Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Considering that it was the opposite of what he had wanted, Kusuo supposed that his current life wasn’t all that terrible. It could definitely be worse—he could be dancing and singing on a stage, could be giving speeches on national television, or even being locked up as a lab rat for scientists to poke and prod.

No, it wasn’t that bad. Kusuo was just a twenty-two year old hidden prodigy, employed as an inventor for one of the top companies in Japan. That was all.

Admittedly, it was a tad different than his dreams of salary work with middling pay, yes. But, honestly. It didn’t matter too much. The attention wasn’t even the worst part of it—that honor belonged to the fact that Kusuo worked directly under his dear big brother. Even that was relatively manageable, though. Sure, he was the whole reason Kusuo was doing this in the first place, but, really. Kusuke honestly wasn’t that bad.

No, Kusuo reaffirmed, smoothing down his tie.  It could always be worse.

He breathed in deeply, carefully counted to ten in his head, then let it slowly filter out.

It could always be worse.

He smoothed over his collar, reflexively touching the back of his neck to ensure it was fully covering his neck. Then he turned his head side to side, checking for any fly aways from his ponytail. When he began playing with his tie again, Kusuo realized he was stalling for time. 

Kusuke was waiting for him. As Kusuo stepped out of the restroom, his brother smiled sunnily. 

“You know, I don’t really like that color on you,” he hummed in lieu of a greeting. “That’s the last time I send an assistant to pick out clothes for you. I know what looks best on my baby brother, after all.”

Kusuo gave his brother an unimpressed stare. The tie was a deep blue, and was bold enough to clash with his hair in a way that seemed purposeful. It wasn’t that bad—plus, if it was in his closet, it meant that Kusuke had picked it out. 

It was just a subtle power play. Kusuke made them all the time: nothing to get upset over.

Kusuke waved a hand dismissively, his smile amused. “Oh, don’t give me that. I know I picked it out, but I’ve changed my mind. You’ve gotten paler, you know,” he teased. 

Kusuo blinked sedately, willing his expression to stay flat. The blonde’s smile widened like he was pleased with his reaction. “We can do green next time. I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately.”

Kusuo tamped down the urge to push up his glasses. They were clear-lenses now. People already didn’t like him here. There was no need to make it worse by standing out.

(Really, they both knew Kusuo would stand out anyways. Bright aside, people just seemed to know he was different.

And that wasn’t even factoring his powers.)

“Come along, Kusuo,” Kusuke called, not sparing him a second glance as he walked away. Kusuo, snapped out of his sudden ruminations, trailed behind him obediently.

Kusuo hated board meetings. With a passion.

At least he was good at sitting through long lectures. He’d been doing it for around…eight(?) years. 

(The time resets had always gotten so messy. Everything blurred around those years’ edges.)

Board meetings were pretty similar to high school lessons. The main difference was probably that everyone actively hated him for reasons unrelated to the people he hung out with or the fact that a certain perfect girl always sought him out. 

No, these guys just despised him, for the main fact that Kusuo was—well, himself. As Aiura would say, “jealousy was a disease.”

Kusuo blinked softly at the sudden thought of her, a pang of longing shooting through his chest. 

She’d been a very good friend.

Other than that, though, board meetings were familiar territory. People droned on about things Kusuo couldn’t care less about, overcomplicating things to sound smarter while he zoned out. Anything he could possibly need to say could be filtered through his brother. There was no need to speak up, nor did Kusuo want to; it worked out perfectly.

Kusuke was the only reason he went to these stupid things, anyway. His brother had let him skimp out on interviews and business meetings, but he always insisted on bringing him alone to these. Business events, too, but those were a whole other ballpark.

(It was a point of pride. It was Kusuke’s way of telling others that he’d leashed the golden goose, that he had his own little pocket inventor to follow him around like a trained puppy. 

Look how above you I am. I have the power over another person you crave.

Familiar humiliation bloomed in Kusuo. He shoved it aside as best he could.)

He needed to pay attention right now: something important was happening.

“Mr. Saiki,” one of the men called out. Habiki Nakayama, a balding man with a silver beard, and a long-standing member of the Board. "You can't expect us to believe in the applications you claim this tiny device has. How would such a thing even be possible?"

Kusuo didn’t react to the words—they weren’t for him. "I understand it may seem a bit fantastical currently, gentlemen," Kusuke responded smoothly, voice lilting. "But it's really quite simple. There are other things on the market for these needs. This little guy—" he said, holding up the object in question, "—just combines all of it together."

Yeah, that about summed it up. It had been a pet project of Kusuo’s. It was essentially a watch, if a watch could keep track of medication times, schedule doctor's appointments, carry blood test results, link information to medical records for easy access in emergencies, keep track of various symptoms of registered diseases, contact emergency services for fainting spells—

You get the idea. But that wasn’t what the Board was fascinated by, despite it being relatively simple in Kusuo’s eyes. 

“It’s a defibrillator?” One asked incredulously. 

Kusuke’s smile grew strained. Kusuo could hear him groaning internally about ‘Having to deal with such stupid ants day after day almost makes it not worth it.’

Kusuo wasn’t entirely sure what ‘it’ was, but Kusuke was already moving on. “Hm, not quite. If there’s an implanted defibrillator, there’s ways to get this to contact people. We’d have to work on it more, of course, but there may be some functionality to be found if coupled with brain-machine interfaces.”

And, he lost them. The Board shared a collective look. “Charging time?” Someone offered, trying to get them back to an area they’d actually understand. “How would it be able to work for all 24 hours? It seems rather useless unless it can monitor a customer’s condition at all times.”

…What sense did that even make?

It didn’t really matter, though, because Kusuo had already thought of that. “There are two different versions—a nighttime and a daytime one. You’ll charge one when it’s not in use. It also has the added benefit of keeping the design of the watch lighter and slimmer; there can be very different data received from the morning versus the night. Keeping them on separate devices lets us keep it from being uncomfortable. It’s very simple,” Kusuke tacked on, just to watch the men flinch.

“Forgive us, Mr. Saiki,” Mr. Nakayama hedged.  "I suppose it truly seems too good to be true. You understand, don't you?"

"Of course!" Kusuke chirped. "But it's not your job to understand how it works , now is it? If you're that eager to learn, however, I'd be happy to teach you." 

Liar. 

"Why not have the boy explain it?" Someone suggested. Kusuo couldn't tell who. He was too preoccupied with the feeling of his body running cold as everyone's eyes turned toward the elephant in the room. 

Namely him . 

He knew his face wouldn’t shift—he’d spent too many years perfecting it to crack under the pressure now. But it didn’t stop the surge of paranoia that welled up in him as their eyes searched him greedily for a weakness to tear at. 

Kusuke spared him a single glance, his dull, green eye empty, before looking back at the board. "Gentlemen, please. Let's be reasonable and use our time for…fruitful labors."

His brother launched into a discussion on production and basically everything that wasn't Kusuo's jurisdiction. He tried to shake off the sudden nerves, but he was still hyper-aware of the condescending tilts of their mouths, of the smug squint of their eyes. 

They didn’t think he had made it. Kusuo didn’t even have to read their minds to know, though the reminder was certainly unwelcome. They thought that dear old brother had done all the actual work, and Kusuo had just smiled dazedly as his name was slapped over it. 

(That was his assumed function. He was a publicity stunt—young, shy, fucking cute of all things, brought aboard to inspire other poor suckers to join the monotony of this corporate machine. 

