse for wear, a streak of soot smeared across his nose and cheek as he holds a smoking, charred pot by the handle. Ouma isn’t sure how this gangly, awkward stringbean of a man made it past him and into the kitchen without making his presence known, but his eyes immediately gravitate to the source of their kitchen fire.

“What the fuck is that.”

“Oh, uh—” the taller male scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I wanted to cook a welcome dinner for you, since I was told you’d move in today. But uhm, as you can tell...”

Ouma stares at the smoke still rising from the pot. “How does anyone fuck up this badly, Saihara-kun?”

Saihara averts his eyes. “I, uh, I haven’t cooked before.”

“Well, no shit.”

Oh god, Harumaki really did think this through. Ouma was going to actually have to learn how to cook for himself, lest his new roommate set both of them on fire or kill him via food poisoning. Ouma has no intention of dying until he successfully exacts sweet, glorious revenge against his ex-roommates. Even so, the smaller boy can’t help posing a few questions to his obviously questionable roommate—

“So in all your years living alone, Saihara-kun, you’re telling me that you’ve never prepared a home-cooked meal?”

Setting the pot on the stove, the taller boy gives him a slight shrug. “Uhm, there’s… never been a need to cook.”

“Eh?? So you’ve been living off of take-out?”

Saihara vigorously shakes his head. “Ah, no! I mean, I don’t eat, um, human food.”

“Human food?” An uneasy laugh forces its way out of Ouma. “Saihara-kun, you’re a little too old to have make-believe secret identities.”

His roommate stares at him with an apprehensive expression on his face. “Didn’t Akamatsu-san tell you…?”

“That you’re a chuunibyou?”

“...I’m a vampire.”

“Oh, Ouma-kun! What a surprise; I thought you weren’t going to call.”

“You know, Kaede-chan, I knew your Goody-Two Shoes act was a front, but I never knew you’d go so far as to personally sell me off as a blood bank. Tell me, how much was I worth? This body, I’ll have you know, is premium quality—”

Much to Ouma’s chagrin, Akamatsu bursts out into laughter. When her chuckles die down to a more manageable state, the pianist continues fondly, “Don’t be so dramatic, Ouma-kun, nobody sold you off as a blood bank. It honestly slipped my mind to tell you— not that Saihara-kun being a vampire changes anything.”

Dropping his voice, Ouma hisses into the speaker. “So you conveniently forgot to tell me that I’m rooming with a bloodsucking vampire??”

It’s funny how he can practically hear Akamatsu frown. “How rude! Just because Saihara-kun is a vampire, it doesn’t mean he indiscriminately drains people’s blood, you know? In all honesty, I’m more concerned for him than I am for you— behave yourself, all right?”

Ouma clicks his tongue. “Ehhhhh, I dunno, that’s pretty audacious of you to ask me to behave myself when you so coldly kicked me out of my own house.”

Akamatsu sighs into the phone.

“Uh, Ouma-kun? If I might ask, what is this...?”

It is late in the evening; unpacking Ouma’s few possessions had taken up most of his hours since first contact with Saihara. From the corner of his eye, Ouma spots the vampire looking a little lost as he holds a pillow in his arms— most likely in preparation to sleep after having cleaned up the kitchen.

“Wonderful timing, Saihara-kun!” With a flourish of his hands, the smaller boy points to the line of raw garlic on the floor. “This is the border that divides your space and mine.”

His roommate tilts his head. “A border?”

Ouma nods with an air of solemnity. “But of course! You can’t expect me to not take any precautions about sharing the same sleeping space with a total stranger, can you?”

“Ah, I see.”

Oh, great. His vampire roommate wears an expression like Ouma kicked a stray puppy in front of his eyes, and whatever remaining sense of guilt the human has flares in his gut. Forcing his best fake smile, Ouma chirps, “Don’t take it to heart, Saihara-kun; this is just to ensure our peaceful coexistence until the end of August. I’ll be out of this place in three months, so we can practically live like strangers and ignore each other’s presence!”

Except Ouma is a pretty little liar, because avoiding (and ignoring) Saihara is impossible. The first Incident happens within a week of his stay; Ouma’s curiosity wins over his initial wariness, leading to his decision to throw open the thick, black curtains of their shared bedroom space one Friday morning to test out his theory on how vampire Saihara actually is.

“Rise and shine, Saihara-kun!!! It’s time to smell the morning air!”

Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s rays, Ouma looks over his shoulder to check the effect of the morning sun on Saihara.

Lo and behold: the vampire’s face, exposed to broad daylight, starts to, quite literally, smoke.

