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turning-the-kaleidoscope · 1 year

Note

Protective hug with Reigen and one of the kids?

this got so out of hand. so out of hand. thank you so much for the prompt! <3 i really went. frickng. this is 8.6k. but I’m really really happy with how it turned out! <3 ty again for the prompt

- future fic bc I love post canon potential, protective reigen, Teruki’s parents are the worst, heavily implied child abuse/neglect (not pictured), etc. married terumob at the forefront with backburner married serirei. because I’m a sap. everyone is protective of teruki and shigeo.

hope you enjoy! my formatting broke while copy/pasting to tumblr shdjkfsdf so here’s the AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43243897

~*~*~*~*~

Reigen is balanced precariously on his hand-me-down stepladder replacing the blinds when Teruki bursts into the office with a sound like a gunshot and nearly vaults Reigen to his death.

“Teruk—!” Reigen yowls, flailing. He's lucky enough that the blinds had already been secured to the window—he grabs ahold of the rail and steadies himself, then hops down the three steps to the floor. "Holy shit, don't do that to me—”

Teruki's across the room before Reigen's collected himself. His hands chain around Reigen's arm and the fear in his eyes brands straight to Reigen's soul.

“She found us,” Teruki blurts. “She knows where we live, Reigen, she—”

“Okay, okay. Calm down.” Heat rips through Reigen's chest. Teruki is twenty six years old and all Reigen sees behind those eyes is a scared child. “Who found out where—”

Oh.

Oh shit.

“Shit,” Reigen says out loud. He grips Teruki by the shoulders to hold him steady. Not even Claw could make Teruki tremble like this. “What happened? Are you and Shigeo okay?”

“We’re okay,” Teruki stammers. His gaze flickers around like he's expecting someone to hurt him. “Shigeo got the door, but she knew who he was and I never even told her I was gay. How did she know who he was? How did she know—”

This has been the one lingering fear that has followed Teruki every year of his life. Claw has come and gone. Natural disaster has come and gone. But his parents—somehow they’ve managed to cling like the roaches they are, digging their grimy hands into whatever good things Teruki builds for himself.

Not this. Not fucking this.

“I don’t know how much she knows,” Teruki says. “He told her off but she said she’s going to come back. What are we supposed to do when she comes back?”

Reigen hugs him. It feels like what Teruki needs. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says. The rage within him seethes and bleeds into the ferocity of the hug, but he can’t do anything about it. “She doesn’t get to do this.”

Teruki hugs him. Reigen’s hug is angry; Teruki’s hug is afraid. “What are we supposed to do? She hasn’t done anything for years, if we take it to the police—”

“She’s done enough.”

“We can’t prove anything.”

“We can try.”

“Shigeo answered the door,” Teruki says halfway through his second cup of tea.

Reigen stops fidgeting with the blinds to join Teruki at the couches, sitting across from him. Teruki has been mostly silent thus far, breathing and sipping tea while recollecting his bearings. The sign on the door has been flipped to Closed.

“He told me he’d handle it,” Teruki goes on, “but I didn’t like the thought of him being alone with her. I don’t. So I went with him.”

Reigen nods. He’s trying to keep things comfortable for Teruki’s sake, but anticipation gnaws. “What did she want?”

Teruki leans back. He swishes his tea and watches it until it’s still again. “... Apparently she and my father got divorced,” he says. “I figured it’s been coming for years, but she picked a weird time to tell me.”

“Yeah. Sounds like manipulation to me.”

Teruki’s smile is bitter. “That’s what Shigeo said.”

“What about your dad? What’s up with him?”

Teruki shrugs. “I’ve met him maybe… twice? He was always away when I was growing up. I don’t know if he ever wanted to be a father in the first place.” Teruki swirls his tea again. “They had to sell the house after the divorce, so she’s living alone just outside of the city. She gave us her address in case we wanted to… visit. I guess? She said she wanted to ‘reconnect’. Not apologize, just reconnect.”

“What’s she expecting? A family reunion?”

Teruki huffs. It’s the first smile that’s seemed at all real since he got here. “Shige’s family would tear her apart. Ritsu’s been wanting to for years.”

Reigen can empathize.

Teruki reaches the bottom of his mug and settles it on the coffee table between them. “Sorry,” Teruki says. His eyes are red, and he sniffs while he tucks loose hair back into place. “I appreciate you letting me stay for a while. Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Reigen says. He hates that he can’t do more. “Do you guys have a game plan? What are you gonna do?”

“We’re going to file for a restraining order,” Teruki answers. “I hoped she would leave me alone once I was an adult, and I probably would’ve been okay with never pressing charges as long as she just… stayed away. But now she’s— stalking us. Enough that she knows where we live and who Shigeo is. If she’s willing to go that far, I don’t know what else she’s capable of.”

“Yeah, no, that makes sense.” Especially after a divorce. Knowing what he does about Teruki’s parents, it probably wasn’t a clean break. “And I meant what I said about security cameras. You and Shigeo already have a bunch of them outside, don’t you? Do they record audio?”

“Not yet. Shigeo’s getting those installed today.” Teruki rubs his arms. “I feel bad for leaving him at the house alone, but… I just, needed some time away after she was there.”

The wrath is back. That this person is managing to make Teruki feel unsafe after all these years is despicable, much less in his own home that he’s built for himself with his husband.

“Shigeo understands,” Reigen says. “It probably gave him some time to regain his bearings. You know how he is. Just call the police if she starts snooping around the place again, alright? I mean that. And call me, too.”

“Yeah.” Teruki grabs his shoulderbag. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

Reigen nods. He jots a mental note: make sure Shigeo still has that spare key to the office. Teruki and Shigeo have a litany of places to hide out before the office, but if they need somewhere last second that’s completely detached from friends and family, Spirits and Such isn’t a bad choice.

