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Teru first picks up his sword the day he turns eight years old.
It’s far too big and too heavy for him—almost as tall as him, too—but it’s his, and that’s all that matters. A family heirloom passed down from generation to generation into his hands, and he alone is the one who will wield it. Not his dad nor Kou, but him. It’s something he shoulders with pride, before he learns to consider it a burden.
Teru’s dad teaches him how to yield it—the right grip, the correct stance. They spar in the backyard with his mom peeking out from behind the curtain with a worried expression on her face.
“Pretty soon you’ll be able to do it for real,” Teru’s dad says as he presses forward to strike. Teru stumbles as he defends himself; he’s still not used to the weight. It’s a big adjustment compared to the stick he was using beforehand.
“Really?” Teru asks, hopeful; his dad uses the distraction as an opportunity to push forward once again.
The half-finished birthday cake sits in the fridge—his mom and Kou made it from scratch. Well, it was mostly his mom; Kou only threw in a cup of flour or two. Still, though—it’s enough for Teru to give him a pat on the head and a proud smile. It’s already more than he’s able to do without knocking the entire bowl over and making a mess out of everything.
They do this for a while—practice. Slowly but surely, Teru gets more and more used to the feel of it, and now he's actually able to put up a decent fight. He knows that his dad is going easy on him, but it's satisfying nonetheless.
It's when dusk is about to come when Teru's mom calls them inside. "It's getting dark," she says. "Come on in. Besides—" she gives Teru's dad a look, "—I'd like to talk to your father about something. Teru, can you go to your room for a little while?"
"Okay," Teru agrees easily enough. Morbid curiosity overtakes him, though—as soon as he hears the click of a lock from his parents' bedroom, he goes forward to investigate.
“Don’t you think he’s a little young?” Teru’s mom asks his dad in a hushed whisper; Teru’s ear is pressed against the door as he listens.
“It’s never too early to start,” his dad replies at his normal volume. “Besides, I think he’s ready. With a little bit of training, he’ll make a fine exorcist.”
A swell of pride rushes through Teru—if his dad thinks so, then it must be true. Sometimes it feels like his dad knows everything—the correct stance to take, the perfect place to strike, and running a household.
"Still, though... I'm worried."
"He'll be fine," his dad reassures. "He's my son, after all. If anyone would be able to do it, it's him."
"Okay..." his mom says, but she doesn't seem convinced. In that moment, Teru decides that has to be the best exorcist he can, if only to prove to her that he can do it. That's all there is to it.
Teru’s mom doesn’t talk to his dad much over the following days, only giving Teru the occasional glance and sad smile. Teru wants to ask her why she looks so pained, but the words die out on his tongue whenever he gets the opportunity.
It's another six months before Teru's allowed to go out in the field. While the wait felt like eons, he's been told that he's done it in record time.
It's his first day on the job, and he's bouncing on his heels in anticipation. It's exciting—everything he's worked hard for, building up to this moment. The training has paid off, and he's finally able to show his skills for real.
"You think you're ready?" his dad asks, his bow slung over his shoulder.
Teru nods. "Mhm."
"Well, good, because I'm not going to be able to watch you."
That's pretty disappointing; his dad won't be able to see him in action, see the skills he's honed to perfection. "Why so?" Teru asks.
"There's a big one we're trying to get today, so we're getting extra manpower."
Teru raises his eyebrows, impressed. "What about me?"
"Not yet. You've got a little one today—small enough that you can do it without anyone else. We found it weakened the other day, so we saved it for you."
Teru scrunches up his nose, but he doesn't protest. "So I'll be by myself?"
"I can trust you to take care of it on your own?"
"Yes," Teru rushes out. This might be a good thing—an opportunity to prove himself. "I can do it."
"Great." His dad thumps him on the back. "I'm proud of you, kid." Teru's chest swells up at his words.
It turns out that Teru's dad wasn't lying; he really is on his own. Teru would never admit it out loud, but it's nerve-wracking. He's tempted to run back to his dad, but a Minamoto must be strong.
A Minamoto must be strong, he repeats to himself as he wanders to the destination his dad told him to go. Here it is: in a den tucked almost invisible on the side of the road, Teru can make out the slight frame of a supernatural.
