Chapter Text
Kokomi still wasn’t sure how she had the time to do this between school, work, and life, but here she was, rolling out of bed at 5:30 am in order to catch a subway to make it to her appointment.
Kusuo was still sleeping, his sleep mask covering his eyes as normal, so she quietly got ready without disturbing him. You wouldn’t be the perfect wife if you woke him up at the crack of dawn.
Wait. She was supposed to be stopping that kind of thinking. She shook her head, as if to shake the thought away.
Wait. That was a compulsion.
And no, she was supposed to ignore that type of thought; let it sit there without acknowledging it.
A brief sigh escaped her lips as she washed her face. This was sometimes really hard.
Not for the first time, she doubted the legitimacy of all this. She was just…supposed to be perfect. She’d been told so by her parents whenever they were around, and people had always complimented her natural beauty. She glowed, literally.
Ironically, she had started feeling all of these worried thoughts, tendency to overthink, and the occasional intrusive thoughts of self-hatred and doubt when she made actual friends. She had been fine with being, well, haughty, for years, leading people on while keeping them at an arm’s length. Giving them just barely enough table-scraps: a smile, a wave, a ‘good morning,’ while she mocked them internally for being so weak-minded, in order to get what she wanted.
And yes--she briefly squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a pained sigh--for a while, she’d privately thought rather nasty things about the people who were now her closest friends.
She pursed her lips. The things she’d thought about Imu and Chiyo before they became her best friends…In a way, she sort of deserved it. Everything had really crept up on her, everything had started to fall apart, once she’d had a heel realization that she’d been downright awful to people she was now friends with, and figured that she had to work twice as hard to be perfect and beautiful in order make up for the unkind things she’d thought for years. She’d started to do certain things (rituals, in a way), to upkeep her reputation, then as she made actual friends, tried to be even more outwardly nice than before. Going the extra mile. She couldn’t just smile and greet all the guys who gawked and gasped at her, she had to memorize their names, appearances in order to notice even the slightest change, their birthdays, their blood types, college choices, favorite movies, everything. Be the perfect friend, the perfect girl. Go above and beyond to look pretty. She could be nice, sure, but if her looks fell apart, no one would care. No one would care about her personality if she suddenly became unattractive. Maybe there would be times when she internally thought this impossible, you’ll just exhaust yourself, you’ve got an unhealthy obsession with being perfect, you can’t remember everything about everyone, but at that point, she genuinely couldn’t stop. Be perfect. Be good. Be beautiful. Especially with her friends, because what if they were only friends with her because they thought she was perfect and beautiful? That thought terrified her, so she did everything she could to prove it wrong. She couldn’t betray her friends. She had to do all of this, think certain things, don’t think certain things, and make sure she got rid of all negative thoughts she had, especially towards her friends, and fight off said thoughts when they popped back into her head. Do this, make sure that never happens. Was she walking and presenting herself perfectly?
College had made things both better and worse, she thought, slinging her purse on her shoulder as she exited the apartment. In college, more than ever, she thought she really had to be perfect, because eventually, she’d have other people’s lives and health in her hands once she began working, and she had to make a good impression on everyone she met, so they would see that she was more than a delicate, beautiful flower who had to be protected from the sight of blood, who shouldn’t dream of struggling through difficult science and math classes in her journey to become a physical therapist. She was smart, and could work without being handed a degree. What good would that do to her future patients?
But college, especially STEM coursework, was hard. She could pass by with being in the top 20 students at her high school, but things were more important in college. She had experience with staying up late, cramming information into her brain, so college shouldn’t be different, in order to get all the ideal grades in the world…
She boarded the subway, several people smiling, blushing, and gaping at her, though it was early enough in the morning that even her beauty went unnoticed by many a bleary-eyed man or woman heading to work. Good, it was nice to have a break from people flocking to her every once in a while.
In high school, she wouldn’t have been caught dead admitting she needed help for anything, much less her mental health. She smiled sardonically to herself, it had probably been a good thing that Airua had given her a wake-up call.