It only takes a total of three seconds until his roommate lets out a piercing scream, scrabbling at the sheets in a feeble attempt to cover his body from the sun’s rays.

“Oh my God, Saihara-chan, you’re on fire!” Ouma quickly pulls at the curtains, submerging the room in total darkness once more.

The Saihara-lump in the corner of the room only moans in reply.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Border of garlic be damned, Ouma crosses over to Saihara’s side of the room and tugs at the covers. It’s a good thing that Ouma had long since perfected his poker face, because seeing his roommate’s initially pale face covered with angry red boils is, to say the least, jarring. The smaller boy swallows down the rising panic in his chest when Saihara moans again.

“Oh boy, Saihara-chan, I don’t think you should go out in public for the time being.”

When the vampire shakily raises a hand to touch his burns, Ouma slaps it away.

“Don’t touch it, silly, you’re going to make it worse.” Standing up, the human boy remarks, “I’m going to grab some wet towels for your burn. Don’t worry, Saihara-chan, you’re in excellent hands!”

Ouma ignores the way Saihara stares at him with (mildly) horrified eyes, heading out the room to grab some burn ointment and cooling towels.

Chapter Text

When Akamatsu had approached him in May with the request of temporarily hosting one of her housemates until the end of summer, Saihara had no idea what to expect.

“Sorry, I don’t think I quite understand…” he had told her, “I’m not sure why it would be a problem, Akamatsu-san.”

The pianist had wrung her hands then, looking off to the side. “That’s… well.... Ouma-kun is a bit of a… special case. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Was he going to be okay?

As Ouma adjusts the wet towels on his face (“to cool your burns down first, Saihara-chan!”), Saihara falls into quiet contemplation.

“It’s a good thing that the burns aren’t as severe as I thought they’d be!” The purple-haired boy chatters from beside him. “It really gave me a fright, you know?”

It’s strange, the way Ouma’s remark makes his chest squeeze ever so slightly. For all of Akamatsu’s warnings, Saihara thinks that his new roommate is a good person at heart, understandably wary from being thrust into a stranger’s home without advance notice.

“I’ll heal, Ouma-kun. Thanks for being concerned about me.”

“Oh, that’s awkward. Did you think I meant I was worried about you?” Ouma purses his lips into a small frown. Voice sugar sweet, he continues, “You shouldn’t get too ahead of yourself, Saihara-chan! I’m only doing this for myself, you know? Kaede-chan would’ve had my head if I really hurt you. She’d probably drop a piano on me or something as retribution, and do it with a smile.”

“O-oh.”

Saihara wishes the floor would open up and swallow him into the ground, but regrettably, the only supernatural thing about the bedroom is himself. For the first time in a long while, Saihara is grateful for the makeup of his body as an undead being; the absence of blood means he is spared from blushing.

The funny (read: unfortunate) thing about mishaps, is that they seem to come one after the other. As if the universe was conspiring against Saihara from peacefully cohabiting with his human roommate, it is his greatest (misfortune) to come across Momota— Saihara’s closest friend with a protective streak and a tendency to jump to conclusions.

“Yo, Shuichi, what’s with the face mask?”

The vampire buckles from the weight of his ever energetic classmate slinging an arm over his shoulders.

“Good afternoon to you too, Momota-kun.” Saihara responds, facing slightly away from his friend in hopes that Momota would not try to pry into the situation.

His efforts at evading Momota prove to be in vain. Before the vampire can provide a somewhat viable explanation, his friend hooks a finger into the corner of the mask, pulls it down, and subsequently gasps in horror.

“Bro, what happened?!? You’ve got burn marks all over your face!”

With deft fingers, Saihara pulls the mask over his nose. “Uh, you don’t have to worry, it’s honestly not that bad—”

“Did someone do this to you? Are you being bullied?! Tell me, Shuichi— I got your back man, tell me who I gotta beat up—”

“N-no, it’s nothing like that, Momota-kun, it was an honest mistake.”

Momota narrows his eyes. “Wait a minute, does this perhaps have something to do with your new roommate? Harumaki was telling me about this guy named Ouma— apparently he likes to mess around with people with no remorse. Guy sounds like real bad news, Shuichi. How’d you even get roped into living together, man?”

Saihara frowns slightly. In spite of what Ouma had told him earlier, Saihara can’t shake off the feeling that it was a lie.

“I… don’t think Ouma-kun is remorseless. He did help nurse my burns,” the vampire states softly. With a small smile, he continues, “It’s just a temporary situation, and it’ll be over within three months. It’s really not as bad as you make it, Momota-kun; Ouma-kun is just as surprised as I am about the arrangement.”

