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Toya is already on the verge of a breakdown, and it's only the second day-- he doesn't know how he'll survive the next week.
To celebrate Natsuomi and Shuji's award-winning performance in Vienna, their father had asked them to visit home for a few days to share their win. Toya was, truth be told, ecstatic. Not only because he hadn't seen them in forever, but also because he was hoping their view on Toya's 'rebellion' had changed. He could finally talk to them guilt-free.
It would've been perfect if it weren't for the family dinners.
Harumichi insisted on them dining together every night, as 'the Aoyagis were finally together' and for 'taking this opportunity to bond as a family'. Toya had desperately tried to escape, even outwardly telling his father that he did not want this, but Harumichi would not budge.
And now Toya is stuck smiling through the pain.
The sounds are so overwhelming, it's as if it's all he can hear and think about. Every breath, every bite, every cough, every word spoken a little too loud, combined with the supposedly 'calm' music-- it's hell on Earth. It never made sense to him on why he was so affected--any other person would turn a blind eye to the noises.
Unfortunately for Toya his eyes aren't fucking blind, as much as he wishes them to be.
Underneath the table, Toya is desperately trying to distract himself, digging his nails into his thigh to feel something else. Of course, no one notices his obvious discomfort. If he shows the slightest anger, they'd ask him what's wrong. Toya can't tell them, not after what happened last time. They wouldn't understand. They can't understand-- they bask in such ignorant bliss, he would rather keep hurting himself then make the people he loved the most walk on eggshells around him.
Natsuomi is talking about one of his concerts from God knows when. Toya isn't listening, he's too focused on the way his brother is chewing so impossibly loud. His breaths grow shorter as the noises become louder--every sound is a noose growing tighter around him. 'Just breathe,' Toya tries telling himself, 'you're fine.' Not that he's ever been fine after figuring out his sound sensitivity. Did God just hate him? Was this his punishment for rebellion? It's taking all of Toya's willpower to not start sobbing and release his pent-up anger at everyone for something that was his and only his fault. He should really just--
"Is something wrong, Toya?" His father asks. His cold gaze reminds Toya how this happened in the first place.
He brings his hands to his stomach wincing, making it seem that he was in pain. "I think I'm having a stomach ache" He says. Hopefully his acting will get him out of this.
His mother clears her throat, "Oh dear, is it because of the food?"
Now Toya is really on the verge of crying "No, it must've been something I ate in the morning. Excuse me." He says, while rushing to the washroom--the only save haven at the moment.
The door has barely been shut before his vision grows blurry, tears spilling as he sinks to the floor, hands covering his ears. The room seems to be closing in on him with every passing second. His head hurts, his heart hurts, and everything everything everything hurts. It's not supposed to hurt, he's not supposed to feel such rage. His hands move to his neck, clawing at it as the last hour replays in his head. There are tears streaming down his face and his eyes sting and his nose is runny and he's choking and shaking--why is he fucking shaking? It wasn't that serious. Except it was. And then the guilt comes rushing in. Oh God, Toya's going to break. It's too much. It was always too much.
A memory hits him.
12 year old Toya sat in the backseat of the car, returning home from a concert. For performing half-heartedly (as what his father berated to him about), he thought he did pretty good. Unfortunately, Harumichi thought otherwise.
"No emotion, Toya, none. You're more lifeless than the dead. How many times have I told you to play with emotion? Understand the feelings of the composer. Your posture was atrocious. Your fingers weren't curled enough, have you forgotten your years of practice? Or should I make you practice scales again? And-" He went on, chiding him on the smallest inaccuracies. Well, it wasn't his fault he's being forced to do this. One would assume that was the reason Toya looked so defeated. That assumption was dead wrong.
It was because of the sounds.
Harumichi had caught a cold, so when he spoke he kept clearing his throat and coughing. His heart was racing so so fast almost as if he'd run a marathon. He hated this so much-- why was he hyperventilating over a cough?. A normal person wouldn't do that, and that meant Toya wasn't normal. He knew this wasn't right, he knew he should just ignore it. Yet for some damned reason he couldn't. He shouldn't feel such anger, he shouldn't feel such pain. Why why why why why--
As soon as the car stopped infront of their house Toya ran out, desperate for the serenity of his bedroom. He could hear his father ordering him to come down he shut the door. In an instant Toya's demeanour broke, angry yet guilty tears streaming down his face.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he calmed down. And he knew he needed to find the reason for this...thing. If Toya hadn't take it seriously before, he definitely was now. His fingers shaked as he typed on his computer: "Why do i get angry over noises?"
To Toya's surprise and relief he had an answer.
"Misophonia is a disorder in which certain sounds trigger emotional or physiological responses that some might perceive as unreasonable given the circumstance. Those who have misophonia might describe it as when a sound “drives you crazy.” Their reactions can range from anger and annoyance to panic and the need to flee."