“Terukoko, I think you have OCD,” Aiura said, her brow furrowed, looking at Kokomi, her manicured fingers clinking as they tapped in rhythm on the crystal ball.
“What?”
“OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.”
Kokomi could admit that Aiura was hardly her favorite person. Since their second year of high school, she had been jealous of Aiura’s close, first-name relationship with Saiki, but near the end of their final year of school, when Aiura had said she’d do readings and fortune telling for anyone who wanted it, Kokomi had let Imu and Chiyo talk her into accompanying them to see their future. The three of them had all signed up for lots in succession, one after the other, with Kokomi going last. Imu and Chiyo had come out from their sessions mostly happy, and Kokomi had gone in somewhat skeptically. She knew what she wanted to study, and knew where she wanted to go to college. Aiura probably couldn’t tell her anything useful, and Kokomi barely knew her, but hoped she would have enough decency to refrain from bringing up anything that would attempt to discourage Kokomi’s crush on Saiki.
She hadn’t suspected Aiura would say that.
Aware she was gaping in a rather ugly fashion, flushing, Kokomi said, “Why--why would you think that?”
“It’s the perfectionism, I think,” Aiura said, and picking up on Kokomi’s negative reaction, her voice turned much more soothing compared to her usual brash, confident tone. “Terukoko, you feel like you have to be perfect, you do all of these, um--” --she glanced at the crystal ball “--compulsions, as you set high standards for yourself, and you never feel satisfied, so you give heed to your OCD by obsessing over perfection, and you keep up these rituals. I think. That’s what your therapist is saying, or something like that. Seems like you might go to therapy to address--”
Kokomi finally found her voice again, and, louder than usual, she exclaimed, “I don’t need therapy, and I don’t have OCD!”
Aiura had stopped drumming on the crystal ball, and was now looking at Kokomi with a definitive worried frown. Kokomi cursed silently for her unwanted, emotional outburst and she drew in slow, steady breaths, reeling in her emotions. “I’m sorry. But I don’t have OCD.”
“Teruhashi-san,” Aiura said, dropping Kokomi’s nickname in favor of her surname. “I’m not trying to--”
“I don’t have OCD,” Kokomi repeated, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Teruhashi-san,” Aiura said, trying again. “You set high expectations for yourself. I’m not a psychologist, but you do realize there’s no shame in--”
Aiura was still talking, but Kokomi wasn’t listening. Her heartbeat was heavy and sluggish, and she shakily exhaled, trying to maintain her balance, suddenly dizzy. She didn’t need it. She had to be fine, right? A role model, perfect, both internally and externally. Maybe she had rituals, but everything was to reach the perfection needed to meet standards and expectations, including her own. Aiura was wrong. She just wanted to mess with Kokomi because they both had feelings for the same guy. That was it. Kokomi was fine. She had to be. OCD didn’t run in her family. She couldn’t accept this.
….yet she thought, in the back of her mind, sometimes, that she did have rituals and habits that she knew were unhealthy and illogical that she hadn’t been able to stop doing. Habits that made her lose sleep, like memorizing everyone’s information and preferences so that she could make them feel happy that she noticed and knew about them. Was that considered a ritual?
“I need to go,” she said, cutting off whatever Aiura had been saying. Not trusting herself to say anything else, she turned and left the other girl behind.
Imu and Chiyo were waiting for her, and she quickly forced a smile. Something must have looked off about her smile, though, because Imu cocked her head, eyebrows furrowed. “Kokomi, are you okay? You look flustered.”
Kokomi pushed down her panic. They could tell? Trying to relax her smile, make it more natural, she said, “I’m okay. But you guys seem happy, did she tell you good things?”
“She did!” Imu said. “I’m really sad that you two are graduating, but she told me that I’m going to make good friends with a transfer student next year! And I’ll be able to keep up with you two, and a lot more guys will notice me next year…”
The younger girl continued rambling, and Kokomi half-listened, still thinking about Aiura. She wasn’t fooling Chiyo, who was still looking at her with concern. Kokomi caught her eye and smiled, inclining her head with amusement at Imu’s excitement.