As he dismounts his sword from his shoulder to perform the finishing blow, something stops him in place. This supernatural—it’s a child. Peeled back to its very core, it cowers underneath Teru, curled up into a ball and its hands shielding its face. Eerily human. It reminds him of Kou—the same scrunched up look in his face when he skims his knee and Teru has to patch him up.
Maybe it's on instinct or foolish naïvety, but Teru hesitates. He can't bring himself to do it—not when the supernatural looks at him like that. Everything in him screams to not, but he lowers his sword and crouches down to comfort it.
"Hey, it's alright," he soothes. "I'm not going to hurt you." How could he, when it would feel like killing his little brother? It's Teru's brotherly instincts that kick him, making him do something as stupid as this. He's always had a soft spot for Kou, and apparently it transfers over to this, too.
It cracks open an eye and stares at him. "Come on out," Teru insists.
The strangest thing happens: the supernatural grins. It happens in the blink of an eye: it warps from a child into an entirely different being. Teeth impossibly sharp and bare, it bites into Teru's shoulder.
Teru acts on instinct; he doesn't even have time to process it before he stabs supernatural straight in the chest and pulses lightning into it's soul. Even as it lets out one final shriek and collapses, it only just hits him. He's been betrayed.
He should've seen this coming from a mile away; it was obvious. All supernaturals are evil is a lesson that's been drilled in his head over and over again, yet here he is, succumbing to one just because it reminds him of Kou. How pathetic.
As Teru clutches his bleeding shoulder and stumbles away, he makes a promise to himself: never again.
Kou is supposed to pick up his staff the day he turns eight years old, too, but his dad takes one look at him and decides he isn’t ready. Teru hates that he agrees.
“Just wait a little longer,” their dad says to a bawling Kou as he leans down on one knee and pats his shoulder. “You’ll get it soon.”
"Come on, Kou. Let's go practice in the backyard," Teru encourages from behind their dad. What Kou needs right now is a distraction.
"Don't wanna," Kou mumbles, rubbing his eyes.
"Then let's just go talk, okay?"
"'kay," Kou says, and Teru smiles.
"Come on, let's go outside." He leads Kou by the shoulder to the front step of their porch. The birds chirp as they sit in a momentary, comfortable silence.
"Nii-chan, how did you do it?" Kou finally asks.
"Do what?"
"Become so strong?"
Teru blinks. "What do you mean?"
"Well... When you turned my age, you got your sword. And I don't have my staff, so what did you do that I didn't?"
Teru knows the reason. Kou isn't good at fighting—that's indisputable. He's too kindhearted to be; his heart is too big for his chest. To become a good exorcist, one must give up everything, and Teru suspects that Kou will never be able to. He's too innocent for his own good.
"You didn't do anything wrong, Kou," Teru says. He didn't at all—in fact, quite the opposite. "You just have to keep trying, and I'm sure you'll get there."
Kou looks at him, bleary-eyed and desperate, and Teru feels a twinge of pain in his chest. "You really think so?"
"I do." But here's the thing: Teru hopes he doesn't. Teru hopes that he never fills the shoes that have been laid out for him, because he doesn't want to see the spark in Kou's eyes turn dull. Kou is a Minamoto, but at the same time he is so much more. He's a good person, and that is something Teru will never be. That is Teru's weakness; that is Kou's strength.
Teru's confidence must have shown in his voice, because Kou relaxes. "Okay... If you say so, it must be true."
Here's another thing: Kou believes in Teru. Teru could say anything and he'd accept it without hesitation or second thought. No matter what, Teru knows that Kou will always be in his corner. While it's convenient, he wishes he didn't, because Teru is a liar. Kou's faith is misplaced, and Teru doesn't have the heart to tell him that he's wrong.
Teru leans over and squeezes his knee. "Now, do you want to start training? The more you practice, the better you'll become."
Kou's quick to bounce back—he's always been good at that. Not much phases him; he tends to shrug his problems off with a smile. And even when something does affect him, it's never for too long. So that's why Kou rubs the tears from his eyes and says, "Yup!" without hesitation, because he wears his heart on his sleeve and his heart bleeds of everything right in the world.
Teru hopes that Kou stays weak, because he doesn't want him to sacrifice everything to be strong.
It's one of those rare days that nobody has anything to do, so the whole family goes to the beach.
It's not often they get to do things like this—go on family outings—but Teru treasures it every time it happens. It's easy to pretend that they're a normal family; that lightning doesn't bend to their will and that their kimonos don't become stained with supernatural blood. Pretending is something that Teru's always been good at, so he lets himself indulge in it.
