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“which brings us back
to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes,
not from the absence of violence, but despite
the abundance of it.”
- Snow and Dirty Rain, Richard Siken
#
“I am proud of my son, Teruki.” Is what he wishes was the last thing his mother told him. It wasn’t. Instead it was, “Don’t forget to dust your room.”
The first phrase is an answer to the landlord raising concerns over an eleven year old child living alone.
“I am proud of my son, Teruki.” His mother says, hands wringing behind her back. She has dark hair that doesn’t match his own, tied up in a ponytail. He can’t see her face but he imagines her smiling. She probably doesn’t know that he’s listening in.
Teruki is peering out his apartment door, careful not to alert either adult. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He’s only watching. He only wants to see if, when his mother walks away, she’ll look back to him. He doesn’t realize he’s looking for a crack, some sort of hesitancy. He can’t fathom the feeling that’s weighing his chest with lead. The doorknob barely reaches past his shoulder.
His mother continues, voice unwaveringly steady. “He’s an exceptional kid.” She pats the landlord’s shoulder in reassurance. “He’ll be fine alone, trust me.”
Teruki trusts her.
She doesn’t look back.
#
How to get rid of stains off wooden floor? Teruki searches on Mobgle. This has been somewhat of a routine since he’s started living alone. He’s 11 and a half now. At first, he tried asking his mom, but after the third time her answers became sparse. She’s testing his exceptional problem solving skills.
He presses enter on the public library computer. He scrolls through the first few results. He bites the nail of his thumb, eyes flitting across the screen. He scrolls back up to the search bar and, looking around, making sure he’s in incognito mode, adds blood stains.
Okay. It’s a funny story actually.
See, this guy was trying to kidnap him. He was with these two other thugs in spandex and they called themselves Claw. Talked about how they were gonna rule the world someday, how special they were. Teruki didn’t care for it that much. Their monologues were long and monotonous and tedious. If anything, the blandness of it dampened his fight or flight response down to just the fight.
“You’re just like us, Hanazawa.” The man had said it in a voice that made his face look bare because it didn’t have a mustache to twirl around. “We’re the same.”
And that had ticked Teruki off. Blatantly false. He needed to prove it.
He punched first with his normal, 11 year old fist, pumped with enough adrenaline that the pain in his knuckles didn’t register completely. The Claw man looked at him, Not enough, as he spat out a tooth.
That was the first blood stain. The next few ones were made with the force of an angry, frustrated esper. The lackeys' bones cracked inaudibly. Teruki wasn’t really sure what exactly he did, just that he did it well.
It’s there he realizes. He isn’t like them. He’s so. Much. Better.
Now he’s here, looking over his shoulder, searching what club soda looks like. Memorizing one of the brands, he taps his foot on the wooden floor. He closes the chrome window and walks out the library.
#
On Thursdays, recyclables are scheduled for disposal. Teruki heads down from his apartment with three garbage bags floating behind him. Two of them are filled with empty bottles of club soda.
#
It becomes surprisingly easy to live alone. He doesn’t have to tell anyone where he’s going. He can sleep as late as he wants, eat as many sweets as he’d like. He patterns his life with the manga he reads, placing himself in the position of his own heroes. Independence is freeing, he says as much in his weekly voicemails to his mom.
His dad sends him some American comics from abroad. He’s not that fluent in English, but he finds a club that studies it.
There, he meets a second year student named Edano.
Well, less meet and more made aware of. The way Teru learns about his schoolmates is through other people. He pieces together rumors and gossip he’s told to get a sense on where they stand in the social hierarchy. He will get so good at it that it only takes a look for him to know who they are. He’ll flatten them with keywords like sticky notes on the refrigerator. The only trait that matters to him: Below me.
Edano is the leader of the school gang. It’s an open secret. Teru’s heart pounds with overflowing excitement. He overhears the teachers in the faculty discussing how they can shut the gang down. He dampens his own enthusiasm.
