Archive of Our Own ^beta

Teru didn’t know what was wrong with him. He’d thought maybe he was through with this. These flashes of rage, this irritability, this neediness. He’d thought he was over it.

But now Shigeo wasn’t texting him back- such a silly little thing, wasn’t it?- and Teru was crying with the amount of rage he felt. The amount of sadness. There it was, both of them, bundling together to create this burning feeling in his chest. His heart was beating too loud, he was breathing too fast, he was tapping at his leg- no, he was slamming his fist into his leg, over and over and over. It hurt- ow, ow, ow, he thought, focusing on the pain. Ow, ow, ow. 

He couldn’t keep doing this.

Teru took a deep breath and let it go. It was fine. He was thinking irrationally. The fist fell to his side. His other hand let go of his phone, and he watched it fall to the bed, getting lost in his covers. 

It was fine. It was all fine. Shigeo was busy; she usually was. Maybe she was at the gym or hanging out with her other friends. Something in Teru boiled. Other friends? No, no, no. 

If she had other friends, then Teru would be useless. But wasn’t he better than all of them anyway? Shouldn’t she be listening to him, responding to him? Maybe she just didn’t see how great he was. Maybe- maybe- maybe- no.

He should be calming down right now. This thought process- it wasn’t right. It wasn’t ok. It could hurt someone. It could hurt Shigeo. It could ruin their friendship. Nothing about this was right, and he recognized it, and he couldn’t make it stop.

Still, his heart continued to beat, loud and fast. Still, his breaths came in gasps. And, still, he thought about it, winding it over in his head. His ego was an intricately woven thread, and his beliefs were woven by the same. Shouldn’t wool be easy to unravel? Shouldn’t he be able to light it on fire? Why did he still believe he was so great, that he was better than everyone? Of course he wasn’t. He was a terrible, terrible person for believing that, horrible for even thinking it. 

His phone buzzed, and immediately he was searching for it. Teru had just put it down, where-

It was Shigeo. She responded with a “:)!”.

That was all? He’d texted sentences. Told her about his day. Talked about his feelings. And she texted back “:)!”? 

No. No. He wouldn’t get upset. He didn’t even deserve the text, for what he was thinking, let alone Shigeo’s friendship. He wouldn’t get upset.

He tried deep breathing. He tried punching his pillow. He tried punching himself- still, no. Nothing. Teru sat up and sat back down, walked around his room, propelled himself into his bed. But the anger didn’t wane. It felt like weakness. It felt like failure. Failure like getting beaten down again and again. Failure like never being able to control himself, his thinking.

It only made him angrier- this time, at himself. Or, rather, he was already angry at himself- this just elevated it. 

If he had to choose how he’d describe it- and he had so many words, there were so many words for anger- he’d choose seething. Not furious, not enraged- maybe he was enraged at the start, but certainly not now. He just couldn’t hold onto it long enough to talk himself down from the edge, to take his own hand and walk away from what hurt. He barely knew why he was hurting, let alone how to help himself. He should know by now, shouldn’t he? He should, he should, he should. 

But no amount of wishing that he should have been better changed his feelings– this creeping, strangling anger. This overwhelming sadness. 

Teru doesn’t respond- how could he? It was a smiley face and an exclamation point. Besides, he was far too angry to text something back. Instead, he stares at his ceiling, at the fading glow in the dark stars. His room felt tight, tight like a cage, tight like how his old apartment would get when he forgot how to breathe. 

It wasn’t his old apartment, though. It was his room, in his and Reigen’s apartment, and he had to remember that. He would remember that Reigen would be home soon, and they would make dinner, and he would forget about this foolishness. It would be okay. 

The anger gripped at him, made it hard to think, but he just had to keep rejecting it. It was the only way to deal with it. The only way to make things better. 

Being in the grips of it made him feel like he was already hurting Shigeo; who cared if he never expressed it? He knew he was angry. He knew it was for no reason. Couldn’t a logical person stop? Wouldn’t they stop?

Maybe he wasn’t a very logical person. Still. Still, still, still. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t hurting her; it mattered that he had the potential to do it. That he was still winding up, ready to strike. 

