Chapter Text
“Saiki, I’m worried about you bro.”
Saiki Kusuo, telepath and likely the most powerful esper in the world, fully expected this statement. Unfortunately, his powers did not guarantee he could assuage these worries, especially in his present condition. Simply put, he’d just been having trouble thinking these days, and it may have begun to mess carefully refined control.
“You’ve been acting kinda out of it. You’re normally real sharp but lately…”
Well, technically speaking he fully could mitigate these concerns. He could easily just erase the other’s memory; it wouldn’t take much energy. However, how effective that would be in the long run, Kusuo wasn’t sure. This particular annoyance had the annoying habit of annoyingly watching out for those he deemed his ‘homies’. Annoyingly.
“Like, you don’t always seem present, you get me?”
Perhaps this was beneficial for the wellbeing of Kusuo’s other idiots, but Kusuo wasn’t exactly one of them, now was he? He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much. In fact, he’d done so for all of his life, and his family too for that matter.
“Hey,” one Kuboyasu Aren huffed out, leaning down to catch Kusuo’s gaze. His fake glasses slipped down as he fought for the pinkette’s attention. “This is what I mean, dog. What’s up with you?”
“Good grief,” Kusuo finally sighed out. “Nothing, absolutely nothing. I’m as normal as ever.” Heh, if only. However, he would cling to the façade of averageness as long as he was allowed, and maybe a bit longer after that too. Some days it felt like the only thing keeping him going.
Kuboyasu raised an eyebrow. “That so?”
The esper could feel a scowl starting to form. “Yes.”
The former punk stared at him, expression starting to mirror his own. “You’re a shit liar, dude.”
The comment isn’t a surprise (again, telepathy, remember?). What is a surprise, however, is the sudden rush of hot anger that spikes in his chest, and the way his thoughts jump from 0 to 100 in an instant. Him? Bad at something? He’s practically a god, and frankly above this frivolous conversation with this stupid, mortal, fragile boy. Kusuo is not human; how dare this one try to drag him down to his level? “That so?” he seethed out, willing his telepathy to maintain its steady vibrations and steadfastly ignoring the way it wanted to tremble. “That’s pretty rich, coming from someone who insists they’re ‘reformed’, yet can’t seem to go a day without beating someone bloody.” His lips began to twitch upwards in what would surely be a manic grin. He felt just a tad bit out of control. “What, you want to talk about being a bad liar? How well do you think you’re doing at pretending to actually be normal?”
The way Kuboyasu draws back in surprise soothed the ugly rage burning in his chest. The hurt on his face transformed it into guilt. The anger lining his eyes, however, is what catches his attention the most. The heavy static that had been filling his mind seems to clear, just a little bit, mind perking up in something like anticipation. Dread, most definitely, but also a discordant note of eagerness in the face of the surefire retribution he’s about to receive. It would be okay. Kusuo could be forgiven afterwards, when he had suffered through the consequences of his loss of control.
He had to learn his lesson. If not–
Kusuo swallowed, pushing down the memories of a destroyed classroom with it. The ex-delinquent glared down at him, fists tight at his side before he… slouched and uncurled them.
What?
Kuboyasu suddenly looked tired. “You can be a real asshole sometimes, y’know that?” He said, uncharacteristically quiet. The pinkette stared at him, feeling the anticipation fizzle away to join the guilt that was resting heavily in his stomach.
A timer went off in the kitchen. Oh, right, he’d come here to eat shitty instant ramen and watch a new show with Kuboyasu, right? He… he’d forgotten that.
How odd.
Kuboyasu growled quietly, running a hand through his middle part. “I’ll be right back.” he huffed, stomping out of the living room and into the kitchen.
Kusuo felt weird. He thumbed the seam of his plastic glove, trying to dredge himself from the heavy sludge of his thoughts. He hadn’t meant to do that. Why did he say that? He didn’t like hurting those who didn’t deserve it, and Kuboyasu, no matter how annoying he could be, didn’t deserve it. So what gives? It didn’t make sense. His pointer finger flew into his mouth, teeth nipping at the thin plastic. In the end, he liked tolerated the other. He’d only been worried, and the esper had nearly bitten his head off for it.
‘Because why would you hurt someone you cared about?’ a voice in his head murmured, and thoughts of 3 little bodies and a blonde-haired kid who just couldn’t keep his mouth shut the way the pinkette did bubbled up. The energy in the room seemed to shift. Kusuo didn’t feel relatively safe anymore; it was too messy in here now, too chaotic and seemingly torn asunder. The windows were too big and let in too much golden yellow sunlight. He sucked a breath in, feeling his mouth dry at the taste of dust and-
“Wassup,” Kuboyasu drawled, sliding into the room with bowls of ramen held above his chest. Kusuo felt himself shudder against his will and felt more than saw Kuboyasu’s eyes boring into him. Having seemingly learned his lesson, the other said nothing, simply dropping the bowls down onto the coffee table and fiddling with the TV remote.
Kusuo couldn’t help but stare at his bowl. It was pink, with two little strawberries and a white cat on the side. He remembered it because Kuboyasu had bought it specifically with him in mind, mouth grinning teasingly as he crooned out that it reminded him of the pinkette. They had been with Kaido and Nendo too, walking around town because they showed up at his house and he couldn’t skip out with his mom hovering over him. Funnily enough, despite his original protests, he hadn’t really wanted to.
Realistically, it was just a stupid bowl. But, the fact that Kuboyasu had specifically picked it out with him in mind, had looked at this cute unbroken little dish and thought of him–
Truthfully, it had made him feel less other, more willing to be there at the time. Looking at it now just made him want to shatter it between his hands, like doing so could scrub any of that past weakness from the other’s mind. It hurts to look at, like the way it hurt to think about Kuboyasu’s face moments ago, or the hatred in Kusuke’s eye as he looked at him, or his father’s ‘jokes’ about his humanity, or a…childhood friend.
He didn’t–
It just–
He wanted–
Good grief, he wanted. Kusuo glanced at Kuboyasu from the corner of his eye. That was the problem, the root of all his issues. He wanted , wanted to soothe this stupid loneliness and dark hatred by surrounding himself with people who would care. Wanted to connect with others, wanted so desperately to love and cherish and protect, and maybe, possibly, receive the same in return?
If he was a good person, he would take this opportunity to further ruin this guy’s perception of him. If he was responsible, he wouldn’t have shifted closer and pressed his leg to the other’s. If he wasn’t so selfish, he wouldn’t have murmured a soft apology to the former punk.
If he wasn’t such a fucking terrible person, he wouldn’t have let him drape an arm behind him on the back of the couch, telling him, “It’s okay,” in a disgustingly soft tone that made Kusuo want to fall apart.
In the end, he couldn’t even watch the show. His mind was too heavy and fogged over to pay attention. Go figure.