Teruki leaves with a short and tired goodbye and Reigen watches the sidewalk from the window. Once he sees Teruki turn the corner on the curb, he drops the blinds and locks up for the night.

Then he calls Shigeo.

He gets a single ring in before Shigeo picks up. “I almost killed someone today.”

“Yeah.” Reigen runs a hand through his hair. “How literal is that?”

Shigeo dodges that question like it’s a landmine. “I recognized her,” he says. “And she—somehow recognized me. I thought I could just tell her off and it would be over, but then she started talking about him and—” Shigeo heaves in a deep breath. “I told him not to follow me. He didn’t listen. How much did he tell you?”

“Just that she was trying to guilt trip him with the whole ‘divorce’ thing,” Reigen says. “And that you were pissed.”

“I still am. She gave me—she gave me her address. I almost—” Another very, very deep breath. “Reigen.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it too much.” Reigen doesn’t know what he would do if he ever met Teruki’s parents, but he’d probably end up with a fun story to tell his roommate in jail. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if it were me. It sounds like you held it together pretty well, all things considered.”

“She knows I’m married to him,” Shigeo says. “How does she know who I am?”

“What about social media? You guys kind of keep up with that, don’t you?”

“We do, but our accounts are private. She shouldn’t be able to see anything, not unless she’s getting updates through somebody else.”

“Gotcha.” Reigen could punch a wall. “Damn it. Teruki talked to me, but have you talked to anyone?”

“I talked to Ritsu. He told our parents. They’re upset.”

Teruki’s parents set off an airhorn in the lion’s den with the Kageyama family alone. Ritsu is fiercely protective of his brother and subsequent brother-in-law, and the Kageyamas are fiercely protective of their sons and subsequent son-in-law.

“I also went to the gym for a few hours after I got the security cameras fixed.”

“Well, good.” The concept of that makes Reigen want to die a little, but weight training has been a good outlet for Shigeo’s overwhelming mental state over the years. “Are you home now?”

“Mm. I got takeout from Teru’s favorite restaurant, but I don’t know how much he’s going to eat.”

“Makes sense. I know you’re already going to, but make sure he eats something.”

“I will. I’m glad he talked to you. I have to call Ritsu back, he’s going to help me get the motion light installed tomorrow.”

“Alright. Oh—however much you paid for dinner, let me know. I’ll reimburse you.”

“What? No, you couldn’t…”

“I haven’t treated you kids to ramen in years, this ain’t gonna break the bank. Just text me. And don’t tell Teruki until you really feel like it.”

“… Okay. Thank you, Shishou.”

It’s no use telling Shigeo not to call him that. He already knows—now, the kid just saves it for nostalgia and the verbal equivalent of a hug or a promise, which is ridiculous but also makes Reigen emotional if he thinks too hard about it. Being fourty does that to a person, maybe.

“Call the police if you get suspicious.”

“That goes without saying.”

“Call me too. I want dibs.”

“Family first. But you can deal with the leftovers.”

“Well, I suppose that’s only fair. Nothing hurts more than rubbing salt in the wounds.”

Shigeo kind of laughs. It’s as much of a laugh as he’s going to get out of the kid given the situation. “Thanks again.”

“Sure thing.”

Shigeo hangs up. Reigen packs up the office and calls Katsuya on his way home.

Shigeo is seated on the couch with a book, still bristling, when Teruki walks through the door of their home.

Shigeo tries to shove his anger aside because Teruki has never liked seeing Shigeo upset, but this is one emotion he can’t stuff, and Teruki doesn’t like it when Shigeo stuffs emotions either. Maybe it’s better that Shigeo doesn’t pretend everything is okay.

“Hey,” Teruki says, letting his shoulderbag slip to the floor.

“Hi,” Shigeo says. “I got takeout for dinner. You should eat something, even if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, uh.” Teruki laughs, a little nervous and a lot ashamed. “I’ll do what I can. Thanks.”

Shigeo nods. He puts his book off to the side and drops his legs, opening up his arms. He makes grabby hands at his husband. “Come here.”

Teruki exhales deeply. He kicks off his shoes on his way over to the couch and collapses into Shigeo’s chest. Shigeo wraps his arms around Teruki’s head and hooks his ankles over the backs of Teru’s knees, wishing he were tall enough to envelop him completely. He draws his aura around them both and pours as much safety and as much love into it as he can.

Teruki knows that Shigeo loves him and would protect him, but he has to feel it.

Teruki’s arms slip under Shigeo’s back as he hugs him, too. His coiled-up aura unfurls against Shigeo’s, scared and stressed but trusting. Shigeo reaches for it with a thought.

“St-Stop,” Teruki gets out weakly, even as he burrows into Shigeo’s hoodie. Shigeo frowns, confused. “Y—You’re gonna make me cry, Shige.”

Shigeo presses deeper. It’s not fair, but he couldn’t possibly pull away. Teruki hiccups and clutches the back of his shirt.

“This is your home,” Shigeo says. His heart feels fierce, but broken, and he tries to keep his voice steady for Teru. “She doesn’t get to take your home away from you. I won’t let her.”

Teruki’s tears seep through Shigeo’s hoodie, next to his heart. “God.” He laughs wetly and brings a hand up to cover his face. “I thought I could hold it together longer than this.”

“I’m not really going to let you do that, either.”

Teruki huffs. Shigeo lets his aura bleed into Teruki’s and runs his fingers through his blond hair until the jitters in Teru’s aura soften into a thrum. It’s still more sensitive than his bassline, but no longer as frightened.

“… Thank you,” Teruki says. Shigeo nods. “Have—… Did she come back?”

“No. I would have told you if she did.”

