~Infatuation~ [UNDER MAJOR EDITING]

4

3RD POV woooooosh~

As he walked to Ouma's house, Saihara kept thinking about his earlier moments. The sounds Momota's skin made colliding with Saihara's foot, or that pan. The yelps and cries of pain he made at the force behind each blow. The sound of the pan snapping as it crashed into Momota one last time. It made Saihara... Laugh? He didn't understand why he felt zero empathy for what he'd done. True, if it were anyone else under any other circumstance, he would feel horrible. But then again, he hurt Ouma. Nothing else mattered to him. He hurt Ouma, so he deserved no sympathy, point blank. It really got him thinking, how deep was this devotion? While he probably wouldn't kill anyone for Ouma, he'd be perfectly content beating someone within an inch of their life for him. Ouma's happiness meant everything to him, even if it meant hurting others to provide it to him. Saihara just had a hard time caring about anything else.

Soon enough he arrived at Ouma's. He made impeccable timing as it was still only sundown. He exhaled, hoping it would push the anxiety away. Alas, it didn't. Despite the overwhelming amount of nerves he felt, he rang the door bell. He stood there for a moment, finally it opened. There stood a woman who looked identical to Ouma, with a few differences. Violet hair, amethyst eyes, a few age marks on her face, and a scar on her forehead. Other than that, spitting image of him. "Hello- Oh! You must be that boy Chi was expecting earlier!" She said brightly. Chi. That was a cute Nick name for someone so adorable. "Chiii! You have a visitor!" She called out. "What did you say your name was?" She turned facing him. Saihara cleared his throat. "Saihara Shuichi." He said. She held out a hand. "I'm Chi's mom, Ouma Kokona, pleasure to finally meet you." She said warmly. He took her hand, and shortly after frantic footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. There came Ouma. He was out of his uniform and instead wearing a pair of shorts, some fuzzy socks, and a purple t shirt. As with literally ANYTHING Ouma does, Saihara thought he looked amazing. "Saihara-Chan!" He exclaimed running up to him. "Hey.." Saihara replied quietly, face tinting a notable pink hue. "C'mon, upstairs!" Ouma said, grabbing Saihara's hand and practically dragging him up the stairs. He could faintly hear Ouma's mom giggling as the pair headed up.

They reached his room and Ouma threw open the door. It looked even better from the inside. He noticed the My Chemical Romance posters loosely hung on the walls. The messy bed with a deep purple cover and lavender sheets. A cat laying on the bed, peacefully sleeping despite the music coming from the speakers. To put it bluntly, Ouma wasn't very organized, but Saihara didn't mind. If anything, he thought it suited Ouma. "Sorry for the mess. I tried to clean a few things up but someone kept getting in the way!" He said, implying the cat. Saihara chuckled a bit causing Ouma to smile back at him. Saihara had a hard time believing it was all real. It felt like a dream. In fact, all of this felt like a dream. In Saihara's mind, Ouma was too good to give him the time of day, let alone choose to develop an entire friendship with him. "So um, would you wanna watch this one movie I like.. That's of course if you're even interested in it.." Ouma asked awkwardly. "Sure, what movie is it?" Saihara replied. He was okay with whatever Ouma wanted to watch. It didn't even matter what. "Well, it's kinda old. I don't know if you've heard of it but it's called Pulp Fiction." He started. Saihara had seen that movie once. His dad liked it, so he was obviously educated on it. "Yeah, I've seen it. It's alright." Saihara responded. Ouma's eyes lit up with excitement. "Okay cool! I've just got to grab a couple things, if that's alright." He said. "Okay." Saihara replied. "Kay, be right back!" And with that Ouma left the room. Saihara looked around a bit. It looked like it suited Ouma. From the posters, to the shelves to the cluttered desk, it all just spelled Ouma. Saihara examined the desk. He noticed a small electric blue note book. He felt the burning need to know what it was. And to confirm his suspicions, it was a diary. He flipped through the pages, skimming over them. One page mentioned his name along with a very descriptive paragraph. The page was dated, and it was from last year.