Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There's a common phenomenon in the world where a person discovers a unique subject for the first time and then coincidentally find themselves running into that subject again and again. Psychology refers to it as Baader-Meinhof, less formally “frequency illusion.”

Teruki calls it “psychic magnetism.”

He has an odd way of finding whatever he thinks too long and hard about. All he has to do is start walking and his steps will inevitably begin to follow an invisible, roundabout path to whatever it is that's so stuck on his mind.

Since science is keen to explain away the paranormal, there very well might be an explanation outside of ESP for this ability of his – selective attention, maybe. Confirmation bias. Synchronicity. A seemingly meaningful but ultimately random series of coincidences, one right after the other. 

Whatever the truth may be, Teruki is familiar enough with his touch of the phenomenon to rightly assume, after a few minutes of aimless strolling, that he's headed somewhere in particular. A few strides into the park, a few slow glances around, and suddenly his heart skips.

There. And the muddy mental lines fade into definition. It's with purpose that Teruki steps off the path into soft, springy grass and makes his way towards where Kageyama is sitting quietly on an out-of-the-way bench.

There are shuffled papers clutched in Kageyama's hands and his head is bowed over them, eyes hidden behind a neat fringe. He doesn't seem to notice when Teruki comes to stand beside him.

“Well, hello,” Teruki says pleasantly, from what he judges is a polite distance. Kageyama jumps anyway, a small jolt at the unexpected greeting, and Teruki smothers a smile behind his hand. “You know, I had the feeling I would run into you soon.”

After a moment, Kageyama smiles back. It's a very small, very careful thing, but it looks like he means it. “Hello, Hanazawa.” He hesitates, mannerisms stilted and awkward, but ultimately pulls his bookbag off the seat next to him and sets it at his feet instead, offering the rest of the bench to Teruki with a spread of his hand.

Delighted, Teruki sits. It's been nearly two weeks since the incident with Claw, so nearly two weeks since he and Kageyama last spoke, and after that much time it would make sense to feel nervous or anxious or even uncertain in his proximity.

Teruki is none of those. Somehow it's not hard at all to be near him. Teruki is eager to be near him. And if he isn't sure what to say right away, it's only because he doesn't know what talk about first.

His eyes catch on the vivid red marking on the top-most page in the stack Kageyama's holding. 30% it says, circled boldly for emphasis, and Teruki can feel his face pull into a sympathetic grimace.

“Ah,” Kageyama says, following his gaze. His fingers tighten their grip, but his expression doesn't change. “I don't do very well. In math. And other classes, too, but mostly... So my teacher sent me home with these graded assignments to show my parents.”

“Math isn't for everyone,” Teruki says fairly. “Personally, I like numbers, but I know plenty of people who don't. Would you like me to take a look?”

That earns him a spark of interest, dark eyes shining briefly behind a half-curtain of dark hair. “You wouldn't mind?”

Teruki almost scoffs – would he mind? When the very idea of being useful to Kageyama in even this small way sends thrills down his spine? – but he manages to swallow it at the last second. Instead he puts an imperious hand out for the homework, and Kageyama agreeably passes the stack over, looking glad to be rid of it even temporarily.

It's more or less basic algebra. Teruki hums as he flips through the pages, all of them problems he doesn't think he'd have any difficulty solving if he were to try, and it doesn’t occur to him to think less of Kageyama for his struggles. 

“Why not ask your brother for help?” Teruki asks. “Or Master Reigen?”

“They're both very busy,” Kageyama says without missing a beat. He doesn't look bothered by the idea. “I don't want to – I mean. I shouldn't. Make them take time for me.”

Teruki considers him sidelong for a moment. From what he understands of his companion, Kageyama has a very low opinion of himself -- where it came from, and why, Teruki would love to understand. The boy beside him could very easily bend skyscrapers and part seas -- that aside, the boy beside him is adored by his younger brother, well looked after by his friends, and the beloved protege of an incredible psychic. From either end, Teruki can only see good. 

“You’re something of a mystery to me,” Teruki admits before he can think better of it. Kageyama doesn’t seem to mind. His head tips to one side, a stunning impression of a moderately intrigued bird. 

“Did I say something strange?”

“Ah, no.” Teruki shakes his head, and then reorganizes Kageyama’s homework. “Let’s walk around the pond for a bit, shall we? I really do want to help you with this, and I think better on the move.”

“That does seem to be the case,” Kageyama agrees quietly, and if it were anyone else, his tone would have been teasing, and the thoughtful lift of his brow would have been playful, and the tilt to his mouth would have leaned closer to a warm smile. 

As it is, only bits and pieces make it through Kageyama’s careful repression, shining like irrepressible dawn through tiny cracks in a window shade, and Teruki blinks rapidly, something like sunspots dancing across his eyes. 

Oh, he thinks; followed by, senselessly, oh. 

“Hanazawa?” Kageyama sounds faintly concerned. “Do you feel dizzy? Maybe you should go home and rest.”

“What? Oh. Oh, no, I’m fine.” He flips blond fringe out of his eyes with a practiced flick of his fingers, smiling winningly at Kageyama for good measure. “You won’t get out of an extra algebra lesson that easily.”

And they do walk around the pond, heads together, only pausing occasionally for Teruki to make notes in the margins of the pages with a pencil Kageyama produced from his bookbag. When dusk falls, throwing shadows across the well-lit paths in the park, Teruki adds his phone number to the contacts list on Kageyama’s cellphone, and extracts a promise from the shorter boy to text him if he needs any more help in the future.

He saves his contact I.D. as “Teru" and wonders giddily if it’s enough of a hint, if Kageyama will call him that the next time they meet. 

“Thank you,” Kageyama says, folding pale fingers around his phone when Teruki hands it back. He looks a little less somber than he did when Teruki found him, and that one small victory is enough to fill Teruki’s chest with a golden, bubbly, sparkling wine feeling. “It was nice to see you again. And -- not because you helped me. Well, that too, but. I mean, it was nice.” 

“It was,” Teruki cuts in, a kind rescue. “Nice. I agree.”

As he walks home, Teruki can’t help thinking about the almost-expression he was witness to; how impossibly charmed he was by it, by that fraction of feeling on Kageyama’s quiet face. And he doesn’t know why he was so affected, but he knows it wasn’t a bad feeling. He didn’t mind it, the pressure like two hands cupped tight around his heart. It wasn’t a pressure that hurt. 

He doesn’t know what it was, that fleeting, fluttering feeling.  

Maybe if he thinks about it long enough, turns it over and over in his mind until he’s exhausted every angle, psychic magnetism will lead him to the answer. It’s worked every other time, after all. He just needs to be patient. 

He’ll stumble upon understanding soon enough, if he keeps walking.

Chapter Text

I don't have any homework today, the text says, as it covers the screen with an inappropriately cheerful notification chime. Teruki sits on the edge of his bed, phone cradled in both hands, and rereads the message too many times.

That's okay!! he finally brings himself to reply. But disappointment is a bitter pill, and Teruki deflates with the force of a gusty sigh.

“That frees up my evening, then,” he says, lifting reluctant eyes to take in the rest of the small apartment. “What shall I do?”

His phone chimes again.

I think Ritsu had a bad day. So I’m going to pick up some ice cream to bring home with me. 

Teruki blinks at the follow-up, nonplussed. Still, he sends back, How kind of you! and this time he turns the ringer down before he sets the phone aside. 

He's more than used to the lack of company that comes as a packaged deal with living alone for the better part of three years – or so he thought. Because apparently, all it took was Kageyama's twice-weekly tutoring sessions for most of a month to rewire Teruki's routine, and now he feels edgy and restless and uncomfortable with the closeness of these four familiar walls.   