He knows that, in terms of his role in the world’s story, it doesn’t work. He’s the idol. He’s easy going and charismatic, smiles often to put people at ease. Teachers trust him. He gets nominated as class representative only to humbly turn it down. It’s a quiet, soft power. A gang isn’t fit for that image. Powerful but too brash. Social relevance only through exclusion. It’s eggshell cream painted over an alabaster wall. It’s the other circle on a venn diagram. It just doesn’t work.
But he still wants to join. It’s an itch. An eagerness. Maybe it’s an intrinsic part of him, the violence. Normalcy is a farce to him, undeserving of him. Karaoke and exams and dating are just there as filler. He was never someone gentle, no one ever taught him how to be.
He has probably been in more fights than the entirety of the gang combined. It’s not like it’ll be an obstacle.
Who even cares? It’s not like anyone’s gonna stop him.
He beats Edano with one effortless slap. His palm is coated with the silky feeling of his psychic powers. It’s like a glove to him now, a second skin.
“It feels embarrassing to want to be the leader after this, Edano-kun.” Teru stretches his arms out and yawns. The yard is muddy from the rain, but his clothes remain spotless. It’s partly because of his own excellent fighting ability, mostly because he doesn’t want to put in extra effort in his laundry.
“Teru,” Edano groans, begs pathetically. He scrambles to properly get on his knees. He leans over. His forehead touches the mud. There’s dirt in his fingertips. He bows with reverence usually foreign to a thirteen year old. “Please be our leader.”
Teru smiles at the clear defeat, narrowing his eyes. He holds himself up higher. “I don’t want to associate myself with such an embarrassing gang.” It’s only half an insult. He can’t sacrifice goodwill from everyone else just because he wants to throw a punch sometimes.
“You can be… a sort of shadow leader. From behind. Indirectly the head. No one would know.”
“And what’s in it for me?” Because that’s all that matters.
“Loyalty. From all of us.”
“And?” Life and lemons and squeezing what you can.
“Power to control the school.”
“And?” Squeeze.
“Money, if you want.”
Teru is almost satisfied. “And how about you? What can you offer?” Squeeze.
Edano looks up and meets his eyes. He pauses, thinking. “I can…”
Idea.
Teru tilts his head. “You’re in the English culture club, right?”
“Um. Yes?”
“You speak it?”
“A little bit. I have a tutor for it.”
The gears in Teru’s head start turning. “Hm. Proposition. I’ll join your little group if you send over your modules every session.”
Edano blinks, a bit confused, too scared to ask questions. “Okay.”
Teru inhales through his nose, heart beating a tiny bit faster. He basically skips as he turns back. “I’ll text you the address later.” He lifts his phone up in the air. “Don’t tell anyone.”
It’s only his right to stand over all these people, trample them under his pretty foot. These poor peasants, he thinks. He pats himself on the back for his charity. They’re unable to see him for all his glory, so he has to hold their hands through the process. Burn a little brighter. Take a little more. The rumors evolve. He’s otherworldly. He’s inhuman.
He’s untouchable.
#
Teru wants to bash Edano’s skull in.
He doesn’t. He settles with punching him square in the jaw at a random park behind some trees. Edano has thicker skin than most Black Vinegar gang members, but, as established, even he isn’t immune to Teru’s immense strength.
He slumps by the wall, holding his cheek with his hand. He slides down to sit on the grass. “What’d I do?”
Teru types up an enthusiastic Sure! to a girl inviting him to karaoke before glancing at him with a quiet, seething anger. “Ah, how many times have I told you not to share my address?”
Edano blinks. “I didn’t.”
Teru turns back to his phone as his subordinate runs his mouth with excuses. He pulls up an Instagram post of a cat with the location, taken from the balcony of his apartment. He shows it to Edano. “What about this?”
“You think someone can’t track me with that? Tagging me like we’re friends—Are you fucking stupid?”
“Track you? I think you might be overthink…” Edano blinks. A pause. His face scrunches into unfamiliar concern. He looks up, eyes different. “Why? Is someone stalking you?”
Teru sways, thrown off balance. If he expected a question, it definitely wasn’t that. He swallows his shock. He shouldn’t let it bleed into his expression. Simple, one word question, “What?”
