Chapter Text
It was utterly perfect. If Kusuo were the type to express himself, it might even have made him swoon.
It was becoming harder and harder to keep it that way, though. Being around Aren made Kusuo feel-
Yeah, actually. He could stop right there. Being around Aren made Kusuo feel. Around him, Kusuo either became a flustered, blushing dumbass or somehow even more prickly than usual. And the weirdest part of it all? It didn't turn Aren off in the slightest. No, the former punk just thought Kusuo was cute of all things.
Ugh, of course Kusuo got stuck with someone who not only put up with his mannerisms, but cooed over them, too. If he had seen himself even two years ago, he’d be stuck squirming with second-hand embarrassment and wondering where he went wrong. Everything about himself, from his averaged-out appearance to his general mute, asshole demeanor, had been designed to chase people away — and yet…
Aren had dragged him out to the river near Kusuo’s house. The boy had tried showing off his rock-skipping skills here, only to get completely shown up by Nendo. God, he’d been so embarrassed. And Kusuo hadn’t been able to stop himself from smiling the entire time like a lovesick fool. Maybe he was. A fool, that is.
It was all so sickeningly sweet. They were sitting on a picnic blanket, the air warm for the first time in a while. A late spring breeze passed by, bringing the scent of honey and newly budding flowers to Kusuo’s nose. Aren, as per his preference, had ditched jeans and a jacket as soon as possible, and was now sporting a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Kusuo’s version of dressing down was forgoing a coat in favor of a cardigan.
Aren, as always, was taking up as much space as the confines of his mortal body allowed. He’d always run warm, and Kusuo’s thigh seemed to almost burn where it was pressed up against the former punk’s calf, even through his jeans.
It was all perfectly picturesque. Aren always insisted on spoiling him. He had even made him coffee jelly of all things. And now he was holding out a frankly ridiculous bouquet toward him, his eyes bright and shiny like dew drops on the regrowing grass. The flowers were so vibrant, it almost felt like too much. Their intense coloring seemed to make them vibrate and pop. Baroque, as Aren would say, the nerd.
This was the most alive they’d ever be from this point on. They were blooming with a residue of life they couldn’t refill. Kusuo stared at them for a moment, something dark and foreboding creeping into his chest. His fingertips began to tingle.
Then, he found himself blinking as the flowers suddenly shook, the plastic rustling noisily. “Earth to Kusuo,” Aren teased, offering a crooked, boyish smile. “What’s got your head in the clouds, sweets?”
Kusuo thought for a moment that he should try to force a smile. Any normal person would be thrilled to have so much lavished upon them: so much affection, care, time — love.
But for some reason, he couldn’t move his face. He instead just reached over with those pins and needles in his fingers to grip the stem. Aren let go easily, and Kusuo clutched it to his chest with a clench of his jaw.
His stomach hurt suddenly. He would have chalked it up to the jelly if he had managed to even eat any. It sat on his side, uncharacteristically, even by his own standards, untouched.
Aren tilted his head, face still aglow with that overwhelming adoration. His eyes, which Kusuo had spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to describe their color (he’d settled on cerulean), reflected the current state of the cloudless sky. The boy’s face was dusted pink.
Kusuo had never seen a warmer expression. His heartbeat seemed to jump to his throat in a poor mockery of excitement.
“Kusuo,” Aren said. He always said his given name so reverently, as if he knew the sheer extent of what Kusuo could give him if he said the word. The boy knew nothing of Kusuo’s powers, though. Yet, Aren still looked at him like he was some sort of blessing from heaven. Good grief, the guy didn’t even look at Teruhashi like that.
Something cramped in his chest at the realization. Oh, fuck. He’d known realistically how head-over-heels Aren was for him. But the thought felt like a slap in the face. The boy was in deep, wasn’t he? How…how could Kusuo have ever let it get this bad?
Aren’s cheeks had deepened from a cherry blossom-pink to a rosy-red. It highlighted his bold coloring, from those blue eyes to his dark purple strands. He took a breath. “I’m…”
It left him in a laugh. Kusuo sucked in a breath and Aren reached up to rub his neck.