That was his light in the unescapable darkness-- he felt seen. He felt understood-- he finally was understood. For the first time that day, Toya breaths.
Before Toya could return to the present, he's pulled back to the past again.
"What?"
Toya is 15, three years after he discovered his misophonia. Harumichi looks at him with a mix of condescension and confusion. He feels helpless under his gaze, but Toya wills himself to stay strong.
"I know it seems ridiculous--"
"It is ridiculous, Toya. You're just overreacting."
"I'm not!" As soon as those words escape him does he realise he just snapped at his father.
"I'm--sorry. But please, listen to me. It's not just anger, and it's so much more than annoyance. It triggers me alot. It makes me panic." He feels like he's taking of a part of the mask he's kept for so long.
Harumichi was quiet for a while.
"You should learn to deal with whatever this is. These sounds are normal, what you're feeling isn't. Honestly, do you really expect me to control what is natural?"
"No, but-"
"What will happen once you're older? You'll start crying because someone ate a little too loud? You're weak, you've always been weak. You make those exact noises you hate, yet you run off when someone else does it. Excuses, thats all you make. After you met that boy-"
"Do not bring Akito into this." Toya can handle the hits on him, but he will not stand those for the boy who saved him.
Harumichi scoffs, "It's only a pathetic excuse to continue being stubborn. This is normal, and you should be a normal person too. Make yourself get used to the 'noises', it's not that hard." As Harumichi walks away Toya feels his hopes sink to lower depths.
He's learned his lesson.
He'll hide himself, he'll keep his mask on.
He won't tell anyone again.
Toya doesn't realise he's spacing out until he hears a loud knock on the door.
"Toya?" It's Shuji, "You alright? You've been in there for quite a while." He looks at his watch and almost swears outloud. He's been in here for 40 minutes.
Toya tells him he's fine, and Shuji leaves him alone. And suddenly it's as if he could feel everything at once, from the cold floor to the hollow feeling in his chest to stinging in his neck to the faint chattering outside.
He takes a shaky breath and attempts to stand, but stumbles onto the sink instead. He feels controlled, his movements robotic as if he is a puppet while he frantically searches the drawers next to the sink. He knows what he's looking for, and he knows what he's gonna do isn't worth it. But that temporary feeling of bliss is what Toya wants now. Scratch that. Toya doesn't just want it-- He needs it. Every other method Toya researched about in desperation never worked. It was never good enough.
Only one way was good enough.
Once he finds his "savior", he slides to the floor once more. He has to finish this fast, he can't risk any more suspicion. Toya rolls up his sleeve to see the many scars adorning his arm--it's part of the reason he wears longer sleeves now--and he's about to add one more.
Toya's knife--his saving grace yet ultimately his punisher-- is pressed so hard against his arm his vision starts blurring. His lips forms a grin and he closes his eyes, his whole body trembling as he drags the blade's sharp edge across his arm. The weight is already leaving him, but once is not enough. He'll regret this in the long run, sure, yet at this moment it's the most euphoric feeling Toya has felt this entire week. So he does it again.
And again. He should stop.
And again. But it's nearly impossible too.
And again. Atleast he isn't hurting anyone else.
And again. It's better to take out the rage on himself.
Till blood is piling up and his arm is throbbing. Toya winces from the pain, yet he's also thankful for it. Because with every exhale Toya can feel the weight leave him, taking away the heaviness for freedom.
Shit. He cut himself again.
And in an instant the freedom is replaced with guilt.
Holding his bleeding arm, he makes his way towards the sink to wash away the blood. He hides his knife once more. A band-aid wouldn't work, no, he went overboard this time. Toya searches through the drawers for the gauze he stores in cases like these. As he rolls the band-aid on his arm he inspects himself in the mirror. Toya's nose and cheeks are pink, and his eyes are somewhat teary. His hair is somehow messed up, and his neck show faint marks of abuse. After fixing himself up he finally leaves. If he's lucky, dinner would be done. And he is.
Toya finds his mom collecting the plates when he arrives in the hall. Natsumi and Shuji have gone to their rooms, he concludes, while their father sits infront of the piano. Toya's plate is the only one left, uneaten.
"Are you alright?" His mother asks
"Yes, but I don't think I can eat any more." While Toya is hungry, he doesn't think he would be able to eat today guilt-free.
"It's fine," His mother smiles "goodnight"
As he returns to his room he stops infront of the door. Out of the corner of his eye he notices his father staring at him. His gaze is almost sympathetic, as if he wants to care, but doesn't allow himself to.
Toya hopes one day his father would truly understand him.
Toya would try overanalysing the look in Harumichi's eyes, but he's so impossibly exhausted he feels he could fall asleep while standing. He drifts off to sleep as soon as he hits the bed.