Shifting off his bed was easier than expected. Just walk away from the phone- as if he knew where it was, at this point, lost in his covers- and don’t return until he’s better. But his room still felt small. Wouldn’t his downstairs neighbors hear if he was pacing around? Then they would know that he was angry, and they would know something was wrong, and they’d be able to do something. Tell someone. 

Unsteadily, Teru rocks back and forth on his feet, weighing his options. He could get some dishes done? Yeah, maybe… maybe channel this into something better. 

The walls press into him as he shambles out of his bedroom. Taking a deep breath, he presses his hand against them as he walks. Plain grey with an odd, rough texture. Just like always. Normal. 

He’s standing in the threshold of the kitchen- or, the place in the apartment with the stove- when the door unlocks and Reigen steps in, arms full of groceries. Teru watches him cast his eyes around the room, finally landing on Teru before giving him a wary grin. “Mind helping me out here?”

For a second, Teru pauses, something in him flaring. How dare someone speak to him when he was upset and not console him? But Reigen didn’t know, and Teru didn’t want to tell him. He was acting irrationally, feeling irrationally. It didn’t matter as long as it was irrational. 

“Did you get in over your head?” Teru asked, crossing the room to grab the carefully positioned bags on top. He was careful to keep his voice light, joking. Reigen just grins again, following him to the section of the room with the stove. 

“Maybe so,” Reigen says, an ‘oompf’ leaving his mouth as he places the groceries down. Teru watched him, stepping back a little. He didn’t have anything to say- no quips that weren’t incredibly mean-spirited- so he just stood, clenching and unclenching his fists. Reigen didn’t look, and the anger in Teru screamed, drowning out his rational thoughts. You’re alone, he hates you, he’s too busy for you; and Teru turned to leave, tears budding in his eyes.

Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why couldn’t he just be rational? What was wrong with him?

“Not in the mood to help with dinner?” Reigen asked, and Teru took one deep breath. Then another. If he kept this up he was going to explode. 

“Not tonight, sorry.” This time, he was aware his speech had an edge to it. And yet he left, fingertips dragging along the walls back to his room. 

His room felt bigger when he got back. A win, for the situation. Except now it felt too big, big enough to swallow him whole. The aromantic flag on the wall felt far away, the neon colors painted were dull and full of dust. Instead of staring, waiting for his eyes to readjust and for things to become real again, he collapsed on his bed, feeling his phone under him. 

Looking at his phone was a bad idea. He knew it was. And yet, he checked it. Nothing. No one had texted him. Teru felt his grip go white-knuckled, and he closed his eyes, trying not to cry. It was ok. He couldn’t handle anyone texting him right now; it would just make things worse. But the anger- the rage, the fury- it kept growing, growing and growing into something sadder. A heartbreaking isolation. No one could help. No one wanted to help. 

It was irrational, yes; it felt like his whole world was ending. Stars falling from the sky, touching the ocean, waves lapping at their blistering surface, and yes; at least the stars weren’t alone. At least they had the water. Teru had nothing. No one. And he was breaking apart. Over something so small, so, so, so- illogical. Foolish. Childish, if he wanted to push it. Teru curled into a ball, the tears resting in his eyes beginning to fall, to join the saltwater and the stars. 

It felt like forever before Reigen knocked on his door, calling him for dinner. Teru didn’t move, didn’t respond. The tears had long since dried, the anger trickling out as they went, but Teru was in no state to want to do anything. 

“Teru?” Reigen called, knocking again. “Can I come in?”

Words rose in his throat, annoyance and weakness. He wanted Reigen to tell him he was going to be ok; he wanted to be reassured, to have Reigen help him recollect the parts of him that fell onto his bed with his tears. He wanted to scream, to tell him to leave him alone.

“Yeah,” Teru said instead, pushing his eyes closed as if that would stop anything. The embarrassment of being seen this way. The certainty that nothing would change. He would be like this forever, this churning pit of hate, and he would burn and burn until the embers caught onto his bridges, catching fire. Even Reigen wouldn’t understand how his anger festered, flames licking at his elbows. Even Reigen would be hurt. Even Reigen would be pushed away eventually. 

But Reigen couldn’t see his hesitation, his anger, his certainty of a bad end. So Teru kept his eyes closed, listening as the door creaked open, waiting until he felt his mattress sink under Reigen’s weight to open them. 