God. God, god, he was so endearing.
‘Please,’ some part of Kusuo whispered. ‘ Please, don’t.’
He wasn’t sure which of them that thought was aimed at.
Aren reached over and placed his hands on the side of Kusuo’s arms. Humiliatingly, Kusuo found himself leaning in, his body tingling at the touch. The boy beamed. “I’m in love with you,” he confessed in a dizzying rush. The words couldn’t leave Aren fast enough. “Like, fucking hopelessly in love. You’re just- amazing. I wanna…”
Aren was better at emotional vulnerability than him. But still, he looked down shyly as his thoughts continued to sprint, drumming his fingers on Kusuo’s arm and squeezing. “I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, Kusuo.”
Kusuo swallowed thickly. In his mind’s grasp, his telepathy trembled like a frightened bird, pinned and unwilling. He didn’t want to do this. He’d never wanted to do something less, even when he’d lived with Kusuke.
But Kusuo also had a lifetime of experience wrangling his powers, even when — especially when — they fought and thrashed against the tight leash he kept them on. Now was no different.
(It felt like it was, though, like there was no way he could go through with this, no way anything but the word yes could come out of him — there was no way, no way out.)
His lips trembled, Aren stayed unerringly patient, well used to his hesitancy and overly indulgent. For once, Kusuo wished that he would push, that he would cup him in his warm palms and refuse to let go.
But he said nothing. And all Kusuo could whisper out was, “I’m sorry.”
That wasn’t one of the answers Aren had been expecting, evidently. The blush began fading as Aren froze.
…And Kusuo’s breath stuttered at the sight because Aren didn’t do that. He was always alive with movement: pacing, swaying, fidgeting — the antithesis of Kusuo’s stillness, a cold rigor mortis. Seeing him sitting there, chilled and stock-still, almost made Kusuo feel as though he’d killed him.
Good grief, maybe he had.
Aren’s mouth twitched upward jerkily in a grotesque attempt at his earlier beam. It was almost disgusting to witness. Kusuo couldn’t handle the sight; he turned to the side to look at the flowing water, and tried to listen more to its dull roar rather than the pounding of his heart in his ears.
“Uh, what?” Aren chuckled. The sound grated, painfully forced. He ducked around, trying to meet Kusuo’s eye. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Kusuo’s skin crawled. He felt…wrong. Dirty. He tucked his knees close to his chest, gripping his ankle with one hand and holding the bouquet awkwardly with the other. He still kept looking pointedly away. He was sure they must have made a funny sight, or maybe even a worrying one: Aren, large and looming, leaning nearly uncomfortably close to Kusuo, making himself small by curling up tight.
It certainly didn’t feel funny. It felt rather awful, actually. Kusuo sighed, and tried to ignore the way Aren cringed at the sound. “I’m afraid I…can’t reciprocate your feelings,” Kusuo said monotonously. He thumbed up and down his ankle, trying to calm down before he did something stupid like explode.
Even if Kusuo didn’t have telepathy, he still would have sensed the effect his words had on Aren. The sheer devastation rolled off the boy in waves, and in the corner of his eyes he could see the way Aren’s hands trembled. “Kusuo, what- you can’t be serious-”
There was still a hint of desperate amusement in his voice, begging Kusuo to tell him it was a joke. That it was all some fucked up lie, that Kusuo reciprocated the feelings humming through his veins.
But he couldn’t. Kusuo flat out could not, would not, do this to him. “Aren,” he said firmly. Finally, he forced himself to look up to meet those overly-expressive eyes. His words wouldn’t be accepted otherwise. The former punk froze again, hurt practically bleeding from his eyes.
“Please,” Kusuo said simply.
Please let it go, please don’t push.
Please don’t let me leave.
Whatever. Whatever, whatever. Why did Kusuo even care? Good grief, he didn’t. He fucking didn’t.