The sun blares down on them as they set up their site on the sand; the weather is perfect for this kind of endeavor. Kou's wrestling with the umbrella as he tries to open it, and Teru goes to help him out.
"It's sweltering out," their mom says, fanning her face with her hand. She's already sitting down on a beach chair they propped up. She isn't helping much due to the baby in her stomach.
"Do you want some water?" their dad asks. "We packed some in the cooler."
"No, that's alright. I just need to sit down for a while, I think."
They definitely overpacked for what is meant to be only a few hours trip, so it's a hassle getting everything in place so they can actually begin.
"Nii-chan! Come with me in the water!" Kou begs once they finish, tugging him forward by the arm.
"Hang on a sec." Teru glances at their dad. "Do you want to join us?"
"Maybe next time. I'm going to keep watch over your mother."
"I don't need a babysitter," she says, frowning.
"I want to," their dad insists. "You two have fun." Teru nods, and he and Kou go out to play.
The water is freezing, but Kou's laughter more than makes up for the chill in his bones. It's been a long time since Teru's last seen him as happy as he is right now. Teru wants to bask in it; he wants to bottle it up to keep it as a reminder for what he's fighting for. This is why he puts on his kimono at twelve in the morning each day and risks his life.
Eventually they play themselves exhausted, so they go back and collapse on the picnic blanket.
"I'm going for a walk," their mom abruptly decides, hoisting herself up to a standing position. It takes some effort, but she manages to do it.
"Don't exert yourself too much," their dad warns.
"I'll be fine," their mom says, waving him off. "It's not like it's going to hurt the baby. Besides, I need the exercise." Their dad frowns, but he doesn't bother with protesting anymore; once she's set her mind on something, there's no stopping her.
"Can I come, too?" Teru asks, perking up. He may be tired, but this is an opportunity he doesn't want to pass up.
She smiles and motions him towards her. "Sure thing."
"What 'bout me?" Kou asks, jolting upwards.
"You stay back this time, kiddo," their dad says. "It's been a long day for you; you need to rest." Kou pouts, but he doesn't protest any further. Teru jumps up from his place, and he and his mom begin.
"Hey, Mom?" Teru asks as they walk. The tides next to them crash onto the beach in a comforting manner.
"What is it, darling?"
"I was just wondering... What is it like? Living with us and not being able to see supernaturals?" It's something Teru's always been curious about; his mom has no Minamoto blood in her veins, so she only knows of their existence by association.
Teru's mom pauses to think. "It's...interesting. Even still I don't grasp it entirely, so it can be difficult to understand."
"So it's hard?" He'd imagine it would be—never being able to relate to the people closest to you.
"Sometimes. But that's what you do for love, right?" She leans down and pinches Teru's cheek with a smile. "Even the things you don't understand, they become easier to grasp with people who support you by your side."
Teru isn't sure what she's talking about, but he nods regardless. "Mhm."
"So I would say it's worth it, because I meant to meet you."
"Do you love Dad?"
"Of course I do. We may argue sometimes, but we love each other no matter what."
"What about us?" Us being him and Kou.
"More than anything else in the world." All of the sudden, Teru feels a lurch in his stomach as his mom picks him up and spins him in the air. It seems difficult for her to do so considering how big her stomach has become—her due date is just around the corner—but she manages. "You and Dad and Kou—I love you all."
"I love you, too," Teru echoes, laughing. There’s a warm feeling in his chest, and he wishes it could stay like this forever.
Tiara is born when Teru is twelve, and he adores her instantly. She drools and cries a lot, sure, but babies tend to do that. So it’s not like Teru can hold it against her.
His mom dies when Teru is thirteen, and the entire world crumbles apart before him.
It was a slow, gradual process—they all knew it was coming, even Kou. That doesn’t make it hurt any less, though. In what feels like the blink of an eye, Teru has a mom, and then he doesn’t.
Grief taints the household that used to be full of life; the hallways seem a lot longer than before. Going from five people to four shouldn’t make this much of an impact, yet Teru's footsteps reverberate across the room as he walks. The silence is deafening.