“It’s just—“ Edano pauses, biting his lip as if he’s about to say something he doesn’t usually talk about. “Look, my ex-stepdad is…“ A pause. Edano’s vulnerability that seeped out is being mopped back in, visibly so. Like he doesn’t trust what he’s saying to Teru. But he continues, “I get it, if your situation is like that. It’s pretty scary.”
Teru almost laughs. Scary is such a far away feeling from him. “I’m not scared,” he says. He hasn’t felt that in ages.
“Well, do you know who’s doing it?”
He hums. “Yes, actually. I’m being hunted by this terrorist organization.” His voice and expression is flat. He decides to play off whatever reaction Edano will give him. “They want me on their side because I’m such an amazing fighter but I always beat them when they try. The only reason I haven’t joined is because your little gang would be lost without me. I don’t want to be an alumni to a school with a loser gang.”
Edano searches for something in Teru’s face. A crack or a gap. Then, his eyes harden when he doesn’t find it, vulnerability retreating back further inside.
“Fine.” He grits his teeth. “Don’t tell me.”
As expected.
What’s not expected is this: the inherent softness in Edano’s voice when he says. “Tell the school at least.”
“You don’t give me orders.” Teru gives him a tight lipped smile. “And you’re not allowed at my house anymore.”
#
Teru is torn down and reconstructed in a matter of minutes. There’s peace in his chest, acceptance of a new role. He is finally scared again and he couldn’t feel more grateful. Sand getting swept into the ocean. Dust bunny cleaned under the bed. A boy in a story that doesn’t belong to him.
Shigeo Kageyama rings throughout his body, echoes in his veins. He keeps thinking about him as he goes back to his apartment in his gym clothes. He keeps thinking about him in the shower. Then he thinks about the water from the shower, how it passes through the drains and evaporates into clouds in the sky. Clouds he was staring at a few hours ago, as Kageyama Kageyama cried with knees on the ground.
Shower finished. Towel dry. Oops, that bald spot is something to get used to.
He’s in his pajamas, looking at the ceiling. Feeling sort of hollowed or renewed or a mix of both. No one was really ever honest to him, he realized. Not until Kageyama.
Identity is a funny thing. He tries to think of his own in this new framework given to him. He’s no longer the centerpiece of a puzzle, nor is he a corner. He’s just somewhere in the almost middle. Not quite the heart. Not quite the sun. He’s the mini arc antagonist the hero has to defeat to get to the bigger fish.
Just like the guy he punched when he was 11.
There are scars all over his body.
Hanazawa cries a lot that night.
#
When you have self inflicted the weight of the world upon your shoulders, shrugging it all off makes your body feel too light. Hanazawa let himself rest without pressure for only one day, before deciding to add some for his own sanity.
He builds a philosophy on the foundation Kageyama left him. His mind will always ring with the question, What would Kageyama do? So, in every situation, he separates it into two categories: Who to save and who to fight.
Pretty easy way to interpret most situations he finds himself in.
Who to save: Ritsu. Who to fight: Claw (shocker!)
Who to save: the Prime Minister. Who to fight: Oh, Claw again!
#
Kaijin is what people started calling him. Well, he also made sure to whisper it in gossip so the name that sticks isn’t too embarrassing. It’s easy to lose track of what people call you when you’re wearing a bright yellow and purple suit, mask, and cape and flying around every night. Kaijin is mysterious. It’s cool. It describes him in the most intriguing way possible.
His reputation is probably more interesting than what he actually does. The comics he read made this type of life look so much more appealing—Not that he’s doing this because he wants that kind of attention, oh no. He’s doing this out of the pure goodness of his heart. Nothing personal to gain here.
In the first week he did this, the only actual situation he encountered was Kageyama trying to catch him. They had crossed paths and spent the night on the roof of a random building.
Kageyama said, “You’re very heroic, Hanazawa-kun.”
Hanazawa answered, “Don’t be so modest. I got it from you.”
And they were so high up, he started to get out of breath.
Right now, on an early November evening, he’s clad in his uniform and he’s standing by the edge of a building. He has his hands on his hips. The moon illuminates him from behind. He glares down at the robber as they steal from an old lady in an alleyway.
Who to save: an old lady. Who to fight: a robber.
“Halt, criminal!” Hanazawa shouts.