Momota releases his hold on Saihara to cross his arms. “I don’t know, Shuichi; you have this tendency to hold back even when you should voice your thoughts. Ya can’t understand another person without a good heart-to-heart, yeah?”

“That’s—”

“Don’t worry, bro, that’s why you have me! How could I be the luminary of the stars if I couldn’t help my best buddy from a pinch?”

Momota has that look on his face— the one where he sets his mind on something and won’t let the matter drop.

Saihara feels the onset of a migraine.

“Momota-kun, you really don’t have to do this—”

“Oi, Ouma! Come out here and take responsibility for your actions like a man!”

Momota barges through the front door of their shared unit with righteous fervor; Saihara trails just seconds behind him, pulling on his taller friend’s jacket. When the vampire finally catches a breath and manages to look up, he spots Ouma seated by the dining table.

Wearing checkered pajamas, Ouma is the picture of perfect nonchalance as he stares back at the two boys, taking a deliberately slow sip of his bottled grape Panta with a straw.

“Well, well, well— if it isn’t Harumaki’s brutish boyfriend.” His roommate starts with an impish grin. “Normally, you’re supposed to give an advance notice before you drop by someone’s house, but is that beyond your comprehension of basic etiquette?”

Momota snarls. “Cut the small talk, Ouma. You have anything to say for yourself after intentionally giving Saihara these burns?”

The smaller boy shrugs, rolling the plastic straw between his fingers. “How was I supposed to know which vampire mythos was actually real? It’s not like there’s some encyclopedia floating around that asserts what should be common knowledge on vampires.” Ouma leans back, crossing his arms behind his head. “Besides, Saihara-chan and I made up! Isn’t that right, Saihara-chan?”

It’s strange, because despite directly addressing the vampire, Ouma doesn’t meet Saihara’s eyes. Saihara can't place a finger on it, but it’s something cold, something unpleasant; Saihara clenches and unclenches his hands, wanting the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach to stop.

Before the vampire has a chance to respond, Momota whips out an arm to point accusingly at Ouma. “Bullshit, my gut tells me that you’re just taking advantage of Shuichi’s kindness! We’re not gonna let this—”

Ouma bursts into a fit of snickers. “Nishishi...”

Momota lowers his hand slightly, confusion riddled on his face. “What’s so funny?”

“Weeeell,” Ouma drawls, “you’ve been saying ‘we’ as if Saihara-chan and you are of the same mind, but the whole time you’ve been ignoring your bosom buddy’s opinions! Heck, you won't even let him talk!” The smaller boy grins, rows of white teeth and red gums— but the expression feels frigid, plastic, and sharp.

“That’s—”

Staring at his bottle of Panta with a bored expression, Ouma continues, “Gee, Momota-kun, I didn’t know you had such a messiah complex! I guess that’s to be expected out of someone who’s too busy looking at the stars to pay attention to his surroundings—”

“Ouma-kun!”

The punch is instantaneous; Ouma can barely react as Momota stalks across the kitchen in three strides and swings his fist into the smaller boy’s face. The bottle of soft drink in his hand falls to the floor with a clatter, and the remaining soda spills across the white linoleum floor like blood.

“How dare you—”

When Ouma lifts his head again, Momota falters; the area around the boy’s cheek had bloomed into an ugly shade of purple.

“I…”

“You should leave, Momota-kun.” Saihara presses softly. “I’ll handle things here.”

When Saihara peers into their bedroom with an icepack, he spots the purple-haired boy on the tatami floor, leaning against one of the wooden cabinets by the corner. His small face is illuminated by flashing lights on his phone screen— from the sound of it, the latest puzzle game on the market. The vampire lingers by the doorway, unsure of his next course of action.

Fortunately— or unfortunately for Saihara— he doesn’t get to mull around for long, because Ouma calls out to him in a cheery tone:

“That’s for me, isn’t it? Give it here.”

The human boy stretches out a hand in Saihara’s direction, eyes still fixated on his phone. When the vampire hesitates, Ouma motions him over with a small wave.

Saihara walks over and places the ice pack in his roommate’s outstretched hand; wordlessly, Ouma places it over the bruise on his cheek.

“Ouma-kun, I—”

“It must be real nice to be loved, Saihara-chan.”

Golden eyes blink in confusion.

“S-sorry?”

“Kaede-chan was sooooo worried about ‘her dearest friend Saihara-kun’, telling me to behave myself. Just the other day Harumaki sent me a text message threatening to end me if I ‘dared to touch a single hair on Saihara-kun’s head’. Even when Saihara-chan is the vampire here, it’s like our roles have reversed and I’m the monster!” Ouma’s lips twist into a crooked smile. “Not saying that you’re a monster, of course.”