“So, what’s going on?” Reigen said, his voice soft, heard just above the buzz of the lights. 

Teru didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want Reigen to see how childish he was being. How immature. How irrational. But Reigen didn’t leave, and Teru had to say something. Anything.

“I dunno,” he muttered, glancing at Reigen to see if he believed him. Reigen’s face was twisted in a way that Teru knew meant Reigen was questioning what he just said, and he cursed himself. Should have never let Reigen come inside. Should have just gone to dinner, like a normal person. 

Reigen probably knew he was lying. But he just nodded, staring at one of Teru’s many wall decorations for a second before turning back to Teru.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Teru did. He wanted to complain. He wanted someone, anyone on his side. But the thoughts were irrational; he was acting childish. What right did he get to complain? Reigen was just going to tell him he was wrong, and Teru didn’t want to hear that. Teru wanted, despite all reason, to be in the right. 

And he wasn’t. And he knew that. And it hurt.

“It’s stupid,” Teru said, opting out. Reigen scooted a little closer, frowning. 

“I don’t think things that upset you are stupid,” Reigen said slowly, eyes pinning Teru in place. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on and I’ll decide whether it’s stupid or not?”

No. He didn’t want to explain, didn’t want to, didn’t want to- “No.”

Reigen raised his eyes to the ceiling, mouth set in a straight line. Teru watched as he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk, kiddo.”

Teru wanted help so badly. He wanted to reach out and ask for a hug. He wanted to yell at Reigen and tell him to leave. He wanted someone to understand. Shame stirred in his belly, causing Teru to hide his face again. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Why don’t we have dinner and watch a movie?” Reigen suggested, and Teru felt a hand reach out and pet his back.

He really couldn’t do anything, could he? He couldn’t ask for anything, couldn’t say anything. Nothing without seeming horrible. And as much as Teru knew he was horrible, something hurt in him thinking about others knowing the same thing. 

Teru swallowed his protests and followed Reigen out of the room, leaving his phone behind. 

He didn’t end up talking about it that night, or the next. Or the nights after that. It faded into the background, overshadowed by the same thing happening again and again. The rage didn’t go away. The sadness lingered.

Teru didn’t want to break bridges, but it hurt every time someone left in the middle of a conversation. Every time he saw someone talk about how great their other friends were and didn’t include him. Every day he struggled in school and couldn’t raise his self-esteem higher than his ankles. 

He tired of it quickly. The symptoms didn’t go away. In fact, they got worse.

He always knew he was a bit of an attention-seeker- which, in his defense, he only sought because of his impressive need for attention. Like teenagers to pizza, Teru couldn’t live without it. It felt like a need, just like water, food, and air. Attention. And he was tired of it.

Every time Shigeo left him on read or barely responded to his texts. Every time Reigen had something to do instead of hanging out with him. It ate at Teru, the anger and sadness becoming a part of daily life. His need for attention never went away, never faltered; it became bigger than itself. Teru felt like he was on a leash, fighting to have a life without it interfering. Every time he fought it, it became larger, multiplied over by fives. 

Some days, he didn’t feel like Teru at all. Just a walking machine, searching for some way to fix himself. Searching for attention. Still, he was angry, though when it wasn’t triggered by something else it was at himself. Still, he was sad; he became accustomed to being hurt from the slightest of things, sensitive in a way he never thought he was before.

Recently, he’d realized that he barely felt any other emotion anymore. The two biggest bullies on the playground of his mind, they were, and they’d joined up to make his life hell. Or was he holding hands with them? It’s true, they were a constant, but they weren’t friends with him.

What if they were? What if Teru was just not trying hard enough to be better?

It kept him up at night. Whenever he thought of it he felt a strange mix of nauseous and special- if he was hurting, didn’t that make him special? Different than others? Strange and new?

Did his hurt make him better?

Of course it didn’t, he scolded himself. The best I can do is to get better, he thought, over and over and over again. But his brain never listened. He fell into mindtraps so easily nowadays, traps of, “maybe if I’m hurting I’m special,” of having an unending belief he was better, better, the best. Then, whenever something contradicted those statements- when someone hurt more, when he was shown he wasn’t the best- the bullies came back. 

He just wanted it to stop. Or, did he want it to keep going?

