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“Oh,” Mob says in absolute horror.
Hanazawa-kun is a girl.
“Don’t look,” she mutters, her face all red, and he immediately whips his eyes away.
“Sorry! Sorry!” he squeaks. “I didn’t–I swear I didn’t know, I would never have–”
“It’s fine,” she cuts him off quietly. “Um, just . . . can I have your shirt, mayb–”
Mob has never ripped his shirt off so fast. He holds it out, blushing furiously in several layers of mortification. But if he’s embarrassed being shirtless, he can’t imagine how Hanazawa feels.
“Thanks,” she says, and takes it.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, hating himself even more. “I didn’t–guys who hit women are the biggest losers in the world!”
“It’s okay,” Hanazawa says. “Really. I’m, uh. I’m not a . . . woman.”
“Oh,” Mob says, and blinks. But . . .
“You can look at me again,” Hanazawa says, so he does. She’s(?) wearing his shirt now. It’s not really long enough to hide much and she’s pulling it down a bit in an attempt to make up for that. Mob absolutely does not look down at her hands. Or at her chest. Or–
“Do you want my shorts too?” he says. She snorts.
“Don’t be stupid, Kageyama,” she says. “I’m fine. And I’m really not a woman, I promise, okay? So you’re not a loser.”
“Hitting girls isn’t right either, though,” Mob says. “Actually I’m pretty sure that’s worse.”
“Not one of those either,” Hanazawa says, putting on a forced smile. “I’m a boy.”
“. . . you are?” Mob says in confusion. She sets her jaw, tugging his shirt down a little farther. It, um. Doesn’t really help much. Which he does not notice.
“I am,” Hanazawa says tightly. “I’m a boy. Don’t laugh at me.”
“Why would I laugh at you?” Mob asks, even more confused. Hanazawa grimaces, then smiles brighter. It’s still really, really forced-looking.
“Lots of people have,” she–he?–says. “Everybody’s gonna, now.”
“What?” Mob says, alarmed. “Why?”
Hanazawa laughs. She–no, he–looks bitter, even though he’s still smiling.
“Um, I mean . . . it’s not . . . a secret anymore, obviously,” he says, his voice tight. “All those other guys already saw. So you know . . . when everybody finds out, they’ll laugh. But I guess I deserve that, huh.”
“No,” Mob says. “You don’t deserve that.”
“Hah!” Hanazawa says with a laugh of his own, bright and brittle. “You’re funny, Kageyama.”
“I mean it,” Mob says, just barely frowning. He doesn’t understand why somebody would laugh at Hanazawa for . . . being a boy? Is that what he means? That seems like a weird thing to laugh at someone for.
A mean thing to laugh at someone for, he thinks, looking at that bright and brittle smile.
“I deserve it,” Hanazawa repeats, and then he starts to cry. “I could’ve killed you.”
“Um,” Mob says, probably panicking. “Do you want . . . to come to my house?”
Hanazawa . . . blinks.
“Um,” he says. “Right . . . now?”
“Yes,” Mob says, definitely panicking. “I can lend you some clothes. And uh . . . your hair is still . . .”
“A girl definitely wouldn’t have hair like this, right?” Hanazawa says with another brittle, brittle laugh.
“We have clippers,” Mob says awkwardly. Hanazawa laughs again.
“You’re weird,” he says. “But like I’ve got room to talk, right? Wearing a boys’ uniform.”
“But you said you were a boy,” Mob says, confused again.
“Nobody’s gonna believe that after this,” Hanazawa says, and bursts into tears all over again. Mob startles, and doesn’t know what to do. He’s . . . not good at this.
“Hanazawa,” he starts, and then the Body Improvement Club runs up to him, calling his name, and Hanazawa flinches. And–Hanazawa’s crying, still, and the club members stop, and look over at him, and all look startled too. Mob knows–he knows they’re all good people, and they’d never–“Don’t laugh,” he blurts.
Hanazawa’s expression turns stricken.
“Kageyama-kun,” Musashi says with a sigh. “Your shirt is too short.”
“Uh?” Mob blinks. “I–sorry.”
“You’ll just have to train more!” Musashi says, then strips off his own and holds it out to Hanazawa, who just . . . stares at it, visibly lost.
“Hanazawa-kun is coming over to my house,” Mob says, trying to fill the awkward silence . . . awkwardly. “Sorry. Um . . . can I miss practice just this once?”
“Of course, Kageyama-kun,” Musashi says, still holding out his shirt. Hanazawa hesitates another moment, then reaches out to grab it like he thinks Musashi’s going to snatch it back. Musashi doesn’t, of course, and Hanazawa drags it on quickly while everyone looks the other way.
“Thank you,” Hanazawa chokes. Musashi’s shirt covers a lot more, which is a relief, and it’s swimming on Hanazawa, but it’s still white, and . . . Mob turns red and tries not to look any lower than Hanazawa’s collarbone. Hanazawa holds out his own shirt, and he takes it back and pulls it on, and feels at least a little bit more settled not standing around half-naked.
Hanazawa’s still half-naked, though, so . . .
“Yes. Thank you,” Mob says. “We’re going to my house now.”
He’d wanted to look for Dimple, but Hanazawa’s still half-naked, again, and even with Musashi’s much longer shirt, that’s got to be embarrassing. And the hair’s probably . . . also a thing, Mob figures.
Yeah. Definitely the hair’s a thing.
Hanazawa looks really, really upset.
Mob grabs his hand like he used to with Ritsu when they were kids, then bows quickly to the club members before pulling Hanazawa towards the gate. Hanazawa follows him, sniffling again. Mob wants to do something that’ll make him stop crying, but he really doesn’t know what he could. He wants to run, like maybe that’d help, but even if he could that would probably hurt Hanazawa’s feet, wouldn’t it.
Maybe he should offer him his shoes.
He looks back to do that. Hanazawa is staring at him, for some reason.
Oh. This is weird, isn’t it.
“Sorry,” Mob says, letting go of his hand.
