Chapter Text
Sleeping is for the weak, but Ouma can’t help but to lay in bed, weighed down infinitely so by the large target plastered on his back. It also doesn’t help that he’s been awake for long past the 24 hour mark, plotting out the next move before Monokuma can beat him to it. There’s some small part of him that knows he needs rest now, but there’s no way he can simply doze off, not with his head up next on the chopping block.
Stupid fucking Iruma; he must’ve squeezed her for all she’s worth, and now that she’s of little to no use to him, she’s getting rid of him?! That is certainly not how their power dynamic is supposed to work!
Ouma looks over the brainstorming he’s been scripting for the past 10 or so hours, not entirely surprised that the handwriting becomes considerably more frantic as the night progresses. It is a testament to his lack of dignity that his last rites are nothing but desperate scribbles, with a grave closing remark to boot.
--Work with Monokuma?--
He hasn’t written anything since, mostly out of self loathing. His meeting with the bear wasn’t for another 15 minutes or so, but being in here any longer is proving to be a detriment to his wellbeing.
Ouma carefully exits the dorms with the keycard in his hands, and he can only contribute it to his tiredness in the sloppy way in which he closes the door, clattering against the frame before shutting completely. He regards the door with a bewildered curiosity, because since when is the door the nosiest thing on the planet? When it becomes suspiciously inconvenient for him? Not that it matters much anyway, it’s well past 3 in the morning, and no sane person would be out at such an hour regardless.
“Hey! Just what do you think you’re doing?!”
Ouma truly hopes that the utter buffoon behind him doesn’t notice the way he jumps, caught completely unawares. Even with the target on his back, Ouma still manages to get caught with his metaphorical pants down.
He turns around to face the detestable Momota, his smile as poisonous as he could manage, “Why, Momota-chan, do you not know how rude it is to sneak up on someone, at the witching hour no less? You should be grateful that I didn’t die of shock right here and now! I’m sure your trial would’ve been over in the blink of an eye.” Ouma tries for innocuous and cheeky, but his words are dripping with malice. The lateness and Ouma’s subsequent tiredness have gone and disintegrated his usual filter.
Momota snarls at that, an unappealing look on him. “Why you…! Quit fooling around! If anything, you’re the one being rude with the way you…” Momota reaches an ellipsis rather abruptly, and it takes Ouma’s sleep deprived mind a moment to consider the way Momota’s attention has clearly shifted from Ouma himself to the keycard that he was carrying openly in his hands.
Momota snatches the keycard rather efficiently, all things considered. Ouma is only just blinking as Momota charges forward --clumsily and hastily, mind you-- but he is able to disarm Ouma before Ouma can even understand that the card is no longer in his possession. In another (more abstract) situation, Ouma would be inclined to appreciate the brashness. Now, however,
“Heyyyy! Give that back!!” Ouma’s attempt at re-snatching the card is swatted down by Momota, who holds the keycard above his head, taunting, pitifully out of reach.
“What’re you even trying to do with this card so late at night?” Momota sounds as if he’s trying to coax an answer out of Ouma, as if he were some talented snake charmer. It’s so pathetic and honestly humiliating that Ouma considers kicking him in the shins. He doesn’t, because he’s the pinnacle of maturity, and maybe because the aftermath of attacking Momota is too unpredictable for him to fully commit to violence.
“That card grants access to the nuclear codes, and well, let’s just say that I have some enemies to take care of.”
“Do you really think I’m buying that?!” Momota demands, unwavering.
Ouma scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest, “Well, what are you doing out so late? Very suspicious if you ask me.” Whereas Ouma was expecting Momota to grow angry and careless at the accusation, he almost looks… guilty, or something equally as appalling.
“That’s… well. I just needed some fresh air, and it’s not like I can sleep now anyway, considering…”
He’s transparent to a fault. Ouma can’t help but to scrunch up his nose in disgust; he would never be capable of feeling bad for someone like heart-on-his-sleeve Momota-chan. He’s caused Ouma nothing but grief since they woke up here. Besides, he only wants the keycard back, not some sob story.
Despite this longwithstanding knowledge, he can’t help but be caught off guard by Momota’s strange admission. Is it simply restlessness due to a repulsion to the killing game? Some sidekick drama that would bore Ouma to tears? He doesn’t have to search too hard for the answer, not as Momota clears his throat. Or rather, he appears to, but the way he winces as he does so sets off alarm bells in Ouma’s head.