“Right. I, um. I’ve been thinking about getting a hotel for tonight. My head’s spinning.”

“Would a hotel really help?”

“I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to try.”

“I think it might,” Shigeo admits quietly. “I—I want you to feel safe, Teru, but I don’t want our home to be a place you run away from. Your mom can’t take this home away from you.”

“I know, but…” Teruki trails, then sighs, curling his knees against Shigeo’s ribs. “Maybe I don’t know.”

“I’m here, too,” Shigeo reminds him. “As long as I’m here you’ll never have to see her.”

“I don’t want you near her, either, Shige.” Teruki’s fingers press over Shigeo’s heart. “I don’t want her anywhere near you.”

“I’ll keep a barrier up. We have plenty of cameras and Ritsu is going to help us with motion lights. If we’re here, then we’re home. She can’t touch us here.”

“Nothing’s ever stopped her before,” Teruki croaks. His aura is starting to crumple again. Shigeo presses him closer.

“You were alone before,” Shigeo says.

Shigeo’s phone rings. Teruki flinches and Shigeo smooths his hand over Teruki’s shoulder-length hair as he digs his phone out of his back pocket.

“It’s my mom,” Shigeo says.

Teruki relaxes and Shigeo answers. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi Mom,” Teruki says loudly.

“My boys,” Mom says. Her smile is just as audible as her concern. “Are you two home?”

“We’re home, why?”

There's a knock at the door and no question as to who’s behind it. Teruki huffs incredulously as he slides off of Shigeo and Shigeo gets to his feet. They head to the door together and Shigeo pulls it open.

Mom yanks Teruki into her arms the second she gets a visual on him.

Teruki hardly has the chance to jump before he realizes what’s going on and he’s sinking into her embrace. He’s taller than her, but he finds a way to press his face into her shoulder while she runs her fingers through his hair.

“Oh, Teru,” Mom whispers.

Teruki’s arms squeeze around her shoulders.

This is how it should be. It should be like this when mothers come to visit.

It was not like this when Teruki’s mother showed up. She spoke in clipped and entitled tones with condescending words—she singled him out as her son in law and he loathed it. She called Teruki her son and herself his mother and he saw red. He told her to leave and she asked what gave him the right. That she has the right to see her son and that he has no right to keep her away.

“It’s going to be okay, love,” Mom murmurs, hugging Teru close. “We’ll figure this out.”

Teruki nods and steps back only to be met with an armful of Ritsu, despite Ritsu’s reluctance initiating physical touch. Teruki returns the hug with a joke about Ritsu’s height. Ritsu scowls but stays right where he is.

This is how family should be. Family should be like this, not like—

Mom locks Shigeo into an iron hug. It’s parental and full, but a different hug than the hug she gave Teruki. This hug digs into Shigeo’s heart like an elbow in the ribs. It grounds him.

She’s angry, too.

“We’re going to solve this,” Mom whispers into his hair. “I promise. That woman isn’t going to lay a finger on Teruki.”

Shigeo wraps her up with his arms and his aura. He nods.

Teruki’s mother told him that they have no right to keep her away.

Soon they’ll have the right to keep her away.

“We just need witnesses,” Tome says. “That’s it, right? She’s already a disgusting person, all we need is a way to prove it and get that restraining order.”

“It’s not that simple,” Serizawa says, watching her pace around the office. “She could contest the restraining order. The court doesn’t have to grant it if they can’t find a genuine cause.”

“So we prove it,” Tome reiterates, stopping in front of him and pivoting fully to make her point. “We get whatever evidence we’ve got lying around and drop the gaffle on her ass.”

“You can do all sorts of stuff in court if you know the system,” Reigen says, folding his hands. “Teruki and Shigeo don’t have a chance if she hires some skeezy lawyer who knows their stuff.”

He thinks twice. Teruki said his mother’s living in an apartment outside of the city… Reigen lived in an apartment outside the city until he and Katsuya were able to afford a larger one together closer to the office. Any apartment that far out is cramped and cheap and doesn’t at all suit the lifestyle Teruki described of his mother.

He wonders how much money Teruki’s father walked away with in the divorce. Maybe she couldn’t hire a lawyer.

Tome throws her hands into the air. “Okay, so whatever. Teruki’s mom can’t win. She can’t win.”

Katsuya interjects. “As much as I understand the urgency,” he says, “going before a judge is not black and white. Especially not in family court.”

“Besides, Teruki and Shigeo haven’t even decided how they wanna handle it yet,” Reigen butts in when Tome opens her mouth to argue. She’d make a good judge if she ever decides anthropology isn’t her thing. “We should wait to hear from them. There are plenty of ways to go about this.”

“They may even try going through the esper division of law,” Serizawa adds. “Shigeo mentioned looking into that. The only qualm is that this mother isn’t an esper, but they could still have it settled in a hybrid court. Especially since Shigeo is also an esper.”

“Wait, I didn’t know about that part.” Reigen spins the chair around toward Katsuya. “What the hell is a hybrid court?”

“I’m not sure myself. Shigeo said he’s looking into it. I think Shou is helping.”

Tome drops onto the coffee table with a groan. “I guess that checks out. Shou’s mom sort of had to deal with that when his dad went off the rails. But how’s that work when the espers are the ones wanting the protective order?”

“That’s why they want to involve the esper legal system,” Serizawa says. If Tome’s anger is problem solving and Reigen’s anger is cheshire smiles, then Serizawa’s anger is something quiet and very, very dangerous. “It’s the only way to ensure that she doesn’t try and flip this back on Teruki.”

“Right.” Reigen puts his head in his hands. The thought of his mom somehow finding a way to blame Teruki for all of the abuse makes him want to throw up. And punch a wall. “Damn esper descrimination.”