They were right here the night Teruki told Kageyama that trying to save his brother was more than likely a lost cause. Hundreds of espers, he had said, an army of them, and Kageyama didn’t flinch or stutter or slow even once. And despite all the trouble he had caused, Kageyama’s little brother had nothing to look forward to but Kageyama’s warmth and relief and love, and the unyielding steel of his godlike power bent over them like a shield. 

Kageyama’s little brother is lucky, Teruki thinks, with the smallest seed of something too wistful to be true envy. Lucky to have someone who cares about him enough to take on a criminal organization to save his life, and bring him ice cream at the end of a difficult day to make him smile.

He’s lucky. Anyone would be lucky to have -- 

“Dinner,” he decides abruptly, surging to his feet. His heart feels pressed-upon; he rubs his chest through his shirt with the heel of his hand. “I need groceries for dinner.”

Ten minutes later, in a lime green and yellow jacket he doesn't bother zipping up, with his wallet unceremoniously crammed into his back pocket, Teruki is all but running out the door.

He'll feel better after a walk, surely. It's four blocks to the convenience store, give or take, and the fresh air will do his mood wonders. And after that, preparing a meal will keep him busy, and then maybe he'll find a movie on T.V. to pass the time, and the night will be over before he –

“Oh,” a familiar voice says from directly in front of him, drawing Teruki up so short he nearly trips. He looks up fast enough that his neck feels the sting, and there's Kageyama – standing with one pale hand on the railing of the outer walk, the other curled around the handles of a plastic bag. They stare at each other for what might have been a full minute, though it certainly felt longer, and then Kageyama adds uncertainly, “Did you have other plans?”

Teruki knows his expression is one of undignified stupefaction. For once, he finds he doesn't care enough to school his appearance. The pressure on his heart pushes harder. 

“But you said,” he blurts, and then stops himself right there, thinking better of it. Less accusatory, he tries again. “Since you didn't have homework tonight, I assumed you weren't coming.”

“Oh,” Kageyama says again, and, “That makes sense.” His gaze dips from Teruki's to pore over the pavement under their sneakers instead. He looks a little embarrassed. “It isn't a study night without anything to study. I didn't think of that.”

Teruki scoots a step closer, aware of the hopeful smile tugging its way forward through the confusion and disbelief, aware of his hand reaching across the slight distance left between them.

He wanted to see me. 

Teruki tugs on Kageyama's sleeve lightly, once.

“It doesn't have to be study night,” he says, and tries not to sound as desperately grateful as he truly is. “It'll probably be more fun for you without algebra involved, anyway.”

“It's always fun.” 

And something so simple, so softly spoken, shouldn't hold the amount of power that it does. Logistically speaking, it shouldn’t be possible. But warmth is pulling Teruki apart at the seams, and his smile only edges wider. 

He pulls Kageyama inside by that gentle grip on his sleeve, easily curtailing his weak protests of “ -- but you were going somewhere. It looked important. If you have an errand we can -- “ by shoving restaurant pamphlets at him and suggesting they order in, instead.

“Let’s put little brother’s ice cream in the freezer until it’s time for you to leave,” Teruki suggests, holding out a hand, and Kageyama hesitates.

“Um,” he says at length. The attempt at eye contact he’s making is a fragile thing. “Ritsu likes sweets, they make him feel better. And I don’t know, I had the feeling -- that maybe you -- “

Teruki blinks rapidly as Kageyama deposits the brightly-colored package of Teruki’s favorite brand of ice cream in his outstretched hand with unending care. And he stands there blinking at it for a moment longer than the situation deserves. 

Then he looks up. It’s just ice cream, but it isn’t just ice cream.

"You were thinking of me?” 

It’s Kageyama’s turn to look wrong-footed. “Of course,” he says slowly, as though it’s obvious. “No one I know likes tiramisu-flavored Pino but you, Teruki."

Teruki’s laugh sounds like it was shaken out of him, surprised as much as it is sincere, and the vice is back in his chest, clamping so tightly its amazing he’s still getting air to his lungs. 

He ignores it as best he can, and they eat ice cream while they wait for dinner to arrive; sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of the T.V., passing the toothpick back and forth until all the Pino is gone, close enough that their knees and elbows bump together. 

It’s a chilly treat on a chilly night, but Teruki feels impossibly warm. 

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?” Shigeo asks. He sounds reluctant to break Teruki's concentration, his voice careful as it drifts across the unremarkable distance between them. “You've been staring at the sky for – awhile. Should we call Tome?”

It takes a moment to parse the apparent non sequitur, and even after a moment's thought Teruki still hasn't made sense of it. Distracted despite himself, he asks, “Why would we call Tome?”

“She stares at the sky a lot, too. Looking for aliens. If that's what you're doing, she might be able to help.”

Grinning, Teruki shakes his head. His eyes are still pointed up, locked on the bright blue troposphere, even if most of the rigid focus has gone. Shigeo's unassuming company makes it hard to take himself too seriously.

“Thank you for the helpful suggestion,” he says, and his voice is shaped like his smile. “But as it happens, I'm not looking for aliens. I'm – attempting atmokinesis.”

“Oh.” Shigeo considers that. “Why?”

“The kids from the Awakening Lab asked me if it was possible to manipulate the weather with ESP. I thought I'd give it a try before I gave them an answer.”

“I forgot that you're training them. That's kind of you.” His voice is warm, and his expression is probably soft, and Teruki clears his throat and does his best to ignore the heat that comes to life in his face. With a shift of grass and clothes, Shigeo climbs to his feet and comes closer, only sinking into a kneel when he's near enough that his shoulder and Teruki's brush with every deep breath. “Can I try?”

“Of course,” Teruki says hoarsely. He has to clear his throat twice, mentally kicking himself for it all the while, before adding, “At this point, just disappearing this stubborn cloud would be validation enough. It refuses to so much as shrink.”

Shigeo hums by way of answer, and in his periphery Teruki can see those hooded eyes slide the rest of the way shut.

A sieve opens, and energy comes pouring out. Shigeo's aura has a wallflower feeling to it, an unobtrusive, easily-overlooked presence that builds into something impressive, like the pressure in the air before a tornado. Equal parts powerful and passive, Shigeo's energy settles for a moment, a weighted blanket, and then widens. Teruki can sense it snaking out tendrils like tapered fingers toward the sky.

Eager with anticipation, Teruki leans back on his hands to get a better view. He doesn't know what he's expecting. Cloud bursting, probably – would they go one by one, or would the staggering scope of Shigeo's abilities be enough to clear the whole horizon all at once, like a sweep of an eraser over a chalk-cluttered blackboard?

Shigeo opens his eyes. His posture is relaxed, shoulders canted lazily. He lifts one hand, slowly, fingers spread against the blue sky hanging like a ceiling over the city.

And the temperature drops.

The warm summer air balloons up and away from them into the atmosphere, expanding and condescending into brand new low-hanging, gray clouds. Teruki's breath fogs up in the abruptly chilly air, and Shigeo lowers his hand with a contented sound.

“There,” he says, faintly pleased, as it begins to snow in the middle of a sunny August afternoon. Fat flakes drift down over a neat radius of about twenty square feet, a small and localized snow shower in one corner of a sprawling city park, just for the sake of proving it was possible.

Nearby, people have stopped in their tracks to take in the phenomenon with equal parts confusion and awe. Phones come out to record the summer snow, delighted laughter ringing across the stillness as the first brave few stick out hands and tongues to catch frozen flakes wherever they can.

“You made it snow,” Teruki says slowly. His heart is a pulpy mess in the bottom of his throat.

“Yeah. It looks like you can tell your friends that atmokinesis is possible, after all,” Shigeo continues plainly, as though seasonal manipulation isn't something to be slack-jawed and amazed at.

But it is. It's incredible. 

And far from awed or humbled, this time, Teruki is affected. And he finally puts a name to the weighted feeling that's been living in the pit of his chest for months, finally gives it power and presence, when for so long he had done his best to sweep it under the rug. Acknowledging it, like opening a door that can’t ever be closed.

