Work Text:
Hanazawa Teruki stands outside for far too long before he finally manages to bring a shaky hand to the beige-colored door in front of him and knock. In his opposite hand, he strangles the stems of a bouquet of flowers he’d custom ordered months in advance for this exact occasion. He’s too nervous to let his hand rest when he lowers it, so instead he begins to run his fingers over the outfit he’d quadruple-checked, making sure not a single thread is out of place. All the while his blue eyes bore intensely into the simple silver nameplate on the door which reads ‘Kageyama.’
Kageyama. The very sight of the man’s surname is enough to send Teru into a conniption. His cheeks burn bright red at the memory of a dark-haired boy in a simple white t-shirt and bright red shorts. Not a single detail is fuzzy, even after twelve years. That was the day Teruki’s life had changed forever, after all. That boy and his deep eyes, the straight cut of his bangs over his forehead, the deep violet of his aura—they might as well be tattooed behind Teru’s eyelids, for how vivid they are even now.
Absently, Teru wonders how much Kageyama Shigeo has changed since that fateful day. He’s had a lot of time to grow in the past twelve years, and he’s sure Kageyama’s had the same. He already knows that someone as incredible as Kageyama is undoubtedly up to something far more fantastical than he could ever dream of.
Teru wonders if Kageyama is taller than him, or if he’s put on any muscle. The first and last time they’d spoken, Teru had learned that Kageyama was a member of a workout club of some sort. The idea that Kageyama might have stuck with his training, that some tall, muscular hunk might open the door and fix his thoughtful, dark eyes upon Teru makes his heart do flips.
But when the door finally swings open after what feels like an eternity of waiting, it’s not Kageyama who answers. It’s a tall, slender-bodied man in a perfectly ironed white button-up tucked into a pair of crisp black slacks. He’s got Kageyama’s dark hair and eyes, but his features are sharper, more angular, and his hair is far more erratic than Teru remembers Kageyama's being.
“Er,” Teru says, floundering under the rather harsh stare of the man in front of him, “does Kageyama Shigeo live here?” He asks, and feels silly— of course Kageyama lives here. His aura permeates the area, sticking to the walls of the apartment complex’s hallway and pouring out of the open door in waves.
“Aren’t you Hanazawa Teruki? The fashion designer?” The man says instead of answering. He looks Teru up and down, taking in the nauseating patterns of his brightly colored suit with a small, perplexed frown.
Teru shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then back again. He’s never been so nervous in his entire life. He forces what he hopes is a confident, charming smile onto his face and says, “yes, that’s me. Are you a fan of my work?”
“No.” The man deadpans. His frown deepens, as if he’s disgusted by the very idea that he might be fond of Teru’s designs. “Do you know my brother somehow?”
Teru’s eyes blow wide with excitement. “Shigeo is your brother?” He asks eagerly.
The man glares even harder at him, if it were possible. “Yes, I’m Ritsu Kageyama.” He introduces himself in a rather condescending tone, as if his identity should have been obvious to Teru from the start. “But considering that my brother has never mentioned you before, I don’t think you’re familiar enough with him to call him by his given name.”
Teru deflates, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I suppose you’re right,” he concedes. “In any case, I’m here to see him. Is he at home?”
“ Shige is at work right now,” Ritsu tells him, drawing out his brother’s nickname as if to shove the familiarity of it into Teru’s face. “He doesn’t come home for a few more hours, and I have a meeting to get to, so I guess you’ll just have to go—”
“Ah,” a small voice interrupts, and Teru’s head whips in its direction at the same time as Ritsu’s.
There, at the end of the hallway, stands a vision of radiance unlike anything Teru has ever seen ( it’s him, it’s him—! ). His heart jumps into his throat and his face blooms a rosy red as Kageyama Shigeo, clad in a white t-shirt, khakis, and a frilly, pink, paint-stained apron ( !!!! ) makes his way down the hall and stops two feet short of Teru, whose brain has officially short-circuited. Kageyama’s aura blankets Teru and his knees go weak, resisting the urge to swoon.
“Nii-san, you took your apron home with you again,” says Ritsu.
Shigeo’s eyes, blown wide, go from Teru’s face to his chest. “Ah,” he repeats, “I guess that’s why that lady was staring at me on the train…”
“Well, at least it gives us the chance to run it through the wash,” Ritsu suggests casually, as if Teru isn’t standing there at all.