He lets himself fall down, letting the wind rip through him. He grabs the robber by the collar and lifts them up so they can’t run. Nothing too strong. When they start swinging a knife around, Hanazawa pulls it out of their grasp with telekinesis.
Once the criminal gets over their initial shock, they drop the bag they’d been taking from the old lady. They raise their hands up in surrender. “I give up. Let me go.”
Hanazawa tries to squash the disappointment that forms inside him. It’s a good thing that they don’t want to fight. He doesn’t have to use any more of his powers.
“I can’t. I have to take you to the police.”
“No! Please. That’s — I’m just trying to get by, okay? I just need money for my rent.”
The old lady’s voice is both demanding and frail. “How much do you need?”
Both the robber and Hanazawa look at her.
She stares back, eyes bigger behind her glasses. “How much?”
The robber’s voice becomes shy, even embarrassed. “Three… thousand… yen?”
The lady starts searching in her bag. She pulls out a 5000 yen bill. “You could’ve just asked, you know?”
Hanazawa gawks.
Once the robber gives their thanks and runs away, the old lady smiles at Hanazawa. She says, “Thank you for that, dear.”
“I’m just doing what I can.” Hanazawa replies, feeling surreal at the entire exchange. “Why did you…”
“Hm? I figured they were in trouble to resort to something like that.”
“But you just gave them an out. They won’t learn their lesson now.”
“I think you making their knife float with your mind made them rethink things.” She adjusts her glasses, looks him up and down. “Your costume is lovely!”
Hanazawa blushes. “Oh, thank you.” He does a little spin to show it off. “I made it myself.”
“The stitching is immaculate. How long have you been sewing?”
“A few months or so.”
“That’s incredible!” She fishes out something else from her bag. A business card. “If you ever want fabrics or anything, just come by my office, okay?”
Hanazawa blinks. “Okay.”
He takes it.
A beat.
“Um. Do you… need help getting home?”
She waves her hand around dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t doubt your elders, Kaijin.” She teases.
#
His new philosophy falls apart by spring, in a forest after school, face to face with his friend.
Who to save and who to fight is suddenly the same person.
#
Teruki has never stayed in a hospital this long before. His meals are delivered and they’re always hot. Soup and veggies and fruits on the side. He can watch TV all day, even if his vision is still a bit hazy. Nurses and doctors check on him and constantly ask how he’s feeling. It’s nice to be taken care of like this.
On the third day, as he’s eating slices of pear in a small bowl, he gets his first visitor. Well, he meets his first visitor, since the Awakening Lab kids visited while he was conked out on morphine.
Kageyama pops his head out from the crack on the door. He smiles very kindly, with eyes shining as if he was actually happy to meet Teruki. Quietly, he asks, “Hi. Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Teruki replies. The words leave him on autopilot. He doesn’t even think about it. As Kageyama shuffles closer, Teruki realizes that maybe he should’ve.
See, he’s no stranger to what he feels about Kageyama. A heart racing, palm sweating, crushing kind of awe. It’s feather-y and ticklish. It’s been there since they first met. He’s not sure what it’s called exactly, but he knows what it feels like.
It doesn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t.
His fingers curl up into fists, bundling his blanket up. The hairs on his arms rise up with each step closer. He knows what this is called and he hates it. He shouldn’t be scared of his friend.
Kageyama, bless his soul, came with a gift. A small sunflower. He places it in the vase on the bedside table, along with all the other flowers the Awakening Lab kids gave him. It’s the smallest one. It flops down quite sadly, which makes Teruki chuckle.
“Sorry, it’s not much.” Kageyama says, holding it up to get it to stand.
“It’s okay. It’s cute.”
When it’s obvious that the flower won’t stand on its own, Kageyama sighs and straightens it up with his power. The prickly, sandpaper feeling of his energy in the room almost makes Teruki yelp.
“You can just leave it like that,” he says immediately. “I don’t mind it like that.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Teruki plucks it from the vase, turning it over with his fingers. He studies it up and down. (He doesn’t look at Kageyama.) “Thank you for the flower.”
“It’s no problem. It was all that’s left with the bouquet. I figured you should have it.”