As a result, his own psychic energy fluctuates so wildly for a moment that Shigeo glances at him sidelong.

“Oh. But you wanted me to make the clouds disappear, didn't you? I'm sorry, I'll do that now. I just,” he adds anxiously, nerves breaking down the easy cadence of his speech into something stilted and lurching, “wanted to try making it snow. I like snow.”

His face is pretty when its framed in winter gray. The stark juxtaposition of dark hair against a pale complexion might be something worthy of careful analysis. Teruki himself would be willing to write a dissertation on the snowflakes caught in those heavy eyelashes, if he thought for a moment that Shigeo would let him.

“It's okay,” Teruki settles for saying, helplessly. “I like snow, too.”

Chapter Text

Teruki isn't stupid. Far from it, actually.

He prides himself on a quick wit and a sharp analytical mind, always planning two steps ahead no matter who he's with and where they are, and his psychic abilities wouldn't be anywhere near their current level without an obscene amount of study. He knows a little bit about every subject, give or take, and what he finds he doesn't know he's quick to learn.

And so he knows, on a fundamental level, that wanting something and having it are two very different creatures.

As much as he might want Shigeo, Teruki is aware that he can't have him.

For the most part, he's comfortable with that.

His feelings aren't that complicated – shouldn't have come as such a surprise, in all honesty, if Teruki is as smart as he always thought he was. Untouched and unchallenged all his life, growing up looking at the rest of the world through a superior lens, it made perfect sense that someone like Shigeo would come along someday and shake Teruki down to his bones. It made sense that Teruki would be won over by someone so amazing, who wouldn't?

It only becomes confusing when Teruki traces his steps back to the beginning of this infatuation, when admiration became adoration that sat pointedly on his heart until he deigned to open his eyes and see it.

Because he had seen Shigeo perform with his power remarkably, had watched him destroy a school and throw adult espers with a flick of his fingers and levitate a car across the city, and yet Teruki didn't feel those first flutterings of a grade-school crush until that warm afternoon they spent pouring over failed homework in the park, when Teruki offered to help and Shigeo looked at him with bright, wondering eyes.

When he bought Teruki's favorite ice cream alongside his little brother's, nervous through all his kindness as he handed it over, as though there was a chance he might be refused.

When he reached up toward the sky and made it snow in the middle of an indian summer, over just the two of them, comfortable and content in the swirling flurries and smiling so softly in the face of his miracle that Teruki wanted to lie down next to him and just be still.

That awkward, fumbling, soft-spoken boy – that's the one who won Teruki over. And Teruki still wonders when, but he doesn't wonder how.

And when he gets a text from Shigeo during lunch period, a picture message of him very much not in uniform or dragging himself through a grueling day at school, Teruki grabs his bookbag and walks straight out of class, texting back Mind if I join you?

Reigen Arataka's apartment is small and homey, and almost too crowded now that Teruki shows up. But Shigeo is smiling the moment he comes through the door, soft and sweet in a pastel pink hoodie and worn jeans, already scooting to one side of a sagging couch to make room for him – so Teruki doesn't really stop to question his welcome.

He eats up the distance between them in long strides. The tired springs in the couch cushions dip them towards one another as Teruki sits down, but he can't bring himself to mind. He's fully embraced this unrequited personal hell of his, he's determined to enjoy it.

“Shishou is making lunch,” Shigeo says. “And Dimple is helping, I think.”

And his tone of voice isn't animated, by any means, but it's a little livelier than Teruki is used to hearing, like an ocean gray two shades away from true blue. He wonders if it's because of the current setting or the current company, and decides that it's probably a combination of the two.

“You like it here,” he says, and it's not a question. Shigeo's head dips in a nod, dark eyes trailing fondly over the shabby furniture and crooked picture frames.

“It's – familiar to me. When I was little and a job ran late, or a client was a little scary, or my parents were out of town for work, Shishou always let me stay with him. And it was always nice.”

“It sounds like it.” And then, with a playful grin, Teruki adds, “I didn't think you were the type to skip school, Shigeo. What other secrets are you keeping from me?”

Which – okay. Backfires, just a little bit. Some teasing is good, great even. Sometimes Teruki gets a narrow stare, or an eye-roll, or the smallest, smothered chuckle (honestly, he doesn't know how anyone could think the smaller boy is boring) but this time, Shigeo's face turns a faint, delicate red, and his eyes dip down and then away.

Teruki's brain abruptly goes offline.

It's a self-preservation thing.

“Ah,” he's distantly aware of Shigeo mumbling, “that's, actually – because – ”

“Because Mob forgot to get his permission slip signed before his parents went out of town for the week, and the rest of his grade went on a field trip without him,” Reigen says archly from where he appears in the kitchen doorway, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie draped over his shoulder.

He's frowning, but there's a distinct lack of anger in the expression; it's more disquieted than anything, maybe troubled, as he gazes across the room at his young pupil. Then his eyes flicker over to Teruki and he blinks, as if just realizing whose question it is he's answering in the first place, and that complicated, disquieted look clears into a much more obvious confusion.

“Hanazawa? When did you get here?”

“Just now,” Teruki replies, mostly recovered at this point. “Thank you for having me.”

“But – you – I thought you were coming after school. Why aren't you at school?”

“I ditched,” he explains politely. “Like Shigeo.”

“Ah-ah,” Reigen holds up a hand, index finger ticked out importantly. “It isn't ditching if you're signed out by a relative and/or verified adult, like Mob was, and something tells me that wasn't the case with you.” It isn't meant to be cruel, Teruki knows that, even if it is a stark reminder of his life alone; and Reigen is plowing right along before it has a chance to sting, anyway. “How did you even find my apartment?”

“Espers can sense other espers, shishou,” Shigeo reminds him considerately. “It wasn't hard for Teruki to track us down.”

“The auras were so potent I could follow them right to your front door,” Teruki adds. Reigen gives them both a significantly unimpressed look, but the effect is lost as something clatters noisily against the kitchen floor and Dimple laughs darkly. 

Reigen lifts his eyes to the ceiling, takes a fortifying breath, and then spins on his heel and disappears back through the doorway. Teruki waits a beat, respecting the tableau, then turns back to his friend.

“Master Reigen signed you out of school? He can do that?”

“Oh,” Shigeo says, “yes. Shishou is my emergency contact, because my teachers have a better chance of reaching him before they can reach my parents.” He blinks, as though realizing how that sounds. “Not because they don't care. They work a lot, and Shishou makes his own hours, so this arrangement is easier. That's what Shishou said.”

“And if Shishou says it, then it must be true,” Teruki says, amused. Shigeo nods peacefully.

“Yes, exactly.”

He gets up to help with lunch at that point – even if it's only to keep Dimple in line – and insists, in that softly insistent way he has, that Teruki should just make himself comfortable until it's time to eat.

Left alone, Teruki glances around the apartment. Gets up after a moment and wanders the living room, the hardwood floor pleasantly cool even through his socks.

Growing up in a house that felt like a museum, Teruki watched everything from an arm's length away. It was all an elaborate show, his parents' attempt to impress clients and woo benefactors, their son something pretty and powerful to put on display. A colorful fish in a glass tank two sizes too big.

Claw's unsuccessful kidnapping attempt had come as something of a relief, in all honesty. Teruki was happy to escape that house, and used one of his father's accounts to purchase a small apartment for himself on the other side of Seasoning City. He knows his family knows where to find him. That they haven't yet – haven't even tried, for all he knows – speaks volumes.

Volumes more than Teruki wants to think about.