“It’s okay,” Hanazawa says. Mob keeps trying not to look below his collarbone. It’s hard, but not impossible.
Other people on the street are looking, though, he realizes. Looking at Hanazawa’s legs, and his chest, and–
Something strange and sharp bristles inside him.
“I should’ve gotten you more clothes,” Mob says. Hanazawa smiles painfully.
“It’s okay,” he says again. “Um. Just . . . let’s hurry, maybe?”
They hurry. Mob is much more aware of strangers than usual; much more aware of being looked at than usual. Hanazawa seems to be shrinking smaller and smaller as they go. Mob thinks this must look–bad, somehow. People must be thinking the wrong thing.
He doesn’t hear anyone laugh, at least.
They take the back way. Quieter streets. Fewer people. It takes a little longer, though. Mob feels bad about that.
“Sorry,” he says. “We’re almost there.”
“Okay,” Hanazawa says, sniffling again.
It starts raining, so hopefully people won’t stare at Hanazawa for crying.
They get to Mob’s house, both soaking wet. He leads the way inside. No one’s home. Hanazawa doesn’t have shoes to leave by the door, which makes Mob feel bad all over again.
“Are your feet okay?” he asks.
Hanazawa starts crying again.
Mob really wishes he could stop making that happen.
He looks at the floor of the hallway. There’s blood on it.
“Come on,” he says, and leads Hanazawa upstairs. He gets the first aid kit out of the bathroom, then takes Hanazawa to his room and digs out his biggest hoodie for him, a thick green one he got from some random relative who’d assumed he’d have had a growth spurt by now–and, after a moment’s thought, a bright red beanie he never wears. Hanazawa puts both of them on, sniffling, then sits down at his desk and checks the bottom of his feet. Mob grimaces at the sight of dirt and blood on them.
That’s not good.
“I’ll clean them up,” he says.
“I’m not gonna make you do that,” Hanazawa huffs, folding his arms and looking towards the wall.
“You’re not making me,” Mob points out, sitting cross-legged at his feet. Hanazawa’s face twists, but he lets Mob grab his ankle and pull his foot into his lap to clean up with alcohol wipes. Mob does not look any higher than his knees. Actually, even that’s probably too high. Calves. Calves are better.
. . . ankles, maybe.
He cleans up Hanazawa’s feet, one after the other. They’re not bleeding too much, but they’re definitely scraped up, so he puts some band-aids on them. Hanazawa’s smile is so, so brittle.
“It’s fine if you look at me,” he says. “I know what I look like.”
“Um,” Mob says, and Hanazawa tilts his head and looks down at him through half-lidded eyes. He puts the ball of his foot on Mob’s thigh; flexes his toes against it. Mob isn’t sure why he notices that as much as he does.
Hanazawa smiles at him.
It’s a really, really bitter smile.
“It’s fine,” Hanazawa says, shrugging Mob’s hoodie off his shoulders and pushing his chest out a little for some reason; twisting his fingers in his hair. “Really. I’m pretty, right?”
“I guess,” Mob says. Hanazawa’s mouth tightens, fingers twisting a little tighter in his hair. “For a boy, I mean.”
Hanazawa grabs one of his hands and yanks it to his chest. For a moment, Mob’s too bemused to even be embarrassed.
Then he’s really embarrassed, and turns bright red.
“H–Hanazawa-kun!” he sputters, too shocked to even–to–
Hanazawa tightens his grip on his hand. Pushes his chest into it. Mob makes a really embarrassing noise, and Hanazawa seems to . . . settle, a little, and his smile’s a little less brittle.
“Wanna do something?” he asks. It sounds like a challenge, weirdly. Like the same way he sounded when he wanted to fight.
Mob doesn’t think he wants to fight. Why would he have come to his house if he wanted to fight?
“I want to put the first aid kit back,” he manages, his voice coming out strangled. Hanazawa hangs his head for a second with a defeated laugh, then lets go of his hand. Mob snaps it back to himself fast. He grabs up the first aid kit and flees back to the bathroom, and he spends a minute just . . . calming down, a little.
At least a little.
He puts away the first aid kit and goes back to his bedroom. Hanazawa is standing in the middle of it, looking around. He’s touching things. Mob considers minding, but doesn’t really.
Hanazawa looks better in his hoodie than he ever has, he thinks.
“I didn’t mean you looked bad,” he says. “I just . . . ‘pretty’ is for girls, right?”
“Pretty is for anybody who can pull it off,” Hanazawa replies airily, waving him off before flashing him a quick smirk. He even winks. Mob feels very weird.
Maybe he should’ve spent a little more time calming down, he thinks.
Hanazawa turns to face him fully and steps in close, his hands coming up. Mob kind of expects choked again, all things considered.
It’s not what he gets.
Hanazawa puts his hands on his chest. Smooths them across it.
“You should get changed,” he says. “You’re all wet.”
“Do you want pants?” Mob asks.
“It’s fine,” Hanazawa says, forcing another one of those awful smiles. “I told you that you could look, didn’t I?”
He reaches down and lifts up the bottom of Musashi’s soaked-through shirt. Mob’s eyes widen, and he immediately claps his hands over them. Hanazawa laughs, just a little. It’s not a mean laugh, but it’s not a happy one either.
Mob does not understand him.
Hanazawa’s a boy, right? So why is he doing . . . stuff like this? Mob’s not good at social cues, but these are really, really blatant ones. This is the kind of stuff that girls do on, like, those weird websites and in old dirty magazines.
Mob didn’t even think real girls did that kind of thing for real, so he doesn’t understand why Hanazawa would be.
“Aw, are you shy, Kageyama?” Hanazawa says. He sounds kind of smug, except he also sounds like he’s breathing a little weird. Like he’s trying not to cry again.
“Yes,” Mob says. “Um. Please fix your shirt.”
“Okay, okay,” Hanazawa chuckles, and Mob hears fabric rustle. “Better?”