Aren’s mouth moved around words that weren’t very forthcoming. His lower lip trembled, and nothing came out for a moment. Then, a quiet and heart-wrenching, “But, I- I thought…”
The boy’s voice was getting thick. Kusuo watched with a nearly numbing sense of heartbreak as Aren’s eyes began to well up with tears. His face was beginning to flush for a reason very different from just minutes ago.
The sight seemed to gut Kusuo. He didn’t even want to acknowledge the feelings his telepathy told him Aren was drowning in.
What else was there for Kusuo to do besides place the flowers in Aren’s lap and stand up? If he stayed any longer, he already knew he’d end up reaching out to brush his knuckles against Aren’s scarred face, that he’d want to swipe a finger under those miserable, wounded eyes and wipe away any sign of wetness. Would Aren shy away from the cool press of Kusuo’s palm? It would be a shock, certainly.
Maybe in another world, if Kusuo was just a tiny bit more selfish — Aren would laugh at the touch, and would then grasp his hands in between his own to warm them.
Instead, Kusuo chanced one last look at the unadulterated misery gleaming deep in those cerulean depths. He bowed deeply, stayed there until his face smoothed out from its betraying twist, stood up straight-
Left.
Left his boy behind, seated on a picnic blanket with an untouched, homemade dessert. Left behind the lovely blooms, the vibrant colors, the dew on the grass and the heat of a warm body next to him like the first warm rays of a new spring.
The wind blew again. This time, it carried no sweetness with it; just a chill that made Kusuo tighten his cardigan around himself protectively, like it would keep him from falling into pieces.
The truth was, Kusuo had been preparing for this ever since Aren had begun picturing the confession.
Though, perhaps he was just saying that. If he had really wanted to be prepared, he should have never let himself be so weak. Falling in love? It simply wasn’t for someone like Kusuo. There were too many risks, too many chances for Kusuo to hurt Aren.
There were too many chances that Aren would walk out, and take parts of Kusuo with him.
When Kusuo had first heard the beginnings of a plan in Aren’s mind, it had been a rude wake up call from the saccharine dream he’d unknowingly slipped into. By that point, there wasn’t much he could have done beyond trying to distance himself.
Good grief, he really should have done that ages ago. There wasn’t such thing as ‘better late than never’ with him. Kusuo couldn’t afford to put things off and make stupid mistakes — not when his mistakes could kill people.
But. Kusuo had found his resolve softening in the face of brushed hands, carried bags and opened doors, soft laughs and even softer looks, the almost-press of lips against his ear as Aren whispered something to him. The unconscious turn of his body toward the other, a sunflower greedily drinking in its life source. He had been too pliable to the sway of the boy’s emotions, and even more so to his own.
Kusuo thought he had outgrown that.
He’d done nothing to dissuade Aren’s feelings, which meant he was entirely to blame for his heartbreak. If Kusuo had been able to hear anything beyond the deafening beating of his heart, he might have been able to listen to his poor boy’s heart cracking right down the middle.
Kusuo had known all along that saying yes would never be an option — not if he didn’t want to drive the boy away. Unfortunately for Aren, Kusuo was too selfish for that. No, Kusuo’s preparation, for all his intents, hadn’t consisted of him trying to maintain space, nor had there been any attempt to squash the growing romance beneath his heels.
It had consisted of Kusuo readying himself to let it all go. High school romance, no matter how fluttery or warm it made him feel, wasn’t something he needed. Kusuo wasn’t willing to sacrifice Aren’s presence in his life for what would likely be, at most, a few months of bliss.
There was no way he wouldn’t leave once Kusuo told him everything. His own brother had, after all. For all his loyalty, Aren wouldn’t stay with someone who lied and manipulated as easily as they breathed. He wouldn’t stay with a monster, and Kusuo wouldn’t put him in that situation in the first place.
For once, though, being prepared for the chilling pain of detachment did nothing to lessen it. Maybe it was because, deep down, for the first time in Kusuo’s life, he had truly hoped he wouldn’t be strong enough to go through with it.