So he thinks about Reigen's apartment instead. The cheap-looking knickknacks on almost every flat surface, papers bunched in untidy stacks on the counter, potted plants breathing in the long bars of bright sunlight the open windows throw across the room. Coats and hoodies are dumped over the side of an armchair instead of hung up by the door. There are books scattered across the coffee table. Countless photos decorate the cluttered space, and Shigeo is in most of them. A Salt Middle School report card hangs on the wall under a Caped Baldy sticker.

And when Shigeo wanders back to him after not even five minutes, two steaming cups of coffee in hand and an agreeable Dimple floating above his shoulder, he says, “Shishou told me it’s rude to leave you in here by yourself. Sorry.”

Teruki takes a sip from the mug Shigeo passes him, and he isn’t surprised that it tastes exactly the way he would have prepared it for himself, heavy on the cream and light on the sugar. It’s too hot to drink right away, stinging his lips and burning down the back of his throat, but he keeps it up by his mouth anyway, breathing in the steam. 

“Don’t be,” he says, not looking at him. “This is perfect.”

Maybe it’s stupid to find home in a chipped mug of coffee and someone else’s messy apartment, but it's whole worlds better than the cold glass tank Teruki left behind.

Maybe it’s stupid, but Teruki is smart enough not to care. 

Chapter Text

Shigeo's immediate group of friends might not actually be very good for Teruki's general well-being.

“So,” Tome says in an overly-casual, faux-disinterested tone that puts Teruki on his guard immediately, “you and Kageyama, huh?”

He shuffles his feet, trying not to feel as though he's under surveillance. It would be easier, probably, if he wasn't actually under surveillance. There's a girl across the schoolyard leaning out from behind a tree with a small digital camera, and it looks like she's taking verbal notes with a pocket tape recorder? Why?

“Is that strange?” he finds himself asking. “We're going to the movies after school, and since the theater is nearby, I thought I could just meet him – ”

“The movies, huh?” Tome smacks her gum, leans a little heavier against the gate, and looks him over. Teruki isn't shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot but that's only because he's steeling himself to maintain composure. He's stared down delinquents and adult espers, he won't squirm now. He won't. “What are you gonna go see?”

“A new action movie. Shigeo picked it.”

Her eyebrows fly up. “'Shigeo' picked it?”

“Um.”

Teruki looks away, mind racing. Surely Shigeo has other friends who call him by his first name. Dimple calls him by his first name. There’s no reason to panic about something as small as this. There's no reason for Tome to stare him down like he just confessed a great and terrible secret, right? Right? Right?

He squirms. Just a little.

“I'm not certain what you – ”

Crunching footsteps cut him off as they approach, and he glances over into Shigeo's heavy-hooded eyes, and relief balloons in his chest with enough strength to crack bone. Tome smacks her gum again, and her eyes bore into the side of Teruki's face like a finger jabbing him sharply on the cheek.

“Hi, Teruki,” the other boy says, unaware that his arrival doubles as a daring rescue. Tome mouths ‘Teruki’ to herself, looking some combination of incredulous and impressed. “Sorry to make you wait. Ritsu is home sick, so I picked up his schoolwork for the day from his teacher. Is it okay if we take this to him first?”

“Of course,” Teruki says, intensely grateful for an excuse to leave immediately. “We’d better hurry then.”

Shigeo nods, and looks at his older classmate with a smile that only those who knew him well would recognize as fond. “Thank you for keeping him company, Tome.”

“No problem,” Tome says, pushing herself upright. “Have a good time, boys. I expect a text later on tonight,” she adds, with a conspiratorial wink at Shigeo.

Shigeo blinks at her, but manages a belated, confused-sounding “okay” as she leaves, and then Teruki is all but dragging him away before that other girl with the camera decides he needs to be cross-examined.

Ritsu looks like his brother in small ways, the color of his eyes and the shape of his nose and the curve of his mouth when he smiles; but Ritsu is cold in all the places Shigeo is warm, and watches Teruki through a very narrow gaze.

Not that it's anything personal, Teruki thinks. Ritsu seems to look at everyone that way.

“Brother says the two of you are going to the cinema,” Ritsu says by-way of greeting, the moment Shigeo leaves the room to put his bag away upstairs. “Who's idea was that?”

“Mine,” Teruki replies, buckling down for another interrogation. Shigeo's inner circle sure are a curious bunch.

But then, Teruki is desperately new to this – maybe this level of scrutiny and suspicion is just the way close friends and close family work. If it is, it certainly won't be the worst thing he's ever had to make the best of. And spending an evening with Shigeo is worth making the best of a lot worse.

“We watch a lot of movies when he comes to my house,” he adds, courteously instigating conversation to cover the full, uncomfortable silence eating up the space between them, “and a sequel to one of our favorite films came to theaters last weekend."

Ritsu doesn't answer right away, studying him the way Shigeo studies algebra at Teruki's small table; struggling to make the numbers come together in a way he understands.

Footsteps thump softly down the stairs, once again heralding Shigeo and his second unintentional rescue of the day, and Ritsu seems to come to an abrupt decision. He leans forward across the table with something fierce in his eyes. 

“You better not let my brother pay for anything. And don’t let any weirdos near him. And if you hurt him in even the smallest way, I will find you.”

By the time Shigeo wanders back into the living room, Ritsu is back to being a sickly, blanket-swaddled lump on the sofa, and Teruki is gaping wordlessly at him. 

“I’m ready,” Shigeo says quietly. “Are you sure you don’t need anything before I go, Ritsu?”

“No, I’m okay,” his brother replies warmly. “Thank you for bringing me my homework. I really hope you have a fun time.”

Teruki has no idea how Ritsu made even that sound like a threat, but he’s breaking out in a cold sweat as Shigeo pulls the door closed behind them. 

The movie lets out a little later than Teruki expected, so they go to dinner a little later than he expected as a result, and dusk is falling by the time they finish eating. 

Shigeo keeps giving him odd little looks every now and then -- because Teruki jumped to pay the check at the restaurant in much the same way he had all but elbowed his way forward to pay for the movie tickets earlier in the evening.

“I have money,” the smaller boy said quietly, both times, and Teruki babbled something idiotic along the lines of “no, it’s okay, I want to,” because even that sounded better than “I’m afraid of your fledgling-esper little brother.”

Honestly, Teruki thinks to himself as they walk, it’s not like this is the first time he and I have spent time together. As protective as all of his friends have been, you’d think this was something monumental. 

“Oh ho, and what do we have here?” 

“Shishou,” Shigeo is saying as Teruki turns around. And it honestly isn’t surprising to see the psychic approaching them leisurely from out of nowhere -- that’s just the kind of day they’ve been having. “What are you doing here?”

“This and that,” the man says with a careless wave of his hand. “I should be asking you two the same thing. It’s a little late to be out, don’t you think?”

“It is a little late,” Shigeo agrees, blinking up towards the light-polluted sky. The streetlights are coming to life up and down the street. “We went to the movies, and then we went to dinner, and before we knew it, it was dark out.”

Reigen’s eyebrows climb his face slowly, all but disappearing in his hairline. True to form, though, he’s hardly at a loss for words. “Dinner and a movie, huh? Doesn’t that sound nice.” 

“Yes. We’re on our way home now, though.”

Reigen is still looking at him with that odd expression on his face, but he follows it up with a crooked grin and shakes his head. “So that’s how it is. Well, you both certainly could have done worse.” He ruffles Shigeo’s hair, and then Teruki’s in the same fond, familiar way, and adds, “Glad you had a good time.”

It’s approval, maybe? Or permission? Teruki isn’t sure. It feels out of place. But he’s warmed by it, whatever it is, and his step is a bit lighter as they leave. Shigeo walks close to him so they don’t misplace each other in the crowd, close enough that their fingers brush with every other step.

The buzzing streetlights overhead shine down on every street; noisy, conspicuous guides they didn’t ask for, and would probably be lost without. 