Never mind the fact that Kusuke had been putting inventions out when he was fifteen. The idea that it ran the family had never crossed their minds, huh? Too damned obsessed with the fact that Kusuo didn’t look people in the eye, was functionally mute, didn’t express himself the right way…

Kusuke could tell people not to come into his lab, and it was all fine and dandy: he was a private man, after all. But when Kusuo did it, he was being unreasonable, and obviously only doing it because he was—)

Kusuke’s voice droned on. Kusuo stared out the window, mind hazy as his thoughts strained against the ropes he usually bound them with.

(What a pain. People knew, okay? It didn't matter what Kusuo did. No matter how well he hid, how good he played pretend, people fucking knew. It wasn't his abnormal appearance that set off the warning bells. It wasn't even his accursed powers. People just seemed to know he was different, and they reminded Kusuo of that as often as they could.)

Anyone who’d known him long enough—and wanted him to do something for them—knew that Kusuo loved coffee jelly. And it wasn’t much of a jump to assume he liked coffee by itself. That’s what he’d gotten the first time he’d come here, and his order had stayed the same.

(He refused to eat his beloved treat during these outings. Kusuo didn’t want to associate its sweetness with the bitter taste of these forced outings.)

At the very least, they always let Kusuo use his own cup, he mused absentmindedly. He couldn’t stand the flimsy, thin plastic most coffee shops used for their drinks; no matter how gentle he was, they always bent under his grip—then they’d make that awful popping noise and cause a mess and…yeah. It was a whole ordeal.

(“Go take a break,” Kusuke said calmly, his eyes alight with a smug superiority. He was the rational one here, the one in charge. Because Kusuo was stupid and unreasonable and— “Go reset.”

‘And return when you’re done throwing your fit.’

Kusuo blinked harshly against the hot rage pooling in his stomach and tried to pretend it was just the drink. )

Being here…calmed Kusuo down. Even if his brother was a jerk, he always knew when to give Kusuo a moment to breathe. His parents had never been able to tell why Kusuo went silent and moody. His dad thought he needed to “fix that grumpy attitude,” which was. Fine. 

His mom’s reaction was so much worse. It was so much worse, and part of it was because Kusuo knew she meant only the best for him. She always forced him to leave his bedroom (soft, quiet, safe— ), and because he hated seeing her worry, he always went along with it. 

(He knew he’d burdened her. She’d worried and fretted over him nearly constantly, despite what Kusuo was. It should have always been the other way around. 

He didn’t need to be taken care of.)

But every noise had carved out the squishy matter of his brain, making room for the agony of it to fester in. And with no outlet to soothe the terrible feeling welling in him, the bomb timer in him would tick down and down until—well.

Kusuo had fixed their house his fair share of times. Not all of it was because of his parent’s doing.

Kusuke had always known, though. His big brother could always sniff out the moment Kusuo became more sensitive to the sound of typing, or shuffling papers, or people’s voices echoing down too-big hallways. He knew when the lights became too bright, when the minimalist white of everything burned his eyes—

(when the collar of his suit began feeling less like a leash and more like a noose—)

—or how crazy the thoughts surrounding him in that building drove Kusuo. They were poisonous and cloying, brushing Kusuo’s mind in a way that made him feel slimy. It clogged the air, made it hard to breath through the pollution and guilt of inaction. 

Being grateful to Kusuke wasn’t a good idea. Kusuo wasn’t stupid. But even though it always came back to bite him (“You see? Why I need to do this? You can’t handle it. You need me.”), he couldn’t deny that his brother always gave him a moment to breathe when he needed it.

Up there, it was always about the money, with little thought given to the unabashed aid particular inventions could provide. (Always "maybe we should have our own databases for Kusuo's invention, so we can use the info to take advantage of concentrations of diseases. Hey, Mr. Saiki, what do you think? No, don't ask your brother; you know he's weird . None of us want to say it, but if we could get away with it, we'd definitely call him a—")

Oops. He cracked the table. 

Not a lot, thankfully. The few people around probably would have heard it if the table suddenly split in half. But his fingers had still managed to dig craters into the glazed wood. In a sudden desire for mischief, he wanted to carve out smiles to complement the eyes he'd just made.  

He tapped a finger on the wooden top rhythmically, threatening to give in to his wishes.

But he really shouldn't. This wasn't his. He knew better. 

Kusuo breathed in, counted to ten, and gradually let it out. Then he lifted his drink to rewind time on the table, and just like that, the wood was fixed. The small holes were gone. It was pristine and functional: the way it was designed to be.

He swallowed thickly. He needed to think about something else.

Kusuo did like this place. The interior was muted and soft, perfectly suited to a cafe. It smelled pleasant, the chairs didn’t squeak aggravatingly when he shifted around, and most of all, it was quiet. 

It reminded him of his bedroom at his apartment. Honestly, Kusuo wouldn’t be shocked if that was why his brother had picked this place out for him.

Whatever the reason, and even if Kusuke was the one making him come here, it didn’t take away from the fact it helped. Kusuo, a dedicated creature of habit, always sat in the same spot: in the corner, with his back to a wall and a clear viewpoint of the entire room. The familiarity and strategic position soothed the worst of his paranoia. 

He took another sip. As he finally paid attention to the taste, he was hit with a wave of homesickness so strong it felt like he’d been suckerpunched. Kusuo pulled back in shock, then bit his lip as he stared down at his drink.

(He missed Cafe Mami. How was Mera doing?)

…His life could be worse. It could always be worse. Kusuo could relax here, and had enough money to where the price of the food here wasn’t an issue. Besides a couple of rough spots, Kusuo had it good. 

(The safety was tainted—Kusuke used this against him, would dig into Kusuo’s need to not owe people and force him to do something. Kusuo needed to stay vigilant; in the four years he’d been here, he didn’t have anyone to rely on. No one would look out for him. They wouldn’t say anything if Kusuke did something. Kusuo couldn’t relax, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t.)

He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Something else,’ he begged himself. ‘Think about something else. Anything else.’

'Fuckin' hell, these prices are exorbitant as shit. This stuff better have liquid gold in it.'

It took an embarrassing ten seconds for Kusuo to realize he hadn’t imagined that inner voice. His heart jumped to his throat once he realized. He looked up, apprehension swirling in him and making him feel sick.

Kusuo knew that voice. He didn’t want to, but he did.

Amidst the chaos of high school, and the overwhelming gift of stupidity that came with adolescence, some people had it worse than others. Kusuo had been stuck with a group of idiots who’d gotten the absolute worst of it, and sometimes it had felt like he was the only sane one.

There was one, though, who was different: tossed into the real world too soon, nobody to help him make sense of it. He’d grown up fast; Kusuo recognized it in him, knew that he was the same way himself. And he’d also recognized a twin desire—no matter how reluctant on Kusuo’s part—to let their friends be stupid. To make sure they were kept safe for as long as possible, so their friends could laugh and be young, so they could be all the things Kusuo and he had never gotten to be.

(Kusuo had wanted them to enjoy living in the way he’d never been able to.)

Part of him didn’t want to believe it, but it was impossible to deny. One Aren Kuboyasu gave the barista a polite smile and a “thanks,” and Kusuo watched in astonishment as he turned around. 

He looked…good. A lot of it was the same: his hair was still in a middle-part, neatly trimmed. He was still clean-shaven, and if anything, the sharp angle of his jaw had only defined more over the years. He hadn’t lost any of his muscle—if anything, he’d gotten stockier. 

Taller. A bit broader. He stood up straighter now, and had less of that subtle, almost invisible vigilance he’d always carried with him. He looked less defensive and distrusting, and more. Confident. Mature.