Kokomi was fine.
Kusuo shifted and yawned as he woke up. He telekinetically pulled his glasses to him and replaced them with his glasses. The sleepy thoughts of his neighbors as they made breakfast drifted into his mind, but his own apartment was silent.
Oh, right. Today was Saturday. Kokomi had her therapy appointment. Which meant he needed his geranium ring. His brother had made another one after Kusuo had thrown his previous one away. His brother’s genius and obsession with his powers did occasionally come in handy, not that he’d let him know that.
He found the ring and started slipping it on before hesitating. Maybe he should wear it closer to when she came back. It didn’t matter how often he wore it, he still got unnerved when he stopped hearing everyone’s thoughts once he put it on. The silence was unnatural. He didn’t need to be startled and skittish right now.
He went to the kitchen to start making breakfast for himself and Kokomi
Thank goodness for Airua.
As predicted, Teruhashi walked into the on-campus grocery store during his morning shift on the dot, at 7:30 am on Wednesday, which was when she did her shopping.
When he’d first seen her during his first shift, he’d thought his usual Good grief, of course she shops right during my shift before sighing and rolling with it. High school had taught him that she and the rest of his friends would always run into him. And asking to be transferred to a later shift was too much of a hassle. He’d just see her during Wednesday morning for the foreseeable future.
As she walked into the building through the sliding doors, she turned towards the shopping baskets and frowned. The rack usually holding them was empty, but he heard her think Oh well, I can just carry my groceries.
Kusuo glared at his coworker, who was restocking the shelves. Kusuo ran the cash register, and Aihara restocked everything, including the shopping baskets for the first part of their shifts, then they switched jobs. He sent a telepathic message of Look at the shopping baskets! to Aihara.
The other man turned to the empty rack, and, realizing his error, stood up to gather more baskets.
Kusuo watched Teruhashi walk around the store, collecting what she needed and frowned. Although smiled and nodded to the other early-morning shoppers, she seemed distracted. She didn’t seem to notice that a bottle of sauce she had grabbed was precariously balanced among the groceries she was holding and in danger of falling. No one needed a mess this early in the morning, so he held the bottle up with his powers.
After a few minutes, she approached Kusuo and smiled as she set down the items on the conveyor belt, “Good morning, Saiki!”
Her smile really wasn’t reaching her eyes. In fact, she looked kind of…upset, he noticed as he scanned her items. She would usually make small talk when he would scan her items, but even as she gave him her card and he swiped it, she remained rather quiet and he paused briefly, holding onto her card before giving it back.
“Saiki? Is something wrong? Did it not accept my card?” she asked.
He let it go, sending a telepathic no, it’s fine to her. She gave a quick smile again and put her card back into her wallet. He’d generally gotten better at letting the thoughts of the person in front of him fade into the white noise of the thoughts of the people around them and avoid zeroing in on a particular person for privacy’s sake, but it wasn’t often that Teruhashi looked outwardly upset about something, and besides, they were one of the only people in the store, so ignoring her entirely was difficult. Curiosity--okay, perhaps a little care--prompted him to tune into Teruhashi’s thoughts.
Oddly enough, they were about Aiura. He knew in high school, Teruhashi had been jealous of Aiura, but he was surprised that she was thinking of her. He wanted to ask Teruhashi why she was thinking about Aiura, but he paused. He didn’t want to freak her out by saying what she was thinking, even if she and everyone in their friend group knew about his powers by now thanks to Aiura convincing him to tell his friends. And he thought an “are you okay?” was a rather useless question, no one ever answered that question honestly. Before he could figure out what to say, Aihara was calling for his attention and Teruhashi was leaving, closing the window of opportunity.
So later, after his shift, he gave Aiura a call.
“Hey, Kusuo!” she said. “What’s up?”