It takes a week for the funeral arrangements to be finalized, and Teru hates every moment of it. He wants to destroy something—shatter his mom's glass animals she loved to collect and pretend that they're inconsequential, that it doesn't matter if they break. Or maybe not; maybe he wants her to scold him for doing something as rash as that and send him to his room with no dinner. It's not good to drown yourself in sorrow, she would say, and Teru would be inclined to agree. But she isn't here, so he can't believe that.
Objectively, the funeral is beautiful—the flowers are picked to perfection, the photo gallery of her showcasing all of her best moments. Subjectively, it's the ugliest thing Teru's ever seen. Get up, he wants to scream. Show them that you're still alive, that it's a sick, twisted joke of yours that we'll all laugh at later. Instead of that, all Teru gets is people whispering their hushed condolences in his ear. He wants to punch the wall at each and every one.
Next to him, Tiara tugs on Teru’s suit—an unasked question. What happened? Why does everyone look so sad?
Teru grabs her hand and squeezes—an unsaid answer. It's nothing to worry about. Don't blame yourself, even if others try to.
Normality is a fickle thing; the way it can dissipate in an instant. One wrong choice, one unhappy accident, and everything you once knew shatters. Teru can try all he wants, but nothing he can do will ever bring her back.
During the one moment he needs it the most, Teru is powerless. How ironic.
In front of him, he sees Kou visibly shaking; he looks like he's about to tip over the edge. Teru puts his hand on Kou’s shoulder and says, “Kou.” It’s a silent message: don’t make a scene, wait to be vulnerable when no one else is in the room. It’s also an I’m here, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do, either.
That seems to get the opposite effect of what he wanted—it’s Kou’s breaking point. He stumbles forward; one step, two. A single choked cry devolves into many, and he's inconsolable.
As Kou sobs while he clutches his mom’s casket, Teru can feel himself biting back his own tears. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise—he didn’t know he could do that anymore. It’s a stupid blessing that probably shouldn’t be considered one, but he’ll take what he can get when it seems like nothing is right in the world anymore.
Teru doesn't bother to try and get him to stop again—it's too late for that. He only watches as his baby brother starts to break down in front of him, and Teru feels something in himself crack, too. This shouldn't be happening. Kou should smile and not let it bother him like he always does, and Teru should internalize it and use it as fuel. This isn't how it's supposed to go. Life isn't fair—Teru's known that for a while now, but Kou shouldn't have to learn that the hard way.
Eventually, Kou's sobs subside into sniffles, but by then it's too late—everyone else is gone. Teru's never been one for comforting, but it can't hurt to try. He can try to be the person Kou needs, even if he doesn't know how to.
"Kou," Teru repeats, more gentle this time. "Let's go home." It's only the two of them now; their dad took Tiara home a while ago, citing that it's time for her to take a nap. Teru suspects that the actual reason was that he couldn't handle it anymore.
Teru was expecting either kicking and screaming or quiet resignation. What he wasn't expecting was Kou to rush over and squeeze Teru by his sides as he buries his face into his chest.
"Teru-nii," he says, but his voice cracks at the end. "I'm sorry, I just—"
Tentatively, Teru puts a hand on Kou's head and starts rubbing it in what's meant to be a reassuring manner. "It's alright. Don't be sorry."
They stand there in silence, drowning together in lost dreams and what-ifs. In this moment, Teru lets himself be angry at the world for doing this to them. Kou is bright and burning like the Sun, and the tears that he sheds shouldn't put out the flames. Kou deserves everything good, and instead what he's given is this.
"Nii-chan," Kou mumbles into his chest. "What are we gonna do? Will everything be okay?"
“We’ll be alright. I’m sure of it,” Teru reassures, and he hopes that he is telling the truth.
Their dad starts going on more business trips after that.
At first it’s only on occasion—a day or two here and there, maybe three. But it soon snowballed into this: an empty house filled with broken promises and regrets.
He’s grieving in his own way—Teru knows that. But it's not fair, and they both know it. It's not fair of him to leave them by themselves; they have to figure everything out on their own. A part of Teru is glad that he’s not here anymore, though. He can’t stand to see the look on his dad’s face whenever he directs his gaze towards Tiara. It’s not fair of him to blame her, not fair of him to be pained by her very existence.
What used to be their normal is no longer normal, so they have to readjust. Teru has to be strong—both for his siblings and himself—so he throws himself into his work. He wasn't a spectacular student in primary school, but soon enough more and more A's show up on his report card. Studying puts him at ease—the monotony. The questions all blend together, so it turns less into a struggle and more something he looks forward to when he wants to clear his mind. His exorcisms are simultaneously faster and more brutal—he stops holding back. There's no time to mourn when there's studying to do, exorcisms to perform.