Happy, Kusuo finally managed to place. He seemed happy. 

Maybe that was what looked so good about him.

He was wearing a leather jacket—and wasn’t that a blast from that past—and underneath was a paint-stained, plain T-shirt. Kusuo squinted; he could make out a name tag peeking out behind the jacket, his name spelled out in multiple colors and childish handwriting. Even Kuboyasu’s jeans hadn’t been spared from a redesign: tiny hand prints decorated his pant legs, and he was pretty sure those were stickers stuck to his knees.

Kusuo blinked and relaxed his eyes. None of that was odd—at least, he didn’t think so. 

The glasses definitely were, though. 

“Pink,” Kusuo mouthed in disbelief. The movement felt weird on his mouth, just like the rimless frames looked weird on Kuboyasu. Not because they didn’t suit him, but because they were—well. 

Colored lenses had been his thing, no? 

Behind those absurd sunglasses, Kuboyasu’s eyes scanned the room, looking for a place to sit. Despite there being plenty of open seats, Kusuo looked up to the heavens in annoyance. He already knew what would happen. God hated him, after all.

Kuboyasu had a lot of the same instincts as him. It was part of why they’d meshed well, and why Kusuo had trusted him slightly more than his other nuisances. Right now, it was just a pain because he knew exactly where Kuboyasu would want to sit: in a corner, back to the wall, and a clear viewpoint.

Sound familiar?

Kusuo couldn’t help but stare at the man. So when Kuboyasu looks over at him, their eyes accidentally meet. Recognition bloomed in those shaded eyes, and Kusuo tilted his head in acknowledgment.

(He’d always been so expressive. The other man’s face began to glow in delight, and Kusuo’s gut churned with nauseating guilt.)

He hadn’t seen Kuboyasu in years. Kusuo had immediately been swept up by his brother after graduating, and his parents had been absolutely thrilled. A well-paying job, fresh out of high-school, where he could be looked after by family? It was a dream come true for any parents. 

(Especially when your kid had a particular set of ‘needs’ , one only his older brother could provide for. Kusuke knew how to clean up after his messes— ”I won’t let my baby brother screw everything up again.”)

So, in a blatant display of nepotism, Kusuo began working at PSI inc. with only a high school degree to his name. 

…Yes, he despised the name, and yes, Kusuke had done it on purpose.

Kusuo lived on the far end of Hidariwakibara now, where only the wealthiest socialites lived. This did, in fact, include the Saiko conglomerate, but the only one he actually knew had decided to go on a worldwide tour before actually settling down. Go figure. 

Kusuo hadn’t seen any of his old classmates in all the time he’d worked under Kusuke. He didn't have a phone—only a tablet used exclusively for work. The extent of its social capabilities was its ability to receive messages from Kusuke. 

He didn’t have a way to contact any of them, had no way of letting them know where he lived—he hadn’t told them before leaving. And sure, he could buy a phone, but, well.

It wasn’t a rule, per say, that he wasn’t allowed to have one. Just as it wasn’t quite a rule that Kusuo wasn’t allowed to seek them out. 

But he knew better. 

(Kusuke had laxed the tension in Kusuo’s leash over these years, had given him enough slack for Kusuo to breathe easier again. But it wasn’t permanent. His brother would sooner choke him out with it than run the risk of Kusuo wandering away to play with ants again.)

At least they knew he wasn’t dead. Kusuo was famous, in a sense. He wasn’t quite a household name, but his name was liable to pop up occasionally in the news—right alongside his brother’s. Kusuke handled public appearances, including deciding who they met with. Kusuo didn’t meet with people without the elder being there.

It was easier to let sleeping dogs lie. They knew he wasn’t in danger, and that was likely good enough. They had their own lives to handle. They could just brush him off as that weird kid from high school: the one who had rarely spoken to them, and had even avoided them when possible. 

He'd added nothing to their little group. Their memories would be the same without his silent presence haunting them.

(He refused to be a nuisance, refused to ruin their lives by dragging them into his.)

And yet here was one of his former friends, approaching the table with a grin that could power a solar panel.

"Saiki!” Kuboyasu beamed, his voice excited. “Geez, is that really you? How have you been?”

Warmth flickered through Kusuo at the greeting. The homesickness that had been pushing against the confines of the box he kept it finally settled.  It felt like tugging on a well-worn jacket, where the edges of the tag had been rubbed away and the fabric had softened with use. You knew exactly how it would fit and how it would feel. 

(It was…safe. Familiar.)

Kusuo gave the man a thumbs up. Kuboyasu laughed, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “I can’t believe it. Mind if I sit?

Good grief, if he wanted to talk to Kusuo that badly, sure. Kuboyasu correctly took his silence as acceptance and sat across from him. Then he took a sip of his coffee, then raised a brow in surprise. 

'Okay, so it's pretty damn good. But not good enough to make me pay that much again, dammit!"

Kusuo bit back a smile, peeking down at his sugary monstrosity. You could still taste the coffee, but there was no way he'd get anything at a cafe without adding in whatever he could. He came here often enough that the workers knew his order: a dark chocolate mocha, heavy on the whip cream and chocolate drizzle. 

"I see you on the news sometimes, but I take the stuff those reporters say with a grain of salt."

See? Kusuo hadn't been lying. Reporters loved talking about Kusuo, for the same reason why people liked doing it in high school: he was a perfectly blank canvas. 

For someone so high up in a corporation, especially one as well-known as PSI, it was weird that there was little to no personal information about him out there. Kusuo had purposefully avoided any accomplishments that could be traced back to him, and a tiny news article from primary school about him being good at Rochambeau wasn’t exactly juicy gossip. Even the stuff about being stranded on an island had been suppressed, both by the fact he’d been a minor and Saiko’s hush money. He'd never so much as owned a social media account, much less have the train of excessive wealth or outstanding achievements customary to his position. 

So, most assumed Kusuo wasn't actually that smart. There was no way he was capable of the work he did—he was so young, and oddly docile. Most young geniuses tended to be insufferable, or on the flipside, utterly charming. Kusuo was passive, always hiding behind his brother shyly. 

Everyone had their own opinions. They all interpreted his actions differently. But, at the very least, his silence had always been attributed to his show-pony status rather than his…abnormality. That was kept as a secret among the higher-ups, a piece of incriminating information that would bring shame to the company.

(Under the table, Kusuo gripped the tops of his knees punishingly, his heart beginning to pound in irritation.  

Because it would just be so shameful to have someone like him in the public eye, right?)

He forced himself to relax, taking a careful breath and relaxing his hands. 

It wasn't terrible. The point was, Kusuke made sure people never saw Kusuo at his worst: the days after a tantrum where his hands shook with exhaustion, when all he wanted to do was curl up and hide, and his ESP tried to slip from the tight leash he usually kept it on. 

It was easier now, though, to avoid having an accident. His powers had slowly begun leveling out, both with the new limiter and disuse. 

Because Kusuke had a rule: Kusuo wasn't allowed to use his powers at work. 

Kusuke said it was because of the cameras. Both of them knew he was a goddamn liar. But he sucked it up anyway because he needed to get used to going without them. 

That's what normal people did, after all.

(He cheated at the apartment and used them to his heart's content. There were only so many excuses Kusuke could throw his way when they talked about his own goddamn place, so Kusuo won in that department.) 

"No more funky glasses or hair clips, hm? I do like the hair, though. You growing it out?" Kuboyasu asked. His smile was still present, but it had dimmed. Despite his small talk, his thoughts weren’t so casual.

