Archive of Our Own

Teru Minamoto raises his free hand to wipe the blood smeared on his cheek, being careful to avoid staining the white fabric of his sleeves. The cold evening breeze places a harsh kiss on the open wound on his face, and had it not been for the numbness he felt, he would’ve winced at the stinging sensation. He holds on to the grip of his sword with his other hand as he places it back on the sheath tied to his waist. He looks at the crowd of people conducting clean-up, their hands rushing to pack the spiritual weapons despite their tiresome faces. His feet lie still in the area where his battle with a powerful city supernatural had occurred just minutes ago. The rocks on the soil poke through the soles of his zori sandals as he turns around and takes eager steps to leave. The night air hits his face as he walks, a shade of red creeping onto his neck. He notes how the breeze tonight is colder than usual, and with it nearing the end of November, he infers that winter is coming soon.

Teru Minamoto loves winter. He doesn’t know if the climate truly has an effect on supernaturals, but he found out at a young age that fewer supernaturals show up during the months of this season. Due to the cold temperature and absence of more life-threatening supernaturals —and perhaps the infectious Christmas spirit-, his father becomes more lenient and allows him to exorcise supernaturals without wearing the traditional kimono. The process of the purified fabric embracing his skin has always been dreadful for him, as it felt like becoming less of Teru and more of a Minamoto. It’s not like Teru harbors any resentment for the clan (that’s a conversation for another day) nor does he wish to defy the traditions that have been followed by his family for centuries on end. It’s just that the thick fabric feels itchy on his skin and the fukuro obi is wrapped too tightly most times. It’s just that his sword gets a bit heavy and the loud crunch of his footsteps produced by the sandals is more annoying than his sneakers. His trail of thought is interrupted by the loud chorus of “thanks!” and “goodbye!” he gets from his father’s people as he waves them a dismissive hand, not bothering to look at them with his practiced smile.

Teru’s gaze remains dazed on the city streetlights and the houses that remain peaceful thanks to his daily interference with the supernaturals. His throat feels dry and he wants nothing more than to get back home and eat the meal his brother cooked for dinner. It would most likely be cold by the time he returns, even if Kou bothered to reheat the dish right before he went to bed. Kou has a habit of doing so whenever Teru skips dinner to get ready for another night of exorcising threatening supernaturals —knowing Teru wouldn’t be able to use the microwave when he comes home, as he was banned from the kitchen after he had burned it yet again when he tried to cook breakfast the other day (who knew frying eggs could be so difficult?). As much as the older blonde would’ve loved to devour the homecooked meal lying on the table and lavish in the warmth it offered, he knew that any second spent focusing on himself meant the possibility of harming others. So today, much like other days, he had ruffled Kou’s hair and promised to eat his cooking once he returned.

Teru breaks anything —the hearts of those who confess to him, the newly-bought kitchen appliance, the mental state of his Vice President, himself (this might just be his favorite one)- but never his promises to his siblings. To hell with it if the pork curry feels cold on his tongue, giving him a difficult time stretching the meat with his teeth and fully appreciating its chewy texture. Teru will eat it regardless, as Kou’s cooking is always delicious. He remembers Tiara saying a cheesy line she caught from a kids’ show about how it is the power of love that maintains the flavors —not like he disagrees. A fond smile graces his features at the thought of his family, feeling something pleasant for the first time since midnight passed. The loud crunch of his sandals against the pebbled path reaches his ears in a repeated manner, the gap between each sound becoming shorter the more he walks. His eyes open a bit wider, despite the bags underneath threatening them to close.

His foot hits a curb, jolting him awake at the suddenness of it all, and his elbows graze the hard concrete pavement. The impact of the fall mixed with his exhaustion doesn’t affect his reaction time, however, as his eyes remain still —mere inches away from the ground. He continues to steady himself with his elbows as he controls his breathing. He lets out a sigh of relief at the realization that he managed to avoid further injuring his face and ending up with a bloody nose. He’s not sure a weekend would be enough to heal that, and he really doesn’t want to explain his situation to a group of doting students at Kamome. ‘His face is a national treasure!’, as the students claimed, and he knows how protective people tend to be with things they deem as eye candy.

‘It’s a strange feeling,’ he thinks. ‘To be loved and valued so religiously, and continue to feel nauseating loneliness.’

The cold breeze hits his flesh once more, and it dawns on him that he’s alone —with no servant of the clan to witness him, no younger sibling to fuss over him, and no teenager in love to admire him. At the thought, he allows himself to wince at the feeling (of the freezing air or the lack of companionship, he’s unsure).

‘It stings,’ he thinks.

There is a semblance of truth behind his thoughts, as the temperature did little to soothe his bruises. However, there is a sense of irony at the thought of the Teru Minamoto —the same boy who deals with vicious supernaturals with a poker face and smiles through the workload given to him as the Student Council President- letting out sounds of protests at something that can be so easily dismissed.

Like a child, Teru sits up and rubs his forearm as a comforting gesture. He stares at the night sky, the moonlight glaring at him as though it were a mockery of his loneliness. It shines on his defeated figure, the kimono now dirtied by the dust and pieces of concrete. He chuckles softly at the patheticness of the situation, knowing Kou will scold him relentlessly for letting his clothes get so dirty.

“It’s hard to do laundry, y’know!” Kou had complained one day when Teru returned all battered and bruised. His hair was disheveled and his clothes were stained with a mixture of dirt and blood —“Don’t worry, it’s not my blood,” he’d always say, as though the idea of a seventeen-year-old boy being the cause of murder would be any more comforting than if he were the victim. Kou fussed over him with a stern glare, per usual, but Teru didn’t fail to notice the concern that laced the younger’s tone. Teru is perceptive after all, and emotionally intelligent in a way. He knows what his brother means when he tells him to avoid dirtying his clothes. It was a reminder to be careful and try not to stain his own blood on the fabric. He internally wonders why his brother can’t tell him outright that he should stay safe. Had his dishonesty rubbed off on Kou?