Chapter Text

The park is empty in the rain, lamps looming eerily through the stormy-dark evening, and Teruki's sneakers slap across wet sidewalks as he runs towards an out-of-the-way park bench tucked into the quietest corner.

It's one thing to get a call from Reigen – the man's mild tone and manner of speech as he asked “Have you heard from Mob today?” made it impossible for Teruki to determine if something was wrong. Ritsu's name on his Caller I.D. within the hour, on the other hand, was enough to light little fires of worry in Teruki's brain before he could so much as answer the phone.

“Is my brother there? He's been acting strange since he came home from work last night, and the school just called and said he didn't show up for class today. He doesn't have his phone, and I can't – my powers are still just – I can't find him. Is he there with you?”

Teruki was out the door not even a minute later, with barely the presence of mind to grab a coat.

It takes Teruki twenty minutes to find him, but only because he missed the first train. There was a tug in his chest he knew better than to ignore that led him every step of the way here, and his sneakers sink inches in the muddy grass as he finally slows to a stop.

A dark figure sits on their park bench, huddled under a curtain of rain. Teruki's heart aches, and he lifts a hand without thinking to extend his barrier.

Shigeo doesn't react for a long moment; when he finally seems to notice the dome of dry air and looks up, it's sluggish and slow. His face is pale, eyes red-rimmed, and he stares at Teruki's face for a long moment, as though struggling to make him familiar after too much time apart.

“Did you forget you had psychic powers?” he teases gently. Something happens to Shigeo's face at the sound of his voice, something flinching and hopeful and so desperate that Teruki is striding the rest of the way forward before he can make any conscious decision to. He kneels in front of the smaller boy, the knees of his school uniform soaked within seconds, and reaches out to fold his hands around the fists balled up in Shigeo's lap.

There's something dark and limitless snarling under Shigeo's skin, wounded and cornered. A smarter person would back off.

Teruki leans close, as close as he can get. Their foreheads come together, and Shigeo's gasp is a quiet, fragile creature. He's shaking, and gripping at Teruki's hands with freezing fingers, and it's almost like he's starved for this, for this proximity and this affection, and this warmth that comes hand-in-hand with being so close to another human being.

“Shigeo, you need to talk to me,” Teruki says, hardly daring to do more than whisper. “What are you doing out here, letting yourself get rained on?”

The steady drum of rain against their yellow-tinted ceiling is his only answer. Shigeo presses towards Teruki like a little heat-seeking creature, shivering involuntarily; and the shivering, at least, Teruki can help with. 

He untangles their fingers, trying to ignore the stricken expression on Shigeo’s face at the move, and shrugs out of his coat. Wrapping it tightly around his friend’s shoulders, Teruki says, “Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? What happened?”

It’s not inconceivable. For all his godlike power, Shigeo leaves himself wide-open and vulnerable; exposing the softest parts of his heart for people to step all over or take advantage of, for the sake of being close to them. Being human.

Being a good person, even at the cost of -- whatever it might cost him. 

“Nothing happened.” Shigeo’s voice is almost too soft to to hear over the storm. “None of it was real. I didn’t know that before. But I do now. Nothing happened.”

“You’re soaking wet, sitting out here by yourself when you should be at home having dinner,” Teruki says, more sharply than he meant to. “Little brother and Master Reigen are both worried sick about you, because you didn’t go to school today and no one knew where you were. So I know something happened, because we wouldn’t be here right now if nothing did.”

He's prepared for tears, but only in theory. When Shigeo starts crying, as quietly as he does everything else, Teruki snaps a bough off the nearest tree with a wild flare of psychic energy. The sharp crack of it makes Shigeo flinch, and Teruki winces, too.

“Sorry, I’m -- sorry,” he says lamely.  “I didn’t mean to -- just -- please. Please tell me what happened. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you. Just tell me.“

He’s probably holding Shigeo’s hands too tightly, but he can’t make himself let go. Teruki choked him once, fingers wrapped around a fragile throat -- and now, barely a year later, his angry hands are a humble cradle. Designed at the beginning of time to do exactly this, to hold on too tightly. 

Shigeo is staring at him, and the light is coming back to his dark eyes. That ferocious power is laying down, settling in for another long sleep, and the haunted, hunted look in Shigeo’s face begins to fade. 

“You’re so kind, even though you’ve been alone for so long,” he says, very slowly. “Much longer than I was. I don’t understand.”

Teruki doesn’t understand either. It takes him a minute to parse that statement, staring uncomprehendingly at his friend the whole time.

A month ago, Teruki was called to the faculty office at school only to find Reigen sitting in front of a secretary, filling out the paperwork that would make him Teruki’s emergency contact. “Just in case,” the man said, and the secretary smiled at the way he reached over to mess up Teruki’s hair. 

A week after that, Teruki went to karaoke with Shigeo and his friends. Shigeo assured him there were no hard feelings about that time at Black Vinegar, but Teruki had his reservations up until the moment they arrived -- when Shigeo’s friends from the body improvement club howled their approval the second he walked through the door, and he spent the better part of an hour fielding enthusiastic questions about his nonexistent workout regimen while Tome smirked and Shigeo hid his smile behind a tambourine. 

On an unremarkable day, Shigeo walked unassumingly into his life, and brought a loud, long parade of kind-hearted people behind him, and Teruki has never had a lonely day since. 

“I’m not alone,” he blurts, unthinking. He’s confused why Shigeo would even think so. 

The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of Shigeo’s mouth, and he tugs one hand free to reach up and rub at his eyes. “Thank you,” he says, impossibly. He sounds more like himself than he did a moment ago, and it’s abruptly much easier for Teruki to breathe. “Will you come sit? You’ll get sick if you stay down there. Especially without your jacket.”

“I’m going to do us both a favor, and not point out the staggering hypocrisy in that,” Teruki replies archly, even as he climbs agreeably to his feet to take a seat at Shigeo’s side.

The other boy scoots over, as slowly and deliberately as he does most things, and rests his head on Teruki’s shoulder. Teruki doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and if his heart skips a beat or two faster he ignores it. 

“I didn’t know how painful it was before, but I do now,” Shigeo says abruptly. “Being alone. I’m sorry.”

Teruki doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, but it’s abundantly clear he isn’t about to answer any questions tonight. So Teruki leans his cheek on Shigeo’s damp hair, and smiles with all the kindness he’s capable of, and says, “I haven’t been alone since that day I found you right here. Who knew an afternoon of algebra homework would change things so much?”

“Oh,” Shigeo says, very softly. His fingers curl into the sleeve of the arm Teruki put around his shoulders, and a shiver works its way down his spine. “That’s. I’m glad.” 

Teruki’s loud ringtone startles them both, and he’s red with embarrassment as he fishes it out of his pocket. “It’s your brother,” he says, and Shigeo puts his hand out for the phone immediately. Ritsu’s voice as it bursts from the small speaker is emphatic and relieved and exasperated and concerned, all at once, such a cacophony of emotion from such a reserved kid that Teruki smiles. Shigeo’s reply is warm and apologetic, and only barely scratchy and spent from tears. 

When Shigeo hands the phone back, Teruki puts it to his ear and Ritsu says, “I’ll be there in ten minutes. You’d better stay with him until then.”

Teruki glances peacefully up at the sky through the yellow ceiling encasing them in a warm, dry pocket of the cold, wet night. He thinks he can see the storm clouds breaking. Tucked against his side, Shigeo sighs, similarly content. 

“You won’t find me anywhere else,” Teruki says. 

Chapter Text

To Reigen's credit, when he opens his front door late on a Tuesday night, to be met with a disheveled and mildly-hysterical teenage esper – whose brilliant idea of a polite greeting is “Please I need your help I am losing my mind” – he doesn’t so much as bat an eye.

“It was only a matter of time at this point,” he says blandly, and stands back to let Teruki inside.