The trial that was only a day ago, the murders that preceded it, the way Momota had been completely standoffish during and ever since then. His now pallid complexion has yet to fade long after the active threat of ghosts had passed. The unexplained restlessness. How curious.
“You’re sick.” The intended “riiight?” gets stuck on the edge of his tongue, making his voice sound graver than he’d ever intended it to be. Momota’s eyes widen, the arm that’s extended with the keycard slackens. Ouma makes sure not to look up, makes sure Momota doesn’t realise that he’s noticed.
“I-- I’m not…”
“Is it a motive?” Ouma’s voice is quieter than normal, and he’s unsure if he’s actually asking Momota, or pondering aloud. “Two motives at the same time… kinda seems like he’s pulling out all the stops; although, that worked for the first murder, didn’t it?”
“Ouma, I’m not sick.” Ouma looks up at him unbelievingly, certainly not expecting to see a smear of blood on his lips, eyes widening before he has the chance to school his expression into something less telling. “It’s just a cough, or…”
The most deplorable part of Ouma can only think about how interesting this is shaping up to be, only before realising that Momota-chan is now a fellow marked man, and for what? This stupid, senseless killing game?
Momota holds one hand behind the back of his own neck, using his other hand (the one that is actively crushing Ouma’s key out of here) to wipe the blood from his mouth. He’s trying for “nonchalant”, and he’s failing miserably.
Ouma smiles blankly. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Hey, Ouma…”
Momota never finishes that thought, not as a familiar sound, reminiscent of a jack-in-the-box crank toy sounds from right beside the pair.
“Well well well! And here I thought that I would have the good fortune of discovering your dead body! Why else would you have kept me waiting so long? I’m a busy bear, Ouma-kun!” Momota regards Monokuma with open disgust, crossing his arms across his chest. Distantly, Ouma remembers that he was indeed meant to meet up with Monokuma to discuss this motive, but he was thoroughly distracted by the attention-grabbing Momota-chan in front of him.
Rather abruptly, Momota glares at him. “Wait just a second, you were going to meet up with him?” Ouma scoffs, easily disregarding Momota’s presence in this conversation.
“Oops, am I late? Well, Momota-chan here is to blame for that, he’s been out here interrogating me for the past hour at least!”
“That’s not--!”
“Enough, enough! I neither care to hear about your arguments nor your trysts! I’m so freakin’ mad that I got stood up for a spaceman! Unacceptable!” Ouma gets Monokuma’s gist enough to know that his rage, along with his easily roused boredom can only equate to one outcome. “This motive ended up real boring, don’t’cha’know, since you decided to hide it away from everyone. All that hard work into preparing the door, just for you to--”
“And that’s exactly what I was going to discuss with you. So, Momota-chan, if you wouldn’t mind.” Ouma holds his hand out expectantly, garnering an unimpressed look from his fellow “classmate”, if you will.
“It’s done.”
Monokuma’s sudden drop in energy has an almost paralyzing effect on Ouma; he smiles despite himself. “What?”
“The motive, of course!” Monokuma smacks the card from Momota’s hand, grinning wickedly at his outcry. “Besides, I think I found something a little more interesting to use as a motive, although it may be a little… tiring.”
Ouma ignores the feeling of his heart sinking in his chest, he has to, it’s the only way he can spread the largest, shit-eating grin across his face, hollowing out his cheeks to titter appropriately. “How cryptic! I’m sure anything you come up with will be great… however, I’ve already made the perfect plan for the keycard, which will provide a lot of entertainment, I assure you.”
“Access de-nied, Ouma-kun! I simply don’t have the patience for your schemes any longer, ya hear me? Especially after leaving me high and dry! I’m not that kind of bear! You’ll just have to adapt to this motive, can’t you? Because, if you can’t…” You’ll die.
Ouma laughs to the beat of his frantic heart, running on pure adrenaline, shooting through his veins like vicious caffeination. “Well, I can’t exactly plan around a surprise now, can I?” Monokuma looks pointedly from him to Momota, and then departs with a dreadful snicker.
Great, just fantastic.
Ouma turns on his heels, headlong towards Momota, and he wouldn’t say he feels homicidal, but he’s as close as he’s ever been.
“Well, I gotta hand it to you, Momota-chan, you just royally screwed us over.”
“Me?! You’re the one working with Monokuma!”