Have you talked with Teruhashi lately?
“Huh?” she said. “Terukoko? No. Why’d you call me just to talk about another girl? Either way, Chiyopipi knows Terukoko better than I do.”
No, I need to talk to you. Teruhashi showed up to where I work, and she seemed upset about something, so I read her thoughts, and she was thinking about you.
“Oh my, are we both competing for her affection?”
Not like that. You two haven’t seen or talked to each other recently, right?
“No, and I don’t think she’d want to, what with her busy class schedule. These STEM students are insane.”
Why would she be upset and thinking about you?
“Hmm…” Aiura rusted something on the other end of the phone. “Maybe she’s still hung up on what I told her before we graduated.”
What did you say?
“That she has OCD, and she’d go to therapy for it.”
Well, he wasn’t expecting her to say that.
OCD?
“Yeah. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.”
I didn’t know she had that.
“Well, as far as I can tell, she’s in denial about it. She got very upset when I told her about it.”
Admittedly, Kusuo didn’t know much about OCD beyond how the media portrayed it: wanting everything organized and enjoying cleaning, with some excessive hand washing thrown in, but he doubted the accuracy of what the media portrayed it to be.
Why do you think she has it?
“I wasn’t really sure, I just told her what was in her possible future, and said what her therapist would tell her, which had something to do with perfectionism, and something about giving power to her doubts. I’m not a psychologist, but out of curiosity, I researched OCD a bit. I can dig up those articles from my search history and text them to you if you’re curious.”
He was. And he wasn’t expecting Aiura to mention anything about a mental illness. Swallowing his pride, he telepathically asked, Should I…do something? She…she clearly wasn’t happy.
Wow, he wasn’t used to being vulnerable like this/openly caring about someone, but she seemed to be genuinely struggling with something serious.
There was silence, until Aiura said, “No offense, Kusuo, but I think you might be the last person she’d be honest with about her struggles. Since she’s got a thing for you, and because she wants to look good in front of you, she’ll just insist she’s fine if you ask her. You aren’t the right person for this. Chiyo would be much better at helping her. Your powers wouldn’t really help in this situation, either.”
Ouch, that was a bit of a blow to his pride. He was a psychic. He could solve most problems easily with his powers. He could teleport, read minds, create illusions, turn back time, generate heat, survive in space, and communicate with animals.
But this? A mental problem? He had no idea how to fix that. That didn’t really seem like something you could reverse time on. Mental illnesses weren’t like physical illnesses or injuries, where he could hypothetically reverse the body of the injured person back a day before they received the injury. They were obviously a lot more complicated.
As if reading his thoughts, Aiura said, “Kusuo, it’s okay. You aren’t a god. You can’t fix everything. Let Chiyo handle this, okay? And you know more than anyone that Teruhashi’s strong and determined. She’ll be okay. And I’ll send those articles. Just give me a sec.”
He spent the next few hours reading about the disorder, branching off what Aiura had sent him. The different types of OCD; the effects.
And started to feel unnerved as he realized Teruhashi had habits fitting uncannily well with Just Right OCD, Pure OCD, and moral scrupulosity OCD.
He exhaled shakily and rubbed his temples. He wasn’t going to deny it. He was worried. He’d noticed her toxic perfectionist traits, sure, but hadn’t connected them to anything else. It would seem like this started, in a way, when she opened up to more people…he still remembered how he had carried her to the nurse’s office after she’d fainted after overworking herself studying all of those guys’ birthdays, blood types, and interests, obsessed with being perfect and everything, shoving herself to extremes. He’d heard that after she woke up from fainting, she’d bolted upwards and started frantically shouting and reciting off information about their classmates. That wasn’t normal.
He wanted to talk to his mom. She’d know what to do.
Kokomi scrolled through her social media feed as she rode the subway, looking at pictures Chiyo had posted from her family vacation. Kokomi sighed a bit longingly. She was cheerfully ghosting her biological family, and even if she wanted to hang out with her real family, Kusuo’s parents, she had far too little time and money to vacation with them.