Funnily enough, Kou seems to have handled it better than Teru; not nearly as much about him changes. He's always been a relatively happy kid, so he's quick to bounce back. Really, the only thing that shifts for him is that he has more housework to do, seeing how Teru's as busy as he is and their mom is no longer there to help him out. He turns into Tiara's primary caretaker, and it oddly suits him. Well, maybe it's not that odd—Kou's always been far more gentle than Teru could ever be. But sometimes, Teru can still see the pain that still haunts him, haunts both of them. There's a look in his eyes when he stares at the action figure their mom gave him for his eighth birthday, like he's made of glass and is about to break. Teru wants to pick up the pieces and glue him back together, but he can't bring himself to reach out. He doesn't know the right words to say.
It's easy enough to get absorbed in their new routine that Teru starts to forget what it was like before; back when his mom was the one to make dinner for them and he and his dad sparred in the backyard. Teru's reminded in the silliest ways—when no one is there to take pictures with on the first day of school and when no one is there to tell him off when he accidentally knocks over the old vase that's yet another family heirloom. Why does he hate the way the pain eventually dulls, the way that it's easy to pretend that their family isn't irreparably fractured?
In a way, it seems as if they've lost two parents instead of one.
Kou tries to teach Teru how to cook once. It doesn’t go well.
"Hey, Kou," Teru says, walking up to him in the kitchen. "Need any help with dinner?"
"Nii-chan?" Kou asks, whipping his head to stare at Teru with a terrified expression on his face.
"You don't have to look at me as if you've seen a ghost. I can cook fine," Teru lies. "And if not, you can always teach me."
Kou squints at him, unconvinced. "Are you sure...?"
"It's never too late to learn. I have to eventually, right?"
"That's true..." Kou relents. "Are you sure you won't burn the house down?"
"So, what are we cooking tonight?" Teru asks instead of answering, because he'd rather not lie if possible. The metallic taste in his mouth whenever he does never truly fades.
"Well, I was thinking about doing stir-fry. I'm not gonna trust you with the pan, so how about you chop up the vegetables?"
That's fair—Teru doesn't blame him. Chopping up vegetables seems manageable enough, so when Kou hands him a cutting board and knife, he takes it without complaint.
"Do you know how to do it?"
"Of course I do," Teru says, not knowing at all. But it can't be too hard, right?
"Okay. How about you do the tomatoes first?"
"Alright," Teru agrees, and begins.
He doesn't even last fifteen seconds before messing up. While it's not a new record, it's pretty quick nonetheless.
"Oh..." Teru says. He accidentally left a dent in the cutting board from the knife.
"Here—let me show you how to do it," Kou says, taking the knife from him. Teru’s well versed in holding back his strength, but with a weapon in his hand? Well, it’s a lot easier to get carried away. It’s easy to forget—that Kou has mastered something that has the potential to be dangerous. He handles it with ease, even twirling it around in his hand a few times before finely chopping up the vegetables.
“Maybe you should use a knife instead of your staff,” Teru jokes.
Kou snaps his head to stare at Teru, eyes wide. He's still cutting even while looking away from the board—impressive. “You really think so?” He seems a mixture of hopeful and disappointed.
"I was just kidding," Teru quickly backtracks. "Although you are good with it." Kou has recently gotten his staff—a few weeks before the beginning of his first year of middle school—and he boasts about it to everyone he knows.
"Okay," Kou says, relaxing. All of the sudden, Teru watches the knife Kou's handling hit something it shouldn't: the tip of Kou's finger. He must have been really distracted to make a mistake like that.
"A-ah," Kou gets out weakly, staring at his hand with shock.
Teru sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Are you alright?" It's not a particularly deep wound, but for a twelve-year-old it must be the end of the world.
"'M fine," he gets out, but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself he is.
"Well, let me patch it up." Teru reaches and grabs the emergency kit from one of the cabinets; Kou is still too small to reach it. "Stay still, okay? I'm going to put an antibiotic on it."
Kou weakly nods.
As Teru patches him up, he looks at Kou with a newfound respect. He has evolved past the stage of crying at the sight of a single drop of blood. He barely even flinches as Teru applies the antibiotic to the cut and slaps a quick Band-aid on it.
