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Teru doesn’t go back to school for nearly a week.

There’s no fever this time, but he’s not the only one playing hooky.  Seasoning City is in disarray after the collapse of the Divine Tree, so nobody questions his absence too closely.

By the time he returns the following Monday, he feels no more rested, but at least the cuts and bruises are beginning to heal.  By the end of that week, they’re nearly unnoticeable.

He almost regrets their absence. At least then, with the aches and pains that twinged every time he moved, he had an excuse for staving off sleep.

Some nights he dreams of the Divine Tree. Of the terror of helplessness as something foreign invaded his mind and soul, twisting and pulling apart and rearranging him against his will.

He doesn’t remember begging, but in his dreams he always does. Pride has no purpose in nightmares.

“Stop. Please.” He begs until the vine wrapped around his throat tightens, choking off the sounds as he struggles for breath.

As his vision swims, he realizes that the scene has changed. The lush greens of the Divine Tree are now the cold, hard angles of the home economics room. Instead of a vine, there are hands around his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, nails digging into his flesh.

Even as his vision darkens, he recognizes his own face—balded, twisted in a rage that makes him look almost inhuman.

“You’ve failed,” says his sneering double, “Despite everything, you’ve failed to change.”

Teru wakes in a cold sweat, gasping and struggling to breathe.  It takes a while to realize, in his panicked frenzy, that the gasps have turned to sobs. He doesn’t fight it though, instead curling into fetal position and letting the tears run dry as he waits for morning to come.

Despite his best efforts, the dark circles ringing his eyes only deepen. For the average junior high student, it would go unnoticed, but now his own fastidious personal care is working against him. He’s slipping, he knows this, but can’t seem to stop it.  Not with the unwanted thoughts threatening like no evil spirit or clandestine organization ever has.

“Quite frankly, Hanazawa-san, I’m concerned.”  The teacher—a stern man who had taught this class all year, and yet Teru could not name—peered at him over the rims of his glasses. “You’ve never struggled in my class before, and yet this is the third assignment you’ve missed.”

Teru said nothing. There was nothing to add, except perhaps his agreement.  Already his mind was wandering, unable to focus despite some part of him screaming at himself to focus. That for the first time in his life he was failing his exams, and that he needed to explain why.

But one look at the teacher and Teru had dismissed the thought.

“I understand, Sensei,” he says instead, bowing appropriately. “I will do better.”

He was too tired, and explaining would take too much work.

Tonight. Perhaps if he could sleep tonight, he could begin to set things right.

His cell phone is ringing.

It does that a lot, lately. He’s not entirely sure why anybody would want to call him.

It could be his mother though. If he doesn’t pick up, she’ll begin to fret for no reason—another testament to his own selfishness.

In the end, though, he lets the phone ring until its silent. The distance between his bed and where it’s plugged into the wall has never felt so wide.

Other nights, instead of his terrifying double, it’s Kageyama-kun that he faces.  There is no Divine Tree to hide behind, this time. No excuse for his own warped actions, as he goes all out against a perceived enemy that refused to strike back.

Kageyama-kun’s body, held aloft by Teru’s careless telekinesis, twisting like a rag doll until the bones splinter and break.

His body unmoving, skull shattered from the impact that sent him through the walls of Black Vinegar Middle.

Blood swelling beneath him from lacerations and stab wounds where the knives had met their marks.

Teru’s hands, squeezing with all their force until he falls limp at his feet.

This time when he wakes up, he can taste blood in his mouth from where he’s bit his lip.

Teru’s mind must be wandering, because there is no other reason why he should end up in this particular district of town, staring up at the faded gray sign of the Spirits and Such Consultancy.

Except that would be too big a lie for him to swallow, even in his sleep deprived state of mind.

He’s never been to the consultancy before, so there’s no way to happen upon it by accident. The better question is, what had he been thinking?

(He’d been thinking about Reigen-san. About how, with nothing but words he had swayed their first battle with Claw. About how he had defeated espers both in combat, but also in conversation. About how he always seems to know what to say.)

He stands at the door for almost ten minutes before realizing how stupid he is. Reigen-san is an important man. He probably doesn’t have time to be burdened with Teru’s problems.

Besides, he doesn’t know if Kageyama-kun is working today, and he can’t risk running into him. Not before he’s gotten this under control again, and can properly apologize for…everything.

Sometimes he dreams about the destruction of Black Vinegar. Of the moment of sheer terror, and then the immediate peace, both stemming from facing what seems like certain death.

He’s floating high above the destruction that he helped cause, waiting for gravity to call him back.

He always wakes before he hits the ground.

It isn’t going to get better. This much Teru has accepted.

It makes sense, in a twisted way. He should have known that he couldn’t run from the consequences of his actions forever.

(He still hasn’t answered his phone.)