Saihara draws in a sharp breath.

“Ouma-kun, you’re not a monster.”

The human boy wears a small frown. “Ehh, Saihara-chan, if you want to lie to protect my feelings, you should do a better job at it. I hate liars the most, even more than brutish knuckleheads who think with their fist, you know?”

The vampire winces. “I… I’m really sorry about Momota-kun…”

Ouma turns to face him then. “No need to apologize— we’re even now, right?”

It’s then, that the pieces start to connect in Saihara’s mind— that, for the first time, Saihara thinks that he can kind of understand the being that Ouma Kokichi is.

“Ouma-kun... did you... purposely provoke Momota-kun in order to get hit?”

Ouma stares at him with an indecipherable expression. “Why would I do that? I dislike being hurt immensely.”

Saihara holds his gaze. “I think… there are different kinds of pain, and you wanted to be clear of it— even if it meant getting hit.”

The air sets with a subtle but tangible tension.

Just as Saihara’s thoughts spiral into the worst possible scenario, Ouma’s mouth splits into a wide grin.

“Nishishi, I guess things won’t be so boring around you, Saihara-chan!”

It’s the first time that Ouma’s smile feels genuine— something akin to childlike mirth and warmth.

A small part of Saihara whispers, it wouldn’t hurt to see it more often.

Chapter Text

Ouma wonders if he’s losing his touch.

Nearly a month had passed, but Saihara had yet to chase him out of the premises. The quiet vampire hadn’t brought up a single complaint about Ouma during their three weeks together. Ouma reasons it may have had to do with the fact that, subconsciously, he had avoided poking Saihara around since burning half of his face.

Although Ouma’s bruise has long since faded away, the still darker grey (because apparently, vampires don’t have blood in their system for the reddish-brown scab) marks that remain on Saihara’s face two weeks after being fried act as a temporary deterrent for the smaller boy. He’s not one to punch a man— or vampire, for that matter— when they’re on the metaphorical ground.

(That was a lie; he totally would).

The excuse Ouma decides to run with at the end of the day, is that his roommate is a markedly difficult individual to hold a personal vendetta against.

Case in point:

When the cord of Ouma’s laptop charger that was barely hanging by a thread (held together with messily applied electrical tape) finally gave out and snapped in two, Saihara had wordlessly bought a replacement adapter.

“I picked it up on the way back,” the vampire explained, although Ouma knew that the nearest electrical appliance store was in the complete opposite direction of Saihara’s usual route home.

Just two days ago, when Ouma had resigned himself to waiting out the sudden torrential downpour after class, he was greeted by the sight of his roommate by the front doors, panting as he clutched a spare umbrella in his hand.

“Ah, thank goodness I got here in time! I was worried you were going to walk home in the rain....”

And presently:

“You’ve been working on your paper the whole day, so I was wondering… maybe it might be a good time to take a break?”

Saihara asks Ouma with a shy smile— the one that makes the pit of his stomach twist into a tight knot.

Not that he makes it a point to keep track, but the amount of times Ouma had been at the end of such an openly fond expression— he could count them on a single hand.

Disdain and distrust, wariness— when worming his way under people’s skins was part and parcel of Ouma’s social interactions, Saihara proves to be an anomaly with his quiet understanding.

The extent by which his roommate throws him for a loop is a secret Ouma intends to carry to his grave.

“Oh?” Arching an eyebrow, Ouma pins his roommate with a level stare. “And what exactly did Saihara-chan have in mind for a ‘short break’?”

The vampire in question replies softly. “The movie you’ve been meaning to watch… it’s available online, and I was thinking we could watch it together.”

“Hmm, I don’t know— could we watch it together?” Ouma leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “Your dear friend Momota-kun railed against it after attending a screening with Harumaki, you know. In his own words— ‘confusing and pointless’. Not entirely surprising, considering that Space Cadet has no sense of appreciation for the arts, but...” Ouma grins sharply. “I’m sure you have better ways to waste your time, Saihara-chan.”

He’s certain that he provides enough leeway for Saihara to abandon whatever notion of an obligation he held to keep Ouma company.

And yet— Saihara doesn’t excuse himself. Instead, the vampire frowns slightly, brows knitted in confusion. “I don’t think watching a movie with you could ever be a waste of time.” Saihara tilts his head to the side; the odd strand of hair that sticks from the top of his head sways as if in agreement. “You always have something insightful to say, Ouma-kun.”

There’s a sharp pang in Ouma’s (wrapped-in-titanium-chains-behind-a-10-feet-wall) heart— once again, Ouma finds himself at a loss.

