[ One more reason to be actually thankful this entire weird school goes silent at night for no explainable cause, which is otherwise creepy but also: the yelp he just let out, ungracefully stumbling backwards a step or two from the opening door. It's less the surprise, and not the message obviously, and more that the sudden light from the PDA screen in his face almost blinds him. Of course it had to be something dramatic and troublesome, leave it to Ouma to make an entrance -- or well, an exit -- like this.
Damn it. He rubs at the corners of his eyes with his sleeve, a few spots already dancing on the inside of his lids.
For a second after, he hesitates, simply peering from behind the cover of his hand at the figure before him, in the bathroom door-frame. It's not the sudden brightness anymore, nor is it wariness; it's... something else. This is really... the same Ouma Kokichi that he knows. Or perhaps, saying he knows him is a stretch -- it always has been, Saihara's now aware he didn't understand him right until the end. But... it's the one he remembers, at least. Really remembers, unlike any of the people in this school.
Almost involuntarily, his actions soften, and it's too late to regret it or change it once they already have. He lowers his hand to find his own PDA, and then types into a box in response: ]
My homeroom is on this floor. There's usually no one in there.
[ And even if there was, it would be a ten-year-old who: 1. most likely doesn't pose any threat even if she sees them; and 2. is probably exhausted by this hour anyway and wouldn't wake from just two teenage boys fiddling around with their electronic devices in utter silence. He turns the screen for Ouma to read, without actually sending the message anywhere of course. ]
no subject
Damn it. He rubs at the corners of his eyes with his sleeve, a few spots already dancing on the inside of his lids.
For a second after, he hesitates, simply peering from behind the cover of his hand at the figure before him, in the bathroom door-frame. It's not the sudden brightness anymore, nor is it wariness; it's... something else. This is really... the same Ouma Kokichi that he knows. Or perhaps, saying he knows him is a stretch -- it always has been, Saihara's now aware he didn't understand him right until the end. But... it's the one he remembers, at least. Really remembers, unlike any of the people in this school.
Almost involuntarily, his actions soften, and it's too late to regret it or change it once they already have. He lowers his hand to find his own PDA, and then types into a box in response: ]
My homeroom is on this floor. There's usually no one in there.
[ And even if there was, it would be a ten-year-old who: 1. most likely doesn't pose any threat even if she sees them; and 2. is probably exhausted by this hour anyway and wouldn't wake from just two teenage boys fiddling around with their electronic devices in utter silence. He turns the screen for Ouma to read, without actually sending the message anywhere of course. ]