Chapter Text
This was a bad idea.
Sitting here in a stuffy auditorium.
In a university he doesn’t even attend. Not yet anyway.
On second note, No. This place wouldn’t even be his second choice. Not that he has a first.
Looking to his sides and the rows just in front of him. All the students are busy writing down notes like there’s going to be a quiz afterwards. They all have to be at least in their late-twenties. Busy working on their doctorate, probably. He doesn’t belong here. The person who looks closest to his age is some kid in the front row. And they couldn’t be much older than 5 years old.
But that’s not all. There’s something else. A feeling. The sensation that he’s not there. Watching family videos on an old VCR. Not much more than static now, and the occasional voice breaking out of the static. Context stripped away by years of deterioration. But the emotion is still there. By nothing but the simple fact that they took the time to hit record. Now nothing more than a drunk man’s gamble.
That voice sticks in his head.
Part of him can’t believe he remembers it. It’s not the exact same. But with a job that includes a far bit of public speaking combined with his age. That’s to be expected. It’s not like he still sounds the same from six years ago. It doesn’t affect him that much honestly. It’s just surreal.
The words being said mean little to him. He never did pay much mind to the topic of the talk. Even if he did, within the past 10 minutes so much jargon has been passed around it’s a whole another language.
With how far back Teru sat, there’s no way that he could see him.
Why, because otherwise it wouldn’t be a surprise.
The plan was simple. Is simple. Once the talk is over he’ll stick over a bit. And ask him a question. That’s it.
“Could you be there for my graduation?”
Easy. Right. Now granted, for most kids the answer would be too easy. ‘Why would you even ask that?’ Level of easy.
But Teru gets it. They have to travel for work. Dates don’t always line up. Work comes first. He needs to stop being selfish. He’s just going to ask. That’s all he can do. The worst thing they can do is say no.
He can handle that. Like how he handled it before.
Middle school Graduation. Montreal. First Day of High school. London. Christmas. Birthdays. You need to be more specific.
But this is different. He’s graduating high school. Top of his class. Acceptance letters from nearly every top ranked college in the country. It’s a big deal. Even if it wasn’t. All the other parents will be there. Taking photos and shaking hands.
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out two tickets. Rereading them. Ticket is not quite right. It’s a template on printer paper; cut into uneven strips. His name written out in the blanks provided. Complete with the date and time. Off in the corner in a different colored pen seat numbers. If he counted it out right. They would be right in front of the family section. With a clear view of their son graduating. Giving him a clear view of two empt-.
No. Nope. They’ll be there. And they will be overjoyed pressing a handkerchief to the corners of their eyes to dry the tears.
Well probably not his father. Teru’s never seen him cry. This is the only context he’s seen his father. A strong figure. All eyes on him. Listening to his every word. His mom used to say he got his mother’s good looks and his father’s personality. But he’s changed since then. Who knows how much truth remains in that claim.
He puts the tickets back into his pocket. Checking the time on his phone, repressing a slight groan. 30 minutes left. Swiping through various apps. Not doing anything besides wasting time, when his phone vibrates in his hand. Reading the notification, a smile forming on his face as he does.
“Hi.”
His response is swift. Giving a greeting of his own. Dressed up with the appropriate amount of emojis. Complete with the perfect inquiry to keep the conversation going.
“I’m with Shishou at the office. Did it go well?”
Ah. Weird. Serizawa should be at the office. And Reigen didn't ask him to help out today. He typically asked him before Kageyama most days. And Kageyama is the only other person he told about his plans. But Mob is graduating as well so they must be celebrating later.
“Have you asked your parents yet?”
He shoots back a quick response, “Not yet. Talk isn’t over yet.”
He’s waiting now. Hopefully, Kageyama doesn't think that he chickened out. He’s been talking about this forever. Ever since he stumbled upon an ad for this talk during his ‘College search’. Though Kageyama gave him the idea. After casually mentioning the ad during a random study session before finals.
He wasn’t going to tell them. But as Kageyama told him, They were going to be in the area. Only half an hour away by train. Graduation is typically over by noon so they would have plenty of time to catch a late flight out. The pieces were all coming together. Leave it to Kageyama to see what he couldn’t.
But that doesn’t stop his reservations about all this. He should have texted them that he was coming. When was the last time they were all in the same room together. Before he got the key to his first apartment, probably. This is all too sudden. They must have plans after this. He would just be wasting their time. Make them late to their reservation. I mean what kind of son does that?
No. He’s staying. It’ll only take a second. One question. One answer. Yes. No. Yes.
Yes. Then they’ll show up for his graduation. Laugh it up with his parents. Filling them in on all the parts of their lives the other had missed. They would get to meet his teachers. His friends. Kageyama. Kageyama’s parents. What would they even talk about? It’s going to be great. Do they have anything in common? His two worlds collide. The unspoken questions would stop. Because they would be there. Teruki Hanazawa has parents. They’re right there.
Hello and how do you do, would be exchanged. How long has he been dying his hair? Did you know he used to sleepwalk? Photos would be taken. Hung up on the wall. Everyone he cares about together. Smiling. Happy.
“Good Luck.”
He’s getting ahead of himself. He’s well aware of this. But this might actually go well. For the first time in a decade he’ll get to share an accomplishment with his family as it’s happening. What he sends back is a near incomprehensible string of emojis.