“Nishishi! As expected of Saihara-chan. I suppose it can’t be helped, since I am a fountain of knowledge and a pleasure to be around!”

He quickly ducks past Saihara towards the living room, eyes trained to the floor.

“Last one to the couch has to prepare snacks!”

“Ah, w-wait, Ouma-kun...!”

Ouma isn’t sure if he will ever get used to having his presence sincerely wanted.

In the final week of June, the city is hit with the hottest heat wave in a decade. Despite the sun having set, the night air presses down on Ouma and fills his lungs like hot porridge.

The human boy wants to scream at his roommate for not installing an air-conditioning unit, but every pore of his body protests taking unnecessary action that would raise the room temperature. Still, this makes it the third night that Ouma is unable to fall asleep due to the heat, and whatever inhibitions Ouma had are starting to unravel very, very quickly.

“Saihara-chan.”

“Yes?”

“Remind me why we don’t have a cooling device in our home?”

“...Ah. I’ve never really had a need for one. The heat doesn’t affect me, so I thought to save on the electricity bill.”

“What.”

Groping around for his phone, Ouma turns on the flashlight and projects the beam directly at Saihara’s face.

“Uwagh!!” Saihara yelps, shielding his eyes with his arms. “Ouma-kun, what are you doing?!”

Ouma squints at his roommate, bringing the phone closer to the vampire as he chants with increasing pitch,

“Liars must be punished! Answer me truthfully, Saihara-chan, or the next punishment will be of an unspeakable horror!”

Saihara whimpers. “I’m telling you, it’s the truth!”

“Lies!”

Ouma hastily clambers onto Saihara, straddling the vampire’s torso. With one hand holding his impromptu interrogation light above his target’s head, Ouma reaches for Saihara’s arm and—

Cold.

Purple eyes widen in surprise.

Ouma had never directly touched Saihara when he nursed his burns. In addition, given the general humidity and heat, Ouma was deterred from enthusiastically invading the personal space of said vampire, as he normally would have for his other roommates.

But now, with his hand wrapped around Saihara’s wrist, the gears in his head whir in motion: Saihara Shuichi, having the physiology of an undead creature magicked into life or whatnot, would naturally lack the body heat of a warm-blooded animal.

For Ouma, there is only one logical conclusion that is derived from his heat-addled brain.

“Uh, Ouma-kun? D...do you mind getting off of me?” Saihara shifts beneath him, an apprehensive expression on his face. “Um, Ouma-kun…?”

“Saihara-chan,” Ouma starts sweetly, trailing his fingers down his roommate’s chest. A strange glee he can’t name takes hold of him; he watches Saihara’s eyes fixate on the way his fingers fiddle with the front of the vampire’s yukata.

His roommate visibly gulps. “Uh… yes?”

“You mentioned before that it was very important for friends to build rapport, right?”

Saihara nods hesitantly.

Ouma turns off the flashlight of his phone with the swipe of his finger. As the room sinks to pitch black, Ouma purrs,

“Well, Saihara-chan, lucky for us— we’re about to get to know each other very, very intimately.”

Two weeks come to pass since Ouma starts using Saihara as a human-sized cooling pillow, and the ease at which they settle into an unspoken routine is— quite frankly, terrifying.

As Ouma fumbles through the door of their shared bedroom, Saihara wordlessly lifts the cover of his blanket to let the smaller boy crawl on top of him. Once Ouma settles into a comfortable position, face tucked into the crook of the vampire’s neck, Saihara begins to card his fingers through the boy’s purple hair.

Ouma lets out a small sigh, leaning into the gentle pressure of Saihara’s touch. Initially, the vampire had been hesitant to engage in any kind of “platonic skinship between roommates”, as Ouma coined it, though he relented by the end of the human boy’s persistent whining.

“Say, Saihara-chan,” Ouma starts slowly.

“Mmm?”

“The thing about your body temperature… is there a way to regulate it? Or are you permanently frigid?”

Saihara hums.

“I can’t generate body heat on my own… so yes, I suppose I’ll always be cold.”

“Arara, that won’t do, Saihara-chan— what are we going to do when the fall season hits and I need a heater?” Ouma jabs at the vampire’s chest with his finger.

“Ah.” Saihara’s hand slows to a stop. “I thought your sublet contract ended at the end of August? Unless you’re planning to stay longer—”

Ouma freezes. A terrible sense of dread swallows his heart.

Of course. How could he have forgotten?

This arrangement was never meant to last; somehow along the way, Ouma had played the role of the friendly roommate too convincingly and ended up fooling his own self, and now the universe was throwing a wrench to shatter whatever illusion Ouma had crafted in the past month and a half in Saihara’s tiny apartment suite.