‘He’s tired. Thin. Is it stress? He’s always been on the smaller side, but he looks so…vulnerable right now.’ 

Kusuo continued to drink, firmly ignoring the eyes scanning him over. 

'I know he's never been the most expressive, but—' 

He chanced a glance up and was met with the soft concern on the other's expression. Kuboyasu slapped on a hasty grin, and Kusuo let him get away with it. 

'Empty. He looks so empty.'

Well, this was concerning. Kusuo kind of didn't appreciate that Kuboyasu instantly saw right through him. He was one of those ‘men of action’ types that would make Kusuo’s life a living hell by attempting to help him. 

Kusuo would never know peace again.

In an effort to distract the other, Kusuo pointed at his glasses, then turned the accusatory finger toward Kuboyasu. 

The former punk blinked, flushed a bit, then finally settled on chuckling awkwardly. "Yeah, uh, about that..." 

He took off the glasses, and Kusuo unfortunately got to experience the full force of his earnest gaze. A small case was produced, and away they went. "I have other pairs at home. I have dyslexia, apparently. These are supposed to help with reading and stuff, but well…" 

He paused and sipped his coffee, trying to buy time to organize his thoughts. "I usually use these blue ones, but a friend of mine needed volunteers for an event. For that preschool five minutes from here, specifically. I know I can seem scary even when I'm not trying to be because of my build and stuff. So I uh—I've found that little kids tend to like the color," he finished, then took another big drink, overly embarrassed.

Kusuo blinked. That was…actually really sweet. He'd thought they were just a joke. 

Admittedly, he was—curious. It felt kind of shameful to admit, but the idea that Kuboyasu was out in the world, following his dreams, excited Kusuo. 

He wanted to know more about Kuboyasu's life. He wanted to make sure things had turned out okay, even if Kusuo hadn’t been there to look after him.

But it had been a long time since he’d spoken to someone other than Kusuke. Even then, his telepathy tended to lock up when he got uncomfortable—which was…pretty much all of their interactions. So, his urge to speak was certainly. Weird. And moreso, his openness to the idea. 

"Do you work as a teacher?" He asked anyway, albeit haltingly.

The surprise in Kuboyasu's eyes would have been amusing had it not made Kusuo feel a bit pathetic. But the shock was quickly replaced with a delighted warmth that made Kusuo buzz with something akin to delight. "Not quite. I'm a teacher's aide, actually, but hopefully, I'll be teaching on my own by the end of the year. And I don't usually work with younger kids. I'm actually focusing on middle schoolers."

Kusuo must have made a face because Kuboyasu laughed. "Yeah, I know, they can be little punks. But," he sighed, expression turning nostalgic. "My middle school years were probably the most violent ones of my life. And I think the fact that I managed to have my high school years to turn my life around...I think that was what let me get here." 

He looked up at Kusuo, his mind alive with that telltale determination. Kusuo took in a breath; he didn’t know whether to be upset or grateful at the fact that Kuboyasu’s eyes—nearly burning in their intensity—weren’t shielded by his glasses.

"I wanna be that for those kids. By that point, most people have given up on them. But I know they're worth it,” he said firmly. 

Kusuo stared for a moment, something shimmering brightly in his chest at the words. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long while; he couldn’t quite put a name to it. 

As Kusuo continued boring into him, Kuboyasu snapped out of his reminiscing and began rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah, sorry about that. I didn't mean to start ranting. I know it's kinda cliche, haha..."

Good grief, what was this guy apologizing for? That was probably the first selfless and honest thing Kusuo had heard since he began working for his brother. 

Kuboyasu seemed happy. Kusuo hadn’t realized how little he saw that deceptively simple emotion. Most people at the office lied as easily as they breathed, including any emotions they felt. It was just how people survived. 

Kuboyasu had always been upfront with his feelings, though. Kusuo didn’t even think he’d known how to hide it. It was…

Nice. Really nice, actually. 

"I love the kids a lot. Even if they're little brats. They're all hilarious, and actually really sweet when you get past their teenage angst, you know?

No, he did not know. Kusuo, for one, could not stand children. They were loud and messy, with small hands and baby-faced smiles that had always managed to get under his skin. Kusuo especially couldn't stand kids when they cried and reached out to him with innocent, trusting eyes. Then, he was forced to shush and comfort them because every hiccup or sniffle made his chest feel hollow.

It wasn't because he cared or anything. It was just that annoying. 

"What about you?" Kuboyasu redirected, noting that he’d been dominating the conversation. 

By all means, keep going—Kusuo wasn’t exactly known for his riveting conversation skills. 

At Kusuo’s blank look, the other man tried again: "You've been working at that place for a while, no? Feeling up to sharing with the class?"

Badum tss, very funny Kuboyasu. Except Kusuo actually hated that joke. And that question. 

He considered it for a moment, then shrugged blasély. How to answer this without raising any of those finely-tuned alarm bells of Kuboyasu’s? "It's…busy," he finally settled on lamely. "Not terrible."

“You’ve worked there for years and it’s just ‘not terrible’?” Kuboyasu blurted out incredulously. Kusuo glared at him—that was rather rude. Don’t make him pay attention to anything he was purposefully repressing; he worked hard to ignore all of that.

"Yes," Kusuo frowned. "Not everyone has the luxury of being in love with their work."

Oops. That was more biting than he meant it to be. Kusuo had never been good at giving warning signals—he always jumped straight into snapping. 

Kuboyasu didn’t take the bait. Instead, he held up his hand placatingly with a raise of his brows. “My bad. I didn't mean to rub anything in your face.”

Damn. Now Kusuo felt very guilty. 

He looked down at the table. At his silence, Kuboyasu hesitantly spoke again. "I just....wanna know how you're doing, Saiki. You’d always done so much for us all. I’d like to see that you're at least getting some of the happiness you deserve." 

Kusuo blinked up at him in mild shock. Kuboyasu smiled unsurely at his expression, then cocked his head hopefully. “Are you at least kinda happy working there?"

‘It could always be worse,’ Kusuo thought instinctively, then paused. 

It could: he was far from miserable. He had a nice apartment and job, and had never had to worry about money. People would kill for the opportunities he had been handed on a silver platter. 

He wasn’t miserable. Things could be so much worse. He had it good, he had it good. There was no reason to be unhappy. 

Then, why—

The man who’d grown from the boy he once knew looked so earnest that it hurt. It had been a very long time since Kusuo had seen such honest, straightforward kindness. The thought of lying…it didn’t feel good. That was all anyone ever did at PSI. 

(All he’d ever done was lie to his friends. Kuboyasu had changed; why couldn’t Kusuo?

Would he ever?)

He glanced around the room. His paranoia always served him well, and now was no different. There were no phones out recording him. He could pick up no thoughts of any eavesdroppers around. Nobody was paying any particular attention to them. Kusuo glanced up at a nearby camera and temporarily short-circuited it. 

Could never be too careful with a brother like his. 

Kusuo swallowed, looked at Kuboyasu, and shook his head no. 

The other man didn’t seem surprised. It made Kusuo’s heart pound—but whether it was in fear or excitement, he couldn’t say.

“That’s everything, then,” Kusuke crooned, stretching his arms up and grinning his usual cat-smug smile. “We got a lot of work done, hm?”

He swiveled in his chair to look at Kusuo, who was currently curled up in his chair, knees to his chest, staring at his computer. Kusuo glanced over his shoulder to return the look, keeping his head ducked demurely. Kusuke raised a teasing brow, and Kusuo’s telepathy buzzed nervously as he listened to the other’s thoughts. 