No. He wouldn’t want that. Kou is a genuine person, so much so that Teru can’t help but envy him. The boy has always been blunt and would outwardly express what he feels if he believes it’s needed. So then, does Kou believe it to be unnecessary to wish Teru well? He frowns at the thought. As childish as it may sound, Teru wishes for Kou to dote on him more. He wishes for Kou to stay by his side, as the younger brother who admires him dearly and looks up to him. At least, with that, he’d find exorcising spirits more enjoyable. But Kou is a growing boy and he seems to be undergoing recent changes, what with all the talk about becoming a supernatural. Teru flinches. Kou’s beliefs are changing and shaping him to become someone else entirely, and Teru wonders if he’d still be able to recognize his brother after all that.

Unlike Kou, Teru doesn’t change. He loathes it, even. The presence of security that comes with having a routine is his source of comfort, an assurance that he’s living a life rather than just existing as an empty shell of a human. A perfect school prince by day, and a ruthless stoic exorcist at night. That’s what he was, and what he had been for years. It’d be foolish to seek out a life far from his reach and step away from all that he had known. But his brother was anything but foolish. Despite his reckless nature, he was observant and persistent. He had the traits of a true hero, someone who fights for the sake of all that is good and not just all that is convenient. So if his unfoolish brother yearned for a life different from his —a routine so predictable and practiced- what did that make of him? In a world filled with youthful saviors that beamed with hope, just who was Teru Minamoto?

Teru hoists himself upwards, forcing his limbs to keep him standing. His house wasn’t that far away, and if he walked now then he’d make it in time to at least have three hours of sleep. He holds onto the grip of his sword as he takes a step forward, eyes staring ahead in a blank daze. The trip back home was short-lived; Teru hadn’t even realized he was in front of his porch until he saw the familiar glow of light from inside. His brows furrow at the sight, knowing Kou wasn’t the type to leave the light on when everyone should be sleeping.

His steps are light as he races to the front door, opening it with one hand as he unties the strap of the sword’s sheath around his waist with the other. He throws the weapon on the ground once he finally rids himself of it, not bothering to hang it on the coat rack. He messily kicks his slippers off his feet, and with the beat of an athlete’s heart when they win a gold medal, he turns to the kitchen. His eyes fall on Kou with the side of his head resting on his arms as he’s nestled on the table. The younger’s eyes are closed and his breathing is slow and steady. Teru’s gaze softens at the sight and he approaches his sibling with hushed steps. He gently shakes the boy’s shoulders, and soon enough Kou’s eyes lazily open as he sits up to rub the tiredness from his lids with the back of his hand.

“Mn.. Teru-nii?” Kou croaks out, his voice slightly strained. “Did ya just get home?”

Teru nods, the corners of his lips lifting without him meaning to. “Mm. You didn’t have to wait for me, Kou.”

Kou clicks his tongue, “Nonsense!”

Teru watches as Kou pulls his chair back and stands up, his hands reaching for the curry previously shielded by a red mesh cover. The shorter boy excuses himself to place the plate of food inside the microwave, pressing the right buttons to heat it just the right amount. Teru hums questioningly as he leans on the edge of the desk with his arms crossed. “I could’ve done that myself, you know.”

Kou turns over his shoulder to look at Teru with a skeptical stare, clearly not believing him. “Don’t think I forgot about the time you placed metal chopsticks in the microwave.”

Teru pouts, feigning offense as he shrugs nonchalantly. “I didn’t know it would explode.”

Kou points an accusing finger at his older brother, a scowl on his face. “Exactly why I can’t trust ya to do this properly!”

Teru sighs in resignation and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright.”

Kou huffs and crosses his arms as he leans on the counter, watching the plate of curry rotate through the transparent window. Teru rests his hands on his sides, his fingers mindlessly fidgeting with the hem of the tablecloth. Half a minute passes of the two blonde siblings basking in the comfort of the silence, the sounds of the microwave’s occasional buzzing being the only source of noise, when the time reaches zero. A beep follows the glaring of the neon “0:00” sign on the top rightmost side of the appliance, and Kou doesn’t waste a second to grab the handle and swing it back. He takes the plate from inside, the pads of his fingers tolerating the heat it emits, before he sets it down on the table.

Teru turns to look at Kou with an appreciative smile and he lets go of the cloth to wrap his arms around his younger brother. Kou flushes at the surprising gesture, frozen at the sudden intimacy. Teru rests his chin on the top of Kou’s head, a silent gesture of gratitude. On any normal day, Teru would’ve expressed his thanks out loud and smothered Kou with praise. Tonight, however, his body felt heavier than usual and his mouth quivered just so slightly that one could easily miss it. He closes his eyes, relishing the tranquil atmosphere, and lets out a shaky sigh.

Kou seems to notice the sudden change in Teru’s demeanor, the embarrassment now entirely gone from his features. He pats the arms of his brother around his neck and smiles. “Good work today, Teru-nii.”

At the words, Teru buries his face in Kou’s hair even more, his body shaking. If Kou asks about it, he’d simply answer that he was just cold. He tightens his grip on Kou, pulling him closer against his chest. Perhaps this way, he’d be a little more like his adorable little brother. He notes how his heart clenched in his chest, and with the sinking feeling in his stomach as the back of his throat went dry, he infers that he was unlike Kou in every way possible.

In a world filled with youthful saviors that beamed with hope, Teru Minamoto was a coward.