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She was still awake when he tried to sneak into her room. She knew that it could only be Ouma, because he was the only one that knew how to pick locks and she always kept her room locked. She picked up the glass of water from her nightstand and threw it as soon as she heard the door open. It hit the wall right beside the door, stopping him in his steps as she sat up to glare at him.
"What are you doing?" she asked harshly. It was hard to remind herself that he wasn't the enemy. That he had never been the enemy. It was all a trick and always had been. A trick of the Mastermind, trying to divide them. A trick of Ouma's, trying to be the biggest and baddest just to protect himself. Seeing him in her doorframe, small and washed out in the dull colors of a hospital gown, reminded her of that.
"Harukawa!" he said cheerfully, smiling so brightly that she wished she could flip the light switch and turn him off. "I didn't think you'd still be awake."
That was probably true. Ouma had avoided her, and everyone else for the most part, during the day. He was skittish and secretive, which wasn't all that different from when they were in the killing game. It was easier to recognize in the real world though, when they weren't in a literal fight for their lives and she was pre-armed with the knowledge that Ouma was basically harmless.
If anyone was a threat, it was her. She was the one that had the memories and knowledge of having murdered planted into her brain. She was the one that could look at him and know exactly where to strike to hurt him the most. She was the one that had killed him, in a way. Had tried to kill him, over and over, until it finally stuck.
The guilt snuck up on her, in that way. Analysis bleeding into reality, into realization, pouring out of her thoughts and into her heart, into her throat until she choked on it. Choked on all the memories of her actions in the killing game, tripped over the weight of her life persisting when so many others had not, and the knowledge that she didn't deserve it.
She tightened her hands around her bedsheets as she focused on the boy still standing frozen in her doorway. "You didn't answer me," she said.
He was silent as he watched her. His movements were slow as he looked beside him where the mess of water and glass was lying on the floor. He stepped around it, pushing the door closed as quietly as possible, before meeting her eyes again. The smile was gone. Like a light switch, he'd turned it off. She didn't realize that she would miss it.
"Are you really okay in here all alone?" he asked her. He tilted his head, watching her closely for an answer.
"Why wouldn't I be?" she huffed.
"No reason," he chirped, flipping the switch again and placing his hands behind his head. He looked carefree and easy, everything that she knew he wasn't. She'd seen his shoulders hunched during the day, his eyes darting, his hands moving restlessly until he took hold of something to disguise the movement. Shuichi had asked her why she was watching him so closely and she pretended that she didn't know. It was because he was the enemy, had never been the enemy, and she needed to deprogram herself. Didn't know how, without watching for his weak points to tear him apart. (She'd already done so when he was at his best, his weakest, it wasn't fair that her thoughts kept pulling her like this.)
"You have absolutely no reason to be afraid!" He made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arms, with his smile. "You won, after all! You won the whole killing game! No one could touch you even if they wanted to."
The words made something uncomfortable itch under her skin. As did his smile, and the fakeness of his cheer. The entire act made her feel like the bad guy. And she was. Between the two of them, she was the one that knew what it felt like to hold his throat in her hands.
"Some of us weren't that lucky though," he said, dropping his voice, his arms, his cheer, all in one. "Some of us can't sleep through the night because it still feels like someone might sneak into our room in the middle of the night and throw us back in. Or kill us in our sleep."
They stared at each other. She didn't like what she saw in his eyes. She didn't want to know what he saw in hers. Her voice was much more quiet when she repeated her question. "What do you want, Ouma?"
"I want to be on the winning side for once," he told her, slinging himself into the chair in the corner of her room. She didn't understand how he could control each aspect of himself so fully. His voice, his body, his smile, even the air around him seemed to twist on a dime when he wanted it to. "I can't sleep on my own, so I might as well find someone to protect me, right? And you're the only winner that could protect the both of us."
"Why would you trust me?" the question was out before she thought better of it. She didn't want an answer to that. Ouma wasn't like Kaito, who acted on faith. Wasn't like Shuichi, who went where the current pulled him. Wasn't like Himiko, who was too passive to argue one way or another. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the way he would turn malicious, using their past as a blade to tear her open and watch her bleed.
"Why shouldn't I trust you?" he answered. She was shocked into opening her eyes. "You've already killed me, Harukawa. You've already done the worst that you can do to me. So what does it matter if you kill me again?"
"Stop," she said softly. Too softly. Her voice didn't carry. There was wetness in her eyes.
"We were never supposed to be enemies," he admitted. "I don't want us to be enemies now. Before, I tried to protect you and I failed, and you killed me for my trouble. So I'm trying again. This time you protect me, and if I'm killed for my trouble, then so be it."
"Stop it!" The words broke free more harshly than she wanted. So did the tears. Her body was completely out of her control as she shook and sobbed, a highlight reel of all the times she hurt someone in the killing game flashing in her mind. "Don't..."
He watched her with dead eyes. He was a blank slate, no judgement or empathy to be seen. After a few moments he sighed, leaning further into his chair. "I'm tired, Harukawa. I can't sleep and I'm afraid all the time, but I don't care anymore. I lost the game. Everyone knows that I lost, that I'm nothing. I can't intimidate anyone. I can't protect anyone. I'm not going to try. So maybe if I sleep next to the biggest threat that I know, I won't be worried about someone sneaking in to kill me. I'm already sleeping with a monster in the room, there's nothing left to fear."
There was an apology on her lips, but she didn't speak it.
"But hey, we're the same, aren't we?" he asked her with a smile. "We both got the people we cared about killed. We both tried to bloody our hands to save others. We were both tricked by the Mastermind."
"Do you always do your best to make enemies?" she asked him with a glare. There were still tears in her eyes.
Ouma shrugged. "At the beginning of the killing game, I tried cheering people up and they hated me. And later, I tried to protect them and they still hated me. People hating me is the constant. I can't think of a single person that hates me more than you, Harukawa. No one else deserves to kill me. Either I can trust you or you're the only person suitable to give me what I deserve."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She said what she should have said when he first walked into the room. "I'm sorry that I killed you." She was sorry for a few other things too, but she didn't say so. He didn't deserve to hear it when he'd made her cry.
"I know," he said softly. "Do you feel better though, getting to cry?"
"What?"
"You're a strong person, Harukawa. You don't cry when you need to, right? Only when something forces the emotion out."
"Did you..."
He closed his eyes with a smile. "It's no good to hold things in, you know. That goes for both of us."
She stared at him for so long that she was pretty sure he actually fell asleep. Once she was sure that he was asleep, she got up and went to the door, checking that it was locked before slipping back into bed. Part of her did want to hurt him still. The thought made another, larger part of her feel sick with guilt. Maybe he was right and she was holding in too much. She wasn't in the killing game anymore. She needed to remember that.