Tome looks disgusted. “That’s a thing?”

“After the Claw shitshow, yeah.”

“How the shit—she’s gonna spin this like it’s Teruki’s fault?”

“We don’t know that she would,” Reigen says. “And could you get off the coffee table? The hell do I have couches for.”

Tome kicks her feet up onto the table in defiance. “So what? Do we just sit around and wait for something to happen? I hate that.”

Reigen hates it, too. “Teruki and Shigeo are still figuring out how they want to handle this. If they go for a permanent protective order, they’re gonna need evidence. That’s step one.”

“Alright, evidence.” Tome leaps up and finally leaves Reigen’s coffee table alone. “I’ll talk to Shou and see if we can scrape anything up records-wise. He’s always down to clown on shitty parents.”

“Don’t do anything illegal.”

“You’re the one person who doesn’t get to tell me that. That woman’s got a lot of nerve messing with my boys. She can’t win.”

She shuts the door behind her. Reigen hangs his head.

“It’s going to be okay,” Katsuya says. Stupid husband telepathy or whatever the hell. “Once Teruki and Shigeo decide how they want to handle this, I’m sure they’ll let us know if there's anything we can do to help.”

Reigen sighs. He can’t argue with that, and frankly doesn’t want to. “Right. Wanna go get ramen?”

Katsuya grabs his coat.

Teruki and Shigeo are set up on the couch with a dusty cardboard box sitting open on the coffee table. Teruki flicks through loose polaroids and album sleeves. Shigeo sorts with him.

“This one’s an option,” Teruki says, carefully drawing a photo from its lamination. He’s so young in these pictures—he can’t even remember when or where most of them were taken. Empty memories. “You can, ah… tell I wasn’t being taken very good care of.”

Shigeo looks at the photo over Teru’s shoulder. It’s objectively not a bad picture, Teruki just looks… sad, and thin, and there's a bruise on his head. He looks maybe five or six, which means he was actually seven or eight, and he’s holding his mother’s hand. It might've been the last time he ever held her hand.

“You’re so small,” Shigeo says with no air.

Teruki blows all the air out of his own lungs and leans back. “Yeah. It’s good evidence, though, right?”

He hates the smile that claws its way onto his face, all muscle-memory. Shigeo hates that he smiles when he’s trying to hide something. Teruki hasn’t slipped into the bad habit this instinctively in years.

Shigeo reaches for the photo. He stares intensely at it for long enough that Teruki feels self-conscious. “Did—” Shigeo pauses. “The bruise,” he says. “Did your mom…?”

“What? Oh.” Shigeo’s stress is making more sense. “Maybe once or twice? It didn’t happen a lot.”

“So she did.”

“Not often.” Teruki doesn’t have vivid memories of being hit. He has vivid memories of her voice and her damn words, and maybe being cornered in the middle of it. “I was mainly just left alone a lot growing up, and it was around the time Claw started catching onto me. She was way more into pretending I didn’t exist.”

Shigeo nods, stiff, and when he doesn’t stop staring at the photo Teruki reaches over and takes it out of his hands. He isn’t trying to upset Shigeo anymore than he already has, and in all honesty seeing his own face like that for too long is dragging up drowned memories. He doesn’t want to think about any of this.

He settles the photo onto an empty patch of coffee table. “Evidence pile,” Teruki says.

He hates every part of this.

Why’d he even keep the stupid cardboard box? Nostalgic childhood nothings, loose photos, the methodical albums his mother was so particular about keeping as he grew up. She always was particular about her image. He can’t say he grew up much different, but he’s not the person he used to be. When she kicked him out of her home he stole her precious albums to take with him, both to spite and remember her.

He still remembers the way she held his hand in that picture. It wasn’t because she wanted to.

“What if it’s not enough?” Teruki whispers.

“We might not even need so much evidence to get the temporary protective order,” Shigeo tells him. “Especially since the esper court is getting involved. They’re familiar with Claw. The fact that your mother abandoned you when she knew you were being hunted isn’t something they’ll let slip.”

Teruki takes an enormous breath. “Yeah.” God, his lungs hurt. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” His head hurts, too. “I, ah, I have a couple bills that accidentally showed up at my old apartment instead of my parents’ house. It should be enough to prove she had me living alone as a pre-teen.”

Shigeo nods. “You have her text messages, too. We have enough. It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah.” Teruki breathes and this time it aches instead of burns. “Thanks. I know this is a lot.”

“It’ll be over soon.”

Teruki feels a little better after that. He finds a couple more pictures of himself as a child and even some he took of his apartment when he first moved in. Shigeo brews a fresh pot of tea while Teruki digs around in his old filing cabinet for those old bills. By the end of the night, well past ten o’clock, they’ve assembled a small arsenal of evidence to be taken to the court house first thing in the morning.

After changing into comfortable clothes, Teruki scrolls through his phone while Shigeo brushes his teeth. Teruki thinks it takes longer than usual, but he’s on-edge, so it’s more likely that he’s reading into things he shouldn’t. Shigeo turns out the light on his way to bed. Teruki sets his alarm. Shigeo curls up on his side of the bed, taking half the comforter with him as normal. Teruki runs warm, so it’s alright.

Realistically, he won’t be sleeping much tonight anyway.

Shigeo stretches over to kiss his temple. “Goodnight.”

Teruki kisses the top of his head. “Sleep well.”

Shigeo rolls onto his side and Teruki watches the ceiling. It’s a still evening, a mute note in the air. Shigeo shifts a little. Teruki takes a couple deep breaths.

Shigeo shifts again. Then again. His breath hitches.

“Shige?” Teruki reaches for him, with his aura first and then with his hand. “Are you okay?”