“Nishishi, you caught me! I was planning on keeping you around a little longer to serve as my personal heater, but I guess you’ll outlive your usefulness once summer ends.”

He feels Saihara hesitate. “Ouma-kun…?”

“Goodnight, Saihara-chan!”

The bitterness that sinks its gnarled fingers into Ouma’s stomach is a wretched thing.

The following morning, Ouma wakes up early. Breakfast would have to wait until he dropped by the local convenience store; he doesn’t think he could hold food down in his stomach at their shared residence, anyway.

As he puts on his shoes at the front door, he hears Saihara approach him from behind. It’s funny, the way Ouma can hear the hesitation in the vampire’s footsteps.

“Uhm, Ouma-kun…” His roommate calls out to him softly. “About last night—”

“What about, Saihara-chan?” Ouma stands up, cutting him off with a smile.

“I…” Saihara stares at him with a concerned expression. “I just want you to know, you’re always welcome here, Ouma-kun.”

“Silly Saihara-chan, of course I know that. I’m subletting this place, remember?” He turns the knob of the front door. “You should step back, unless you want to get burned again! That’d be a real shame, after it took nearly a month for your burn to fade.”

“Wait, Ouma-kun, I—”

Ouma swings open the door and runs. The entirety of the way to his university, Ouma doesn’t look back.

Within a week, things revert to how they were when Ouma first arrived— that is, how things should have been. Courtesy of his efforts at avoiding Saihara, the time they spend together has dwindled to near non-existence. Naturally, their futons are separated once more, though Ouma doesn’t bother with the previous border of raw garlic; the unresolved tension between them serves as a stronger barrier.

Or at least it should, though it doesn’t seem to stop Saihara from constantly approaching him for a heart-to-heart.

“Ouma-kun, I have to tell you something. Could we talk?”

If there’s something more urgent this time around in Saihara’s voice, Ouma doesn’t mention it.

Eyes fixated on the screen, Ouma replies cordially. “I’d love to chat, really! But unfortunately, I have an important deadline to meet, you know? If it’s important, you can write me a note and paste it on the fridge; I’ll get around to it later—”

“I have to leave for a short visit to see my uncle.”

Saihara cutting off his sentence is a first.

Hands stilling on the keyboard, Ouma turns to face his roommate.

“Don’t worry, Saihara-chan— contrary to expectations, I’m quite adept at house-sitting. Enjoy the family reunion.” He waves Saihara off with a hand. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a paper to write.”

It’s a callous dismissal. If Akamatsu was around, Ouma is certain that she would reprimand him for being rude. Amami might give him a disappointed look, while Harukawa— Ouma brushes the thought aside.

“I…”

Saihara falls silent.

After what feels like ages, the vampire quietly pads off.

Ouma plugs his earphones in and continues his readings. He ignores the ugly feeling that lodges itself in his throat.

Three days, and not a single word from his roommate.

Saihara’s visit to his uncle, Ouma comes to realize, is longer than an overnight trip.

His eyes linger over the yellow sticky note pasted to the front cover of his textbook. Written in the vampire’s careful script, the note reads:

‘I’ll be back after a few days. Take care, Ouma-kun.’ —Saihara Shuichi

Part of Ouma wonders if Saihara had finally grown sick and tired of the human boy, but was too polite to kick Ouma out into the curb. A family visit is a rather convenient excuse, although Saihara had never mentioned he had relatives before.

Maybe, a small part of his mind whispers, Saihara-chan left because he finally saw what Ouma Kokichi really was.

Ouma quashes the thought as he reaches for a bottle of Panta in the fridge.

His plans to become drunk on carbonated sugar is ruined when the first notes of Debussy’s Clair de Lune ring from his phone.

“Helloooooo, you’ve reached the voicemail of Ouma Kokichi! Clearly, I am not available to take your call nor do I want to—”

“Haha, very funny, Ouma-kun.”

“Thank you, I’m flattered that you appreciate my great sense of humor.”

Akamatsu’s sigh carries over the line.

“You haven’t called us back in a long while. We were wondering how you were doing.”

It takes everything in Ouma to hold back the depreciative wheeze of laughter building in his chest.

“Oh, concerned about little ol’ me? No need to waste your precious time, seeing as you were the ones to forcefully evict me from my home.”

“Ouma-kun, did something happen?” Akamatsu asks cautiously.

