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Teruki Hanazawa and sincerity were not synonymous with each other.
It’s one of the few side effects of being a hot shot celebrity psychic.
He only has one place where he can truly be himself, in the confines of the four walls of his bedroom, which he doesn’t go in that often partly because he’s so famous he’s traveling a lot, but also because it’s such a small and scary space to be alone in. For it to be a sanctuary for his true self, unfiltered by the camera lenses and rose tinted fan goggles, he has to be alone in it. And he hates being alone, he’s done enough of that since he was a kid.
So, now he’s in a hotel room.
He’s booked to star in an interview on a show or something. He’s not really sure what the show is even about. His publicist is answering that question right now, along with explaining how it’d be good to market his book like this, even if he told her he wasn’t up for it.
“Be ready by 6 am tomorrow,” His publicist is saying, eyes sharp and words said warningly. Then, she softens up, but he can see how it’s practiced. “Just rest easy tonight, ‘kay?”
Teru nods half heartedly. He knows what it actually means, Don’t embarrass yourself tomorrow. “Got it.”
She leaves.
He thought his fame would’ve dwindled down by this time, at least he planned it to. He left the public eye for months, only went out if he needed, in ridiculous disguises as well. He deleted his social media and turned away any roles he’s being offered. He lost sponsorships, got his TV show canceled, bankrupted his business.
His fall from grace was observed like hawks to a carcass. Theories upon theories of what happened, what he must have done, who was at fault. When the public connected it to one Shigeo Kageyama, and in a way that was against him, Teru stepped in in his defense, which was, ultimately, a pretty stupid decision. It did not stop the misinformation, curse his talents in prose, but shot him up to relevancy once again, maybe even more than before.
Ever since the incident, he’d grown resentment over his fame. It took being shot to the sky to realize it was all false and meaningless, but perhaps it was less a realization and more an acceptance. It was as if the clouds had floated up to him and shook their heads in disappointment, like they were the ones he’d seen since he was a kid who thought popularity was all he had. He nodded to them with a smile. That high up in the atmosphere, everything felt the same. It was cold. It was piercing. It was as enlightening as the sun rising up in the morning.
Everything was the same.
Teru knew then and there that he was, in fact, just a commoner.
And right now, he’s at a commoner bar! Hooray!
It’s located by the lobby of the hotel, sprawling with other people from his industry, vultures looking to fly higher, maybe sell their soul while at it. Teru sits at the corner of the bar station with a martini in his hand, though it’s already half empty after two minutes.
He is a stark contrast to the palette of the area, with his purple outfit and big earrings and bleached blonde hair, attention grabbing not by effort but nature. Hotel bars always have a certain feel to it, wooden both in its color and stiffness in atmosphere. Cool jazz plays live by the far left, unlistened to by the bustling conversations of people who paid money to have a seat, wearing drab velvet and luxury blandness, vying for attention but too cowardly to ask.
“Ah, Hanazawa-kun.”
It is said with a cadence of only slight amusement, unlike the usual nervous enthusiasm of a fan or dubious pleasure of a person trying to network. His name was said ordinarily, plainly, as if it was any other word, but he hears it sweetly, appreciates the lack of showmanship. He doesn’t even have to turn around to know it’s—
“Kageyama-kun!” Teru says with a smile, suddenly aware of everything he’s doing. He adjusts his posture. “I didn’t expect to see you here!” If he had, he would’ve worn something better.
Kageyama looks no different from when they last saw each other, with a gray coat and only a blue tie to give his monotony a splash of color. He’s not asking to be seen, shrinking down into the background, but his simple outfit and more tired stance makes him stand out more than he probably liked. The unapproachability is the most earnest thing in this room.
Teru can’t discern his expression. Knowing his dead tired stare is his norm, it doesn’t seem like Kageyama isn’t pleased that they’re bumping into each other, so Teru continues for a conversation.
“What brings you here? Is Reigen-kun around?” He asks.
“Ah, no, I asked him to stay behind since he’s been failing some of his classes.” Kageyama answers. “He didn’t need to be around for a…toilet exorcism.”
Teru laughs a little at the absurdity of the situation, and finds himself tapping the seat next to him with the tip of his foot, a quiet invitation, subconsciously instinct. Kageyama takes it with a nod and sits, though he does it slowly. This is not in hesitation against Teru, which was his first theory, but due to his hands being (really badly) covered in bandages.
“That toilet must’ve been really haunted,” Teru jokes and exhales as Kageyama smiles in reply.
He looks at where Teru’s gazing at. “Oh, these… they weren’t from the exorcism, no.”
“Oh?”
“It’s from…” Kageyama looks away, embarrassed, but huffs out a laugh. “It was from jogging.”
“Oh, did you trip on something while…?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “It’s more embarrassing than that. I’m just unfit. I got anemic and fell and scraped my palms.”
Teru's face scrunches up as he listens as if he ate something sour. “Ouch.”
Kageyama looks back at him, changing the topic. “How about you? What brings you here?”
“I have a live interview in the morning…Those bandages do not look clean.” Teru grimaces.