Mob peeks out through his fingers, a little worried that Hanazawa might’ve just taken his clothes off altogether. He didn’t, fortunately; he’s all covered up again. Mob sighs in relief and drops his hands.
Hanazawa bites his lip and stares at him with a really weird expression.
“I’m still not a girl,” Hanazawa says. “So, uh . . . don’t take this the wrong way.”
“Don’t take what the wrong way?” Mob asks.
Hanazawa kisses him. Quick, but tight. Then he leans back, looking embarrassed.
“Oh,” Mob says. He . . . blinks.
“Sorry,” Hanazawa says, and then laughs, still visibly embarrassed. “That was pretty selfish, actually, huh.”
“Yes,” Mob says. Hanazawa laughs again, covering his face with his hand.
“Sorry,” he says again. “I think, uh . . . I think I’m just feeling a lot of things right now? Kinda?”
“It’s okay,” Mob says. He understands what that’s like. Kissing somebody is nowhere near as bad as what he does when he’s feeling a lot of things.
Although it was his first kiss, so . . .
He frowns a little.
“Mad that a weirdo like me kissed you?” Hanazawa says, smiling tightly.
“No, that part’s fine,” Mob says, shaking his head. “I like somebody else, though.”
“Wow, you’re really just like this, aren’t you,” Hanazawa says.
“Like what?” Mob asks.
“This,” Hanazawa says, just kind of . . . gesturing to him. Mob doesn’t really get it, but figures he’s not getting a better explanation.
“It’s fine,” he says. “It was just my first kiss, so I thought it’d be more interesting.”
“Um,” Hanazawa says with a wince. “Sorry. Let me try again?”
“Why?” Mob asks, tilting his head in bemusement.
“I can make it more interesting,” Hanazawa says confidently, tossing what’s left of his hair and smirking at him smugly. “I’m pretty good at that stuff, actually.”
“Oh,” Mob says. He considers it, briefly, but . . . “No thank you.”
“Are you . . . sure?” Hanazawa fidgets uncomfortably. Mob nods.
“Yes,” he says. Hanazawa pauses, like he’s waiting for him to say something else. Mob isn’t sure what else he would.
Hanazawa still doesn’t say anything.
“. . . do you do a lot of that stuff?” Mob asks, because for some reason Hanazawa seems to keep leading the conversation that way. He must have a reason to be, right?
“Lots,” Hanazawa says, squaring his chin. Mob can’t tell if he’s proud or defensive. He knows a lot of boys would be proud. And a lot of girls would be defensive.
It . . . doesn’t really clear things up.
“Okay,” Mob says. Hanazawa scowls in frustration and grabs his hand again. He lets him, figuring it can’t be any less embarrassing than last time.
He figures wrong.
Hanazawa yanks his hand down and pulls it between his–between his–
Mob yelps, jerking his face away to stare at the wall, face burning.
“You can touch it,” Hanazawa says, smiling all nice and friendly and still holding Mob’s hand–there. Mob has no idea what to do.
“If you’re not a girl, why do you keep doing girl stuff?” he asks.
“Girl stuff?” Hanazawa says, blinking at him with wide, innocent eyes. Maybe he . . . doesn’t realize, Mob thinks uncertainly. Except he more feels like Hanazawa’s tricking him, somehow. Or about to laugh at him.
“Are we still fighting?” he asks uncomfortably.
“No,” Hanazawa says, confusion flickering through his eyes.
“I feel like we’re still fighting,” Mob says. Hanazawa frowns. “I don’t like . . . this.”
“. . . boys always like this,” Hanazawa says, sounding unnerved.
“You don’t look like you like it,” Mob says.
“So?” Hanazawa smiles the worst smile Mob’s ever seen.
He jerks his hand back; twists his fingers together nervously. Doesn’t let himself look any higher than Hanazawa’s ankles.
“I don’t want to do that,” he says. “You’re not just your powers, and you’re definitely not–not just–”
“Not just what, Kageyama?” Hanazawa asks, leaning in to peer at him with a weird, flat expression. “It’s fine. Not like you’d be the first.”
But the other Black Vinegar students hadn’t known, had they? Hanazawa had made it sound like they hadn’t, anyway.
So . . . who would’ve been touching Hanazawa like he was a girl?
. . . so who would’ve been laughing at him?
“Come on,” Hanazawa croons, bringing up his hands to cup Mob’s face. He’s smiling again, but his eyes are still all weird and flat. “I’m not wearing panties or anything.”
Mob is intimately aware of this fact, yes.
“You know . . .” Hanazawa starts in a low murmur, stepping in close until his chest is pressing up against Mob’s; fluttering his eyelashes girlishly at him. “I could help you practice for that girl you like . . . so you can give her a good time, yeah?”
“You’re kind of scary,” Mob says, and Hanazawa’s face falls. He steps back, twisting his fingers in his sleeves. Mob watches him, trying to figure out what he’s doing. He still doesn’t think Hanazawa wants to fight again, but he also doesn’t understand what he does want.
“Sorry,” Hanazawa mutters, looking at the floor. “Just–boys always like this. Even when they don’t like . . . me.”
“Why would you do that stuff with somebody who doesn't like you?” Mob asks in confusion.
“I don’t know,” Hanazawa says with a wet-eyed hiccup, covering his face with his hands again. “It feels good, sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” Mob says.
“It’s better with older guys, usually,” Hanazawa says with a shrug, and that strange sharp thing bristles inside Mob again.
“‘Older guys’?” he echoes. He doesn’t ask “how old”, but he really wants to.
“Just–older guys,” Hanazawa says, twisting his fingers through his hair. “High school boys. Or college. As long as they’re not too drunk, obviously.”
“Nobody older than that, right?” Mob says, feeling nauseous at the thought of college guys doing–touching–
“They give you stuff,” Hanazawa tells him, like it’s just a little life tip or something. Like it’s not a total lack of an answer. “Like, presents and money.”
Mob wants to throw up.
“You could get hurt,” he says. Hanazawa laughs.
“Kageyama,” he says, practically fondly. “What’re they gonna do to keep me from throwing them out a window, huh?”