“Are you actually so dense that you believe the words coming out of your mouth?!” Ouma hisses, jabbing a finger toward Momota’s sternum. He has long passed the point of masking his anger. “I had this motive under my control, and you, you just--- let it get all ruined because of your obnoxious, grating hero complex!!” Momota’s face twists, shrugging off Ouma’s hand.
“Maybe the motive shouldn’t be under your control to begin with. I certainly don’t want it to be…” As much as Ouma would love to continue this argument, there’s a much higher priority on his list, this new motive. Maybe in the morning Monokuma will be more outright about it, in front of the entire group; but -like hell- would Ouma willingly waste his night being unproductive, already brainstorming what Monokuma could possibly come up with.
It seems rather obvious in the way that Monokuma looked at him; perhaps the motive will be particularly bothersome for Ouma. That’s a piece of cake; no matter the motive, Ouma will be extremely affected by it regardless of what the bear comes up with. Or, perhaps it was in the way Monokuma looked to Momota. Was his sickness a rapid onset? Ouma wonders if Momota would even tell him. Ouma isn’t particularly familiar with any sort of common cold that produces a bloody cough paired with Momota’s general lack of strength over the past few days, whatever other symptoms he was successfully masking. Nothing good, surely.
Ouma yawns before being painfully reminded that he’s in the presence of Momota, and plays it off eloquently by stretching his arms up above his head. He had certainly lost his temper, but nobody's perfect. It’ll make his gambit a touch more challenging, certainly, but it isn’t impossible to riff off the last few minutes.
“Welp, it’s been fun and all, but now I have hours of guesswork to catch up on, considering you foiled all of my evil plans. Soooo, nighty-night Momota-chan!” Ouma turns to leave, utterly bored of this ridiculous spaceman and his flagrant disregard for common decency, but Momota grabs his bicep, effectively holding Ouma in place.
“Nah, no way I’m letting you go off on your own now.”
Ouma’s face drops, “Excuse me?”
“Well, you’re my responsibility now! I’m not risking you pulling another stunt, all because I wasn’t strong enough to put up with you for a night.” Oh no. Absolutely not. Momota is blissfully unaware of Ouma’s impending crisis, off in some heroic fantasy in which he’s bested the dreadful Ouma-kun and saved the day. He continues on, “So, yeah. I’m not letting you outta my sight, even if that means you’re crashing at my place.”
Ouma stiffens, then begins trying to violently wriggle out of Momota’s grasp. “Nooooo! Momota-chan is trying to force me to sleep with him!”
“H-Hey, can you keep it down?! If you could’ve just proven that you weren’t trouble, maybe I could--” Momota is cut off by a violent coughing fit, and he covers his mouth. At the very least, Momota stops himself from showering Ouma with fuschia-colored blood. The epitome of a gentleman.
“As much fun as a sleepover sounds, I really don’t want to catch Momota-chan flavored cooties. That would definitely be a bad idea.”
“You don’t have a choice, dammit!” Momota tugs at Ouma’s arm, apparently recovered from his onset of coughs. Ouma is ushered into the dorms despite himself.
“I’ll bite you in your sleep; I’m venomous, you know.”
“Shut up.” If Ouma weren’t currently in the dorms, surrounded by the rooms of people he either hates and/or doesn’t trust, he would scream now. But Ouma of all people has beared witness to how unwavering and plain stupid Momota gets when he’s really committed to something, and so there isn’t much choice in this hostage situation; hoisted into Momota’s smelly dorm room.
Compared to Ouma’s room, Momota’s is clean and stately. There is an off-white puzzle that sits completed on his table, shirts folded neatly from where his closet door is slightly ajar, and a few extra pillows on his bed, more than Ouma’s own bedding came with. Momota has tacked a few glow-in-the-dark stars to the wall, and Ouma openly rolls his eyes.
“Well, Momota-chan is certainly getting used to living here, isn’t he? If anything, that makes you suspicious, or maybe just susceptible to Stockholm Syndrome. Ever heard of it?”
Momota groans, shucking off his slippers with enough force to send them flying across the room. “Look, Ouma, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.” Momota grabs a pillow and sets it on the couch, suddenly antsy, unaware of how he’s meant to act. “Just… make yourself comfortable, I guess.”
Ouma is utterly bemused, perhaps equally as clueless as Momota (for the first time ever, naturally). He hadn’t exactly expected the night to turn out this way, and perhaps he should have fought a bit harder against Momota’s foolhardy plan. “Wow, I’m being held captive and I don’t even get the bed? You are a bang-up host, Momota-chan!”