“I know they look terrible. It’s just harder to do it when it’s both your hands.”
“Oh, I know.” Teru says. “I have a first aid kit in my bag. If you want, I can re-wrap them in my room.”
Kageyama considers this. He looks at his hands again for a second, then back at Teru. He nods.
#
On the way up, he asks, “Why’d you bring a first aid kit to an interview?”
“I dunno,” Teru says airily. “Out of habit?”
#
This feels like the scariest thing he has ever done.
Teru is no stranger to relationships, having been in numerous ones since he was 15. Granted, a lot of those were for reputations, with barely any actual feelings involved on his part. From the popularity hierarchy of middle school, which he is realizing probably never existed, to the very real PR stunts his agents strategized in promotion for his show, he is more than comfortable with public displays of affection. He has kissed his partners with paparazzi flashes more times than he can count.
But he and Kageyama are alone, and they are barely holding hands, and this feels infinitely more intimate than a combination of everything Teru’s ever felt.
Teru feels like a teenager, with delicate, light touches leaving him near breathless, chest about to burst at the seams. He has to be careful with the gauze, despite the wounds being shallow, he doesn’t wanna mess it up. He even got a bottle of beer from the mini fridge so his hands don’t shake. Its condensation drips next to the first aid kit, mimicking Teru’s own sweat.
He can’t seem to pinpoint why exactly he’s so nervous, but he suspects Kageyama being Kageyama is a big part of it. He’s not doing anything to be nervous about, quite the opposite really. He’s looking away instead of watching so Teru doesn’t feel pressured. The sensitivity is endearing, but there’s a part of him that just wants Kageyama to look.
Once he’s done, he checks the circulation for a few seconds, turns it over to check the wrapping a few times. Then says, “There we go! Perfectly bandaged hands!”
Kageyama examines it. “Thank you. You’re really good at that.”
“It’s no problem.”
Teru starts packing up the kit, rolling up the bandages and picking up the trash. He tries not to stare at Kageyama as he strolls across the room, showing almost no intention of leaving.
He’s fiddling with his cufflinks, looking at the magazines and minibar menu. He left his coat by the door, so he looks a bit taller in just black. His fingers fiddle with the seam of his blue neck tie, pulling it so that it loosens. Teru feels his breath hitch, gulping down as he tears his eyes away with great difficulty.
He instead thinks about the irony of the situation. He couldn't get a hit in when they fought, but Kageyama gets undone by a bit of concrete. But then he remembers what else happened, what else his hands had done. They weren’t this gentle before, if they ever were. His eyes trace back up to Kageyama’s neck.
It doesn’t have anything. No scars, no nothing. It’s been months, so he shouldn’t have expected it.
“Hey, Kageyama…” He starts, feeling the shame and guilt bubble up. “I’m—“
Kageyama clears his throat. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to say.”
Ah, here it is. Teru partly expected it, and in a way, he’s relieved. He’s encountered it enough times by the people he exposed on TV. A passionate, biting speech, usually screamed in anger, about how he ruined their lives. Though, Kageyama doesn’t seem like the type to shout.
This time, Teru will listen. This time, he’ll let the words sink in instead of waving it away like it was nothing.
But then—
“I wanted to apologize.”
Teru blinks. “Apologize for what?”
Kageyama’s eyes flit up to Teru’s head before quickly looking away. “For your business going bankrupt and your TV show being canceled.” He trails off, not being comfortable enough to list all of it. “I’m sorry for all that, and… Are you okay?”
Teru is bewildered by this, speechless only for the second time in his life.
He supposes it’s not out of left field for Kageyama to feel concerned. It would be easy to blame him for the aimlessness Teru’s been experiencing, especially in his late twenties, when everything is supposed to be settling. But he can’t get himself to.
His life was laid out like an epic, a heroic story of tropes and cliches. He was the protagonist of the world, it was both gratifying and terrifying, but also incredibly childish. Meeting Kageyama helped ground him, as ironic as it was. It relieved the pressure, it allowed him to realize he can make mistakes. It ripped out his foundations to build it stronger.
It felt as if the world expanded and shrunk at the same time.
“My life has been fine.”
“Really?” Kageyama asks. If he was anyone else, it would’ve sounded sarcastic. “I mean, I know how terrible losing structure feels from when I got fired.”
“Well, I’m sorry for choking you until you went unconscious.” Teru means this genuinely, but his voice comes out light in the disbelief.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, I healed from it pretty quickly.”
“Then, you don’t have to worry about me either. I’ve forgiven you even before I hit the ground.” Teru says, voice softening. “In fact, I feel indebted to you. After we met, I think my life got better. I’ve started exercising. I’ve been eating healthy. I even wrote a book!” He almost winces at the last point, knowing he’s not really proud of it getting published, but he doesn’t regret writing the first draft for it. It felt freeing in a way.
“Okay…” Kageyama says. “I have a follow up question.”
“Alright.”
“Are you okay?”
“Why are you still asking?”
“Because you looked sad at the bar.”
A beat.
