Work Text:
There were still days that Natsume was afraid to leave his room.
When he'd first come to the Fujiwara's, he'd made himself scarce, staying out late (but not so late that it'd gain attention), locking himself in his room, only coming out for dinner. He monitored himself, constantly; his fingers weren't drumming, he wasn't biting his lip, his leg wasn't bouncing, he looked them in the eyes, and he pushed his lips to form words no matter how tired he was.
At school, his grades were perfect, he stayed away from the other kids, and he smiled no matter what he saw or heard. And when he couldn't do that, when the youkai were too loud or too scary, or when he was too tired to maintain eye contact or keep himself from moving, he slept. It wasn't good, and yes, it could jeopardize his position in the house, but it was better than scratching at his arms until they bled (that had gotten him sent away from two homes) or saying something rude (five) or ducking under the table and rocking back and forth, screaming whenever someone touched him (three).
He did his best. He knew it wasn't good enough (it never had been), but he did everything he could, and then gave just a little more. There was a bone-deep exhaustion clinging to him, and a constant desire to hide in the cabinets or at least bury his head in his arms, to block out the incessant chattering and glaring sunlight, but he managed. It was nothing truly new, and the Fujiwara's were too nice to lose.
The town was small and quiet, no cars or crowds for him to get overwhelmed by, and although the youkai were aggressive in these parts, he was closer to his grandmother - to his family - than he'd been since before his father died. And as time went by, he made friends. Others like him.
He had so much more to lose now.
So even as he stretched out beyond the home of the Fujiwara's, even as he established himself as a presence among the youkai, even as Kitamoto and Nishimura taught him how to ride a bike, and Taki and Tanuma invited him for sleepovers, and Natori asked for his help with another exorcism, he stayed in his room when he was at home. He couldn't afford to slip up, not now.
But of course, every mask has its cracks. And slowly, it began to fall apart.
His gaze slipped to the floor while talking to Touko. He chewed on his hand while doing his homework and didn't manage to stop before Shigeru saw. He didn't say a single word during dinner, and only registered the Fujiwara's talk as white noise, and there was no way they hadn't noticed, no way they didn't know how weird he was by now.
He told Touko about the white crow. He blew up his room. He made noise in the middle of the night while returning names. He yelled at nothing and disappeared for hours on end and came back covered in twigs and mud. There was no way they hadn't noticed.
Any other house would've sent him away by now.
But Touko smiled when he mentioned the crow, even though she couldn't see it, and she didn't scold him when he wouldn't look at her. Shigeru helped to sift through the mess in his room, and gave him a special necklace for chewing on when he saw him bite his hand again. When words were just too much to process, they left him alone, having quiet conversation among themselves so that they could fade into the background.
He relaxed, bit by bit. He let his fingers drum and his legs bounce. He looked a bit to the left instead of into everyone's eyes. He let himself fall quiet when he needed to. He bit into his necklace instead of into his hand or lip.
(He didn't tell them about the Book of Friends or about the youkai, but that wasn't because he was scared of them; he was scared for them. He didn't want to worry them.)
But still, he had days where he couldn't leave his room. He had days where the restlessness in his limbs made him panic, days where he had to scramble into his closet and press his hands against his mouth to prevent himself from hyperventilating, when every weird thing he'd done came crashing down on him and he was convinced that this was it, that refusal to eat celery last dinner was going to do him in, freezing in the hallway, biting through his necklace, or maybe -
And Nyanko-sense could climb in his lap, a comforting, stable weight, and he swatted at his hands when he tried to scratch himself, and his fur was soft and nice to bury his head in, breathing deeply, calmly, and counting down from a thousand to distract himself.
He still had those days. He probably always would.
But when they arrived, there'd be a little rice and some fish left in his room, with a sweet little note from Touko and Shigeru next to it, and he'd be okay.