And now they're sitting on the sofa and the armchair respectively; Teruki curls his fingers around his usual mug, breathing in the steam and the scent of sweet cocoa as it drifts up to him (and it’s amazing, he’s never had a usual anything at someone else’s home before). It's calming, more calming than a warm drink and familiar cup have any right to be, and after he's managed a few sips and a few deep breaths, Teruki no longer feels like he's on the verge of drowning. 

Reigen is waiting patiently for him to sort himself out, but surely that won’t last much longer. “I’m very sorry for showing up like this,” he begins with, hesitantly lifting his eyes. 

Reigen raises a brow and gestures with his own mug for Teruki to get on with it already. Okay. Fair enough. He’s danced around the subject long enough.

Carefully setting his hot chocolate on the coffee table, Teruki folds his hands together on top of carefully crossed knees, and says, as painstakingly as he had rehearsed a hundred times, “I have feelings for -- for your student. For Shigeo.”

The words take a weight off his chest as he parts with them.

It feels better than he thought it would. To say it out loud, where someone else can hear.

And he’s braced for just about anything, but what he gets is actually -- nothing. No response, no spark of reaction. Not so much as a flicker of surprise. After a beat of mutual silence, Reigen says, “Did you only just realize? I took you as slightly more self-aware than that.”

Teruki can’t help the way his mouth drops open. “You already know?”

“My dear boy,” comes the perfect deadpan, “everyone already knows.”

The sound of keys in the door stalls whatever Teruki might have said -- if he could have said anything through the curious sensation of his brain melting -- and a tall, broad man steps into the entry way. He pauses to trade large loafers for large house slippers, and a plastic shopping bag crinkles as he ventures further inside. 

“Cigarettes and ice cream,” the man is saying as he joins them. “Guess there’s no accounting for taste.” 

“That was a joke,” Reigen remarks. He’s sitting just a bit taller. “Katsuya, what’s happened to you?”

"Too much time spent in poor company,” comes the reply, and at that point the man notices Teruki in the armchair and freezes midstep. Nerves overcome him, and as he shuffles his feet and bows under an anxiety that looks long-lived Teruki is abruptly taken in by the sight of an older, more world-weary Shigeo. “Oh. I- I didn’t know we had company, I’m -- “

Reigen cuts him off at that point with a short sweep of his hand. “Hanazawa Teruki, Serizawa Katsuya. He's an esper, like yourself, and my colleague.” 

And with that, introductions are apparently over. Reigen leans forward, fixing Teruki with a gaze that leans the focus of the room in his direction -- taking the weight of their combined attention off of Serizawa, and Teruki watches the large man wilt in relief. 

“So?”

“So,” Teruki parrots uselessly, grasping at that starting line. He takes Reigen’s lead and ignores Serizawa completely, as rude as that makes him feel. “I -- think I might have -- messed things up. With Shigeo. Earlier today.”

Reigen’s mouth twitches. He says, “Go on.”

“We were -- the four of us, Shigeo, Ritsu, Shou and I -- thought it would be fun to go somewhere where there wouldn’t be any civilians around, and -- “ He searches for the right word, hands flexing where they’re folded together. “Stretch our legs?”

It was Shou’s idea, that fiery little juggernaut of a human being. Teruki spent close to an hour sparring with him, long distance as well as close quarters. They ripped up half the field there at the edge of town, toppled trees, tore open the sky with sparks and fire, and it left Teruki feeling spent, muscles burning, like the end of a satisfying workout.

The brothers played referee, though Shigeo’s eyes kept wandering to follow a flock of startled birds or a bolting deer and Ritsu looked like he couldn’t truly be bothered. When Shou called over for their final score, Shigeo jolted guiltily, and said, “Um. You both did a very good job.”

Shou blinked, looking taken aback -- then he tossed his head back and laughed. There was no cruelty to it, and Ritsu was directing an amused smile at the ground rather than at his flustered sibling, so Teruki sat back in the burnt grass and breathed in pure content. 

Shou was like him, in small ways. For all that they certainly started on the wrong foot, Teruki found that the two of them had similar interests now; similar in that Shou spends half his time circling Ritsu like an enamored puppy, and Teruki is wrapped heart and soul around Shigeo’s little finger. 

“Good luck,” Teruki said, meaning it, when he noticed Shou’s gaze catch on Ritsu for the third time in as many minutes. Shou rubbed a hand through his hair, hitching up a crooked grin.

“Hah, pretty obvious, huh? Well, thanks. I’m gonna need it. I mean, we can’t all have it as easy as you.”

Teruki frowned. He wasn’t sure how to take that. “Come again?”

Shou widened pale blue eyes at him, grin stretching in amused disbelief. “Oh, wow. Ritsu told me, but I didn’t believe him.” He rose to his feet, dusting off his jeans, and then leaned down to clap Teruki on the shoulder. “I just meant you’re a lucky guy. That’s all.”

After that, he wandered over to the brothers, throwing himself bodily at Ritsu’s person and demanding a spar with him -- and how he always managed to escape Ritsu’s wrath unscathed was a wonder, Teruki decided privately. The fact that he seemed to delight in poking at the younger Kageyama’s temper in itself was a little mind-boggling, when anyone in their right mind would do anything to avoid exactly that. 

Ritsu let himself be talked into a duel, throwing his book down and coming up on his feet with a glower. Shou whooped in glee, and barely had time to dodge a violent curl of telekinesis that stripped the bark off a nearby tree. 

And Teruki found himself sitting with Shigeo, playing the spectators. Shigeo was a warm presence by his side, heavy-lidded eyes following the spar without difficulty, and Teruki watched the side of his face more than he did anything else. 

“Your hair’s getting long,” he remarked thoughtfully after some time. Shigeo blinked, and glanced at him through a fringe that fell just a few inches farther than it usually did. It curtained his eyes a bit, and that was certainly a shame.

So Teruki reached out, unthinking. As though his body was on autopilot. Cradled the side of Shigeo’s face in one hand, and pushed his bangs aside with the other. Fingers trailing across his forehead and combing through fine dark hair.

“There you are,” he said tenderly. 

And the world burst into bloom. 

“Everything,” he stresses in Reigen’s warm living room, staring into his cocoa where he set it down on the table as though it holds all the answers. “We had really done a number on the area, and all of the grass came shooting back up -- whole saplings, new green bark on the trees we had damaged, and wildflowers in every color. Within moments, Master Reigen. And they just kept growing, taller and brighter -- all these blossoms popping open, petals unfurling, it was incredible.”

And he’ll never forget the look in Shigeo’s eyes when he hit the ceiling on that internal counter and those warm, lovely feelings spilled out into his expression and the atmosphere. His full cheeks dusted pink, eyes crinkled from the force of his affectionate smile, one hand coming up to cover the fingers curled around his cheek. He’ll never forget it, never. 

He puts his face in his hands, thoroughly miserable.

"And you panicked,” Reigen supplies, totally without inflection. 

“I panicked,” Teruki reaffirms, muffled. “I -- teleported. Miles. By accident. I’ve never done anything like that before, I didn’t even know I could. It took me nearly two hours to get back to town. My phone and my wallet were both in my bag so I had to walk the whole way here, and I still feel a little sick from that massive jump.”

“You still feel sick?” And that’s the way he sounds when he’s trying not to sound concerned, that neutral air he had adopted that made this conversation even possible for Teruki to stomach disintegrating in favor of a furrowed brow and a frown -- but Teruki hasn’t even gotten to the worst part yet.

“So if Shigeo tried to call me, there’s no way I could have answered him. He showed me something amazing, and I just disappeared. And now he probably thinks I’m avoiding him on purpose. What he did was so -- and I -- and now he probably hates me.”

Serizawa sits next to Reigen on the sofa at that point, and Teruki notices fresh mugs of hot tea where lukewarm cocoa had been. He lifts his eyes and manages a pale smile, a thanks for the effort the shy man had made, and leans over to pick up the cup carefully. 