Shigeo fails to stifle a brittle sob.

Teruki is more alert now than he was seeing his mother’s face at their door.

“Hey.” Teruki gets in close. He searches blindly for Shigeo’s hand and slots their fingers together when he finds it. “What’s going on?”

Shigeo’s shoulders shudder. He presses Teruki’s hand to his lips, taking thin breaths. “You were so small,” Shigeo whispers, the tremors reaching his voice. “Why would anyone—how could anyone hurt you like that? Y-You were— Teru.”

Teruki’s gut wraps itself up in one giant knot. He shouldn’t have let Shigeo see the pictures—or at least he should’ve been more aware of how it would affect him. He wraps his arms around Shigeo’s stomach and tugs him back against his chest, not sure of what else to do. Shigeo doesn’t relax into him, nor does he pull away. His breaths rattle over Teruki’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Shige.”

“I’m mad,” Shigeo snaps. “And—...”

Teruki wishes he could see his husband’s face. He hates the part of him that’s relieved he can’t see his husband’s face. He squeezes Shigeo closer and Shigeo’s turbulent breaths dissolve into hiccupping sobs.

“You were so small,” Shigeo hitches. “Y-You were so small.”

Teruki wants to take all the things that make Shigeo cry and rip them apart. He never wanted to be one of them.

“It’s okay,” Teruki says.

Shigeo snarls. “No it’s not.”

“Sorry, that’s—that’s not what I meant. I’m okay. Okay?” He doesn’t feel very okay, but he doesn’t feel like it’s a lie either. Shigeo is rigid against him, heaving like a board refusing to buckle in a hurricane, and Teruki threads his fingers through Shigeo’s hair. “Let me hold you.”

“I should be doing that,” Shigeo bites, his voice wet. “I should be the one holding you.”

“You have been, Shige.” Teruki draws his fingers across Shigeo’s scalp, tracing his hairline. “You always do. Please.”

Shigeo sobs.

Teruki curbstomps his panic and buries his face against the top of Shigeo’s head, smoothing his hair repeatedly. Shigeo finally sinks back into him but the stress in his chest won’t let him relax, and Teruki hates that this isn’t a problem he can solve.

But Shigeo is letting him hold him.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into Shigeo’s hair. “Shh. We’re okay.”

He can’t remember the last time Shigeo cried like this. The occasions are few and far between and Teruki never knows what to do with his voice. His hands keep Shigeo close. Both of Shigeo’s hands clutch one of Teruki’s against his face and hot tears run over their knuckles.

“S’Sorry,” Shigeo whispers through his tears, hoarse. “I’m sorry, Teruki.”

Teruki nuzzles the top of his head and squeezes his eyes shut when the burn turns scorching. “Don’t apologize. I don’t mind.”

Shigeo twists around to bury himself in Teruki’s chest, then he cries until he falls asleep.

The courthouse opens at nine o’clock the following morning. Teruki and Shigeo are downtown by eight fifty. Teruki speaks with the clerk and hands over the forums he filled in advance.

The esper division of law is going to get involved.

Shigeo isn’t as upset as he was yesterday, but the tension never left. He was tense even as he slept. If Teruki weren’t so strung-up himself he would be able to comfort him better.

The esper court takes over as soon as Teruki brings up having been hunted by Claw as a child.

It makes him sick that his mother’s threatening text messages are somehow more relevant evidence than the pictures of him as a child, given how Shigeo reacted.

That his mother is stalking him to the point of showing up at his home does not look good for her.

The temporary protective order is granted.

Teruki and Shigeo take a taxi home late evening with a yellow folder between them, a court date ahead of them and Teruki’s hand in Shigeo’s.

“I’m going for a walk,” Shigeo says as soon as they’re through the door. He doesn’t ask if Teruki wants to join him, so this is probably a subtle way of telling Teruki he needs time alone. Teruki nods and hangs up his coat as Shigeo pivots back out the door. Teruki slides all the locks into place.

He gets the tea kettle boiling. The folder sits on their dining table, which has seen less use than their coffee table this week. Teruki stalls by glancing about his and Shigeo’s home. Humbly furnished and full of pictures; a few fingerprints in the paint courtesy of Tome and Shou; the bougie coffee maker as a wedding gift from Reigen and Serizawa; his mother-in-law’s choice of cutlery and his father-in-law’s electric mixer; fridge magnets that Ritsu mailed while he was off at college.

That’s not all. He could look at anything in this home and tie it back to somebody precious in his life. This home is made of connections and promises and it’s Teruki’s and Shigeo’s and whoever else they welcome into it.

Teruki cuts the heat when the kettle whistles. He grabs his phone from the living room.

Reigen’s stepping into his and Katsuya’s apartment when his phone goes off. Some fumbling and light switching and shoes-kicking later, he gets through the door and answers the phone. Katsuya’s shoes are already here and the light’s on in the living room.

“Heya,” Reigen says, starting down the hall.

“Do you wanna serve my mom the restraining order?”

“Heya?”

“We got the temporary restraining order today,” Teruki says. “We have a court date, but she needs to be served before that can happen.”

“Oh damn.”

Katsuya looks over from the couch in the living room with a question and concern. Reigen waves a hand and Katsuya nods, understanding. He’ll explain after the call. “When’s the court date?”

“November seventeenth.”

“Gotcha.” Reigen hugs the phone between his cheek and shoulder, tearing a post-it note from the fridge to write on. “So, listen, as satisfying as that sounds, are you sure Shigeo doesn’t want to do it? Or I guess maybe that’s not allowed depending on what’s in the order. What about Ritsu?”

“We talked about it. Shigeo could, but we think it’s for the best that you do it. If you’re willing, we’d love to give you the honor.”

“... Well. In that case, gimme a time and place.”