"There," Teru says when he finishes, patting Kou's hand. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He still feels bad—he promised to himself that he would do everything in his power to keep Kou from hurting, yet he was responsible for this. So much for being a good older brother.
"Nope!" Kou chirps. "Thanks, Teru-nii."
Teru ruffles Kou’s hair and says, “I’m proud of you, Kou. Let's get back to cooking, okay?”
Kou’s beam makes up for any guilt Teru may feel.
When Teru tasked Kou with exorcizing the School Mysteries, he certainly didn't expect Kou standing between him and No. 7, blocking Teru's sword with his bare hand.
The thing is, Teru can't pinpoint where this idiotic idea of befriending supernaturals came from; Kou seemed so eager to do what he was assigned. Is No. 7 manipulating him? How did years and years of lecturing dissipate in only a few weeks?
"Stop treating me like an idiot!" Kou shouts, grabbing Teru by the collar. "I know I'm weak! And I'm a lot stupider than you! But it's not true that I don't have to think about anything!"
Kou is weak. Teru wants him to be, but sometimes he wishes he was, too. In the rare moments he allows himself to be envious, he looks at Kou and thinks, what if. But then again, if both of them are useless, who will step up to the task? Who will hold the legacy of the Minamoto name? Teru will be Atlas; he will shoulder the weight of the sky that Kou is not prepared to carry.
Teru is strong—it’s something he’s always known, something he’s always been told. He’s strong in more ways than one—he will do the difficult tasks that his brother cannot. He will unsheathe his sword and sully his hands with No. 7’s blood, and Kou will scream and cry and beg him to stop. Kou is too young to understand the danger No. 7 holds; his heart is too soft and too full. Teru lost his long ago, the moment he made that promise to himself all those years back.
There’s a part of Teru that wants Kou to stay the way he is—so innocent, so free. Let him live out the childhood that Teru never had. But if he’s going to interfere with Teru’s line of duty? That’s an entirely different story. It was stupid of him to entrust Kou with this task anyway—he thought it would help him grow as an exorcist. Clearly, he was wrong to think that in the first place. No amount of practice will replace the newfound hesitation in Kou’s soul. Maybe it’s for the best.
"And then I'm gonna decide what to do. If I need to, I'll exorcize him!" Kou exclaims, blood from Teru's sword dripping off his hands. But will he really? Does he have what it takes to do so?
"He may attack a student tomorrow," Teru warns. But the battle has already been lost; Kou's stubborn determination has not once wavered. While it's an admirable trait, sometimes it can be to his detriment, too.
He wants to exorcize No. 7. He should exorcize No. 7. But the thing he wants most in the world is for Kou not to hate him, so he has to let it go. Besides, he's never been able to say no to him.
"I'm only doing this once, Kou," Teru says as he walks off. He definitely shouldn't be doing this, but the cracks in their foundation are beginning to show, and this is necessary to patch them up.
As Kou hangs out with a soon-to-be-dead girl and a supernatural, Teru has to sit back and watch.
Kou has just made a huge mistake, but Teru has to learn to have faith. He has to sheathe his sword and pretend that the sight of No. 7 doesn't make him sick; he has to believe that Kou will do the right thing. And if he can't? Well, Teru will just have to clean up after him. It's easy to have Kou's back, but it's hard not to have his front.
Trust isn't something that comes naturally to Teru, but he has to try. Teru often forgets that Kou is also a Minamoto, and Minamotos are nothing if not reliable—unwavering in their devotion to protecting the world from supernaturals. The only thing Teru can do is hope that the gene was passed down to Kou as well.
Kou’s been acting strange lately. In some ways, it is both glaringly obvious and almost impossible to see. It might only be that apparent for Teru, though—he's seen that look on Kou's face before, back when their mom first died and he didn't know how to hide it. If anyone would be able to tell, it's him.
"Say, Kou," Teru comments as he takes a bite of his dinner—pork. Tiara has been sent up to bed for the night. "What have you been up to as of late?" He tries to keep his tone as casual as possible.
Kou freezes in the middle of bringing his fork to his mouth. "What do you mean?"
"I'm just making conversation."
"Oh... Not much, then," Kou says, but Teru senses a hint of a lie.
"Are you sure?"
Kou nods, before he seems to reconsider. "Um, actually..."
"Yes?" Teru quickly prompts, eager.