That’s . . . fair, yeah, Mob has to admit, but he still feels nauseous.
“What if you got sick or something?” he says. “Or . . . pregnant.”
“Condoms and the pill,” Hanazawa says with a shrug, tugging his hoodie back up over his shoulders again. “Or the morning-after pill, if the condom breaks or whatever. Might need that after I leave, huh?” He leers.
“Hanazawa-kun,” Mob says tightly.
“Or I could find you an older girl?” Hanazawa says speculatively, tapping a finger against his cheek. “If I’m not your type. Do you like brunettes better? Tits or ass? Demure or more bossy?”
“I already like somebody,” Mob reminds him, flustered again but less concerned with what Hanazawa’s saying than with what Hanazawa means. Because from the sound of it, what Hanazawa means is that he . . . that he wants Mob to have . . . to have sex with him. Or–somebody, at least.
Mob’s not even sure he could do anything like that without exploding, but even if he could, the way Hanazawa is acting about it is making him feel kind of sick. He imagines having sex like that kiss, quick and selfish and empty, and grimaces at the thought.
He doesn’t want that. Ever.
“Yeah, like I said, it’d be practice for her,” Hanazawa says, sounding perfectly reasonable; smiling brightly.
“I’d probably explode again,” Mob says. “Or my powers might do something weird.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Hanazawa says dismissively. “I mean, I’m an esper too, right?”
He . . . has a point, kind of. Mob never really thought about that kind of thing, but doing stuff like that with another esper probably would be safer, wouldn’t it. And Hanazawa is handsome, and he obviously knows how to do it already, and he even says he knows how to make it good. Mob’s never been able to . . . never really . . .
The idea of feeling that good without worrying about hurting someone is really . . .
But Mob likes Tsubomi.
And he doesn’t feel like Hanazawa actually really does want to do anything with him.
“Is this another fight?” he says. Hanazawa blinks. “I don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t want to fight either,” Hanazawa says, his fingers twisting in the sleeves of Mob’s hoodie.
“Then stop pretending you want to do stuff like that with me,” Mob says.
“I’m not pretending,” Hanazawa says, just barely defensive. It doesn’t sound like a lie, but Mob isn’t good at telling when people are lying. And there is a weird note in his voice, either way. Kind of . . . uncertain, maybe?
“You are,” Mob says. “You don’t know me well enough to do those kinds of things with me.”
“You’re such a fucking kid,” Hanazawa says, mouth twisting meanly.
“We’re both kids,” Mob says. “And you shouldn’t be doing those things with older people. They’re wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having some fun, Kageyama,” Hanazawa says.
“No,” Mob corrects, shaking his head. “They’re wrong. Those people. They shouldn’t touch you like that.”
Hanazawa . . . trembles. Just barely–just briefly.
But he definitely trembles.
“You should stay away from people like that,” Mob says.
Hanazawa laughs, covering his face with his hands.
“Fuck, I really did lose, didn’t I,” he says, grinning painfully. “Completely.”
“Hanazawa-kun,” Mob says as seriously as he can, hoping the other’s listening. “You shouldn’t use your powers on other people. And other people shouldn’t use theirs on you.”
“. . . none of them were espers?” Hanazawa says, frowning at him in confusion. Mob said it wrong, then.
Well, he says a lot of things wrong.
“But they’re older,” he says, trying to clarify. “They know things you don’t.”
“I know things,” Hanazawa says, starting to sound defensive again. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself. He looks really, really cute all scrunched up in Mob’s clothes, but it’s hard to really think about that kind of thing when he also looks like . . .
Mob doesn’t have the right words for the way Hanazawa looks right now.
It’s not good, though.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Mob says.
“They’re not espers,” Hanazawa repeats, sounding exasperated.
“You’re the only esper who’s ever hurt me,” Mob says. “But lots of other people have hurt me a lot worse than you did.”
“. . . I don’t get it,” Hanazawa says. He looks like he really doesn’t.
“I mean emotionally, Hanazawa-kun,” Mob says. “I don’t want people hurting you emotionally.”
“It’s not like I like any of them,” Hanazawa scoffs.
“Then why are you doing those things with them?” Mob asks with a frown. Hanazawa bristles a little.
“It’s fun,” he says, and it’s definitely defensive this time.
“Are they the ones who laughed at you?” Mob asks. “Because that doesn’t sound fun at all.”
“Who said they did?” Hanazawa says, and then his expression turns stubborn and he lets the front of Mob’s hoodie fall open again and does that thing where he pushes out his chest and stands a little weird, his hip cocked. Mob doesn’t look below his collarbone, again. Musashi’s shirt is still wet. “Hey. What, do I have to get naked here?”
“I already saw you naked,” Mob reminds him. Hanazawa turns red, but visibly steels himself and steps in close again; puts his hands on Mob’s chest again.
“Did you like it?” he asks, eyes back to half-closed and voice soft and coaxing. Mob doesn’t like that.
“No,” he says. “I felt bad.”
“Seeing a girl naked makes you feel bad?” Hanazawa asks with a hitched laugh. He doesn’t take his hands off his chest.
“I felt bad seeing you naked,” Mob says. “I didn’t mean to ruin your clothes like that.”
“Next time you take my clothes off you’ll just have to be more careful,” Hanazawa coos, his eyelashes fluttering. Mob doesn’t like that either. He wishes someone else were here. Maybe Hanazawa wouldn’t act like this in front of Ritsu or Dimple.
. . . mmm.
“You exorcised Dimple,” he says. Hanazawa blinks, his hands going still for a moment. Just a moment, though, because then they slip to his shoulders instead and Hanazawa steps in closer so they’re chest to chest.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, voice all soft and breathy, and–
Oh.
“Oh,” Mob realizes. “Do you think acting like this will make up for hurting everybody?”
“You’ll like it,” Hanazawa promises, smile bright, bright, brittle.
“So you do.” Mob frowns. “Stop trying to make me do things. I don’t like it.”