I want it to stop, he told himself. The next day, he praised himself over a bruise he found before catching himself.

Can I ever be fixed?, Teru wondered, and brushed it aside. No. No, I can’t.

He used to care about his lack of emotion, of empathy, but now he found that he couldn’t. Teru already knew he was bad; no good; wasn’t like Shigeo, helplessly kind and selfless. Wasn’t like Reigen, self-centered with a strict set of varying morals. Teru was a wave of terror. Teru hurt people. And Teru didn’t care that he hurt people. He used to, didn’t he? Remembered that the first time he hurt someone, he stayed in bed. Cried. Now, he cared only about the consequences.

His ego was high, and his self-esteem was fluctuating, but Teru knew better than to listen to either of them. It was much easier to tell himself, again and again, that he was a monster. Less than human. Horrible in all the ways people said when they discussed the totally average people, the ones who turned out to be killers. 

But maybe he didn’t want to believe it, because he still maintained his image. His morals. Or, was that what a serial killer would do? Trick everyone around him?

When asked, he couldn’t answer that question. Why was he still trying to be good when he knew he was so despairingly bad?

He knew he was bad. Of course he did! He believed it with all his heart. But, on the other side, another belief raged in him. The one that told him he was more special than the others. The one that told him he was better, inherently, just by virtue of being him. 

Teru would catch himself thinking it. Teru would catch himself feeling it. All his bad reactions, all his horrible feelings- they all boiled down to this one belief, and Teru didn’t know what to do to make it stop. He’d tried cutting at the belief, snipping it into pieces. Tried ignoring it. Tried fixating on it, pointing out every single reason it was wrong. 

No strategy worked, and Teru felt like he was stranded in the woods. Didn’t know how to proceed. And he couldn’t tell anyone about it, because the belief was obviously wrong, and they’d tell him it was wrong, and he’d have to explain- yeah, I know. It’s not going away. And then they’d point and laugh, or get up and run, or do any number of horrible things. 

Then, some days he would actually feel higher- like a higher being, better than all those around him. Felt heightened, awake, bigger and better. His inner protests would fall to nothing on those days, unable to do anything but revel in his high.

But he had other moods too, other ones that were more destructive. That could hurt him more.

Why did all of his inner pain matter if he was a higher being? Why did it matter if he was nothing more than dust? Of course it mattered, because it was him, and he was special, no matter what else he tried to say in response.

The mood had lasted for a few days. The feeling that he was less than everyone, lower than dirt- it persisted, causing him to take breaks to cry in the bathroom and had him laying constantly in his bed, just watching things on MobTube. He couldn’t do anything. If he wasn’t going to be good at it anyway, why did it matter? He felt empty, devoid of feeling, drifting along until the anger came. Like everything was on hold until he felt something again. Nothing felt real enough to matter.

Teru could tell Reigen was worried. He lingered at the door, filled up their dinner with fake chatter, stared at the back of his head as he retreated to his room. On his side, Teru didn’t worry too much about it. Reigen would worry and then Teru would get better- maybe even fall into another high- and there would have been no reason for the worry in the first place. Teru didn’t know how he would get better, but he would. He just had to tough it out, right? 

Finally, Teru woke up from sleep to a knock at his door, blinking as Reigen popped his head in.

“I took the day off work. Called Mob and told her to stay home,” he said, grinning. “And you know what we’re gonna do?” Pause. Reigen pressed his hand against his chest, as if he was praising himself. “We’re going to get ice cream.”

Again, Teru blinked. Reigen blinked back. “What?” Teru asked, and Reigen opened the door a bit more, just so he could lean against the doorframe. 

“You’ve been feeling down, right? Well, there’s no better cure than ice cream. Come on, let's go. Get ready.”

Something rose in Teru’s throat, bile and anger. Here it was again. Was anger the only emotion he could feel? That couldn’t be good, right? There was something wrong with him, and he was horrible for it. Surely no one else felt this way. Surely he was alone in this, alone in this deconstruction. 

It hurt to know how alone he was. But no one else felt this way. Certainly, it was just him. Just him and his horrible brain and his terrible thoughts. 

If he was alone, could anyone really understand?

“Sure,” Teru said, and Reigen flashed one last smile before closing the door behind him.