But Chiyo…she was probably the first true, real friend Kokomi had, who wasn’t there for clout or ulterior motives, and Chiyo was the person who’d comforted and encouraged Kokomi the day everything had fallen apart.
As she walked to lecture hall, Kokomi stifled a yawn. She was exhausted. Last night, she’d had thoughts that had really kept her up as she dwelled on them. She hated all of these thoughts, full of doubts, nasty things about people she cared about, thoughts making her question if she actually cared about them, if she’d really changed at all, scenarios she didn’t want where she told her friends what she used to think about them. She hated these thoughts, but no matter what she did, they just wouldn’t leave. And she’d spent an abnormal amount of time getting ready that morning. Dress this way. No. Need to look perfect. Not like that. Everything looked wrong. Redo. Fix it.
In high school, she was used to making people’s days bright by just smiling at and greeting them. Here in college, these people could shape her future. She had to be perfect. Act perfectly. Perfect everything.
“Morning, Tanaka-san!” she said, smiling at a student as she sat next to him for lecture. “How’s your application to the neuroscience program going?”
He gave her an odd look. “I’m pre-nursing, and I don’t apply until next winter.”
Oh.
Oh, no.
She had gotten something, a simple, easy fact, blatantly wrong.
She felt her face warm up and felt her body freeze into place. She stammered out an apology. Tanaka handwaved her apology before returning to his phone. “It’s not a problem.”
It was.
Failurefailurefailure everything’s done for, you lost, her mind screamed.
She vigorously shook her head, a habit she’d obtained when she had unwanted thoughts.
No, it was just a small mix up, just a small mixup. It's okay, I’ll just try harder.
Small? Until word gets out.
Shut up!
“Teruhashi?”
The color drained from her face.
Tanaka had noticed her head-shaking.
“Are you okay?”
She was going to say, “I’m fine,” but what came out of her mouth was more of a hoarse, strangled gasp.
She gave as much of a smile as possible and grabbed her belongings, cramming them into her backpack, not hearing anything but a buzzing in her ears as she left the lecture hall and headed outside.
Chiyo. She had to call Chiyo. She prayed she wasn’t in work or class now. Her hands trembling, she dialed her friend’s number.
Chiyo picked up. “Hey, Kokomi. You okay? What’s up?”
Kokomi usually didn’t genuinely need help with a serious issue. Sure, in high school, she could sweet-talk guys into doing stuff for her, but she never asked people to help her amidst a legitimate, catastrophic issue. She could take care of herself. She’d been lucky most of her life.
But not now.
“Chiyo--” Kokomi choked, sobs building up in her throat as she more or less collapsed against a tree. “I can’t do this. I need help. Everything’s out of control, and I--I--”
Her friend’s voice, spiked with fear, cut into her ear. “Kokomi? Where are you? Are you okay? What’s happening?”
Shaking, Kokomi leaned against the tree, her free hand grabbing fistfulls of her hair. “Everything--everything’s going wrong!” she sobbed, her voice overwhelmed with emotions. “I’m so sorry, Chiyo, you might hate me for saying this, but ever since high school, I feel like everything’s been falling apart. I can’t keep up with anything! I’m trying to control everything in my life, but I can’t, and even in the morning, I never look right, and I spend forever trying to fix my appearance, but more and more, it’s never right, and I just forgot the major of one of my classmates, and everything’s falling apart and sometimes I have thoughts I don’t want, sometimes about moral stuff, sometimes nasty things about my friends, and I question if people really actually, genuinely care about me or if people just hang around me because they think I’m pretty, and I try to get of these thoughts but sometimes I can’t and I know obsessing over perfection and everything is bad but I can’t control these thoughts, and I can’t stop these--these perfection rituals, they all come back and I--I--I’m not perfect, but I’m supposed to, but everything is falling apart, but I can’t control it!”