Shigeo nods in response and looks back up, eyes flickering from his brother to Teru. He meets the man’s eyes and his own go wide again, as if he’d forgotten Teru was there. There’s a long pause while Teru admires Shigeo’s adorable nervous expression, Shigeo flounders for something to say, and Ritsu stares at the two, trying to understand what’s going on without letting on that he’s out of the loop.
“H-Hanazawa-kun,” Shigeo finally stutters, and his voice is soft and plain in the way Teru remembers it being, albeit a bit deeper. He’s half compelled to faint at the sound of it, as lovely as it is.
Ritsu’s jaw drops and he looks like he’s about to interject, so Teru takes a step closer to Shigeo and holds the bouquet out to him. “Kageyama,” he says fondly, trying to sound suave and cool despite his racing heart, “it’s so good to see you again.”
Shigeo looks down to the flowers, then to Teru’s face, then over to Ritsu—he flushes red when he catches his brother’s expression, and turns his gaze firmly back to the flowers—before he finally reaches out and accepts the bouquet. Shigeo’s gentle fingers brush against Teru’s as he does so, and Teru nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels the jolt of electricity that accompanies Kageyama’s touch.
“You too,” Shigeo replies, looking down at the flowers with a pained frown. “I… didn’t expect to see you again.”
The words are like a punch to the gut. Teru’s heart sinks, and all he’s capable of saying in response is a soft, defeated, “oh.”
Shigeo still isn’t looking at him. “After what I did to you, I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again. I’m still sorry for that.”
Teru blinks. What he did? He thinks back to their first meeting, the brutal fight he’d forced Kageyama to endure before the boy had finally snapped and shown Teru a new way of life. He feels no resentment, only guilt and shame at the memory of his actions and thoughts. He should be the one apologizing, not Shigeo.
“Kageyama,” Teru starts, baffled, “you have nothing to apologize for. I came here to apologize to you for what I did, and to…” He hesitates, his eyes flickering over to their one-man audience.
Taking that as his cue to jump in, Ritsu demands, “what did you do to my brother?” He looks as if he's plotting Teru's murder in his head.
Shigeo answers before Teru can, to both his and Ritsu’s surprise. “Hanazawa-kun and I got into a fight in middle school,” he says. “You remember the incident at Black Vinegar?”
“That was because of you ?!” Ritsu snarls, his aura flaring out around him as he turns the full force of his anger upon Teru.
“It was a long time ago,” Shigeo says dismissively, and gives Teru a small, impossibly endearing smile. “I like your suit, Hanazawa-kun.”
“You do ?!” Cries Ritsu, baffled and outraged. Meanwhile, Teru’s soul leaves his body and ascends to a higher plane of existence as he relishes in Kageyama’s compliment.
“Thank you,” Teru manages to respond without stuttering. “I like your apron.”
“I teach kindergarten,” Shigeo says by way of explanation.
Teru’s jaw nearly hits the floor. The idea of Shigeo bent over the desk of a round-faced student, smiling that small, encouraging smile of his as he gently guides them through a lesson nearly makes him collapse. It’s just as Teru suspected—his fantasies of what Kageyama might be like as an adult are nothing compared to the glorious reality.
“Ritsu is a professor of classic literature,” Shigeo offers, mistaking Teru’s silence for a request for more information.
“That’s wonderful,” Teru manages to choke out, still overwhelmed by the idea of Kageyama as a kindergarten teacher. It’s the most wholesome image he’s ever had the privilege of conjuring up, and he’s already devising a plan to catch Shigeo at work in order to bear witness to the ethereal sight.
“Well, I think we’ve stood in the hall for long enough,” Ritsu says. “I already made tea.”
“Thank you, Ritsu,” Shigeo says, smiling gratefully at his younger brother before turning back to Hanazawa. “Would you like to come inside? I’ll be making dinner soon.”
More time spent with Kageyama, and the treat of a home cooked meal by him? Teru is pretty sure he’s dreaming, but he doesn’t dare pinch himself. Instead he nods eagerly and begins thanking Shigeo profusely as he’s ushered into the brothers’ apartment. Ritsu eyes him suspiciously the entire time, but Teru is too busy nearly stepping on Shigeo’s heels in his haste to follow the man to notice.
While Ritsu goes to pour the tea, Shigeo asks for Teru’s coat and goes as far as to help him out of it. Teru melts with every light touch, smile becoming more wobbly by the second. He’s led to the Kageyama brothers’ modest kitchen table, where Shigeo pulls his chair out for him. Seated across from Shigeo twelve years after their first fateful meaning, Teru can’t help but think that the man has changed his life for the better once again.