Ouma twists the bottle cap with a flick of his wrist, relishing in the hiss of released gas. He can imagine the blonde pianist nervously holding the phone in her room, probably wondering how to make amends. On another day, Ouma would brush off her concern with a cheery front, but today, there’s a vindictive sense of anger that wells within him.

“Well, pardon me if I’m a little wary about whether you actually care, Kaede-chan,” he snaps.

Akamatsu falls silent.

“I… I’m sorry. I’ll call another time.”

When the call ends, Ouma heads to the kitchen sink to pour his soda down the drain.

It is late evening when Ouma is rudely interrupted in his studies by a series of urgent knocks on the door. Technically, he has spent the last few hours staring blankly at the screen, but it is the principle that matters. He clicks his tongue in irritation when he spots Momota’s tacky jacket through the peephole.

Opening the door, Ouma greets the taller male with a pressed smile. “My, my, what an unpleasant surprise. What brings you to my humble abode today, Momota-kun? Looking to be a repeat offender of physical assault?”

Momota grimaces. “Look, that was—” He hangs his head. “Listen, I’m not here to pick a fight.”

“That’s unfortunate, because your ugly goatee seems to have a different idea. Good night!”

When Ouma attempts to shut the door, Momota shoves his feet through the crack with a grunt. Ouma scowls. “You shouldn’t test me, Space Flunkie— I’m not in the most forgiving mood today.”

Momota looks up at him with a distressed expression. “Just hear me out, all right? I wanted to apologize for earlier.”

“Wow! I’d be touched if it wasn’t such a bold-faced lie. Who shows up for an apology a month and a half later in the dead of night? This isn’t some teenage melodrama, you know.” Ouma lets go of the door and taps his foot impatiently. “What’s the real reason you came here, Momota-kun?”

“I’m not lying, it’s related…” The taller boy rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… I’m sorry I lashed out at you. The burn put me through a real scare. Shuichi… doesn’t really have a lot of good experiences with people, so I kinda got ahead of myself.”

Ouma crosses his arms. “I still fail to see how this answers my question on why you’re being a general nuisance at my doorstep, Space Flunkie.”

Momota flushes. “Can you stop calling me that? And I’m getting there— listen, I just… Shuichi… he’s been more willing to give things a try lately, and he’s been voicing a lot of his thoughts, too.” The taller male rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “I feel like a lot of it has to do with you, which is why I came to tell you the reason behind Shuichi’s visit to see his uncle.”

Momota squares his back, rising to his full height.

“Shuichi’s bastard uncle wants him to return to the coven, and I know that Shuichi wants no part of it.”

“A coven—” Ouma schools his face into a neutral expression. “Why are you telling me this?”

Momota looks to the side, gritting his teeth in frustration. “Shuichi coming here to live on his own was to escape his uncle’s controlling behaviour. As a friend, I don’t want him to go back to the way he was before.”

“Arara, that sounds like a family problem, not—”

“No, it’s your problem too— why can’t you see that?” Momota shouts, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Kokichi, you’re already a part of Shuichi’s life whether you want to admit it or not! You can’t keep lying to yourself like that!”

From the end of the hallway, someone shouts, “Keep it down, people are trying to sleep here!” Momota winces at the sound of the door slamming shut.

The two stand quietly for a stretch of a minute. Then, eyes downcast, Momota continues, “Look I don’t know what happened between the two of you. But I do know this: you’re the push he needs to come back and live a life of his own.”

To: Saihara Shuichi
From: Ouma Kokichi
Subject: i burned ur kitchen ;A;

Hey Saihara-chan!

Sorry to interrupt the family reunion, but I accidentally burned the kitchen.
I really didn’t mean to, I’m sorry T___T
Anyway I can’t use the stove anymore so can you deal with this? Otherwise I’m really gonna starve.
Thanks again!

-Ouma <3

[x] kitchen.jpg
[x] oopsie.jpg

“I didn’t think you’d come so soon.”

Ouma speaks quietly from his side of the bedroom. From what Momota had told him, Saihara’s vampire coven was based somewhere in Kumamoto Prefecture. Travel by the Shinkansen to Tokyo would have taken at least 7 hours, which meant Saihara rushed back to their shared residence the moment he received Ouma’s email.

“...I was worried that you might have gotten hurt.” Saihara replies softly. The vampire seats himself behind Ouma— too close, not close enough. It’s a good thing Ouma is facing the wall, because he isn’t sure he could face his roommate directly in the eye.

“They were badly doctored photos, Saihara-chan. That’s some sloppy judgement for someone training to become a detective, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think you sent me the email for a simple prank, Ouma-kun.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I could have been extremely bored,” Ouma replies. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but you don’t exactly know me, Saihara-chan.”