His brother pushed himself up and strolled over. Kusuo turned back to face his monitor, gripping his legs tightly. He refused to look back again, even as his neck prickled warningly as Kusuke stood over him. 

His brother sighed, deep and frustrated, like an adult dealing with a misbehaving child. Something hot unfurled in Kusuo’s chest, but he swallowed it down as best he could. 

He couldn’t screw this up. 

"Are you still really that upset over earlier?" Kusuke drawled, voice almost a laugh. "Honestly, Kusuo. It's not the end of the world."

Kusuo didn’t react, instead staring at Kusuke in the reflection of his monitor. He wanted to make sure his brother felt as though he had all the power here. Kusuo had gotten significantly better at placating others’ prides since working with his brother, and part of that was—

Kusuo heard the intent cross his mind, but it was still a shock when Kusuke gripped the back of his chair to spin him around, forcing them to face each other. He glared up at the other man, though said nothing.

Couldn’t be too docile, after all. They both knew just how deeply Kusuo resented all of this, Kusuke included. It would be suspicious if he didn’t show it. 

Letting the man feel like he had all the power here, like he’d reduced Kusuo to only being able to pout about his situation and nothing more, delighted Kusuke in a way that made his stomach twist. It was evident in the sick, pleasured gleam in his brother’s visible eye. “You poor thing,” Kusuke cooed, shoving closer into Kusuo’s personal space. This time, it wasn’t an act when he curled up tighter and pressed further back into his chair. “How had you managed without me all those years?”

(He hated this, he hated this, he hated him—)

Kusuo breathed in carefully, counting to ten in his head. Patience. He couldn’t lose his cool now. Just roll over, make sure Kusuke had no reason to go digging for something from today to use against him. 

A few seconds passed. Finally, finally, Kusuke said,  "No need to 'take the bus.' I'll drive you home."

Thank whatever god had decided to take pity on Kusuo.

He unfolded and stood up obligingly, following Kusuke around as he began to shut everything down. Kusuo stayed quiet during the elevator ride down, during the walk outside, and as they got into the car. Once seated, Kusuo turned to look out the window, refusing to look at his brother even as he commented on Kusuo’s immaturity. 

Despite it all, Kusuo pressed his mouth into his palm to hide a smile. It was overly paranoid, maybe, but all the things his brother had put him through over the years had only reinforced his cautiousness. Better to be safe than sorry, and all of that.

He needed to absolutely ensure that Kusuke would only pay attention to the meeting today. Coming back from his break in a good mood would only intrigue the man. Kusuo didn’t want him to know that he’d run into Kuboyasu.

And he definitely didn't want him to find out they had made plans to meet again. 

Despite what this all might lead you to believe, Kusuo wasn’t an idiot. He knew, without a single doubt, that these meetups were reckless. More than that, they were just plain stupid. He was risking the tiny amount of freedom he’d gained over the years. If Kusuke found out about this, it was back to constant surveillance and the tracker in his limiter—it didn’t matter that they weren’t on his head anymore. The one on his neck would do perfectly fine.

It was worse, though, because Kusuo’s life wasn’t the only thing at risk. Kuboyasu could easily be a casualty, too. Kusuke wouldn’t destroy the man’s life—even if his threshold for tolerance had been raised, there were certain things Kusuo still wouldn’t roll over and take. His brother knew what things Kusuo could be pushed and made to bend in. Ruining any of his former friends’ lives wasn’t one of them.

The most that would happen was that Kuboyasu would have to move out of Hidariwakibara for…’work’. Kusuke would pull some strings, and the punk would be gone. 

(It wasn’t a terrible fate. Kuboyasu would likely even live somewhere nice. But that wasn’t the point.

It would be a gentle warning that Kusuo wasn’t the one in charge of his life. If he tried anything like this again, the correction wouldn’t be as kind. And Kusuo couldn’t even get mad; he would only have himself to blame.

It was a reminder of what would happen if Kusuo got close to others—Toritsuka had been the first example, and Kuboyasu might very well be the second. People would just continue punished for Kusuo’s misbehavior until he learned.)

“Hey, homie, how are you doing?”

Despite it all, though, Kusuo still kept finding hismelf doing this for a second, third, fourth time. 

(Because he really was a selfish monster at heart. Maybe working with his brother suited him.

He just…couldn’t stand the idea that his old friends could forget about him, when the memory of them were the only thing that brought Kusuo comfort.)

In lieu of an answer, Kusuo slid over the cinnamon roll he’d ordered for Kuboyasu. The other took the offered sweet with a warm, affectionate look that made some long-neglected part of him glow. 

“Thanks, Saiki,” Kuboyasu smiled. Kusuo turned his head to the side so he didn’t flush under the attention. 

They picked a new cafe every time. Kuboyasu didn’t think much of it, but it was necessary to keep Kusuke off their scent. It was simple—before leaving, he and Kuboyasu would pick out a new one for next time. Then, once a week, Kusuo would use his clairvoyance to check for people, and teleport to a nearby alley, fifteen minutes before their agreed meeting time. 

There were a couple of reasons this worked. For one, Kusuo did have actual breaks, and he actually had a track record of occasionally going for a cup of coffee during them. For another, because Kuboyasu worked as a teacher’s aide, he got off a bit before the students and other employees did. It allowed them to avoid rush hour, which reduced the noise for Kusuo and made it a convenient drive for the Kuboyasu. Kusuo’s teleportation meant there was no paper trail to follow, and with a bit heavier application of his hypnosis, people would be hard-pressed to notice them. 

He had it all figured out. It had to work. It had to. 

Kuboyasu began gushing about something one of his students had done. Kusuo let his eyes close as his voice (trusted, safe) washed over him. The tension he’d been carrying around these past days finally unwound. 

(He kept meaning to stop. He couldn’t keep indulging—it wasn’t just his own freedom on the line.

But he’d gotten addicted to these feelings after being deprived for so long. He’d had it in high school, and he hadn’t realized just how bad he’d been craving it until Kuboyasu waltzed into his life once more.

It would be alright. Kusuo was not an idiot—he had plenty of experience in cleaning up after his mistakes.

“Kusuo.”

He jumped at the sound of his name, swiveling in his chair to blink at his brother. Kusuke’s eyes flickered over his face, dissecting and scrutinizing; ignoring the way his chest had frozen in fear, Kusuo tilted his head innocently.

“I’ve been calling you for a bit,” he said reproachfully. The smile on his lips was strained, almost an afterthought, as though Kusuo was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “What’s on your mind, baby brother?”

What was Kusuo supposed to say? Not the truth, certainly: he was mooning over his and Kuboyasu’s last meetup. 

(It’d been the last positive emotion he’d felt this week.)

He settled on shrugging apathetically then turning back to his work. He tried to maintain his usual air of unaffectedness, even as his heart pounded against his chest when Kusuke continued to bore into him.

Kusuo had been let off early—Kusuke’s orders. 

Which was…fine. 

He’d had plans to meet up with Kuboyasu, anyway. Kusuo would just be earlier than usual.

There weren’t a ton of people. When one of the baristas called out a greeting, Kusuo forgot to nod. He drifted by, moving to a table in the corner and sitting down stiffly. 

In—

(“You’re being irrational. Go to your lab, go to your cafe, go home—I don’t care. Just get out.”)

—out. Breathe. Everything was okay. There wasn’t anything wrong. All Kusuke had done was snap at him a bit. Kusuo used to be yelled at all the time when he was younger. This wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to. He didn’t blame his brother. Kusuke wasn’t a saint, and dealing with Kusuo wasn’t a walk in the park.