Did Reigen think that he could just fix Teru with, what, ice cream? Did he think that Teru needed to be fixed?

Well, Teru could agree with that, but he wasn’t sure that Reigen understood. And he wanted Reigen to understand, wanted to be right and pampered and understood. Was that so bad? Was he really so horrible? Was it so awful for him to wish Reigen could just open his skull and peer into the sick, vile depths? That would mean loss though, wouldn’t it, but was it so wrong to wish for it? He was tired of waiting, pondering, guessing when he was finally going to snap. When Reigen was finally going to get tired of him. 

Maybe if Reigen just knew he would be more likely to understand. Not what Teru was feeling; no, understand that Teru just wasn’t worth it.

So Teru got dressed, no matter how hard it was. Tied his loose hairs into a small ponytail- it sure was getting long, wasn’t it? Slipped the kandi bracelets on that he once had so much confidence to wear. Stared at himself in the vanity mirror, shaking his wrists. Changed his short-sleeved shirt to a sweater to hide his scars. Realized he didn’t have nearly enough self-confidence to go out today. Where had his big ego gone? What he wouldn’t give to have it when he needed it. 

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. They were going out for ice cream and then Teru was going to tell Reigen everything that was wrong with him. Reigen wouldn’t understand, and Teru would go the rest of his days hated and unloved.

He glared at himself in the mirror, and his reflection glared back. Clutching the bottom of his shirt, eyes narrowed at himself, he seemed so small. Pathetic. His shoulders raised. Great. That didn’t look intimidating at all. 

Sighing, Teru tore his eyes away, softening his shoulders. Reigen was probably waiting at the door. He should hurry, right? 

But he didn’t want to. Even as he thought about telling Reigen everything, his stomach churned. There was no way Reigen would think he was a good person after this. Would he kick him out? Say that he regretted ever housing him? Teru’s socked feet made indents in his carpet as he bounced on the balls of his feet, shuffled from side to side. 

So what if Reigen threw him out? Teru could take care of himself, couldn’t he? He could, right? What if he’d gotten so used to having an adult around that he suddenly couldn’t? His old apartment was still being paid for, right? Maybe he could go there…

No. Teru shook his head. Even if Reigen ended up hating him, he wouldn’t kick him out. Reigen was just too… too kind, for all he tried to not be. For all he thought he wasn’t.

Wasn’t it funny? Two people, living together as family. One thought he was bad. The other knew he was terrible.

Teru swallowed, and opened his bedroom door. Time to face Reigen. 

As it turned out, they were walking. Reigen talked and talked, filling the air with nervous chatter. And it was nervous; Teru had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, worrying at his lip, while Reigen refused to look at him, hands going every which way. Teru should be talking, and Reigen should be slowing down, but neither happened, and they arrived quicker than it seemed possible to.

Reigen didn’t stop talking. He pointed out the flavors even though they were regulars and ate there often. He asked which cone Teru was getting once; twice, in disbelief, when Teru didn’t request one with sprinkles; thrice, seemingly forgotten the first two times. 

“Reigen,” Teru finally said, his voice quieter than he meant it. More focused. Colder. His parent-figure stopped, humming a questioning tone. “You’re going to make me nervous.”

Nevermind that Teru was already nervous. But being around Reigen- who clearly didn’t know what to do- just made things worse, somehow. 

In return, Reigen flashed him a sheepish grin. “Sorry, bud.” 

Before Teru had time to reply, Reigen was ushering him forward. The server looked at the two warily. “Welcome, what’s your order?” 

“Vanilla in a cone for me. Two scoops of cookie dough with sprinkles in a sprinkles waffle cone for my buddy here,” Reigen responded, pointing at Teru. Short of a response, Teru stared back. Reigen had just ordered for him. He only did that when Teru was panicking, or having a bad day, or just didn’t know how to word his sentences. 

Teru’s hand curled and uncurled. Maybe he was… worried. Yeah. That was it. 

Whatever it was, Reigen seemed to notice what he’d done, going quiet. In the absence of his words, the space between them only grew tenser. Teru set his teeth in a hard line. Reigen moved quickly, eyes darting to look at the flavors. When the server reappeared, Reigen tipped them quickly, grabbing at both of the cones in one swift motion. How he didn’t drop them, Teru would never know.