Teruki gives him a time and place.

Friday, because she told Shigeo and Teruki that she would be at her apartment on Fridays if they ever want to ‘stop by’, and she’s located about where Reigen assumed. A tiny studio apartment on the outskirts of Seasoning City. A dank ride through a cheap train and a long walk through cold wind and autumn leaves.

Reigen double-triple-quadruple checked the proof-of document to be filed once Teruki’s mother has been served, and Katsuya and Tome looked over it for him. So did the Kageyamas sans Teruki.

Hanazawa Eiko is the woman’s name. Reigen only learned that recently.

Instincts say he’s the wrong person to handle this sort of legal jargon, but he’s determined not to be. This is for Teruki and Shigeo. People usually hire lawyers or mediators to do this stuff because it’s easy to get wrong. Reigen refuses to get it wrong.

He knocks on the door of apartment 417 and stands back and waits. The envelope is worth its weight in tears. The doorknob rattles. Then turns.

Then he’s staring into the face of Hanazawa Eiko.

She looks nothing like Teruki from her brown hair to her brown eyes to her confused and unhappy face. She has more frown lines than Reigen has years to his name.

“Hello?” Hanazawa Eiko says. She stands in the door with her whole body, taking up as much space as possible. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Reigen Arataka,” Reigen says. “I’m a friend of the Kageyama family. Including Teruki.”

She’s still confused, but the unhappiness tilts into interest. “Teruki.”

“Yep. I’m just here to give you this.” Reigen presents the file to her with both hands. “I’ve been given the honor of serving you.”

“What?” She rips it out of his hands and opens the slip.

“Ah, if you could not read it in front of me—”

“What is the meaning of this?” she says, meeting his eyes. She must’ve read enough to have gotten the gist. “He’s blindsiding us with this, now? Where is this even coming from? His father—” Fury, for half a moment. “His father is going to be devastated when he hears, don’t you understand?”

“Probably not as devastated as Teruki,” Reigen says. He shouldn’t, but. “You got on without him the first twenty six years of his life. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” She laughs, and he hates how it rings in the air. “My son stabs me in the back and you mean to tell me this is fine?”

Reigen stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Listen.” She shuts her mouth, brows drawn tight. “What exactly is your goal here?”

She’s gritting her teeth behind her lips. “I want my son back.”

“Gathered that, but why? Are you so angry he’s living comfortably without you that you have to come in and ruin that? Or do you have a conscience after all and you’re trying to soothe it in the way that best suits you?” He pauses. “Or maybe you’re lonely.”

Her face contorts. It isn’t anger. Not quite. “What do you know about our family?”

“I know Teru’s made his boundaries pretty clear,” Reigen says, “and what he’s asked for isn’t unreasonable. You tracking him down to his home regardless of what he’s asked for tells me everything I need to know about you.”

“What do you know about raising an esper?” Ah, sure. He could’ve expected this. “That boy put me through hell. All I ever wanted was for him to show a little appreciation.”

He thinks of Mr. and Mrs. Kageyama at Shigeo’s wedding, their tears and their laughter and their pride. He thinks of the jokes lovingly ladled at poor Ritsu about how finicky he’d been with the flowers. He thinks of the way they love and how much they’ve had to handle between their sons, and how angry and devastated they’d be if someone dared lay a finger on them.

He thinks about walking Teruki down the aisle. It’s not the same as raising someone, but it’s a culmination of all the things it should mean to be a parent.

“I’m not gonna argue with you,” Reigen says. “But if you’ve got a single self-preserving bone in you, you’d cut this shit out and let Teruki go.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“You’ve gotta understand. It’s not me. Maybe it’s the guy behind the counter at the discount drugstore. Maybe it’s the guy working nights at the restaurant no one really goes to. If it’s not them, it’s the person who owns the floral shop, or the woman who goes to the park every day with her kids. Or it’s a shady psychic business. The personal trainers at the gym. That weird girl with a telescope you wouldn’t give a second thought.”

“You’re espousing nonsense now?”

“What I mean to say is, this city is full of people who love Teruki and are looking out for him,” Reigen says, “and all of those people have people who are looking after them. I don’t know what foot you think you have in the door, but you’re gonna lose your chance to walk away real fast if you keep pushing. It’s not a threat. I just thought if you won’t do it for him, maybe you’d do it for yourself. That’s all I’ve got. Goodnight, Hanazawa-san.”

He turns away.

“Wait!”

He stops. Eiko’s got a hand reached toward him, but she hasn’t closed the space. The envelope crinkles under the strength of her grip.

“I—” Eiko begins, but that’s as far as she gets before the distress on her face tilts into something that could be shame, maybe, if not for her denial. She stares at her hand and then at the envelope and then at the ground. “I do want my son,” she says. The confidence is gone. The entitlement isn’t, but it’s changed. “I—...

“... If you really care about Teruki,” Reigen says, “you’ll leave him alone. The only decent thing left for you to do at this point is to walk away.”

“Walk away?” Her face is incredulous. “The reason why he’s mad at me to begin with is because I walked away, and now that’s what he wants? How am I supposed to know what to do if nothing is ever good enough for him?”

God, Reigen does not want to have this conversation. It’s not the walking away that made Teruki put his foot down—it’s the neglect, the abuse, the abandonment. But this is not a person he can speak logically to. He can explain it to her until he’s blue in the face and she isn’t going to understand.

But her question isn’t disingenuine.

Goddamnit.

“He told you to leave him alone,” Reigen says. “I don’t think he can make it any clearer than that. You had a chance. You lost that chance. You don’t get to choose when you’re a part of his life again, if ever.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“... Become a better person,” Reigen says. “Do it for yourself and for the people you’ll meet in the future, and leave him out of it.”