"Teru-nii, have you ever felt powerless?"
Well, that wasn't what Teru was expecting. "What do you mean?"
"It's just—something happened. With a friend. And it made me think about stuff I could've done to prevent it."
Oh, so that's what it is. Just some middle school drama—maybe Teru was wrong to be worried. "Well, I'm sure if you talked to them you'd be able to sort it out."
Kou gives him a strange look. "It's not that. I dunno how to explain it."
Has Teru ever felt powerless, hm. It's a good question, and very situational. It's not like he has any friends to quarrel with—the closest thing he has is Aoi, and Teru's ninety-percent certain that he hates him; besides, his feelings towards Aoi are something twisted and complicated that he doesn't like to think about often—so in this case...
"To answer your question: no, I haven't," Teru decides. Besides, being powerless isn't something he allows himself to do anymore. He abandoned that the moment he held Kou as he sobbed in his arms.
"Oh." Kou takes a bite. "I guess you wouldn't know how that feels."
That's not true, Teru almost says, but he holds himself back. "Feeling powerless isn't an entirely bad thing," is what he says instead. "You can use the pain of failure to make yourself become stronger."
Kou stares down at his fork. "Oh," he repeats once again. And then: "I wish I was strong like you, Teru-nii."
No, you don't. "With enough time and practice, I'm sure you'll get there." Teru's good at hiding it—how helpless he feels sometimes. He wants to tell Kou that he buries it and refuses to let it consume him, but that would cause his perfect persona to break. So instead, what he does is try to imply it; let his unspoken words speak for themselves. Teru has to be strong, because he's not allowed to be anything else.
"I'm gonna try," Kou says, but none of his usual fire is behind it. Teru didn't realize how much he relied on it until it was gone.
"Sometimes I feel like Kou doesn't need me anymore," Teru admits to Aoi with a sigh as they sit together in the student council room. The paperwork in front of them lays abandoned—they've both devolved into talking about the mundane. Aoi talks about Akane-san, and Teru talks about Tiara and Kou. This routine of theirs—it's something he's learned to look forward to.
"It makes sense," Aoi says, unimpressed. "If I were him, I wouldn't want to rely on you, too." Teru flicks him on the forehead, and he pulls back with a wince. "Okay, okay. I get it."
"But seriously—what should I do?"
Aoi taps his pencil against his chin as he considers. "If I were you, I'd let him go off on his own. You're brothers, right? It's not a give and take relationship; it's about being there for each other."
Has their relationship been give and take? Maybe Teru's been worried about the wrong thing. Kou is Teru's ally, and Teru is his. No matter what, that will always be a constant.
"You know, you can actually be smart sometimes," Teru says, impressed.
"Someti—you're such an asshole, do you know that?"
Teru grins as he leans back in his chair. "You should learn to respect your elders," he says, but it's an empty threat. Just this once—just this once will he let Aoi go. While Teru and Kou's relationship might not be give and take, Teru will award his wisdom with mercy.
Aoi rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Anyway, did you hear about what Ao-chan said to me today?"
This is the part that Teru doesn't like about their chats—whenever Aoi talks about Akane-san, he wishes that he were talking about him instead. Longing is a strange thing; it comes and goes in an instant. Teru will never have what he wants, so he'll take what he can get: these scraps in the student council room in what feels like their own corner of the world.
"What was it?" Teru asks, and pretends that he doesn't want something more.
Teru dreams about her sometimes.
It's been years since she died, but it happens occasionally—Teru closes his eyes and is haunted by a ghost of what she used to be. What little hours he gets to rest is disrupted by the teasing—the suffering.
His memory of her has become distorted, and he hates that even more than the restless sleep. It's all a bit fuzzy around the edges, like he has most of it but not all. There's something missing about her, and Teru can't figure out what.
It's gotten to the point where he can't remember what his mom's voice sounds like, and that feels like the worst crime of all.
"I'm sorry," Teru always says to her. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough." I'm sorry that I wasn't with you more—that I spent more time being an exorcist than a son.
"It's not your fault," she always says back, but Teru can never bring himself to believe her. There had to be something, anything he could've done. If Teru isn't infallible, then he is nothing.
This time, however, she doesn't say that. This time, she leans in towards him with a sneer. "You should be," she says. "I'm disappointed in you."