“So,” Reigen said, breaking the silence. “Stay here or walk home?”

Teru didn’t want to be outside. Didn’t want to be seen. The sweater was starting to warm and he didn’t particularly like the stares of people passing by. 

“Let’s go home,” he chose, and when Reigen gave a jerky nod of his head, Teru followed him back. Now his hands were too full of ice cream to fidget, and so Teru looked everywhere else but Reigen, even as Reigen cast glances at him. 

When they got home, they switched. Teru watched Reigen as Reigen eyed the trash can. Almost as if he was going to throw away the ice cream. Almost as if Reigen wanted to talk to him, and the ice cream was just a front. Teru hadn’t been very hungry to begin with, but now he watched his appetite fall further from his reach. 

Maybe he should talk first. Maybe that would stop Reigen from swooping in and destroying his chance at telling him everything. After all, who knew what Reigen was going to say? Teru glared at his ice cream, watching a piece of melt drip down onto his fingers. Why couldn’t things just be simple, for once? Why couldn’t he just be normal, for once?

“Reigen-”

“Teru-”

Reigen was finally looking at him, face serious. Teru’s eyes dropped to where Reigen was holding his ice cream. It was melting, and Reigen didn’t particularly seem to care. 

“You want to talk to me, don’t you?” Teru asked, quiet. He didn’t raise his eyes, couldn’t bear to see Reigen’s reaction.

“I should’ve known you would catch on,” Reigen muttered, shifting in Teru’s vision. He wasn’t fidgeting- no, he was stone-still, and it scared Teru. Scared him breathless. 

“I need to talk to you too,” Teru said, aware that his voice was shaking. Reigen’s hands started to flutter. 

“Why don’t we sit down,” he suggested, and Teru nodded. The cookie-cream melt dripped from his wrist onto the floor, and Teru frowned at his hand. Should grab a napkin, he thought, but he just licked at it instead. Reigen had already crossed the room to sit by the couch. Why was Teru hesitating? He thought he wanted to do this. 

Unsteady, Teru crossed the room to sit next to Reigen. Didn’t look at him as he sat. Didn’t speak.

“Do you want to go first or should I?” Reigen asked, and Teru really didn’t want to go first. But he had to, didn’t he? What if Reigen distracted him? What if what Reigen had to say made him back down?

“I’ll go,” Teru said, kicking his feet against the floor. Counted a rhythm in the stomps. One. Two. Three. Four. Took a deep breath.

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” he said, and his voice didn’t shake. “No, I-I know there’s something wrong with me.”

Reigen frowned, sitting up a little straighter. “Teru-”

“Please don’t- please don’t interrupt me. Not right now.” Reigen sat back again, something like despair written on his face. Worry. Almost as if he didn’t want to hear what Teru had to say. Just like so many times before, Teru felt anger start to burn. Well, he wasn’t going to be worried when Teru was done. He was going to be disgusted, angry, upset. Teru stared at his shoes, counting one, two, three, four.

“I get angry a lot. Over irrational things. Or I get sad. And I don’t even know why, it’s just- if I’m ignored, or if people don’t pay attention to me- it all just kinda builds. And I can get angry really easily. It kinda goes along with this- you know how when we met, I thought I was better than everyone? It hasn’t gone away. And I know I’m not, it just- it’s like this belief. That I’m better. And I have horrible thoughts, and sometimes- a lot of the time- they’re violent. I need attention. I need it so bad it makes me sick sometimes,” he laughs, a bitter thing emitting from the very places he was talking about, “and I always get upset when I think people are ignoring me. Like I said. Even if I know it’s wrong, or if I know that they’re not ignoring me, it feels like it, and that’s kinda like a death sentence in itself. Like if people do that, I’m going to die. Everything I feel is violent.” 

Reigen is quiet, quiet for a long time. Teru continues blabbering on- “sometimes I want to use my powers when I know it’s wrong, sometimes when it’s proven that I’m not better than anyone else I get sick and angry and want to punch someone, sometimes I want to cut off Shigeo and everyone I know, sometimes I don’t know if I can feel anything but anger and sadness, sometimes, sometimes, sometimes-” and he listens. 