If you asked Teru that two hours ago, the honest answer would’ve been different. “Yes,” he says. “I’m okay.”
Kageyama nods, believing him. He looks around the room, eyes settling on the only copy of Teru’s book on the nightstand, left untouched since his publicist brought it this morning. “Is that why you have an interview? For your book?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s for that.”
“Well,” Kageyama walks across the room and holds it. He runs his hands over the hard lavender cover and flips through a few pages, sitting on the nearest chair. Teru’s scared Kageyama might read it. Scared he might read an edited, focus-tested version of Teru, but instead he asks, “What’s it about?”
Teru has heard that plenty of times before, from the studio executives about his show to the publishers about this book. Throughout the years, the answer never changed. It’s about me. It’s always about him. He used to think, what’s more interesting than that? What better sell, what better tagline can you give other than Teruki Hanazawa.
It’s so embarrassing now, in hindsight. He knows what he’s done is not that different from everyone else in the industry, but somehow knowing that feels more awful. He’s been blinded by the praises that he forgot how to grow. No, he distracted himself with them, and didn’t allow himself to grow until he was face to face with the sun, naked in the sky.
Ah.
He realizes…
“It’s actually about you.” Teru says.
Kageyama’s eyebrows shoot up, not much but it’s noticeable. “Me?” He says. “What could you possibly write about me?”
The chuckle Teru makes is one of delight and astonishment. “Oh, so much.”
He starts to explain. It comes natural to him, the praises, the strong belief in what he’s saying. But before he can say much, before he can begin to describe the enormity of his admiration, Kageyama interrupts him, voice shy but stern.
“You don’t have to do that. I… I believe you.”
“You’re too humble sometimes, Kageyama-kun.” He teases. “You have to learn how to take compliments sometimes.”
Kageyama gives him a small smile. “Maybe someday I’ll be as good as you.” He scans the review quotes on the back of the cover. “Do you plan to write another book?”
“Oh, I didn’t even plan on writing that one.” Teru says, taking a sip of beer. Kageyama stares at him like he’s expecting another answer, as if he can see the But at the tip of Teru’s tongue. Feeling caught, Teru continues, “But if I had to choose, maybe about fashion.”
And they talk.
Kageyama pivots and Teru strays and the point of their original conversation gets lost in the sea of words they can’t stop the flow of. After an hour, they end up talking about something else entirely, something both about and not about either of them. What to do in hotel rooms, what’s the best kind of cat. How did they feel after graduating high school, what kind of job did they used to dream of having. They find themselves outside the suite, sitting side by side on the balcony. Somehow, Teru got both of them another bottle. He learns about Kageyama’s high tolerance. Kageyama learns about his favorite drink.
It feels so easy.
Kageyama listens. And Teru feels listened to.
Teru feels listened to, his actions not a play nor his words a script, purely him in all his messy, unedited glory. It is exciting. It is terrifying.
And maybe it’s the hum of the mini refrigerator. Maybe it’s the soft, warm lighting or the smell of detergent on the bed sheets that reminds him of home. Maybe it’s Kageyama looking at him with unbiased eyes, learning about Teru with what Teru shows and tells him, no reputation to precede him.
But his home has none of these, no. His home is an empty, plain walled, cool lighted bachelor’s pad with barely any personality, designed by a person he paid to make sure it looks pretty. His home is a mask of what he thought people expected from him, what he expected for himself at 15, a rejection and indulgence of what he wanted.
His home is a house.
But his house has a room, his room. When he enters, it feels haunted. It is devoid of functioning mirrors, each and all broken or cracked or skewed in some way. He is taller. He is shattered. Only a part of himself is reflected. He is never whole.
Right now, he can see himself in Kageyama’s eyes. Right now, the way he’s being watched is no longer restricting. The observation is like a free fall.
He is seen.
He is falling.
He is flying.
He is kissing Kageyama with the sincerity he left at home.
He leans into him slowly, a question if he’ll kiss back. His heart exhales when Kageyama does.
It is sweet and tender. For the first time in Teru’s life, it is private. It is intimate. It is stark warmth in the biting November air, as true as the ocean waves rising and falling, before turning into feverish hot intensity.
Kageyama’s hands trace up from Teru’s hips to his face, and he holds his cheeks in the heat of the moment, maybe even too much. Quickly, he pulls away with a hiss, looking at his wounded fingers.
The disappointment Teru felt at the sudden lack of touch is immediately replaced with worry. He places his hands on Kageyama’s wrists to look at the bandages. He checks to see if they’ve reopened, and sighed in relief to see them still clean.
Kageyama gives him a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
Teru shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”
#
Teru stares at a document that won’t be empty after a few seconds. He is back home, a few days later. He sits on the soft mattress of his bed with his laptop resting in front of him, illuminating his face in the darkness.
He thinks of Kageyama. He thinks of himself.
His fingers glide across the keyboard, typing words that he barely has to think about. He won’t show this to his publisher or his editor, in fact, he won’t show this to anyone other the person he’ll say it to.
He types up an apology for the very first guest on his show.