With what little energy he can muster, though, he tries to stop it from getting worse. He redoubles his efforts in his academics, and although his grades don’t quite return to their original, most of his teachers have stopped eying him so critically.

“Hanazawa-kun!” He flinches—another new habit that he’s developed of late. It doesn’t happen very often, because he no longer garners too much attention, but he still fights to quell a defensive surge of psychic energy.

“What is it?” he barks back, too tired to moderate his aggressive tones.

“A challenger, at the gates!”

Internally, Teru groans. “How many times have I told you—”

“No, you don’t understand! It’s him. White T Poison has come for a rematch!”

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Teru swears that he feels his heart drop straight into his stomach. Irrational anxiety, fueled by his lack of sleep, seizes at his chest.  It takes everything in his power not to visibly sway at the thought, but he does tighten his grip on his nearby desk.

Not today, he thinks. I can’t do this today.

A small, insidious voice reminds him that he’s been putting this off. From the moment he’d woken up after being blasted out of the Divine Tree, he’s dreaded this confrontation.  Some part of him had hoped he could put it off indefinitely, which was not unrealistic given Kageyama’s nonconfrontational nature.

“Hanazawa-kun?” The messenger seems to have sensed his hesitation, but there’s no judgement in his voice. The stories of Kageyama’s exploits have been passed around the middle school underworld until they became an urban legend, to which Kageyama certainly lives up to.  He suspects that, should he slip quietly out another way, he still wouldn’t be judged too harshly.

But, despite his absolute humiliation not a couple months prior, he still has a little pride. 

And Kageyama isn’t here for a fight.

The anxiety clawing at his chest stretches the time it takes to get from the upper story classroom to the entrance.  Almost everybody else has gone home already, and his footsteps reverberate ominously.

The sight of Kageyama, however, standing just beyond Black Vinegar’s gate, brings such a mixed rush of emotions that the anxiety is, for a moment swallowed up.

First that annoying fluttering in his stomach that he has long since become accustomed to. This time, however, it is rapidly swallowed up with shame, and the urge to turn tail and run has redoubled. But, as he suspected, Kageyama doesn’t look confrontational, or even angry.  Which means that leaving now, without so much as acknowledging him for making the trip out here, would be a slap in the face—and he doesn’t deserve that.

The roiling anxiety is back the minute he extinguishes the thought of flight, and he slips into a happy-go-lucky grin, the mask he wore for so long he’d almost convinced himself it was real.

“Kageyama-kun!” he greets, trying to mimic some degree of happiness, but even as the words escape he knows they’ve fallen flat.

Kageyama startles at the sudden greeting.  He’s wearing the Salt Middle School uniform, and Teru wonders, idly, what had become of the shirt they’d picked out together.  He looks, on the whole, in good health, although the little crows feet furrow slightly between his eyebrows as Kageyama takes in Teru’s appearance. Whatever he sees, he clearly doesn’t like, and Teru fights to keep the smile firmly in place.

“Hanazawa-kun,” he says at length, hesitation tripping the words on the way out. They stand there in silence, neither quite sure what to say to truly begin any sort of conversation. Normally by now, Teru would have had something to suggest—normally, Teru would have been ecstatic that Kageyama had come to Black Vinegar at all—but exhaustion preys on him like a sandbag on his shoulders.

“Hanazawa-kun.” Kageyama speaks again, pausing to clear his throat but with a new sense of determination. “Shishou says that you came by the office yesterday while I was out.  He said that you looked troubled, and sent me to ensure that you have not been cursed.”

Ah, Teru thinks. So Reigen had been at his office when he’d aborted his earlier mission.  For a moment his smile lingers on rueful, because he shouldn’t have expected anything less from the Grand Master himself. He likely thought this was a less direct way to confront Teru.

“No, I’m not cursed. I’ve just been tired lately.” Teru’s smile holds up, because it’s not entirely a lie. “I’m actually heading home to take a nap right now, so I should be right as rain in a little bit.”  He steps beyond the gate and trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible. Kageyama doesn’t follow him, but he isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Please, wait.” From anybody else, Teru would have rolled his eyes and continued walking. But Kageyama doesn’t give orders unless he is totally determined. He stops in his tracks, staring down at the cracked pavement at his feet.  Breathing is getting harder, but he tries to ignore it, in favor of focusing on the intricate patterns broken into the cement by natural erosion.

“Hanazawa-kun.” That’s the third time Kageyama has called him in so many minutes. There’s something hesitant there, and although Teru doesn’t understand why it’s there it makes his heart ache anyways. The other boy hovers just at the edge of his periphery, but makes no attempt to reach out. “I was glad Shishou sent me here today, because you haven’t been answering my texts or phone calls. Or. Well, it was Ritsu who made the call, instead of me, but you still haven’t picked up, and I was concerned.”