Reigen’s thanks is an absent touch to the back of Serizawa’s hand, a move he doesn’t need to look to make, and the tight, tense lines of Serizawa’s nervous shoulders relax. 

“Are we talking about the same kid?” Reigen says. “Because Mob doesn’t hate easily. One of his closest friends is an evil spirit. And I’m sure you remember how you met him.”

It’s not often that words fail him, but in this case Teruki can’t think of a thing to say. Of course he remembers. 

The day he met Shigeo feels like a memory from another life, years ago and far removed, because the person he was back then is practically another species. He looks down at his hands, unable to imagine touching Shigeo now with the intention of hurting him in even the smallest way. He can’t imagine doing anything to him that isn’t soft or sweet or kind, cupping his face and combing fingers through his hair, tilting their foreheads together on a stormy night, holding his hand on a long walk home, coming up with half a dozen ways to make him smile while he puzzles over his homework -- 

“He doesn’t hate me,” Teruki says quietly, digging nervous fingers into the knees of his grass-stained pants. “That was a stupid thing to say.”

“Glad you agree.” Reigen probably has better things to do with his evening than deal with Teruki, would be well within his rights to push him out the door, but instead he leans forward, resting his weight on his elbows where they’re propped up on his thighs and giving Teruki even more of his precious advice and undivided attention. “It all boils down to you, being afraid to take a chance. You don’t want to get this thing wrong, ‘cause it’s important to you. You don’t want to ruin it. I get that. But that’s everybody, kiddo. Everybody’s scared.” He lifts a brow, something not quite a smirk quirking his mouth up on one side. “The only difference between you and everybody is that you have it easy.”

“That’s what Shou said,” Teruki says, realization dawning. “Everyone -- everyone does know already, don’t they?”

“You’ve been fairly obvious with your affections, Teru. Anyone with a functional pair of eyes would have cottoned on sooner or later.”

Reigen snatches up his mug to take an impulsive gulp of tea that’s much too hot, but Serizawa’s hand drifts over before he has the chance to scald himself; covering the rim of the cup with the flats of his fingers and cooling the drink with a faint twist of energy.

And Reigen looks down at the mug for a few seconds, and then his eyes move slowly over to Serizawa, calculative without being cold. Like there’s a bright light going on upstairs. 

The moment stretches. Teruki and Serizawa both jump when Reigen abruptly claps his free hand on his knee with a loud exhalation, the weight of the conversation disintegrating into something that’s easier to breathe through. 

“So,” he says matter-of-factly, “now you have to decide if what you’re doing is dodging a bullet, or missing one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities to have something better than you deserve.” His ticks out a finger importantly, jabbing it in Teruki’s direction. “And I think you know which one this is.”

“Yes,” Teruki replies, sotto voce. “I think I do, too.” 

Chapter Text

Teruki's bag is waiting for him outside his front door when he gets home, a small bundle of fresh wildflowers nestled carefully on top -- and as he comes closer, he can feel the powerful impression of Shigeo’s affection as clearly as if Shigeo is standing right next to him, wrapping the sentiment around his shoulders like a borrowed coat.

“Oh,” he whispers for absolutely no one to hear, handling the flowers as carefully as spun glass; breathless with a feeling too heavy for him to hold on his own, and too precious for him to put down. “He’s always two steps ahead of me.”

It’s more of a comfort than anything else, and Teruki crouches right there in the outer hall even though his muscles ache and even his eyes are sore, digging his phone out of his bag to send Shigeo a text that says Thank you. 

And then, before he can rethink it, because Shigeo deserves better than a second-rate coward, Teruki sends another text right after the first that says Can I see you tomorrow?

The flowers go in a glass of water by the window, his dirty clothes in the hamper – and Teruki should shower, at the very least wash his face or do something with his hair, but he's too tired to do more than climb into a pair of pajamas and fall into bed. His body is exhausted and his head hurts. There's an unnatural heat curling under his skin that probably should worry him, and a jittery feeling keeping him on the wrong side of consciousness, keeping his fingers curled around his phone.

It’s almost ten o’clock on a school night, but the reply he's waiting for comes after a few minutes: 

Yes.

Teruki rolls over, pinning the phone to his chest in the cradle of his hands, and laughs breathlessly. He'll make things right – he will. He can't make a whole field of flowers bloom for Shigeo, but he can make a gesture of his own, one just as beautiful, he knows he can. It'll be the most romantic thing in the world, because anything less than that wouldn't be enough to convey even a fraction of these impossible feelings.

He falls asleep riding the backs of bright and brilliant ideas, and sleeps straight through his alarm in the morning.

“-- knew something was wrong. He’s very sick. What should I do?”

A hand on his forehead peels him slowly out of a dreamless sleep. Muted sunlight spills through the curtains at the window, and his eyes are hard to force open. Sweaty fringe sticks to his face, and the world tips and sways drunkenly when he tries to lift his head. 

“Shigeo?” he says stupidly, even though he knows better. It's a school day, isn’t it? And then his stomach gives a nasty lurch, and in the second it takes to bend over the side of the bed a wastebasket has seemingly materialized in front of him. 

Fingers comb damp hair back from his face, unfailingly gentle, cool against his flushed skin. Teruki leans into them, eyes half-lidded, and wonders what time it is.

“-- said no, I’m staying here. I’m not leaving him, shishou.”

There’s only one ‘shishou’ that Teruki knows, and he lifts his head so fast that he blacks out for a second or two. 

“Master Reigen?” Teruki asks. It comes out in a jumble, like word salad. He doesn’t let that discourage him. “Tell him -- ask him -- I need Shigeo. I’m supposed to see Shigeo today, I said I’d -- “

“That doesn’t matter,” the voice says, and it’s pointed towards him this time, a little closer, a little softer. The wastebasket is lifted away from him, and a second gentle hand joins the first, easing him back down into bed. Teruki clings to consciousness stubbornly. “Just go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when the medicine arrives.”

What? No, no -- 

“It does matter,” he contests hotly, and his vision is swimming but he thinks he can just vaguely make out a pale face floating close by. He glares at it. “Of course it does, what -- what else matters? I have to see him. I’ll go find him on my own if you won’t help me.”

“Of course you will,” the voice says, and a hand settles on his forehead, heavy with something purple-and-blue, something familiar that sends thoughts of sleep swirling through all his waking ones. Teruki’s traitorous eyes droop the rest of the way closed almost immediately. “Rest first, Teru. Shigeo can wait.”

But that isn’t fair, because Shigeo has waited already. He’s been waiting all this time and now he’ll have to wait even longer, and sooner or later he’ll get tired of waiting, won’t he? 

Teruki’s whole body hurts, but there’s a weight on his heart that hurts more. He's too used to companionship to lose it now. His apartment feels lonely when it’s empty, and he’s glad he has people to miss when they’re not around, and Shigeo ruined him for being alone anymore. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

“You won’t be,” the voice says, impossibly. It’s the last thing Teruki is aware of before he gives in to sleep. “Not ever.”

The next time Teruki wakes up, he’s not in his apartment. The unfamiliar bed is warm, the smell of detergent clinging to worn-soft sheets, and Teruki feels groggy and wrung-out and impossibly weighted as he forces himself upright. 

Almost immediately, a broad hand settles against his forehead. 

“Finally,” Reigen says, leaning back into the chair drawn up beside the bed. His expression gives nothing away, but his appearance is a little more rumpled than usual. “Your fever broke a few hours ago, but you’ve been sleeping like the dead since we brought you here."

Reigen’s apartment? “When was that?” he asks hoarsely, trying to keep up. 

“Yesterday. The morning after you left here in the first place. If you were this sick, you should have said something then, instead of taking off on your own.” The psychic’s tone is somehow both mild and stern. “What is it with you espers, anyway? Will you break out in hives from asking for help?”