“Wha-- I-- why do you want the bed to begin with? I don’t have a change of sheets, so…” It’s the tiniest, really, the most infinitesimal bit endearing that Momota is so flustered over this, and Ouma would never be caught thinking such a thing on a full night’s rest.
“You think that a person of my caliber would sleep on sheets with your slobber all over them? Hard pass.” Ouma vaults himself onto the cough, feigning comfort. “Wowwww, so luxurious.”
“Alright, I get it. Tomorrow you can sleep in your own bed, if it means you’ll stop complainin’ about it.”
Ouma giggles coquettishly, boring his eyes into Momota, who’s still standing over his bed, “As if I’d let Momota-chan into my bedchambers… you wish!” Momota groans once more, letting out a defeated “yeah, yeah,” before settling in for the night. Ouma wouldn’t say that the room lapses into a comfortable silence after the fact, but it’s quiet enough and Ouma would love some shuteye. The only good part about losing his agency: he doesn’t have to lie to himself, doesn’t have to pretend he has any idea what Monokuma has concocted for them now.
This set-up; the dim room with faux twinkling stars climbing up the wall, the sound of someone else settling into bed, it reminds Ouma of being a little kid, simply enough. Just being in the presence of someone else while trying to fall asleep (even stupid Momota-chan) is enough for his eyes to grow heavy. Staring up at the ceiling, Ouma is either pathetically tired, or really stupid to actually consider falling asleep here.
♡
Strangely enough, the time doesn’t seem to pass. Or, well, maybe that’s not quite right, Ouma can tell by the display on his Monopad that it’s nearing quarter to 5, and yet Ouma hasn’t fallen asleep. An entire hour has evaded him as he uselessly stares up at the ceiling, no energy to sit up, no energy to tilt his head; entirely without thought, time going by both quick and agonizingly slow. This sensation is something he cannot deeply consider now, not with his mind that has been all but lulled to sleep by his unmoving position.
Momota, who had been tossing and turning indefinitely, is the one to break the relative silence of the room. “Hey, are you asleep yet?” His voice is at a very respectable volume, considerate toward the fact that Ouma may very well be sleeping.
“No,” he answers groggily. Any verbal abuse he can launch at Momota is lost in the slog of his head, and he can only state the truth. Momota sits up, something that Ouma simply doesn’t have the wherewithal to do. The light clicks on, and Ouma lets out some pathetic sound of protest, even as Momota comes into view, his head blocking the bulk of the light. His face is twisted into a grimace, scratching at the back of his neck.
“I can’t sleep,” Momota starts, and Ouma is unsure whether Momota is looking for solace, or is just stating a simple fact. “Not that it’s been easy for me to get some sleep recently, but I’m beat --- and I’ve just been, I dunno, staring off into space.”
“What am I supposed to say to that?” Ouma asks through a yawn.
“Well,” Momota’s tone is a bit gruffer now, “I was just wonderin’ if the same thing is happening to you, since you’re clearly exhausted.”
“Pro’lly cos your room is so uninviting…” Ouma says snidely, only mildly insecure at the insinuation that he looks visibly exhausted.
“Could it be part of the new motive?”
Ouma’s mind comes back to him slightly, and surely the surprise registers on his face. It’s humiliating that Momota of all people has reached such a conclusion before him, and totally unfair.
“Ah, yes, of course.”
Momota frowns, “I’m serious, man. ‘It may be a little tiring’? That paired with the fact that neither one of us can sleep? Depriving everyone from sleeping would probably cause someone to resort to--” Momota yawns, even as Ouma begins to feel some of that icy dread from earlier seeping back into his veins.
“Wow, Momota-chan! You really beat me to the punch there!”
Momota looks mildly affronted, “Hey--”
“If everyone were to be affected by this… proposed motive of yours, wouldn’t that mean everyone would have to be awake to begin with? Or, if no one could sleep, you think anyone would’ve noticed by now?”
“I-- I’m thinkin’ that it’s only us who are affected, honestly.” Oh, how interesting. Momota seems unsure of this line of thinking, and it’s only natural for Ouma to supplement it. If Ouma cannot reach the correct conclusion on his own, Momota will have to do the legwork for him.
“Really?” Ouma smiles weakly, trying for malice. “How would that make for a viable motive in this killing game? Surely you aren’t capable of killing someone over some shut-eye, are you?”