 The plain integrity of his words makes Teru’s heart pang, but he can’t quiet that voice that whispers you don’t deserve this.  Instead he focuses harder on the cement, wondering if it will spontaneously combust if he stares hard enough.

“Anyways. I can see now why you have not been replying.”

It was that obvious? Teru wasn’t surprised.

“So I came today on behalf of Shishou, but also for myself. To apologize, for what happened then.”

Teru’s focus on the cement snaps, whipping himself around to face Kageyama so rapidly that the other boy flinches back. A small part of his brain remarks on the primal fear that flashes through his eyes, but first things first.

“Why?” he demands, suddenly irrationally angry, the world blurred in an exhausted haze that does not lift no matter how much he screams internally that Kageyama does not deserve this. “Why do you think this has anything to do with you?”

That definitely came out wrong. The words taste bitter as they leave him, and he derides himself immediately for not thinking of a more tactful way to express the swirling mass of emotions.

But even these drop away as he watches Kageyama physically sag. He has never been the most expressive person, but his shoulders drop just slightly, and he crumples just a little bit. For the first time in weeks, the buzzing of Teru’s angry thoughts fade, shame and regret overwhelming them all.

“Ah,” Kageyama says at length. “I seem to have gotten carried away again.” His expression is as blank as always, but there is something a little more brittle in it than before. “I apologize again. I assumed too much to think that your current situation was about me.”

“No!” Without thinking, Teru is facing Kageyama, hands on the other boy’s shoulders, as though to steady the pair of them in a universe spinning beyond his control.  “That’s not what…no, you’re right, it is about you but—” he cuts Kageyama off before he can interject, “but it’s also not. It’s about me. You didn’t do anything wrong, you’ve never done anything wrong, and I’m the one who should be apologizing for…for…”

Teru’s voice drops off, suddenly aware of his own hands, firmly on Kageyama’s shoulders. The anxiety twists up like a snake, threatening to suffocate him once again, but he can’t seem to pull back. In a dark haze of panic, he swears he can feel Kageyama’s neck under his hands, the other boy refusing to fight back, trying desperately to restrain his incredible power. The air is suddenly like water, drowning him even as he stands, trying desperately to just breathe.

“Hanazawa-kun!” Kageyama’s panicked voice drags him slowly through the darkness, to an expression of utmost concern.  Teru’s hands are still on his shoulders, and he yanks them back as though they burned.  He doesn’t miss the way that the other boy flinches away.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out, hunched over in an attempt to breathe the treacherous air, barely able to hear over his the sound of his heart in his ears. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Unable to face Kageyama, Teru finally succumbs to his gut instinct, fleeing the scene as fast as he can.  By some miracle, he makes it to his apartment—albeit via the third floor balcony, but that doesn’t matter because he’s home, and opts for lying in a heap on the hardwood floor as the darkness of panic and shame overwhelms him.

He doesn’t dream. If it was a dream he would be able to wake up.

Instead, he sees the Divine Tree. He remembers the rush of power that comes with utmost belief. He remembers the thrill of finally, finally facing Kageyama in combat.

It wasn’t hypnotism, as much as he wished it had been. Instead, the Divine Tree had given him what he wanted—the chance to see who really was stronger. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? That’s what had started this.

After all this time, despite all his hard work, all it had taken was a stalk of broccoli to bring it crashing home to him.

He had failed to change.

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Chapter Text

Teru comes back in pieces, head aching and a chill stealing through his body.

Something, somewhere is buzzing, but he can’t whether this is just the static in his head talking.

He’s still lying on the floor, the cold seeping through the school uniform he hadn’t changed out of. He stares absently at the space under his bed, some distant part of him noting the dust collecting there, still unable to bring himself to his feet.

The buzzing continues, and now he knows for certain that it’s not just in his head.

It’s coming from underneath him.

His cell phone. Of course.

As he moves to extract it from his jacket pocket, his body aches and groans in protest. Punishment for lying so long the cold, wood floor.

How long?

The shadows are overtaking the room. From his vantage point on the floor, Teru can’t see out the windows, but he suspects that the sun is riding low against the horizon. If he doesn’t get up soon, he’ll be left stumbling in total darkness.

The buzzing hasn’t stopped.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

Teru almost jumps out of his skin, on his feet and whirling to face the unknown voice. His balcony is still open, the way that he’d left it when he’d crawled through it hours ago, but now there is a familiar figure standing silhouetted against it.

A sigh of relief escapes, and he tries to force the tension out of his shoulders, tries to relax his stance, tries to ignore the sweep of exhaustion and lightheadedness that come as revenge for standing up too fast. He drags a hand across his face, trying to rearrange his features to better disguise the panic coursing through his veins.

“What are you doing here, brother-kun?”

Ritsu stands firm, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Teru swears he can feel heat prickling up his neck, as though the look itself will melt him where he stands.