(“I’m not in the mood to put up with you right now.”)

He was holding his breath again. But he couldn’t help it. 

(Kusuke hardly got outwardly angry. Kusuo had learned how to creep around the subtle signs of his brother’s moods. 

He’d forgotten just how defensive he could get when faced with people’s direct anger. He’d forgotten just how much he hated it.)

He hadn’t been upset. Or, at least, he didn’t think so? He’d been stressed, but everyone was. Kusuo wasn’t—he wouldn’t—

He didn’t think he’d been lashing out, but if Kusuke was actually angry, Kusuo had to have been, right? His brother always knew, so he had to have been—

He didn't think he'd been lashing out earlier, but if his brother was getting angry, he had to have been, right? Kusuke always knew whenever he was close to a breaking point, so Kusuo had to have been—

He grunted as his teeth broke through his lip, jumping at the sudden sensation of pain. 

(Fuck. Good grief, get yourself together.)

Kusuo was going in circles. There was no point in reflecting on it—what mattered was calming down, especially before Kuboyasu got here.The former punk would instantly know something was amiss if he didn't. Or, even worse, maybe he'd realize that something was wrong with Kusuo, and he’d never want to see him again, and Kusuo would be alone again.

The surge of panic the idea bright had Kusuo instinctively reaching out mentally, sifting through the thoughts around him to ensure he was safe. 

He shivered deeply, and slumped slightly in relief. There was nothing; everything was normal and fine. No one thought he wasn’t human. He was blending in.

All he had to do was keep playing pretend until it was over. He’d been pretending to be normal for years. Kusuo could certainly keep it up for one more hour. He should order. Kusuo was earlier, but maybe something light would calm his stomach.

Yep, he'd move right now. 

Kusuo sat stock still for almost half an hour, trying to keep his balance above the sea of blackened emotions thrashing in his mind. He was usually a lot better at keeping them at bay, but it’d been. Harder. These past few weeks. Time slipped away from him so quickly that Kusuo only noticed until Kuboyasu entered his radius that he hadn’t moved an inch. 

He took a minute to reorient himself, looking down at his hands just to reaffirm that they were his. Then, tonguing absentmindedly at his new scab, he got up to order their food. Just as he was thanking the worker with a small bow of his head, Kuboyasu strode through the door. 

He tossed back his head, running a hand through his hair with a pinched expression. Kusuo pressed his lips together and moved back to his corner. Only a few seconds later, the sound of Kuboyasu’s heavy steps met his ears. 

"Hey, Saiki," he sighed, clearly brimming with frustration. “Sorry I’m a bit late, I live close by and decided to just drop off my bike.”

Kusuo didn’t turn to look at him, instead just nodding in greeting and focusing on dumping sugar into his drink. 

“I’m kinda pissy right now, honestly. Got into it with a coworker.”

Kuboyasu's voice deepened into a growl at the end. It made the hair on Kusuo's neck stiffen in alarm, but he remained loose and relaxed otherwise. The other man plopped down into his chair, took a swig of his drink, then set it down with a loud groan. “God. You'd hope that people would work with kids because they like 'em, you know? I know damn well they ain't in it for the pay."

Kusuo swirled his cup in his hand. His head hurt. 

"I mean, if I of all people can be patient, there’s no way someone else can’t. Especially with a goddamn kid."

There was a pile of sugar at the bottom of the cup. It was a ceramic mug, which was nice. Kusuo should stir it. 

"Like, come off of it. Teens are going through enough without having some adult yellin’ at them for tryin’ to have a bit of free thought.” His punk accent was slipping into his words now, the first time Kusuo had heard it during any of their hangouts. “He hadn't even been doing anythin’…"

Kusuo stuck a spoon inside his concoction. He wished Kuboyasu wouldn't be so angry. It was probably why his head hurt.

Kuboyasu sighed. "Well, anythin’ nice happen to you, at least?" A pause, then the man leaned forward slightly. “What happened to your lip?”

It was very loud in here, wasn't it? Kusuo usually enjoyed these outings, but he was just really annoyed right now. 

"Saiki?"

There were too many people here. Kusuke was right: Kusuo should have just gone home. 

"Hey," Kuboyasu said, putting a hand on the table before him. "Are you alright?"

The spoon in Kusuo's hand was clanking annoyingly against his glass, and he suddenly realized it was because his hand was shaking. The sound grated on his ears. 

Kusuo wanted to go home. 

"Ah shit," Kuboyasu huffed, his fingers curling uncertainly. 

Kusuo's stomach cramped with guilt. Kuboyasu had already been having a bad day, and now Kusuo was just making it worse. His brother was always right about him—Kusuo would have one of his fits, and it could have been avoided if he just listened. 

No matter how badly he wanted to, Kusuo did not do something stupid like rocking back and forth or covering his eyes. He refused to embarrass Kuboyasu like that.

Kusuo was semi-aware of Kuboyasu tossing back the rest of his drink. He then got up, getting behind Kusuo and scooping up his mug. "C'mon, bud, my place is only a few minutes walk from here. It's okay, I got you," he muttered. 

Oh, that wasn't a good idea. Kusuo only had plans for the cafes. Going to Kuboyasu's place was uncharted territory. This would end very, very badly. 

Still, Kusuo got up and followed Kuboyasu, running on autopilot—he knew a command when he heard one. He wasn't thinking straight, which meant needed to listen to what Kuboyasu told him. He was honestly just as capable as Kusuke. He'd make sure Kusuo did everything correctly. 

He was strong, too, if he needed to keep Kusuo in line. 

The bell of the door jingled as Kuboyasu pushed it open. There were more people outside, but at least it was darker. It made it easier on Kusuo’s eyes. Kuboyasu’s voice was low and soothing as he said, “We'll be there in a bit, Saiki. I promise."

“Are you leaving?” Kusuo mumbled, projecting to Kuboyasu alone. Communicating hurt—but some part of him couldn’t help the way the words slipped out. He needed an answer to this, to try and soothe the deepening itch in his brain.

Kuboyasu seemed to pause, then looked back at him. “No, no,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Kusuo let out a soft breath and nodded, feeling the knot in his chest unravel slightly. With the mental map in Kuboyasu's mind, Kusuo could see that the other was telling the truth. They were maybe five minutes from Kuboyasu's place. He wasn’t going to leave Kusuo—everything would be okay.

Kuboyasu led him to his apartment, glancing over occasionally to ensure Kusuo was following. Kusuo kept close all the way up to his front door, chewing at his lip and trying not to curl up or clamp his hands over his ears. 

“You’re not leaving?” Kusuo asked again, feeling shaken to his core. 

Kuboyasu looked at him as he fished out his keys, his eyes heavy with an emotion Kusuo couldn’t pinpoint. “No, Saiki. I’m taking you inside,” he reassured, then unlocked the door. 

Kusuo’s eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, letting him see inside. It was small, but obviously well-cared for: pleasant and inviting in a way Kusuo's apartment wasn't. Kuboyasu stepped in further and flicked on the lights, and Kusuo could now make out the warm neutrals of the walls and furniture. 

It was odd to notice—and even more bizarre to say—but this place…smelled like Kuboyasu. Even more of the tension Kusuo had been carrying relaxed, his mind slowly beginning to settle and reset. His hands were still shaking, and his brain was still aching horribly, but he could at least now focus. 