When Saihara doesn’t reply in kind, Ouma can’t stop the swell of disappointment that crawls through his chest.

Of course, what had he been expecting?

“If that’s all, I’m going to bed.” Ouma wraps his blanket tighter around his shoulders with an air of finality.

What he doesn’t expect, is for Saihara to continue.

“You’re right, Ouma-kun. I don’t really know you. But… you’ve become someone important to me in the time we’ve spent together. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to continue to get to know you.”

“...Even after the end of the sublet agreement?”

“Even after the sublet agreement.”

“But I thought you had obligations to your vampire coven.”

“No, Ouma-kun,” Saihara’s murmurs, quiet but firm. “My obligation is with my chosen family and friends here.”

“—and did you know, the superhuman power thing is a complete lie? I mourn for the standard of publications nowadays, my Saihara-chan doesn’t sparkle in the sunlight and he certainly can’t dent a car with a single hand, much less lift the box of books I ordered last Friday—”

“Ouma-kun, are you happy?”

Ouma pauses, staring back at the blonde seated across from him. Then, covering his mouth with a hand, he snickers.

“Nishishi! For a piano nerd, you sure are slow, Kaede-chan!”

Akamatsu pouts. “Would it hurt for you to give me a straightforward answer once in a while?”

Ouma leans back against his seat. When he spots Saihara making his way to their table while balancing a tray of desserts, he smiles.

“Hmm, who knows.”

Chapter Text

The last thing Saihara expects when he returns home from his Friday evening shift, is the sight of his boyfriend of five months surrounded by an array of opened bottles on the dining table.

“Kokichi-kun, what have you been drinking?!” He quickly slips off his shoes to rush over to the kitchen.

Ouma waves him over with a gleeful smile. “Just in time for the party! Come over here, Shuichi— let me treat you to some of my newest concoctions.” The smaller boy pushes a glass of purple liquid across the table; something about the way it glints makes Saihara wary of its contents.

Taking a moment, the vampire surveys the area carefully. When his eyes settle on the telltale label of one of the unopened bottles, Saihara pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Kokichi, did you seriously mix Panta with vodka?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it!” Ouma chastises him, jabbing a finger into the vampire’s chest.

Saihara directs his gaze back to the mystery liquid. As far as he knew, Ouma disliked alcohol and was not a casual drinker by any means; in addition, Saihara highly doubted his boyfriend would spend money on a bottle of vodka with the upcoming booster set of his favourite trading card game out for pre-order.

Closing his eyes, the vampire lifts the glass to his lips and takes a small sip.

“...this just tastes like watered-down Panta,” he eventually remarks with a slight grimace.

Ouma snickers in response. “Nishishi… that’s because I drank the one spiked with vodka, silly.”

If it was like any other day, this would be the point where Saihara would make a rebuttal— that’s a lie, because the bottles of empty alcohol are from the glass disposal bins outside, Kokichi-kun— but tonight, he decides to cut straight to the point.

“Okay, I give; what’s on your mind?”

Ouma twirls an empty glass in his hands. “Whatever do you mean?”

Seating himself next to the human boy, the vampire replies, “Last week, you blackmailed Momota-kun with your supposed collection of incriminating photos to finish your term paper on Sex and Intimacy 101.”

“But it was due and Momota-chan owes me!” The purple-haired boy whines petulantly.

Saihara shoots his partner a look. “Both you and I know that such a course isn’t offered at our university.”

“It could have been an online course!”

Saihara sighs.

“It isn’t just that. Last night, you ransacked the school infirmary for their basket of free condoms.” The vampire frowns. “Kokichi-kun, you’re only supposed to take what you need.”

“Shuichi.”

“Yes?”

Saihara lets out a muffled yelp when Ouma leans extremely close to his face, their noses almost touching. Pinning him down with a stare, the human continues with a frustrated huff:

“When your boyfriend comes home with a basket full of condoms, is the first thing on your mind to reprimand him about the plight of students that won’t have access to a bunch of rubbers?! Mind you, infirmary has more stocked in their cabinets, you know— I’m not that tactless.”

“Uh—”

“Besides, aren’t you even a little bit worried about how I’ll be using these condoms?” Ouma presses closer, his voice rising higher in pitch.

Shuichi averts his eyes. “Uhm, I didn’t really think about that part.”

“And there we have it, honored guests!” Ouma leans back, gesturing dramatically to an invisible audience. “The problem with our lovely, sweet, and impossibly dense boyfriend.”

Said boyfriend in question tilts his head.

“Uhm, Kokichi-kun?”

Ouma meets Saihara’s eyes with a grim expression.

“We need to talk about sex.”