Hanazawa’s expression looks like it’s about to crack.
“I’m–I’m not–” he starts, his voice just as close to cracking, and then someone knocks on Mob’s bedroom door and opens it. Hanazawa yelps in alarm, snatching his hands back and flinching down small behind him.
“Ah,” Mob says. His dad stares at him blankly from the doorway. “Hi, Dad.”
“Shigeo,” his dad starts, his eyes flicking to Hanazawa. He looks . . . baffled, a little. “This, uh . . . who’s this?”
“This is Hanazawa-kun,” Mob says. “He goes to Black Vinegar Middle School. Don’t laugh at him. He doesn’t like it.”
His dad . . . pauses.
“Kageyama isn’t doing anything weird!” Hanazawa blurts quickly, waving his hands in the air. “I just–he was just doing me a favor, I swear, it’s not like–!”
“I did some weird things,” Mob says. Hanazawa makes a strangled noise.
“Kageyama,” he hisses, and then shoves in front of him and puts on another bright, brittle smile before very quickly bowing, shifting into a weird pose. He’s standing like a girl would, Mob realizes after a moment, and frowns. “Hello, Kageyama-san! I’m so sorry for the trouble! I’m Hanazawa Tamiko! A car splashed me and got my clothes all muddy. Kageyama-kun was kind enough to help me out!”
“Why are you lying? Who’s Tamiko?” Mob asks in confusion. Hanazawa’s shoulders tighten. His dad’s soften.
“It’s nice to meet you, Hanazawa-kun,” he says, weirdly gently. Hanazawa trembles, just barely.
“He didn’t do anything weird,” he repeats. He sounds . . . scared, kind of. Mob glances at his dad, who looks sad.
“I know,” he says, still in that same gentle tone. “Shigeo’s a good boy. I’m sure you are too.”
Hanazawa’s face twists up. He looks like he’s about to start crying again. Mob tries not to wince.
“Can you help us?” he asks his dad, maybe a little too abruptly. “Hanazawa-kun’s hair got kinda messed up and I don’t think he wants me cutting it. I’m not very good with the clippers.”
“I don’t mind,” Hanazawa says, looking nervous.
“Dad’ll be better at it,” Mob says.
“They’re just clippers, Shigeo,” his dad says reassuringly. “I’ll give you a couple tips and then you can do it yourself, okay?”
“. . . okay,” Mob says, frowning faintly. He doesn’t want to mess up Hanazawa’s hair any worse, but he guesses he can’t, really. They’re going to have to buzz it all one way or the other, he’s pretty sure.
They go to the bathroom. His dad gets out the clippers, gives him some advice, gives him a towel to put around Hanazawa’s shoulders, and then leaves. Hanazawa doesn’t relax until he does.
Maybe asking his dad for help wasn’t the right thing to do, Mob realizes.
“Sorry,” he says.
“What for?” Hanazawa says. “You could’ve gotten in really bad trouble.”
“For . . . what?” Mob frowns in confusion. Hanazawa gives him a look.
“Because you had a half-naked girl in your bedroom with the door closed and you were calling her a boy,” he says.
“You are a boy,” Mob says. He doesn’t understand why Hanazawa keeps saying he’s not, when he’s the one who said he was to begin with.
“Okay, but you see how that’s worse, right?” Hanazawa presses, leaning towards him again and pointing at him. Mob hopes he won’t try to kiss him again or anything. Or say anything weird. It’s . . . flustering.
And uncomfortable, definitely.
“Not really,” he says, then holds up the clippers. “Sit down.”
Hanazawa just stares at him for a moment. Mob waits. He takes a minute to process things sometimes too. Usually other people don’t, admittedly. Still, he always wishes people would give him more time to, so he’s not going to interrupt Hanazawa now.
Hanazawa’s face flickers through a lot of expressions, but he sits down and takes off the beanie and wraps the towel around his shoulders. Mob plugs in the clippers.
“I think I should just shave it all,” he says. “So it’ll all grow back the same length.”
“Okay,” Hanazawa says. He’s looking down at his hands. Mob feels bad. Hanazawa has really nice hair.
Well, it’ll grow back, right? He’ll have to bleach it again, but . . .
“Sorry,” Mob says.
“No, you’re right,” Hanazawa says quietly, shaking his head. “Anything else will look too weird, yeah?”
“It’d definitely look weird,” Mob confirms. “But I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
Hanazawa peers up at him. His eyes are a little wet again.
“Just shave it,” he says after a moment. “Please.”
“Okay,” Mob says, and does. It takes him a lot longer than it probably should, but he’s trying to be as careful as he can be. A buzz cut isn’t going to look good no matter what he does, but he at least wants to make sure it doesn’t look bad.
When he’s done, he lifts all the little bits of hair away with his powers and dumps them in the trash. He doesn’t want Hanazawa all itchy. Hanazawa looks at himself in the mirror and makes a face, then laughs, rubbing his hand over his buzzed scalp self-consciously.
“Thanks,” he says. “You, uh, you did a good job.”
“Not really,” Mob says.
“I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Hanazawa says, and starts crying again. Mob has . . . no idea what to say to that, honestly.
“Um,” he tries. Hanazawa chokes on a sob, and Mob steels himself. He needs to say something to him.
. . . he has no idea what to say to him.
That’s a problem, definitely.
“Do you want to meet my master?” he tries. Reigen always knows what to say to people.
“Your master?” Hanazawa blinks at him, rubbing tears out of his eyes. Mob nods quickly.
“Yes,” he says. “He’s taught me a lot.”
“About . . . your powers, you mean?” Hanazawa says hesitantly.
“Yes,” Mob says, nodding again. “Like when not to use them.”
“Oh,” Hanazawa says. “I’ve never met . . . well, okay, I have met some adult espers. But they all sucked. Like . . . a lot.”
“Did they?” Mob frowns.
“Yeah,” Hanazawa says. “They tried to–look, never mind. It’s a long story. But, uh . . . your master won’t . . . mind? Someone like . . . me?”