Unfortunately, the sudden bout of clarity brought with it a surge of embarrassment. Kusuo grimaced and tuned into Kuboyasu's thoughts, searching for the familiar burn of judgment—

But strangely enough, he didn’t find any. There was only a buzz of worry, and a need to help. Kusuo didn’t have to listen long to tell that Kuboyasu knew what he was doing.

It was more comforting that Kusuo wanted to admit.

Kuboyasu motioned for him to follow, guiding him to sit on the couch. "Just stay here for a moment. Focus on your breathing," he coached quietly. “I’m here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

…Yeah. Kusuo inhaled slowly, counted to ten, then exhaled. Yeah, he could rest for a moment.

Kuboyasu settled around a foot away from him. He remained quiet, keeping his eyes closed and breathing loud enough for Kusuo to follow along.

The sudden moment of calm suddenly made Kusuo aware just how exhausted he was. He was constantly running around at work, dealing with Kusuke and his coworkers while still doing his actual job. Right now, the idea of a nap was calling alluringly to him, aided by just how much his earlier emotions had drained him. 

Kusuo would usually rely on his anxiety to keep him awake; no matter how tired he was, his hindbrain knew that sleeping made him vulnerable. Relying on his instincts so much was backfiring right now, though, because every part of himself was insisting that he was safe. 

(Even if he’d never been here, this place was Kuboyasu’s. Nothing bad would happen here.)

His body ached with painful overstimulation. He wanted to sleep and wake up to everything feeling manageable. His rational mind reminded him that this would not end well; Kusuo should apologize for being an inconvenience and head home. 

But the steady sound of Kuboyasu's breathing was deepening his own, lidding his eyes until Kusuo was slipping away into sleep and not thinking very much at all. 

When he woke up, it was to a soft blanket and a dark room. Thankfully, Kuboyasu seemed to have let him be otherwise: his glasses were still on his face and his hair was still pulled back. His eyes instantly adjusted to the lack of light, but it took his internal clock a moment to do the same. 

And when it did, Kusuo felt his eyes widen in horror. 

It was nine o’clock. Kuboyasu had swept him away to his place at eight. Kusuo had slept for nearly an hour at a friend’s house, somewhere he definitely wasn’t supposed to be. 

He pushed off the couch in a panic. The blanket dropped off his lap, and he nearly tripped over it in his haste to get out. He growled and ducked down to snatch up the stupid thing, folding it automatically while cursing the manners ingrained in him all the while. Then, he heard Kuboyasu’s thoughts about coming to check on him, and for a split second, Kusuo thought about fleeing through the window. 

…If Kusuo was starting to think of mission-impossible-level escape routes, he really was cornered. He’d long ago learned that it was best to just sit and wait rather than delay the inevitable—no matter how pathetic it felt. 

So, he settled back on the couch and only looked up when Kuboyasu came in. 

“Oh, you’re awake now. How are you feeling?” He asked. Instead of sitting next to Kusuo, he chose to sit in front of him on top of the coffee table. Facing him made Kusuo feel oddly exposed, which in turn made him a bit antsy.

He couldn’t take it out on Kuboyasu, though. It wasn’t his fault that Kusuo had been so easily swayed. 

“Fine,” he responded shortly. Kusuo would meet Kuboyasu’s eye to try and seem more genuine if he could. But the idea made him viscerally uncomfortable right now, even with someone he relatively trusted. 

And, of course, Kuboyasu didn’t believe him. He raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Kusuo snapped back instinctively, then gritted his teeth. He took a breath to regain his composure, then tried again. “Yes,” he said softly. “I’m alright.”

Kusuo could feel Kuboyasu staring at him, searching hungrily for any signs to the contrary. Finally, after a moment, he let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Okay. I won’t push you on it anymore.”

Relief broke over Kusuo. His telepathy was starting to clam up again, and forcing it out just hurt. He shifted uncomfortably, looking left and right, before deciding to just screw it and show himself out. 

Inevitably, Kuboyasu followed close at his heels. The confidence from earlier was gone and had been replaced with an anxious desire to help. It only served to make Kusuo feel bad for the guy. Kuboyasu had always been a man of action; it was probably driving him crazy, being unable to do something for Kusuo. 

The thought made Kusuo want to laugh. Kuboyasu thought he was doing nothing for him? Good grief, give him a break. He’d done more for Kusuo these past weeks—hell, even just tonight —than anyone had in the past four years. 

It was Kusuo’s pity that kept him from shooing Kuboyasu away. It even extended to letting Kuboyasu walk him out and down the stairs of the complex. 

He could not, however, find it in himself to accept the guy’s offer to drive him home. 

“Saiki…” Kuboyasu’s voice cracked, tugging on Kusuo’s heartstrings. 

The other man took a breath. ‘No. It’s not my place. I need to give Saiki his space. Especially because he’s already so private…”

There. Kuboyasu had even agreed to back off, so there was no need for Kusuo to feel so guilty or indulgent. 

Except—

Kusuo could see himself through Kuboyasu’s eyes. He could see the way his hair stuck out from his ponytail and how wrinkled his button-up was from his impromptu nap. His eyes were dark and glazed over, and the stress on his face exposed his exhaustion. 

From Kuboyasu’s point of view, he looked like easy pickings. And his mind was going over all of the awful things that could happen to Kusuo on his way back home, how he wouldn’t know if Kusuo made it home safe because he didn’t have his number, how he wasn’t even sure if he’d even see him again—

He should have taken the opportunity to clean his hands of these indulgences. When Kuboyasu forced himself to turn away, he should have just let him go.

Instead, Kusuo reached out to grab onto his sleeve, feeling incredibly shy and silly but wanting to somehow extend the comfort Kuboyasu had given him. Kusuo cocked his head and tugged again on the sleeve, hoping Kuboyasu would get the message.

Kuboyasu, keen and observant, immediately understood. A moment later, Kusuo found himself seated on a familiar motorcycle with a helmet on. Kuboyasu gently positioned Kusuo’s arms to wrap around his muscled chest, and Kusuo felt his heart thump oddly in response. 

The sound of the engine revving sent a wave of nostalgia so strong through Kusuo that he felt his eyes prickle. He tried his best to ignore it, along with the deep-seated surety that something terrible would soon happen, and let his head fall onto Kuboyasu’s shoulder as they peeled away from the curb. 

He should have trusted his gut. It was that slip-up that sent the whole thing careening downhill. 

Maybe his hypnosis had slipped the more distressed he got, and someone saw them in the cafe. Or saw him freaking out. Or watched the way he’d trailed after Kuboyasu’s heels the way he did to Kusuke.

But someone definitely saw Kusuo leave Kuboyasu’s apartment. They saw Kusuo’s mussed hair and rumpled clothing, and they’d watched as he’d clung to Kuboyasu, basically cuddling with the man on his bike.

Kusuo knew someone had seen because he was currently dealing with the repercussions during what had to be the most humiliating meeting he’d ever sat through. 

“Has Kusuo ever been seen with this man before?” Mr. Fujimori asked. They were all currently examining a few articles, all discussing the newfound information about Kusuo’s life. Some were gushing about his mystery romance. Others were trying to figure out who his ‘friend’ was. 

Some were obsessed with the fact that this was the only time Kusuo had ever been seen with Kuboyasu: obviously tired and messily put-together, slipping out of his apartment at night. Needless to say, it wasn’t painting a very flattering portrait of him. 

“No,” Kusuke responded calmly, his voice as light as ever. “He has not.”

His hypnosis had worked against him there. Maybe this situation would be less interesting if there was a record of Kusuo and Kuboyasu’s former interactions. 