At least he’d been courteous enough to take off his shoes before coming inside.

“You’ve been ignoring my brother,” Ritsu replies at length, every word measured and precise.

“Have I?” Teru shoots back, tinged almost with a bit of mania. He wasn’t ready to face Kageyama today, and he sure as hell isn’t ready to face his brother only a few hours later. He doesn’t feel especially bad about being mean to Ritsu, except that he just doesn’t have the energy to fight him right now.

Instead he lets his psychic powers slide the balcony door closed and switch on the light, illuminating a sink full of unwashed dishes, a pile of unfolded laundry (thankfully clean), and other displays of his recent, slovenly behavior. Ritsu has never been to his apartment before, as far as he knows, which means that he has no bar with which to judge him, no way to really know how far he’s slipping.

His thoughts hitch, then backtrack.

“Did Kageyama-kun give you my address?” Teru asks as he heads to the kitchen. He may have a very rude guest, but he wouldn’t let that make him a poor host. “Does he know that you’re here?”

“Yes, actually.” The response is clipped. “He was very upset. Came home early from work today and told me that he’d upset you for some reason and that you didn’t even want to talk with him when he went to see you today.”

Teru hums noncommittally, trying to keep his calm façade. Focuses on searching the refrigerator for something appropriate to give to a guest. When he comes up dry, he instead settles on boiling water for tea or cocoa or something. He can feel Ritsu’s glare digging into him like knives, as he reaches up into one of the cabinets for a couple of mugs.

“So did my brother reject you? Is that why you’re acting like an ass right now?”

Teru loses his grip on the mugs, and it is only sheer psychic instinct that keeps them from smashing against the kitchen floor.

Heat burns in his cheeks as he whirls to face Ritsu, all attempts at keeping his composure in tatters. However, when he opens his mouth to try to defend himself, all that comes out is a series of unintelligible squeaks. For the first time since his arrival, Ritsu’s stoicism cracks into something that borders on good humor.

“I’ll take that as a no?” The longer they hold eye contact without so much as blinking, the more certain Teru is that somewhere behind that cold mask the other boy is laughing at him.

“I mean, I had to rule that out,” Ritsu says when he finally looks away, “Because like. My brother doesn’t always get subtlety, and it’s completely possible that you’d finally confessed your feelings to him, and he just didn’t get it.”

“What feelings are you talking about?” Teru finally manages to ground out. “I don’t know what…”  He lets himself trail off under Ritsu’s unimpressed stare. He feels the blush deepen, the acute embarrassment almost as awful as the constant swells of anxiety. “No, I didn’t tell him anything. And I don’t plan on it either. I know he’s already got somebody he likes. I really, really value him. As a friend. And I wouldn’t be that stupid to ruin that.”

“Hmmm…” Ritsu still looks unimpressed. “You say you don’t want to ruin whatever you think you’ve got running with my older brother, but then you ignore his phone calls.”

Brother-kun is far more gifted with words than Kageyama, Teru thinks to himself. Each word cut deeper than the last, but he couldn’t bring himself to argue. He wasn’t wrong, after all.

“And let him beat himself up because he thinks he’s done something wrong.”

The embarrassment evaporates, the anxiety rearing its ugly head, constricting his chest. Teru leans against the counter, fighting to assuage the nausea roiling in his stomach. He feels like a drowning man, afraid that for a second time that day to lose to the dark ocean of panic.

He wonders idly if Ritsu would even care. He clearly hasn’t noticed Teru’s distress.

“What kind of friend would—”

“Stop it!” Teru lets himself slide down the side of the counter he’d supported himself on, trying to remember how to breathe. Minutes pass and he lets himself forget Ritsu’s presence, in favor of focusing on the sharp details around him, in favor of staying present and not letting the dark waters claim him again.

The tea kettle begins to whistle, a sharp sound, jagged enough to ground him in reality and bring him back to his feet. He lets his body move without thinking, taking hold of the mugs that he had somehow managed not to shatter and focusing on the soothing scents of an herbal tea.

Eventually he’s ready to face Ritsu, prepared to wear a mask through whatever barrage the other boy still has prepared. To his surprise, though, when he turns to give him the long awaited tea, he finds Ritsu beginning to rise. The antagonism he’d sensed earlier hasn’t entirely vanished, but he seems far more settled than he had when he’d first arrived.

“You haven’t had your tea yet,” he says, voice hoarse but able to aptly mimic graciousness.

“I’m good. I just came by to make sure you were home when my brother gets here.  You can save that for him, he should be here in…two minutes?”

For the second time that day, the mugs (this time filled with boiling hot tea) are saved from destruction but Teru’s instincts.

Before Teru can properly process what’s happening, Ritsu has returned to the balcony, slipped his shoes on. The other boy gives him a look that is almost encouraging before vanishing, leaving Teru to alone to answer the knock at his door.

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