Mob’s frown deepens.
“He won’t laugh at you,” he says. “Did they hurt you?”
“Not much,” Hanazawa says, shrugging listlessly. “I beat ‘em all in the end, so . . .”
“Beat them?” Mob says, a little alarmed. Hanazawa shrugs again.
“They started it,” he mutters, back to rubbing at his eyes. “Not that you’ve got any reason to believe that, after today.”
“I believe you,” Mob says. Hanazawa just looks at him, then laughs.
“God,” he says helplessly, chin trembling again. “You’re really just like this.”
“Yes,” Mob says.
“You’re definitely the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Hanazawa says with a tremulous smile, rubbing self-consciously at his shaved head again.
“Sorry about your hair,” Mob says.
“It’s fine.” Hanazawa sniffles. “I deserve a lot worse, remember?”
“You don’t,” Mob says. “If anyone laughs at you, they’re wrong.”
“It’s fine, if anybody starts some shit I’ll just–” Hanazawa starts breezily, then seems to realize something and stops himself with a laugh. “Crap. I, uh, don’t know what I’m gonna do if anybody starts some shit, actually.”
“You don’t?” Mob blinks at him.
“I’m not gonna . . . use my powers on people anymore,” Hanazawa says, looking uncomfortable. “At least, not people who don’t have their own and aren’t trying to like . . . really hurt me. Some middle school dumbasses aren’t . . . that. So, uh. That might be a problem for a while.”
“Hm.” Mob frowns. That’s not . . .
“Shigeo!” he hears his mom call from down the hall. Hanazawa stiffens. “Is your friend staying for dinner?”
Hanazawa looks like he’s about to panic. Like he might be about to jump out a window or something.
He also definitely hasn’t eaten.
“Yes please!” Mob calls back.
“It’ll be ready in ten minutes, then!” his mom says. “We’ll set an extra plate.”
“Thank you!” Mob says, then looks back at Hanazawa, who still looks really nervous. “I’ll find you something else to wear.”
“Thanks,” Hanazawa says, shrinking into the hoodie again.
They go back to Mob’s room. He starts looking through his closet, wondering if Ritsu’s home yet. He should be soon, if he isn’t.
“I have a little brother,” he says as he tugs out a long pair of sweatpants that he’s always had to roll up the cuffs of. “Don’t say weird things to him.”
“I won’t,” Hanazawa says, his voice going small.
“Good,” Mob says. He doesn’t want Hanazawa making Ritsu uncomfortable. “No grabbing him or anything either.”
“I won’t,” Hanazawa repeats, shaking his head. Mob holds out the sweatpants and the blackest T-shirt he could find. They both get changed without looking at each other.
Well. Mob doesn’t look, at least. Maybe Hanazawa does.
That thought makes him nervous, and he barely manages not to float anything in the room.
“Are you done?” he asks.
“Uh-huh,” Hanazawa mumbles. Mob looks at him. He’s not wearing Musashi’s wet shirt anymore–it’s draped over Mob’s desk chair now–but he did put the hoodie and beanie back on over the black T-shirt.
Layers seem like a good idea, Mob thinks.
He remembers that Hanazawa isn’t wearing underwear right now and feels . . . very weird about it.
“Dinner’s probably almost ready,” he says, standing stiffly.
“You’re not worried I’ll say weird things?” Hanazawa asks, mouth cracked into a pained grin. Mob thinks he might be trying to make a joke, but . . .
“Kind of,” he says.
“I don’t know if I know how to say normal ones,” Hanazawa says. “I’ve never, um . . . I’ve never gone over to someone’s house for dinner before.”
“Ah,” Mob realizes, pausing to consider that. Well . . . “It’s fine. I’ve never had anyone over either. So if you’re a little weird, they probably won’t notice. Just don’t try to do anything bad to Ritsu.”
“I won’t,” Hanazawa says, shaking his head quickly. He wraps himself up tighter in Mob’s hoodie.
“Okay,” Mob says. “Let’s go, then.”
They go downstairs. Mob’s mom is finishing up in the kitchen and his dad is setting the table with an extra plate. Ritsu is setting up an extra chair, looking just barely puzzled.
Well. Mob really never has brought anyone over for dinner before, so he guesses that’s fair.
“This is Hanazawa-kun,” he says. Hanazawa flashes a bright smile and bows in greeting. “Hanazawa-kun, this is my brother Ritsu and our mom. And our dad. But you saw him upstairs already.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Hanazawa says, friendly and easy.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Hanazawa-kun,” Mob’s mom says, smiling kindly. “Any friend of Shigeo’s is always welcome.”
“Th–thank you!” Hanazawa manages, his fingers tightening nervously in the sleeve of Mob’s hoodie.
“Oh,” Mob says. “You don’t have to lie to them or anything.”
“Lie?” his mom asks, looking confused. Hanazawa cringes a little.
“Hanazawa’s not my friend,” Mob explains. “He’s from Black Vinegar Middle School. He’s their . . .” He pauses, trying to remember exactly what the other kids had said. “Shadow leader?”
“. . . Nii-san,” Ritsu says. “What?”
“Shadow leader,” Hanazawa says, back to brittle brightness. “But, um. I’m done with that, actually.”
“Oh,” Mob says. “Are you gonna quit?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t be very good at it anymore anyway,” Hanazawa says, laughing self-deprecatingly. “Without my, uh–you know.”
“Oh, your powers,” Mob says.
“Powers?” His dad’s eyebrows raise.
“Hanazawa-kun’s an esper,” Mob says. Nobody says anything, and Hanazawa’s brittle brightness cracks a little more. Mob isn’t sure if he should be worried, but . . . “His aura’s yellow,” he offers after a moment. “It’s really pretty.”
“Um,” Hanazawa says, turning red.
“That’s nice, Nii-san,” Ritsu says, his smile kind of–weird, somehow. Mob frowns a little. Was that the wrong thing to say?
“Are you another student of Reigen-san’s, Hanazawa-kun?” his mom asks uncertainly. Hanazawa shakes his head, looking embarrassed.
