Chapter Text
It wasn’t like anything had changed. It had been a week since they celebrated Reigen’s birthday.
No—scratch that. It had been seven months since the world almost ended, again. Since the golden-haired boy stood still as it kept spinning, business as usual, like nothing had split wide open. Like none of them had stood on the edge and watched it all teeter.
By the hands of a boy. Of that boy.
They were still just teenagers. Still just kids— fumbling through the ruin and routine of everyday life. Still people, living.
Anyway—yeah. A week since that half-lit office. A week since they all sat around a melted, lopsided cake that somehow still tasted good.
The Spirits and Such Consultation Office was still standing. Reigen-san, forever scheming, still somehow running the business. Thanks to the help of Serizawa-san, who had started learning how to “legally” decode things in his night classes. And Dimple, who was just… everywhere and nowhere at all, either a face in steam or a flicker on the TV screen. They had a new employee now: Tome Kurata, who was dead-set on piloting a UFO someday—armed with nothing but raw intuition and undying passion.
Everyone had gotten older. The world, in its weird quiet way, was moving forward.
And Teruki Hanazawa…
Teruki Hanazawa was still in love with Shigeo Kageyama.
Speaking of Kageyama, the two had become close. Study sessions turned into convenience store runs. Quiet afternoons with math books became lazy nights curled in Teru’s apartment, silence stretching comfortably between them. The way friends do.
Yes, they’re officially friends now. Best friends, maybe. Teru thinks that should mean something, and he also thinks it shouldn’t. Shigeo still calls him “Hanazawa-kun”. He laughs at his jokes sometimes. He lets him braid his hair once in a while when he’s too sleepy to care. He thanks him. He trusts him.
He’s just glad, honestly, that Kageyama still talks to him. Still texts him. Still shows up at his door with convenience store snacks and a voice so soft it makes Teruki forget what breathing feels like. It’s simple. But to him, it’s everything.
Sure, he’s been through a lot. He’s learned humility— to turn over a new leaf, all because “White T Poison” defeated him. But he’s also never had anyone he cared about like this, not really. So this whole “best friends” thing is both a blessing and a slow crucifixion.
He should be grateful, he should be.
And yet there’s a kind of love that feels like blooming, and a kind that feels like bleeding.
The reformed esper was somewhere in between.
Their relationship had deepened— as friends, of course. And that made Teruki’s heart flutter with wings that are trapped in a cage.
Their friendship isn’t the only thing that developed, though.
Shigeo and Tsubomi did too.
Tsubomi Takane is Mob’s first— first crush, first heartbreak. First impossible dream. Teru knows that, and he doesn’t resent her. He just envies the shape she carves in the quiet boy’s heart— one that the star can’t ever quite mimic. She’s beautiful in that way the dark-haired boy admires— nice, steady, effortless. She says more with one glance at Mob than the blonde ever could with a thousand words.
Of course he is.
Of course she smiles now.
Of course she sees what Teruki sees.
He doesn’t blame her. Can’t.
But sometimes Teru wishes she looked at someone else—anyone else—with that softness. And not his best friend.
Teru doesn’t… hate her. He just wishes Mob didn’t also look at her like that.
He doesn’t talk about her the way he used to— not like a crush, not anymore. He talks about her like someone he wants to understand. Like someone he still can’t stop admiring, even if he’s stopped chasing her shadow. Mob says she smiles more when they see each other now. That they talk and chat on the phone. That she finds Mob easy to talk to—which makes something cold settle in Teru’s throat.
He can’t even blame her since Mob is easy to talk to.
Because Mob is... Mob.
Mob, Shigeo Kageyama, is Teruki Hanazawa’s best friend.
Kageyama is curled up in Hanazawa’s apartment. Blanket over his knees and a can of soda in one hand, like he owns the place. His eyes flickering over a manga Hanazawa bought for him months ago. A bead of water clings to his jaw. His hair is still damp from the rain earlier—Teru notices it’s grown a little longer.
He wonders if Tsubomi has noticed his best friend’s hair getting longer. If she likes it. If she told him that.
He is fine. He’s been fine. He’s so fine he might throw up. It’s so easy—too easy—to fall into this rhythm. Pretend he’s content. Pretend this is enough. Pretend Kage— Shigeo’s presence is meant for him, and not just the world.
“...You’re staring,” Shigeo says out of nowhere, not looking up. It startles the other boy.
“Sorry,” Teru laughs as he looks away, eyes drifting as it tries to focus on the unplugged TV. “Didn’t mean to.”
He did.
“You’re quiet today.” Shigeo added.
“Just bored, I guess.” He lied, smiling as he lazily shrugged.
Because what else can he say? “You make my chest feel too full, and I think I’d drown if you ever noticed” sounds like a confession. But it isn’t. It’s just a quiet fact he’s been carrying for months. He’s not even surprised it happened. Of course it did. It’s Shigeo Kageyama. The admiration turned soft, turned warm, turned into something that lingers behind his ribs like a bruise he doesn’t want to press. And that’s fine. It’s all fine, he wishes.
But those little things ache. The quietness. The hum of the air conditioner. His bestfriend doesn’t notice the silence differently. Doesn’t seem to feel the weight in the room shift when Teruki’s heart tips sideways in his chest.
The blonde had gotten good at pretending. He’s had practice— he’s still pretending to be good.
Shigeo laughs softly at what he’s reading.
Teru watches his profile. Consuming the sight quietly in his bones. He is so close enough to reach that smile but never close enough to keep it.
He could live like this forever, to watch that soft mouth turned into something warm. But no, he’ll let the feeling fade soon.
He has to.
Shigeo needs someone to talk to, to support him with his journey in life. And Teruki is there—as long as Shigeo is happy. Teruki is that person, that’s what best friends are for.
Teruki Hanazawa is Shigeo Kageyama’s best friend.
He’s not Tsubomi— not even close.
Still, they looked so similar, Teru thinks. He’s popular, smart, and attractive just like Tsubomi.
He’s kind too, he changed– he already did. He’s trying. Isn’t he?
Of course he is.
He owed Mob his life, in a way. The boy who knocked him back into himself. Who didn’t flinch when Teruki was at his ugliest. Mob doesn’t owe him anything. That the kindness he gave him—the chance to start again, to be again—is more than he deserved.
That’s his truth.
He’ll carry that truth like a stone in his pocket, worn smooth by repetition.
So why should Shigeo owe him anything in return?
Why should he ever look at Teru like that?
Why should he ever think they’re the same?
He won’t.
Mob will never look at him the way he looks at Tsubomi.
And that’s okay.
It has to be.