It was the jump, Teruki realizes belatedly, in the functional part his mind. Even with as much as he’s used to teleporting in small increments, the human body isn’t designed to fold through space the way his did; especially not in such a big way, and especially not when his physical and mental stores were already wrung dry after an afternoon of rigorous sparring.

Qi depletion, probably. Hopefully nothing worse. He relays as much to Reigen, watching anxiously as the man drags a hand down his face with a ragged sigh.

“You kids are going to be the death of me, you know that?”

And Teruki can’t help it. His face crumples, eyes burning -- so frustrated with himself he can’t stand it, for making problems for Reigen, for making Shigeo wait and then never showing up -- and god, if Shigeo didn’t hate him before he does now for sure. 

“Oh, hell,” Reigen is saying, too quickly. “Come on, don’t do that. I didn’t mean it.”

“No, it’s -- I’m sorry,” Teruki mutters, fisting the blankets over his knees tightly in shaking hands. Staring carefully at his hands, forcing back hot tears. “I don’t mean to -- to be such an inconvenience. Especially after everything you’ve already done for me. So thank you for this, but I can -- “

“'Go home now’? Not happening.” Reigen’s eyes are heavy on the side of his face. “Mob would come after us both.”

Teruki’s head snaps up. It doesn’t do wonders for his headache, but he hardly cares, blurting, “Shigeo was here?”

“Up until a little while ago. He’s been all but camped by your side for the last two days.” At that point, Reigen seems to remember the tray canted precariously on the corner of his computer desk, and reaches back to relieve it of a sweating glass of water. Teruki numbly lets the glass be folded into his hands, riveted to Reigen’s every word. “I’m amazed you slept through most of what you did. You really must have been out of it.”

He vaguely remembers the sensation of an aura-heavy hand on his forehead, soothing him to peaceful sleep through fever and full-body aches. He covers his mouth, heat rising in his face.

“He was in my apartment.”

“Yeah, he was.” Reigen sounds some combination of exhausted and amused. “We had to relocate because he almost went next door to pick a fight with your neighbors. They were being “too loud,”” he explains, crooking his fingers in exaggerated air-quotes to Teruki’s mounting disbelief, “and “disturbing your rest.” I barely managed to convince him that ruining your relations with the other tenants in your building wouldn’t be remotely helpful to you in the long-run. And I mean barely.”

Teruki gapes. Shigeo’s capable of being irritable, but to outright confront someone, or try to, over something so petty? That doesn’t sound like him at all. Unless he’s so angry or annoyed that he hit the limit on that internal counter of his, Teruki realizes, with a sinking sense of dread, and there’s been nothing to bring him back down.

“Anyway, Mob was driving me crazy, so I sent him to pick up the schoolwork you’ve missed,” Reigen says, rising to his feet. He winces, pressing the heels of his hands into the small of his back, and Teruki is abruptly, acutely ashamed of his seat in Reigen’s bed. The man waves a hand, as if reading his mind, and adds archly, “When he gets back, he’s your problem.”

How something so innocuous can sound so much like a threat, Teruki has no idea. 

Reigen bullies him into eating a full bowl of soup and finishing a second glass of water and then helps him to the bathroom for a shower. “I can sleep on the couch,” Teruki insists at that point, veering stubbornly toward the sagging sofa in the living room. Reigen looks like he's holding onto the last vestiges of his patience as a flagging Teruki climbs gracelessly onto the worn cushions despite the man telling him “no, don’t, the bed is fine, will you just --”

“This is exactly why I’m not a father,” he gripes under his breath, tucking a pillow under Teruki’s head and drawing a duvet up over his shoulders with unending care. “Goodnight, brat.”

Teruki forgets to be worried, and falls asleep almost immediately. Wondering what he did to deserve all these kind people he has now.

The next time he wakes up, the room is painted red and gold with the sunset that leans through the window. There are muted voices in the kitchen -- Serizawa and Reigen making dinner, if Teruki had to guess -- and a familiar aura very close by. 

“There you are,” Shigeo says softly. It’s better than a bucket of ice water dumped over his head in waking Teruki up right away. He bolts upright, his heart a hot lump in throat, but Shigeo’s eyes are a pretty brown in the warmly lit room, and his expression is open and caring, and none of the itchy agitation Reigen described seems to be present at all. “I hope you’re feeling better. You were very sick.”

"I -- no, I’m fine. More than fine. Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

"I was happy to.”

Something drops a long, leafy tendril on Shigeo’s shoulder, and Teruki follows it up to the hanging plant over their heads. 

The flowers are blooming. 

All of Reigen’s potted plants are flowering, bursting into life larger than their small confines and covering the flat surfaces of the living room and the windowsills in earthy greens. It’s more subtle this time than a whole field springing into sudden growth and color, but it’s still breathtaking to watch. 

“I don’t mean to,” Shigeo says abruptly. Misconstruing Teruki’s silence, apparently. Watching him warily, as though waiting for him to disappear again. “It just -- on its own. And they grow. But I can try to not -- “

“Don’t you dare,” Teruki says, absolutely forbidding. Mostly playful, partly serious, he adds, “It’s the most impressive thing I’ve ever seen you do. Even moreso than the snow.”

“You thought the snow was impressive?”

“Shigeo! Of course!”

“You didn’t say anything,” Shigeo points out -- and he’s smiling now, which is what Teruki was aiming for all along. “I thought maybe you thought it was boring and you were just trying to be nice.”

“No way,” Teruki insists. “I love everything you do.” 

“That’s good,” Shigeo says peacefully, “since most of the things I do seem to be for you.”

And nevermind the fact that he’s in rumpled pajamas, wrapped in a thick blanket, with probably the worst bedhair Seasoning City has ever seen. Nevermind how cinematic he wanted this moment to be, how perfect it was every time he closed his eyes and dared to dream about it. 

Because there’s a familiar tug in his chest, one that has never steered him wrong, pushing him bravely forward -- psychic magnetism, or something close to it, insisting right here, right now.

Teruki reaches out, and catches up both of Shigeo’s hands in both of his own, and blurts, “There’s something I need to tell you. Something -- something important.”

Shigeo smiles at him, full and sweet and slow, and says, “It’s okay, Teru. I know.”

Teruki draws up short, feeling frozen to the spot. Even breathing would be too bold. “You know,” he clarifies cautiously.

“You’ve told me a hundred times already.” Shigeo’s fingers squeeze around his affectionately. “Just not in so many words.”

“Oh,” Teruki whispers helplessly, heart beating a painful tattoo against his breastbone. He can barely see through the haze of heat rising to his face, hands trembling in Shigeo’s calm ones. Their faces are bare inches apart, somehow, and Teruki’s breathing hitches. 

“You can still say it if you want to,” Shigeo offers kindly; but Teruki shakes his head, clinging to Shigeo’s hands, and closes the distance left between their lips with his heart in his throat.

Kissing him is bumpy, a little clumsy, noses getting in the way, teeth knocking. But Teruki is nothing if not a quick study, and Shigeo is nothing if not willing to learn, and Teruki is tugging him up on the couch for a better angle when Reigen’s voice from the kitchen doorway says, “Alright, kids, dinner’s rea -- oh my god.” 

They don’t quite spring apart, but they do lean away from each other to laugh. Dimple is saying something along the lines of “finally, good god, what took you two so long” and Serizawa is hiding a tiny grin behind his hand, and Reigen is ranting: 

“I’m happy for you, but he’s sick, do you want to catch whatever he’s got? Mob? Do you want to bring your brother’s wrath down upon my household? Is that it?”

Already, Shigeo is slipping back under that blanket of careful repression, and it’s something like a cloud passing over the face of the sun. But his eyes are still bright, full mouth still smiling, and Teruki knows where to look to find him again. 

He’s always known, really.