She was openly sobbing, not even hiding it. She couldn’t, these emotions had been festering, in a way, under the surface for years. And they were spilling out now, a torrent free from the dam holding them back. She was doubled over, hyperventilating, and shaking. She could barely hold her phone. She vaguely heard a couple people were asking if she was okay. She needed to smile and say “of course I’m fine, how are you?” and set aside her own problems but this time she couldn’t. She just wanted to scream. She wanted to scream away all of her anguish, but she couldn’t now. Her foggy thoughts still put together thoughts of you have to get away before your reputation is ruined, and so she stood up, stumbling away, and collapsed against a wall, falling behind a bush, somewhat hiding behind it.
Chiyo was silent. She hates me, you’ve freaked her out--
No, she’s your best friend--
Her ruminations were cut off as Chiyo’s voice, not entirely stable itself, said “K-Kokomi? Where are you?”
Her voice was ragged and broken, but, weakly, she told her.
“Stay on the phone with me, Kokomi. I’ll be right there.”
“Do--do you have class soon? I’m sorry, I--I just wanted to tell you quickly, but--”
“Kokomi, for once, don’t try to be perfect by putting yourself aside. I’m worried about what you’ll do if you’re left alone. Don’t worry about me. I’m coming to get you.”
Kokomi suddenly remembered what Aiura had said those years ago and laughed hollowly. “Guess Aiura was right.”
“What? Oh, yes, that--Saiki talked to her about that, he was worried. She told me, but--” --Chiyo cursed under her breath. “I didn’t think it was this bad. I thought she, or you, could figure things out. Ugh, I’m so stupid. I’m so, so sorry Kokomi.”
Normally, the mention of Saiki would make her heart and/or stomach flutter, but now, she just felt another wave of dread and sickness. Sure, Saiki could read minds, but was she that obviously troubled?
“Hey, I think I see you…hey, leave her alone!”
Kokomi glanced up from staring at the dirt. She’d been too busy wallowing in self-hatred and self-pity behind her bush to notice that a crowd was beginning to form around her. Class must’ve just gotten out, and people were starting to fire questions at her now that she was looking up at the crowd.
“Go away!” Chiyo said, shoving her way through the students; Kokomi didn’t think she’d ever seen her friend sound so indignant before. “She’s not an exhibit!”
“Does she need help?” one boy asked. “I can take her to--”
“What she needs,” Chiyo said icily, “Is the help of someone who knows her, loves her, and doesn’t just want to score a date with her. Screw off.”
“Hey,” the boy said. “I just wanna--”
“Screw. Off.” Chiyo spat. “Or I’ll call campus police.”
Muttering a few choice words about Chiyo under his breath, the boy backed off, and once the rest of the grumbling crowd had dispersed, Chiyo sat next to her and hugged her, letting Kokomi rest her head on Chiyo’s shoulder, humiliation overwhelming her as Kokomi’s tears stained Chiyo’s sleeve. This day wasn’t supposed to go like this.
“I think you need help, Kokomi,” Chiyo whispered, holding her friend. “And I’ll be here to help you.”
Kokomi walked into the office, tightly gripping her purse. She’d been here before. It would all be okay.
She exhaled and smiled. A lot of people loved her. The true her. One not obsessed all the time with perfection.
Kusuo glanced at the microwave clock. She’d be back soon.
Grimacing, he slipped on the geranium ring, and the world went silent. No more white noise of everyone in the building thinking.
It was fine, he thought. Uncomfortable, but he’d survive. Kokomi deserved privacy after therapy. He didn’t want to risk reading her mind, so he’d vowed to keep the ring on for the rest of the day when she had therapy.
It was worth it if she was getting help. Only him, Yumehara, Aiura, and his mother knew, but they were all happy for her. He talked to Yumehara once, who said that she was nervous about anyone finding out, out of fear they’d judge her. The people who had entirely unrealistic, idealized versions of her in their heads probably would. But who cared about their opinions? (He rather liked that, whenever the two of them went out in public, he got to call her his wife and glare at anyone who tried hitting on her. They didn’t know anything about her, and didn’t deserve her, or anyone’s, attention.) But either way, he wasn’t going to say anything to her about opening up to the rest of their friend group. That was her decision to make, who she did and didn’t want to tell.