He leaves her behind. She doesn’t call out to him again.

The seventeenth of November comes with a dry and biting cold. The one client Reigen had scheduled for today bailed, which likely isn’t a good omen, so he cranks his apartment space heater to max and leaves the office closed. He has no shortage of emails to catch up on. Not to mention the months-long anticipation building towards today.

He hasn’t heard from Shigeo or Teruki, and probably won’t until this afternoon, maybe early evening. Staying distracted with emails will help.

He gets a call just after noon. Shigeo.

He’s never picked up his phone faster. “Shigeo, hey.”

“She didn’t show up.”

“How d— what?”

“She didn’t show up,” Shigeo reiterates. “The judge gave us everything we asked for. The whole order, we got everything.”

“You—wait, what? She didn’t show? She missed the hearing?”

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know, the court is going to get in touch with her, I think. But we don’t have to be involved. We’re… We’re done.”

“Holy shit.” It was— easy? Reigen doesn’t want to think of it like that because it was hell for Teruki, but just like that? “That’s—How’s Teruki doing?”

“He’s… kind of in shock. But he’s good. We’re going to get food and go home.”

“Right. And how are you doing?”

“I’m also in shock, but good. I wasn’t expecting everything to be granted.”

“Yeah. That’s good, though, isn’t it?”

“Better than good. If the order was just around Teruki and our home that would have been enough. The esper division was really sympathetic and a lot of people in the courtroom recognized us from what happened with Claw, I think, and when his mother didn’t show up— Oh, Teru’s back. I’ll call you later.”

“Alright. Take care.”

“Bye.”

Shigeo hangs up. Reigen sits there stunned.

Just like that? Eiko didn’t show. Which also means she didn’t contest. He’s a little bit pissed that she didn’t show up, actually—could’ve at least had the professionalism to handle this properly—but on the other hand, it does mean she didn’t contest.

It’s not like she would’ve had a choice. Contesting the order would’ve just made her look like shit, especially if what Shigeo said about the esper courts is true. Showing up was a basic courtesy, as was expected of her. Teruki would have been granted the order either way.

But bitterness aside, maybe this was her way of letting him go.

Maybe this was her way of running trying to save herself. Who knows.

… In any case, trying to psycho-analyze her isn’t worth his time. The years to come will make her intentions pretty clear.

His phone pings. Group chat notification.

[barbie and ken’s spiritual successor] The judge granted the protective order. We got everything we asked for.

Tome’s the first to hop on and react with Serizawa right behind her. Ritsu is more generalized in his response, which likely means Shigeo called him personally like he called Reigen. Reigen pops in with a response similar to Ritsu’s with a dash of Tome to make it convincing; if Teruki is keeping details scarce while processing his mother’s no-show, he’ll play it cool.

“Let’s hear it for freedom!” Tome slams her mug into Shigeo with reckless abandon. “I knew you guys had it in the bag! There was no way she was gonna win after everything she did.”

Spirits and Such’s favorite ramen shop has somehow stayed in business all these years—maybe solely on the patronage of Spirits and Such, but even so it’s a good ramen shop and the owner doesn’t mind their bombastic group dinners. They’ve got the whole crew with them tonight—Tome, Ritsu, Shigeo, Serizawa, Teruki, Reigen. Feels like old times.

“Ah, yeah.” Teruki rakes a hand through his hair, twirling noodles around his bowl. “My mom actually didn’t show up to the hearing, so we won by default.”

“Oh, seriously?” Tome leans back, taking a large swig of peach-flavored soda. “That’s weird. Would’ve thought she’d be the type to fight.”

“Yeah, well.” Teruki glances sideways at Shigeo, who glances sideways back at him. They both face the group. “Thanks for sticking it out with me,” Teruki says. “Honestly, I don’t think I could’ve gotten through all of that without you guys. This… This has been a long time coming.”

“Overdue, if you ask me,” Reigen says, slurping ramen. “Don’t sweat it.”

Teruki smiles, and it’s real. “Thanks.”

Tome calls for a second round of noodles.

Shigeo shuffles out of the bathroom, dressed in cozy clothes and toweling his hair dry. His footsteps quiet and Teruki feels his gaze. “Teru?”

Teruki hums, lost in thought. His mother’s photo album is across his legs, missing several incriminating photos and leaving behind the rest. Shigeo draws close, settling at Teruki’s side.

“I should get rid of this,” Teruki says.

The words hang. He turns the page.

“Do you want to get rid of it?” Shigeo asks.

It’s a spread of him running through sprinklers over the grass of his parents’ lawn. It was the last good summer he had up until middle school. “I feel like I should,” Teruki says. “... I feel like I should want to.”

“If you’re sure you want to get rid of it, that’s fine,” Shigeo says. “But if you have any doubts at all, then it’s fine to hang onto it, too. It’s not something you can replace.”

Teruki hums again.

Shigeo leans into his shoulder. “Are you coming to bed soon?”

“Yeah.” He turns another page. Shigeo yawns and nudges under Teruki’s arm. “You can go on ahead, I’ll join you in a bit.”

“I’ll stay.”

“You’re just going to fall asleep on me.”

“You like it when I do that.”

Teruki huffs. “You’ll say it with that much confidence?”

“Sure.”

Teruki leans into the back of the couch, taking Shigeo along for the ride. Shigeo drops his head onto Teruki’s chest. “What did I just say,” Teruki says, but he’s too damn smitten for his own good. An old coworker warned Teruki about the novelty of marriage and how it gets old and tapers off, but he’s been married to Shigeo for four years and if he could do it all over he’d still choose Shigeo.

Shigeo reaches up to poke him between the eyes. Teruki nearly sneezes. “Excuse me.”