“It makes us easy targets.” Momota’s conviction is enough to make Ouma’s smile drop. He’s right, Ouma concedes, but he hates every moment of it.
“Well! I’m a bigger target than you are, Momota-chan, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Momota says suddenly, as if he could have an ounce of pity for someone like Ouma. “I could be wrong. To be honest, I figured you’d say as much, not just…”
“No, I think that that’s surprisingly insightful for someone like you.”
“Well, thanks, but… h-hey! What do you mean by that?!”
“Oh Momota-chan, you really should save your energy, especially if you’re correct.” Ouma presses his fingers directly into his eyesockets, unsure if he could dream up a worse situation (which, of course not, he can’t even dream at all, if stupid Momota is to be believed). Momota takes his silence as a sign to sit down on the couch, almost squashing Ouma’s feet in the process. Ouma doesn’t even have the energy to cry and complain, resigning himself to his divine punishment, that is: having to put up with Momota in general.
“Well, no time like the present!” Momota actually sounds enthused. Ouma could kill him, but that’s a lie. Any form of protest Ouma could come up with now would have to be instantly countered considering that Momota is right once again, this is the least tired he will be for the foreseeable future.
“And what exactly do you want me to do to stop this motive? I’m wayyy too important to go around picking fights with Monokuma, unless you’re proposing a suicide mission. How dark!”
Momota lets out a defeated sigh. Apparently he doesn’t even have the energy to get angry at Ouma’s innocent attempt at lightening the mood.
“Maybe if we make the motive… boring, or whatever, Monokuma’ll let us drop it.”
Ouma is intrigued. “Go onnn…”
“Just find a way to act like being sleep deprived isn’t getting to you, and maybe he’ll find a new motive.”
How thin can Ouma wear Monokuma’s patience before one of them snaps? He tries to envision a way to easily bore Monokuma. Maybe chasing Momota around the school, if he wasn’t sure that it would kill one of them. Iruma has decent enough skills to maybe whip up some sort of device that’d be a substitute for sleep, one that Ouma would start drafting up if his name wasn’t on her bounty list. Ouma is tired enough to fake his own death, maybe that could work as well. Laying still and bleary eyed is just about the easiest thing for him to do right now. Completely mindless.
It’s no use, really, all of his ideas are banking on unpredictable odds, completely out of his control.
It is with a complete and utter delay that Ouma realises Momota has been staring at him with a rather unguarded expression. Like he’s trying to tell what makes Ouma tick, thinking silently to himself, suddenly capable of mindfulness. As if Ouma doesn’t wonder the same thing regarding Momota himself. He has to be completely void of any intelligence to be able to act so emotionally, pushing off all of his responsibility onto his sidekicks, even openly demonstrating his weakness to Ouma; not only was he inflicted with a potentially serious illness, but he let Ouma into his dorm room where Ouma can very easily kill him. Which, no, Ouma couldn’t, he hasn’t been pushed to his breaking point. Yet.
Despite everything that he knows as fact about Momota, he still manages to surprise even a conniving supreme leader such as himself. Relying on the student body to a fault, somehow working Harukawa, a cold blooded assassin, out of her shell, which is practically defusing what could’ve been a ticking time bomb. Ouma could never attempt to entertain someone like her. Maybe his titleship of supreme leader has to be handed down.
Perhaps Ouma has spent too long in his own head, and he’s never been as smart nor clever as he’s thought of himself to be. He’s vulnerable and in a game where the objective is to kill and to lie, and it’s impossible to plan against a mastermind rationally when he becomes more grief-stricken by his failures and inaction every day; his inability to protect these people who shouldn’t mean much of anything to him, but they still do. It’s rather easy to lie to himself about his true motivations, disregard them and imply that he wants to win out of dominance, self reliance. Momota doesn’t have to do that, does he?
In that sense, Momota must be better than him. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, sour in the back of his throat.
It’s at this point that he realises that he’s been staring directly at Momota without wavering. Momota has been under Ouma’s scrutiny for an indefinite amount of time, and has yet to falter. So what, they’re just staring at each other now? Gross.
Ouma starts smiling, working into a big, terrifying grin. Momota only looks minorly confused.
“Well? Aren’t you scared, Momota-chan?” Ouma asks, baring his teeth.