The moment he hits send, the key clacking and scribbling stops. The people around him start to gather up their belongings. Teru does the same, sliding his phone in his back pocket along with the tickets. Waiting with bated breath as they begin to stand up to leave. Following their lead, they separate at the exit as Teru leans up against the wall beside the door.
Within a few minutes, all that remains in the massive auditorium is his father, a small line of students, and Teru at the end of that same line. Each step forward, his excitement turns into a massive pile of nerves. Crescent shaped marks littering his palms and hands. Flyaways getting slammed down before they even take off.
Either the students are asking the most bare-bones questions, or his father is trying his best to get out of there as soon as possible. He was right, they do have plans after this. He should leave. He’s wasting everyone’s time. But he can say he tried, it just wasn’t meant to be. It is what it is.
“Young man, do you have a question for me?”
The following chuckle echoes throughout Teru’s head. Turning his head around he pointed forwards himself. The man just chuckles again.
“Yes, you. You’re the only one left.” The man adjusts his tie, “What question do you have for me? I’m all ears.”
Teru shallows hard. He can’t believe it. Does he not remember him? That’s not a big deal. He’s changed. He’s blonde now. It’s been awhile. Rather bold of him to think that he would automatically recognize him.
Suddenly he’s a child again. Standing in his parent’s doorway. Tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Releasing with a sharp click.
“Um. Hey, Dad,” He can’t look up at him. But he continues. “It’s me. Teruki.”
Do you know the sound a tape makes as it gets eaten?
First, You hear the whirr.
When he looks up. His heart sinks. He knows that face. He hates that face. He’s changed. He’s not like that anymore. He doesn’t make people feel like that anymore.
Terrified. He’s terrified. His father is terrified. His father is terrified of him.
Then the pop and a buzz.
In the blink of an eye, it disappears. All the fear behind his eyes vanishes as it appears.
“Oh of course, You’ve grown so much.”
His voice is strained. He won’t look at him. His arm hovers over his shoulder.
“So you’re blonde now. Don’t let your mother see. She’ll think you’ve turned into a delinquent,” The laugh that follows rings hollow.
His eyes keep darting to the door. Like he’s planning his escape. His words hold no love.
Teru takes a deep breath in. Shallowing the bundle of emotions in his throat. Pushing them down so he can do what he came here to do. Not even bothering to grab the tickets from his pocket.
“I’m graduating this year. I wanted to see if you and mom could be there.”
“Ah. Sorry kid, but you kno-“
Teru stops listening. He’s heard it all before. They’re busy. His work is important. How do you think we can pay for your apartment? You.
“You understand, right? We would love to be there for you. But you know how important work is right.”
He never even asked when it was.
Ending with one final scream.
“Yea, Dad. I get it. I was just hoping that since you were in town. That you might. Be there. For me.”
Teru can feel the tears right behind his eyes. He remains calm. Falling into his father’s script. The one they’ve gone through many times.
Only now they’re face to face. Now he can see why this script exists. Now he can see the fear in his father’s eyes.
Afraid of his own son. Why? How on earth could he be afraid of his own son? What did he do? Nothing. He did nothing. And yet this man thrice his age quivers in his presence.
Is this why?
He can feel the anger rise. Burning off all the tears he hasn’t shed. Electric aura flows out of him like a leaky battery. Hair floating just enough to be more than just the trick of the eyes. A single light flickers in the back.
Left with nothing but popcorn static.
His father flinches hard. Eyes glued to the light. Fear on display for all to see.
It’s gone. You can’t fix it.
7 years. By himself.
He lived by himself for 7 years.
A lonely childhood molded by design not necessity.
Scared not of the terrorist group, but of the child they’re targeting.
Their own. Kicking them to the curb doing the bare minimum to soothe their own conscience.
Not caring about the 10 year old sitting alone in an empty apartment.
Teru meets his father’s eyes back straightened. His hair falls back into place. The light stops flickering.
Teru can hear footsteps just outside the main exit.
His father is shaking.
Neither speaks.
Teru marches out the side exit. Not looking back. Door slamming behind him.
Sliding down the now closed door. Eyes slammed shut. All his concentration goes towards his breathing.
It’s not the tape's fault. VCRs are getting older. With a motley of moving parts. One wrong move. One bad part. The tape’s as good as gone.
The main door opens. Heels clacking down the stairs. The new voice begins to talk. He remembers them.
He should just leave. He did what he came here for. He got his answer. He can deal with it. But he has to know. If his mother feels the same. This is a bad idea.
Teru turns intangible.
They’re both looking in his direction. Staring at the door, sharing the same look of fear between them. Is this how they looked after? After every time he tried to call or text. How often did they let it ring?
They’re holding one another in a vice grip. Whispering. He can’t make out their hushed words. He doesn’t need to. It’s about him. Spoken about like they never even had a son, but instead a curse with no cure.
Sometimes the tape eats itself.
A small shriek echoes throughout the room. Repeating a word that must be a mistake. There’s no way.
But he can see how their faces light up. The first genuine smile to cross their faces all evening. The truth standing before Teru. Running into the man’s arms laughing as she gets picked up into the air.
They don’t need a son anymore. Why would they?
They have a daughter.