“Because I tried to destroy it?” Teruki says it with a bit of bite, then winces as it leaves him.
Kageyama frowns. “Because you were the one to give me the idea.” He pauses. “Actually, I came here to apologize.”
It’s not a first for Teruki, but apologies are few and far between to him. They’re usually from him or entirely absent. He glances at his friend, holding the flower loosely with the tip of his fingers.
Kageyama bows to him, low, lower. It’s shameful, remorseful and incredibly genuine without a word. It takes Teruki a split second to notice what the scene looks like. A flower. A bow. A rejected confession.
“You don’t have to bow, please.” Teruki says, placing the flower back in the vase. “It’s — It’s too much.”
Kageyama looks up at him, almost sheepish. “Sorry.” He stands back up.
“It’s okay.”
Kageyama takes a deep breath. “I realized I didn’t apologize properly the first time. And now it happened again.” He grimaces. “I’m really sorry about the first time, that time in your school. It was—“
“It was fair play.” Teruki interrupts. “I strangled you. I should be the one apologizing.”
“I destroyed your school.”
“I was hurling knives at you,” Teruki says. “I’m sorry.”
It’s strange to say it here, months after it happened. He had never stopped feeling guilty about it. He remembers getting interrupted as he tried to apologize. He never found another time to say sorry. Now, it feels like a hook breaking a lake’s stillness. He glances at Kageyama.
A beat.
Kageyama looks like he wants to object to the apology, but he doesn’t. Instead, he nods, absorbs it, and says, “I forgive you. I’ve forgiven you a long time ago.”
Teruki smiles. “Thanks. Me too.”
Kageyama shakes his head. “But what happened a few days ago… That wasn’t fair play at all. What I did to you was awful.”
“Kageyama, that wasn’t you.”
“No, but it was.” He replies immediately. “Don’t make excuses for me. I locked it down and buried it but it was still me. I still hurt you, Hanazawa. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
A beat.
Teruki looks down as he fidgets with the scratchy hospital blanket. Outside, a drizzle starts, muted by the windows. He wants to say, You don’t have to apologize for anything. I wanted to stop you all on my own. It was my choice. And it was, and he stands by it and he’d do it again if he had to.
But he can barely look Kageyama in the eye now. He can still feel his bones aching. His vision is a bit shot. He’s in a hospital room and Kageyama is apologizing for hurting him. Kageyama hurt him.
Teruki sighs. He says, “I forgive you. Of course, I forgive you. But…” He bites his lip, looks out the window. He shakes his head. “I will forgive you. I will. I just… I think I need some time away from you. For now.”
The words wash over the atmosphere. There’s not a lot of sounds, not a lot of movement. Teruki focuses on the roofs of buildings and the drops of rain.
“Please, just…” He looks up at the ceiling. “I think you broke the pedestal I built my life around of.” Shaky inhale. Scratchy blanket. “I’m grateful, I am, but I don’t think I’ve thought about who I’m supposed to be without it. I used to think I was on top of it and then you came around and you were on top of it. You proved me wrong twice. Now, that structure is just gone. And it’s… terrifying.”
Teruki steals a glance at Kageyama to gauge his reaction and almost cries. He’s saying all these horrible things but he’s looking at him like that.
Kageyama’s empathy is a warm bath drawn on a day of a nasty blizzard. It’s strawberry and yuzu in the humid summer. It’s hot broth when you’re sick. It’s comfort, shown in just the slightest smile, with eyes that look. With lips that say, “I get it,” and mean it.
Teruki’s throat almost closes up. “I’m really sorry—“
“Don’t —“
“It’s not your fault I feel this way—“
“Teruki.”
Teruki stops talking.
Kageyama says, “I understand. I had to distance myself from some people after they hurt me too.” His voice has a slight quiver. “It’s normal to feel this way. Please, don’t apologize. Who you want in your life should depend on you, okay?”
Teruki opens his mouth then closes it. He nods.
Kageyama continues, “Thank you for telling me. You’ve already done so much.” He inhales, takes a moment to think about his next words.
It hits like a fucking gut punch.
“I’m proud of you, Teruki.”