Teru knows that this isn't real, that it's a figment of his imagination—his mom would never say something as cruel as that—but it feels real anyway. This has never happened before. This isn't how it's supposed to go. He wasn't prepared for this. Maybe this is his own Hell of Mirrors; the Seven Mysteries somehow manage to follow him even after he leaves the school.
"I'm sorry," he repeats again, whispering. "I'll make it up to you." This is his punishment—how he repents. He will be as strong as everyone says he is.
"Just do better next time."
Teru will forever hold this loss, but he won't let it happen again. He won't let allow Kou to cry anymore; he will ensure that he never has to assure him that they will be okay again.
"I promise," he says, and means it. He will learn from his mistakes.
Teru wakes up to his hand clutching his chest and his heart feeling like it's about to explode. A part of him wishes it would—maybe that would finally give him a release from the regrets that weigh him down so.
Ever since the severance, both Teru's and Kou's worlds have been flipped upside down.
It's strange—having this much free time. Teru's allowed to sleep as early as he wants, never having to set his alarm to wake up in the dead of night. He never can will himself to, but it's the thought that counts. Hours spent exorcising supernaturals are replaced with sitting around doing absolutely nothing. Truth be told, he's bored out of his mind.
On the other hand, Kou has completely warped into something else. The severance has cast a shadow over him—he’s much more thoughtful as of late. He smiles, but Teru can tell that it doesn’t reach his eyes. Sometimes, Teru catches him staring off into space, lost in his own mind. It reminds him of that other time—that fabled dinner table conversation where Kou lost the shimmer in his eyes.
Teru wants to reach out, but he doesn't know what to say. There's no way to relate to him in this situation, not when the severance has done him nothing but good.
He gets his answer a few days later when Kou serves him breakfast.
"Good morning," Kou greets Teru as he rubs sleep out of his eyes and walks to the kitchen.
Teru's too tired to let out anything other than a grunt of assent, but Kou doesn't seem to mind—he's used to it. A piece of toast tempts Teru, so he takes it and starts to eat.
And then it happens: "Nii-chan... Just for the record, what would you do if I turned into a supernatural?"
Teru drops his toast.
Teru probably should’ve seen this coming.
Everything happens all at once. In one moment, No. 7 is pinned under Teru’s foot, and then in the other he is not. Kou, parrying Teru's sword with his raiteijou. An ugly feeling twisting in Teru’s gut: betrayal.
In hindsight, it makes sense; Kou’s been inching more and more towards the side of the supernaturals with each passing day. What would you do if I turned into a supernatural?—a question, sounding far too serious to be played off as a joke.
How did this all happen? What misstep did Teru make to lead to Kou no longer trusting him, turning away from what they both used to consider to be an unshakable truth of the world? When did Teru become the villain?
There will be time to address that later, but now is the time to fix the mess Kou has made. In a flash, Teru dashes to catch up to No. 7, but he's suddenly stopped in his tracks once more: Kou again, this time attacking from behind.
"I let you handle things with Yashiro-san, but I didn't mean like this," Teru says. "You knew that, didn't you?" Kou doesn't know what he's doing; doesn't realize how big of a mistake he has just made. No. 7 is now a murderer twice-over, and that is unforgivable. Who's to say he won't attack a student again, just to protect the girl he likes? No matter how many years he haunts the school, No. 7 is a child who can't properly deal with the power he's been given.
They continue to talk, but the ringing in Teru's ears distracts him; the knot in his stomach tightens. Maybe he fed too much into Kou's little hero complex; maybe he shouldn't have brought him along. While he knew him and Yashiro-san got along well, to the lengths of doing something like this? When did their bond become this fractured, to the point where Kou would actively go against him to protect a supernatural of all things? When did they start to drift—start going in opposite directions? When did they become so different?
Kou is everything Teru is not. Kou is weak and naïve and selfless and kind, and Teru is anything but.
In a way, they are still like how they were back then—Kou still asks Teru to help him with his homework and still begs him to spar in the backyard; Teru still relies on him to cook and clean for the three of them. Yet at the same time they are not. Kou is no longer the child that pleaded Teru to tell him that everything will be alright. With each day that passes he needs Teru less and less, and Teru wonders—if he has nothing more to give, what reason does Kou have to stay? If Kou is no longer his ally, then who is on Teru's side?
“It felt pathetic,” Kou says.
That’s because you are, Teru wants to say, but instead he readies his stance and prepares to strike.