“I didn’t, uh,” he starts, then clears his throat and starts over. “I didn’t know there was anybody . . . like him around. The only other adult espers I’ve met were kinda . . . uh, shady.”
“You don’t know any adult espers?” Mob’s dad says, looking . . . odd.
Hanazawa shakes his head mutely.
“I’m gonna take Hanazawa-kun to meet Master Reigen later,” Mob says.
“What did you do when your powers . . .” his mom trails off. Hanazawa pulls himself up a little straighter.
“Oh, I just figured stuff out,” he says breezily. “I’m good at that. I just have to see things once or twice and I can figure out how to do them.”
“Just . . . see them?” Mob’s dad asks.
“Yeah!” Hanazawa says. “Like, I saw somebody make a sword with a ribbon once. So I do the same thing with my tie now.”
“Why would you need to do that?” Ritsu asks with a frown. Hanazawa stiffens.
“Uh–” he stutters, glancing nervously over at Mob.
“Sometimes adults try to do things to Hanazawa-kun,” he supplies, not sure why the other isn’t explaining himself. He guesses he’s probably worried that Mob’s family will think he started it.
His parents’ faces go white, for some reason.
“‘Things’?” Ritsu repeats.
“Not like that!” Hanazawa sputters, waving his hands in the air. “Just–I mean–! I’m–I’m kinda strong, that’s all! They wanted me to go work for them and I didn’t wanna. So I told them to fu–to bug off and they got mad.”
“And you had to use a sword to stop them?” Mob’s mom says, her voice a little faint.
“. . . and some other stuff,” Hanazawa says, his own voice very small.
“What kind of other stuff?” Mob’s dad asks, neutral but careful.
“Just . . . stuff.” Hanazawa starts fidgeting, looking around nervously. He very obviously doesn’t want to answer.
“Can we eat?” Mob asks. “I’m hungry.”
His parents both blink, seeming a little shaken.
“Yes,” his mom says. “Yes, of course. I hope you like curry, Hanazawa-kun.”
“Love it!” Hanazawa says brightly.
They all sit down. Mob’s mom serves everyone a plate. Nobody actually starts eating, which is . . . awkward, kind of. Ritsu is staring at Hanazawa, who’s looking increasingly nervous.
“When did your powers manifest?” Ritsu asks.
“I don’t remember,” Hanazawa says, then laughs that self-deprecating laugh again, gesturing with both hands. “My, uh. My mom said one day I just had a tantrum and everything started floating!”
“Hm.” Ritsu frowns, just barely. “You’re really psychic, though?”
Hanazawa points at his drink. The water lifts up out of its glass and spins around itself in a pretty, twisting shape, illuminated by his golden aura. Ritsu’s eyes widen and the water settles neatly back into the glass.
“Uh–that was okay, right?” Hanazawa asks nervously, and Mob realizes he’s looking at him.
“What was okay?” he says.
“Using my powers, uh . . .” Hanazawa gestures meaninglessly. “You know.”
“Oh,” Mob says. “I mean, Ritsu asked. And it’s not like you were hurting anybody.”
“Right.” Hanazawa twists his hands together underneath the table. “So it’s fine when I’m not hurting anybody.”
Mob’s parents share a worried glance. Ritsu frowns again.
“Right,” Mob agrees firmly. “You shouldn’t use your powers on other people.”
“Okay,” Hanazawa says, looking nervous again. Mob . . . pauses, and thinks for a moment.
“You shouldn’t use your powers on people who don’t have powers,” he amends. “And who didn’t start it.”
Hanazawa looks relieved. Mob still isn’t sure what those other espers tried to do to him, but it sounded bad. And Hanazawa shouldn’t just let himself get hurt.
“You should come find me or my master,” he decides. “If something like that happens again, I mean. We’ll help you.”
Hanazawa laughs. Mob waits until he’s done.
“I mean it,” he says.
“Um, what?” Hanazawa says with a cracked smile.
“It’d be safer if we were together,” Mob says. “Right?”
Hanazawa covers his face with his hands and turns away, his shoulders shaking. Mob really didn’t mean to make him cry again.
“Sorry,” he says.
“Oh,” his mom says, worry plain all over her face.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Mob says, finally taking a bite of his dinner. “Hanazawa-kun’s just feeling a lot of things right now. I don’t think he explodes, though, so the house should be fine.” Then he pauses, and frowns. “You don’t explode, do you?”
“I don’t know what that means,” Hanazawa mumbles, wiping at his eyes.
“He doesn’t explode,” Mob says, more confidently. Hanazawa would know what it meant if he did, he figures, after today and everything. “But if he needs to I’ll just make a barrier. I’m stronger than him, so it’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure you’re strong enough to . . . do that?” his dad asks slowly. Mob nods.
“Yes,” he says.
“I don’t understand you,” Hanazawa says, his voice breaking.
“I don’t understand you either,” Mob says, taking another bite of his dinner. Not that he usually understands people, really.
“Why does Nii-san know how strong you are?” Ritsu says, his eyes narrowing.
“I hurt him,” Hanazawa says on a hiccuped sob. “I attacked him. Why’s he being so nice?”
“Shigeo . . .” Mob’s mom says, slowly, and Mob takes another bite, mulling over what to say.
“He didn’t really hurt me that much,” he decides on after a moment. “He was just scared. I would’ve been too.”
“You weren’t scared,” Hanazawa says with a helpless laugh.
“Not of you,” Mob agrees. “But if I’d always had to be stronger than every other esper I’d met or get hurt, I would’ve been then.”
“I’m so sorry,” Hanazawa says, his voice breaking again.
“It’s okay,” Mob says. “I’m still mad about you exorcising Dimple, though.”
“Right,” Hanazawa says, shrinking in on himself again. Mob shrugs. He’ll look for him tomorrow, he’s already decided.