He was almost a bit offended that she’d thought/was afraid he’d be one of those guys who’d grow disgusted with her once she told him she was on medication and considering therapy. They had been eating dinner together (she had just finished a molecular biology exam and he’d sensed that she’d been exhausted, her brain fried, so deciding to make his mom proud and because, by then, he was sometimes seeking her out he offered to buy her dinner with the dining credit money he got from working in the campus’ grocery store so she didn’t have to spend energy cooking at home), and halfway through the conversation, she suddenly decided to tell him. They were in their campus’ food court and, even with dozens of other people’s thoughts surrounding them, he could tell that she was scared, her thoughts running loudly and rapidly through her head. She had stumbled out her confession and stared anxiously at him, trying to gauge his reaction.
And in that situation, he thought it best to react with apathy. Okay. I’m glad you told me. A mild reaction. And it had done wonders for her to see him react casually, not dramatically, without asking intrusive, prying questions. And it had done wonders.
The apartment door suddenly slammed open, and Kokomi cheerfully said, “Good morning!”
He cursed and jumped about a foot in the air, almost exploding the milk carton in front of him. Stop doing that! You’re too drunk on power when I wear the ring! My brother is rubbing off on you!
“Sorry,” she smiled sweetly, hanging up her purse and jacket next to the door. “But I have to have little victories. It’s just not fair when you can read my thoughts and hear my coming from when I walk into the lobby.”
But it’s not fair when I’m weakened. I made you breakfast, but if you do that again, I’ll blow up the sink and make you clean it up.
She sat on their couch, looking somewhat apologetic. “I will try to refrain from getting caught up in my ability to scare you once a week. What’s for breakfast?”
Eggs. Here. He telepathically moved the plate of food over to her.
“Ah, thanks.”
As he joined her on the couch, she leaned against him. “Turn on something.”
What do you wanna watch?
“I dunno….what do Mom and Dad watch?”
He shuddered. The worst, most sappiest shows you’ve ever seen. They’ve grown really attached to those Latin American telenovelas.
“Sappy shows, huh?” she said, smiling slyly.
Don’t even think about it.
She snatched the remote from the coffee table. “Y’know, Chiyo was telling me about this excellent rom-com she’s watching, it’s super soap-opera-y--”
Don’t you dare--
She started eating her eggs, and, taking advantage of her split focus, Kusuo used his powers to snatch the remote back. He was about to remark “my parents’ account, my choice,” but bit back that retort. His parents, especially his mother, had more or less adopted her. They cared more about her than her biological family.
“I’m tired,” she admitted, lying down on his lap. “Let’s watch something mindless. How about a bad documentary? A cheesy B-movie?”
You want to lose brain cells?
“Well, just something to laugh at…besides, you’ve seen everything documentaries have to offer in real life. You could call them out. Experts like to call out nonsense, right?”
It would be very frustrating to see idiots proclaim false or misleading information as facts without being able to do anything to undo their production.
“Well, still something to watch.”
Hang on, let me try to find that supid Megalodon movie. That’s mindless. Besides, I have to make do with bad B-movies that no one wants to discuss so everyone’s thoughts don’t spoil the movie. At least The Meg wasn’t trying to pass itself as factual, unlike those stupid Megaladon and mermaid documentaries Discovery Channel made. Kaidou was obsessed with those for the longest time.
As he searched Hulu, his wife quietly said, “Thanks for…thanks for supporting me. Not judging me. For all this.”
He didn’t need his mind-reading abilities to know what she was talking about.
Of course.
She sniffed and cleared her throat as she wiped her eyes. “You, everyone, mean everything to me.”
He smiled. She’d progressed so much.
Glad I could help.