“I’m not scared of you, if that’s what you’re askin’.” Momota closes his eyes in thought. “I’m concerned, maybe, about what’s going on in your head, and that goes for everyone, yeah, but you especially.”
Since Momota’s eyes are closed, Ouma doesn’t bother schooling his expression. He’s not performing for himself, at least not right now.
“Sounds like you’re showing some bias, Momota-chan. You weren’t being so forgiving before, were you?”
“Y’know, if you want to know why, you can just ask. You don’t have to be so damn confusing.” Momota regards him for a moment as Ouma tries on a few quickly aborted masks, settling on a small smile of indignation.
“You got me!”
“It’s… kinda like you want people to hate you, which is already weird on its own. But, you aren’t a bad guy, are you, Ouma?” Huh. Ouma doesn’t really know what to say about that. He certainly doesn’t want to have a heart-to-heart, not ever, but especially with such a disadvantage as being sleep deprived.
“No. I’m much worse than Monokuma. In fact, I was waiting for you to fall asleep so I could hold a pillow over your head.”
“Obviously not, we didn’t think this was a motive ‘til I mentioned it.” Momota smiles a smug little smile, reveling in this little conversation.
“I was just gonna suffocate you for the love of the game…” Momota looks at him as if he’s in on the joke. He’s not, mind you, and Ouma scoffs, looking away. “Don’t try being all buddy-buddy with me, Momota-chan. All my other buddies have now passed on. I show no mercy!”
“See, that just sounds like you’re looking out for me!” He smiles again, incredibly defiant, frustrating Ouma down to his core. It’s as if all of his bravado has returned from besting Ouma, who is sincerely irked. “I can see right through you, man. You want what’s best for everyone, just like I do. In fact, you were just trying to return the keycard to Monokuma without anyone knowing, weren’t you?”
“Not at all,” Ouma answers honestly. In response, Momota laughs, and perhaps his intention is to slap Ouma on the back as they’re sitting side-by-side, but he overestimates Ouma’s height, getting him right on the back of the neck. His hand is warm, and a complete violation of Ouma’s space, the shock of which runs through his body and nearly propels him off the couch entirely.
Momota is unfazed, rescinding his hand but still managing to be too close for comfort. “Whatever bro. If it helps you sleep at night, say what you want.”
“Momota-chan is such a comedian,” Ouma says flatly, in disbelief of the hell he is currently facing. If this is how Harukawa feels, maybe he could start to feel almost bad for her. But, that’s a lie. Maybe this isn’t so bad.
“Well, there’s another hour or two before the morning announcement.” Momota sighs, stretching his arms up as if he’s just woken up from a nap, nearly clipping Ouma with his wide ass wingspan. “If Monokuma doesn’t tell the group about the motive, should we?”
“If you have a death wish, maybe. We don’t have to tell them anything, I certainly wouldn’t.” Ouma feels like he’s buried his head under the sand, and he isn’t sure how to get out of it. It’s not entirely unlike the feeling he got when he first read the rules of the killing game, before any nasty robotic bears prompted him to do so. Every passing minute becomes more and more hopeless, and Ouma knows that’s what the mastermind wants out of him. To give up, succumb to the killing game, to be a victim. Ouma just can’t stomach it.
“Not even Shuuichi?” Ouma scoffs at that, looking at Momota in disbelief.
“Yeah, no.”
“But…” Ouma could already guess Momota’s arguments, and no, he doesn’t think the Super High School Level Novice Detective will do much of anything for him; any hopes of camaraderie have been thoroughly dashed after the last trial, that’s for sure. Ouma’s head still hurts from, oh, almost falling through the fucking floor. Saihara’s outright lack of a helping hand stung more than it reasonably should have, and Ouma pities any part of him that thought there could be something there.
“Look, Momota-chan, at least give the motive a day to prove its worth, see what we can do from there.”
He’s unsatisfied with Ouma’s reasoning, the frown on his face all but confirming it. “I don’t like this one bit.” He looks as though he’s ruminating over some new argument before breaking out into an aggressive bout of coughing, repurposing the collar of his shirt to use as a handkerchief. It’s stained now, Ouma thinks vacantly, and it won’t be clean ever again.
“Me either,” Ouma says quietly, after Momota had gotten up for a change of clothes. He sort of just sits there on the couch, perhaps he should help Momota; what that entails, even Ouma in all of his intelligence doesn’t know. Ouma can admit to himself that-- right here and now-- this situation is officially out of his control.