Shigeo’s smile is made of sleepy adoration. “You make this face sometimes,” Shigeo says. “It’s cute.”

“I ma— what.”

Shigeo shrugs and turns into Teruki’s chest, settling down.

“Wait, no you don’t, explain.” Teruki grabs him by the shoulder and tries to extract him. “Explain what that means. What face is it? I’ll make it more often.”

“Maybe now would be a good time to go to bed after all.”

Teruki pushes the album off his knees, wraps both arms around Shigeo’s stomach and essentially suplexes the both of them across the couch. Shigeo yelps. Teruki fails at not laughing.

“You’re hilarious,” says Shigeo. “Do you wanna go to bed now?”

“Alright, alright.” Teruki sits up, releasing Shigeo. “Go on ahead, I’ll get the lights.”

Shigeo slides off of him and to the floor before ambling to his feet. Teruki zips the album shut and clicks out the lights, double-checking the deadbolt and then following his husband into their bedroom. Shigeo has starfished himself on the center of the bed, which is just as well. Teruki drops over him sideways and Shigeo jerks awake with breathy ‘eep’.

“Sometimes,” Shigeo says, his voice empty, “I think it would not be so bad to have two beds.”

Teruki knows he’s joking, so he laughs. “We could get two beds. Push them together.”

“Oh, and then when we’re fighting we can separate them.”

“I’ll gradually just inch mine closer and closer as the night goes on…”

“Like a serenade.”

Teruki makes a garbled noise. “Like a what?”

“A serenade, like in that romcom we watched where the wife was upset and the husband cheered her up by singing.”

“Wow, Kageyama, I didn’t know you were such a hopeless romantic.”

“We have matching socks. And it wouldn’t be romantic if I actually sang to you.”

“Maybe not romantic.” Teruki twists around, propping his elbows up on Shigeo’s chest. “But it’d be cute. I’d forget all about being mad at you. Just try it next time we’re fighting or something, I guarantee it’ll work.”

“Our marriage is doomed.”

Teruki kisses him. Shigeo goes quiet, startled—then he presses forward. Teruki wraps his arms under Shigeo’s shoulders to pull him close. Shigeo’s fingers thread into his hair. It’s quiet and it’s gentle—familiar and tired and soft. It’s just a kiss, but it’s nice.

They pull away at about the same time. Shigeo’s eyes are so deep. Teruki strokes Shigeo’s cheek with his thumb.

“I love you,” Teruki says.

Thank you.

“I love you too,” Shigeo says.

“… I think I’m gonna keep the album,” Teruki decides, smoothing Shigeo’s hair off his face. “Until I know for sure.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah.” Teruki leans in again and Shigeo meets him in a shorter kiss. Teruki pulls away, cups Shigeo’s face in one hand. Shigeo’s eyes are so dark that it’s hard to tell what color they are, but the red shines clearly under the moonlight. Shigeo blinks up at him. His brows pinch.

“Teru?”

“Yeah?”

Shigeo touches his face. “You’re crying.”

“Oh.” A tear splashes onto Shigeo’s cheek. Good timing. “I—I guess I am. Uh.”

Shigeo’s thumb brushes underneath his eye. It’s such a tender gesture that Teruki’s chest caves in. He tries to breathe through it, scrubbing his face.

“Sorry, sorry, I—” It hurts. “I was just thinking—I love you, you know that, Shige?”

“I do.” Shigeo’s voice is so, so kind. “I love you too.”

Teruki sobs and Shigeo tugs him down, pressing Teruki’s face into the side of his neck. Shigeo runs cold. It feels nice. Teruki wraps his arms underneath Shigeo’s neck.

“I don’t deserve you,” Teruki gasps.

Shigeo’s fingers filter through his hair again. One arm winds around Teruki’s shoulders. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“You’ve put up with so much from me.”

“Not really.”

“You have, Shige.”

“It’s been worth it,” Shigeo says.

Teruki doesn’t know what he’s feeling. It’s hard to tell where the pain ends and relief begins—mainly he’s overwhelmed and he’s in love and overwhelmed with the thought of being loved, and overwhelmed with the thought of that love not coming from his mother, for as many years as he thought he was over it.

More overwhelming still is the possibility that she does love him, but would sooner go his whole life hurting him than show it.

He means to keep the photo album. It’ll stay in the back of the closet where he has to go out of his way to see it.

Shigeo’s wedding ring gets caught in Teruki’s damaged hair as he runs his fingers through it.

Teruki wishes he were at a better vantage point to crush Shigeo as close as physically possible. He also can’t fathom drawing back.

“Thank you,” Teruki weeps.

He feels Shigeo nod. “I don’t regret anything,” Shigeo says. “But I especially don’t regret you.”

That does it. Teruki goes for the vantage point, yanking Shigeo into his arms and wrapping him up in his aura. Shigeo squeaks, which is cute and hilarious and also makes Teruki cry harder. He’s holding something precious who holds Teruki’s heart like it’s something precious.

Shigeo is so, so gentle with Teru’s heart.

Shigeo acquiesces to the new position. He draws his aura over Teruki like a blanket and lets Teruki hold him. Teruki still feels like he’s the one being held.

“I don’t regret you either,” Teruki whispers.

Shigeo traces tiny shapes against Teruki’s chest. It’s all he can realistically do with his arms pinned. “That’s nice.”

Teruki laughs. And chokes on it. And laughs some more. It doesn’t take long before he realizes Shigeo is crying, too.

It isn’t over. It might never be completely over. But it’s forward.

He can be okay with just moving forward.

#cloud writes #answered ask #mp100 #mob psycho 100 #terumob #serirei #hurt/comfort #fanfic #future fic #idk how it got this long idk how #but here it is!#oml #<3

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