The Board all shared a look. “Mr. Saiki,” Nakayama sighed. “None of us enjoy intruding on Kusuo’s private life. We are also aware that, as times have changed, certain…acts before marriage have become more commonplace.”

Kusuo refused to squirm or look down in shame. He hadn’t even done anything. But he also knew these men were all stuck in their ways; despite their placating words, Kusuo was being ripped apart in their minds.

“But he is also one face of this company. And it does not reflect well on us for him to be- how do you say-”

“Having one-night stands?” Kusuke offered readily. He held up a hand to the men’s sputtering, silencing them. “Not to worry, gentlemen. I appreciate your discretion when discussing this because you likely know of my affection for my baby brother. But I do understand the importance of the situation.”

That was the worst part. This was a big accusation—but not for the reasons everyone was outwardly claiming. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world that Kusuo was supposedly sleeping around. He was a grown man; he could do as he pleased.

But there was one dirty rumor spreading around that was making Kusuo feel…dirty. And one that was making all the higher-ups sweat. 

There weren't a lot of people talking about it, but still. Seeing even a few little articles here and there, linking his ‘promiscuity’ and his rapid climb in the company—well. Nepotism used to be something easy to point fingers at, and certainly juicy enough to gossip about. After all, what else did the media know about Kusuo beyond the little they’d been told?

Now that they thought they knew something, they were going wild with it. And it was only a matter of time before more people realized how much more interesting sleeping his way to the top was than being a nepo baby. 

These guys weren’t worried about the company’s reputation—they were worried about their own. Sex wasn’t exactly a one-person thing. They knew that soon as people started pointing fingers at Kusuo, they would be next on the list. 

And some of them had genuine reason to fear what people might find. 

Kusuke had forbidden him from dishing out a healthy dosage of karma. Maybe it was for the best; disrupting the lives of the former interns they’d harassed by going after these men wasn’t something Kusuo was looking to do. So, he’d settled for putting a stop to it while he was here and letting the rest go. 

(But right now, some of them were looking at him in a new light. It made Kusuo want to tuck his knees up and turn invisible.)

“We won’t have to worry, though,” Kusuke continued, smiling broadly. It looked slightly crazed around the edges, and Kusuo shrunk away slightly.  “After all, this isn’t some random guy Kusuo was fooling around with.”

He nearly jumped when the blonde suddenly reached out to run a hand through his hair. Kusuke turned that maniacal smile onto him, and Kusuo just barely kept himself from teleporting away. “He wanted to keep it a secret a while longer, but now is as good a time as any.”

“My sweet baby brother is engaged . Isn’t that just lovely?”

Kusuo couldn’t breathe. His world was shifting and his head was spinning, and he could still feel everyone’s eyes on him, still see their judgment and his brother’s anger, and the sound of his voice, of “isn’t that just lovely?” and Kuboyasu—

Kuboyasu. 

Kusuke had whisked him away immediately after the meeting. They were in his office now, a place Kusuo rarely visited. 

Unless he was in huge trouble, that was.

Some small part of Kusuo was worried that he was going to have one of his tantrums, but it was drowned out by the ringing in his ears and the anger licking at his insides, making him shake and bare his teeth and— “Kusuke, you’re—you’re fucking joking. You can’t actually think—”

“Kusuo,” his brother hissed right back. His eyes were alight with something dangerous, crazed possessiveness and feral rage that made fear flicker through Kusuo like a whip. There was no smile on his face; not even an attempt at one. ““Don’t think for a second that I’m willing to listen to anything you say,” he said, stalking forward.

All the fight had vanished from Kusuo the moment he’d seen the other’s face. He skittered back nervously, his telepathy clamping shut out of a sudden surge of self-preservation. 

(Don’t push. Don’t make him angrier. Stay quiet and listen. Try to please, then run immediately after.)

“I am going to tell you—” Kusuke continued, breathing heavily around each word. His teeth flashed warningly. “—how this is going to go. And you are going to be a good boy, shut your mouth, and listen.”

His brother had hunched over slightly, looking almost feral. Then, he straightened up and closed his eyes, taking a breath and running a careful hand through his hair. When he opened them again, they were blank, and a small smile grew on his lips. “Okay, baby Ku?” He asked, tilting his head. 

Kusuo nodded, his terror turning him cold. 

“You have been… very bad these past few weeks,” Kusuke hummed, back in control. His bangs swayed over his eye, and Kusuo watched the movement as if hypnotized. “I had to find out from ants that you’ve been having these little escapades with that mutt—and for so long, too. How…quaint,” he gritted out, derision dripping from his voice.

Kusuo looked down. He felt like a child. It was humiliating. 

“You decided to run off with him after I sent you home. Were you angry with me? Upset that I got mad at you? If you wanted to be comforted, you know your big brother would have been willing,” he chided. 

“But it doesn’t matter now. You went to the wrong person. And you’ve made a very big mistake being caught, Kusuo.”

Kusuke prowled closer. Kusuo tried to back away again, trying to maintain that essential space between them, but his brother just reached out to grip his shoulders. “Really. How long did you think you could keep this from me?”

Kusuo kept his gaze low, afraid of what he might find in Kusuke’s eyes. Afraid he might see his own expression reflected in those glassy orbs.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what he was thinking, why he had ever thought it could work out. Something would have cracked eventually—Kusuke would always find out, no matter what it was or what Kusuo did to keep it private.

“Look at me,” his brother demanded. Slowly, Kusuo forced himself to drag his eyes up, nearly staring through his brother in an effort to disconnect from the situation he was in. ““You know I don’t care about our reputation. I don’t care what happens to them. But I do care about you ,” Kusuke sighed. “It’s not your fault, little Ku. You’ve had nobody to discipline you, to make you realize that your actions have consequences. But that’s what your big brother is here for, Kusuo.”

Kusuo couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He wanted Kusuke to let him go, but somehow, both his body and mind had frozen completely, like a blinded deer. 

He blinked and hoped he’d wake up from this awful nightmare soon. 

“If I can’t trust you, Kusuo, I don’t think it’s quite safe for you to be using your powers outside of my supervision.”

What.

“Kusuke…?” Kusuo croaked out. What did that mean?

“Let’s make an honest man out of you, dear brother,” the blonde continued, steamrolling over Kusuo’s tiny plea. “You will. Marry the goddamn mutt. And everything will be just fine. You won’t use your powers at home, not with your beloved sweetheart there! The Board will be happy, you’ll be under control the way you should be, and the world will be safe. And, hey! Maybe the dog will even be happy to have your company? Everyone gets something out of it.”

Not him, though. 

Kusuo couldn’t even focus on how selfish the thought was. All he could think about was constant surveillance and tracking, about cameras following his every move and his brother somehow always knowing what was going through his head. 

A noose—his leash was turning into a noose before his eyes and Kusuo couldn’t do anything, Kusuke wasn’t letting up, he wasn’t letting Kusuo have any air or freedom or—

“Kusuke,” he gasped. “Kusuke, you…you can’t—don’t do this to me—”

“Kusuo,” his brother laughed sweetly. “My estimations of your intelligence have already gone down significantly. Don’t lower them further, okay?” 

He tugged Kusuo in closer, wrapping his arms around him in a chilling embrace. Kusuo twitched, and opened his mouth like he would actually use it. 

“Oh, little Ku,” Kusuke sighed scoldingly. Kusuo tried not to hyperventilate or pass out or scream or all of that at once. Instead, he stood stock still as Kusuke asked him, “You don’t honestly think you have any say in what happens to you, do you?”