And then Teru stops, and Reigen hasn’t moved. He’s not even fidgeting. All the anger and adrenaline drops to the floor, and Teru is terrified. Begins to shake his hands, the kandi bracelets click-click-clicking against each other. His legs begin to jump, up and down and up and down. Still, Reigen says nothing.

Then: “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

Teru whips his head around, staring at Reigen. His face is considering, thinking, filled with worry.

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have worked something out, or worked on ways to cope, or…” he trails off, seemingly lost. He’s not even looking at Teru anymore, staring at the wall, sunk into the couch.

Teru looks away. “I didn’t think you’d like it,” he mutters. “It’s- I’m not describing it right, am I?”

“What do you mean?”

Pausing to swing the bracelets around his wrist, around and around and around, Teru says, “It- it’s all bad. Things that normal people don’t do. It makes me bad. I’m- I’m not a good person, Reigen. I’m not selfless, or kind. Normal people don’t feel like I feel. And I’m not describing it right because you still think I’m good.” His words are quiet. Like he’s admitting a truth- but he’s known this, known this since his feelings started getting violent, since he started feeling better than everyone around him. 

“Teru, what I wanted to talk to you about earlier is- I wanted you to see someone.” Reigen says. “You’ve just been acting strange recently and I didn’t know how to help. You didn’t want to talk about it, so I just- I don’t know. I don’t know what to tell you. How to help you. But I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

“But my thoughts-” My feelings, my beliefs-

“Don’t control you. What matters is what you act on, and you’ve been- you haven’t even asked for help, Teru, and that worries me. You’ve been feeling so much so often, or nothing at all, and you haven’t acted on it. Sure, maybe you locked yourself in your room or something. But not- you haven’t acted on those feelings.”

Teru thinks about being fourteen, about gaining power and hurting people. “I used to.”

Reigen leans forward, frowning. “But you don’t anymore. That’s what’s important. You aren’t a bad person, Teru. You help people, often. You don’t act on your thoughts. Even if you did, you know certain things, like the issue of forgiveness and how to apologize. I won’t lie, kid, the thoughts are- they’re concerning, but not for the reason you think they are. They’re concerning because they’re there in the first place. I mean-” Reigen brushed at his face with his hand, pausing, “I know you didn’t exactly have good formative years. But I’d hoped that maybe if I gave you enough support, then you wouldn’t have to feel some of the harder effects of it. Wouldn’t have to deal with all that.” 

Reigen sighed, looking away. “It was- kinda foolish. My own grandiose belief, I guess. But I can’t undo what hurt you, Teru. No matter how much I wish I could. And I- yeah. You get it. Enough of me rambling.”

Teru could feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, chin shaking. “So you don’t- I’m not- do you understand?”

“No, I don’t. I mean, I’ve never experienced what you’re feeling- what you’ve been feeling. But I know you’re not a bad person, Teru.”

“You don’t know.”

“I do. You don’t have to believe me, kid, but I know. Maybe it’s because I’m just older and therefore wiser?” Reigen asked, giving Teru a small smile.

Teru looked away, wiping his eyes. Why was he crying? He would just continue embarrassing himself. “You know I couldn’t have told you, right? It’s just- too bad.”

Reigen shuffled closer. “You can always tell me anything. Even if you think it’s bad. But- yeah, I understand. Didn’t want to talk about it because you thought it was too much.”

Teru nodded. The tears didn’t stop coming. “How are we going to fix me?” he asked, and it was quiet. He felt Reigen’s arms reach out, envelop him. Turning to he could hide his face in Reigen’s shoulder, Teru closed his eyes. He was tired of all this. 

“We’ll talk to someone. Get someone to help you. Do some research. In the meantime- just tell me when it’s acting up, ok? I’ll talk to you. Might not be the most productive, but we can still try to do something.” Reigen said, pulling Teru closer. Teru nodded. He had no words left, nothing else to say. His beliefs, his thoughts, they were out on the table.

He didn’t have to deal with it alone anymore. 

One of his hands came up to grab at Reigen’s t-shirt, the other wrapping around Reigen to complete the hug. Without meaning to, he was crying louder now, breathy sobs that had Reigen telling him to breathe, just breathe. Telling him that it would be okay. 

It would be okay, wouldn’t it? Now that he told Reigen, everything would be fine. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of it before, why he’d refused. Reigen knew how to fix things. Even Teru.