“Shigeo,” his mom says again. Mob looks over to her. She looks like she’s struggling to say something, so he waits. “Your father mentioned that you and Hanazawa-kun were in your room with the door closed. Would you mind, ah, leaving it open from now on? When you two are in there together, I mean?”
“Oh,” Mob says, blinking slowly. “Sure. But why?”
“You’re just a little young,” his mom says delicately. “For those kinds of things.”
“Hanazawa-kun’s a boy, though,” Mob says, frowning faintly.
“Kageyama,” Hanazawa says, covering his face again. Mob hopes he’s not crying again.
“It’s, uh, it’s not that,” his dad says with a cough. “The two of you were just . . . very close.”
“Oh,” Mob says, thinking about it. “I guess that’s fair. He did kiss me.”
”Kageyama!” Hanazawa chokes in horror, and Ritsu’s eyes widen in shock.
“He kissed you?!” he sputters. Mob shrugs.
“Yeah,” he says. “And he put my hand on his–”
Hanazawa claps his hand over his mouth. He looks mortified, but also terrified, and Mob . . . pauses. Nobody says anything. Mob frowns, and Hanazawa snatches his hand back.
“Should I not have said that?” Mob asks. His father clears his throat.
“Door,” his mom says. “Open.”
“Okay,” Mob says, and Hanazawa sinks down in his seat, still bright red and a little shaky-looking. Hanazawa isn’t the person he likes, but he guesses it makes sense that his parents wouldn’t want them closing the door after the weird stuff. Even if they don’t actually know about all the weird stuff.
Hanazawa looks really, really upset, actually. Mob feels bad about it. He doesn’t mean to keep upsetting him like this.
“So you asked Nii-san out?” Ritsu says, his eyes narrowing again.
“No?” Hanazawa says. “It wasn’t like that, I just–I, um–”
“Just kissed him for no reason?” Ritsu arches an eyebrow. Hanazawa winces, looking down at his plate.
“He’s being really nice to me,” he says in a small voice. “I didn’t know he . . . um . . .”
“He didn’t know that I already like somebody,” Mob says. “Or that it was my first kiss.”
Hanazawa winces again. Ritsu looks annoyed, very briefly. Mob tries to figure out why, but the expression’s gone so quick that maybe he imagined it.
“It’s fine,” he says with a shrug. “It wasn’t very good, but he said he’d give me a better one if I wanted.”
“Kageyama,” Hanazawa says, his voice strangled.
“What?” Mob blinks at him. “I already said no.”
“Don’t just say stuff like that,” Hanazawa pleads.
“Don’t say no?” Mob frowns. “But you’re really pushy.”
“That’s not what I meant!” Hanazawa sputters, clapping his hands to his cheeks. He’s really red, for some reason.
“Then what did you mean?” Mob asks. Hanazawa turns even redder, then leans over and cups a hand between his mouth and Mob’s ear.
“Just please stop picking on me, okay?” he mutters, and Mob’s frown deepens.
“I wouldn’t pick on you,” he says.
“He’s embarrassed because you’re talking about kissing in front of all of us, Shigeo,” his mom says kindly.
“. . . oh,” Mob says, still frowning and turning to look more directly at Hanazawa. “Are you?”
“Yes,” Hanazawa says, straightening back up quickly. His face is just as red as it was a moment ago. Mob guesses he really is embarrassed.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d be embarrassed by stuff like that after how you were acting in my room. But you were embarrassed when everyone saw you in just my shirt at Black Vinegar, so I guess I should’ve realized.”
Mob’s parents and Ritsu are staring. Hanazawa looks mortified.
That’s . . . probably not great.
“. . . was that worse?” Mob guesses awkwardly. He's starting to worry that maybe he's the one saying weird stuff now.
“Yes,” Hanazawa says, covering his face with his hands again.
“It was my fault,” Mob explains to everyone else. “My powers ripped his clothes up.”
“That’s also worse, Kageyama!” Hanazawa hisses.
“Why?” Mob blinks at him.
“Ripped his clothes up doing . . . what, honey?” his mom asks carefully. Hanazawa makes an awful noise and squeezes his eyes shut really tight.
“Um . . . I lost control a little,” Mob says. Hanazawa pushes his plate aside and lays his head down on the table, wrapping his arms around it. Mob gives him a puzzled look. Is he embarrassed again?
“Lost control,” his dad echos.
“Yes,” Mob says. “Hanazawa-kun was kind of . . . um, well, he had his hands around my . . .”
He trails off for a moment, because his family is all staring at him.
“Um,” he says.
“His neck,” Hanazawa says into the table, his voice muffled. “I had my hands around his neck. Because we were fighting.”
“Yes,” Mob confirms. “I punched him. I feel bad about it.”
“It was a really lame punch,” Hanazawa mutters.
“I still feel bad,” Mob says. “I tried to hurt you.”
“I did hurt you,” Hanazawa says, turning his head just enough to look up at him. Mob thinks for a moment, then pats his head the way Reigen does his sometimes. Hanazawa turns red again and hides his face back in his arms.
“Anyway,” Mob says, dropping his hand away from Hanazawa’s head and picking up his spoon again. “Now we’re not going to fight anymore.”
“But you’re not friends,” Ritsu says.
“No,” Mob agrees.
“Or . . . dating,” Ritsu says, a little slower.
“No,” Mob agrees again. He takes another bite of his dinner. It’s really good.
“I’ll be your friend,” Hanazawa says, very softly. He’s looking at him again; his face is still red. Mob . . . pauses.
“Oh,” he says. “Really?”
Hanazawa cracks a smile. Bright, bright, brittle.
“If I’m not too weird,” he says with an entirely humorless laugh.
“No,” Mob says. “But I don’t want to get in fights with people. Or pick on anyone.”
“I don’t wanna do that either,” Hanazawa says, shaking his head against his arms.
“Okay.” Mob thinks it over; takes another bite. “You should sit up. We’re eating.”
“It’s alright, Shigeo,” his mom says.
“Sorry,” Hanazawa says, and does sit up. He pulls his plate back to himself. “Does that mean, uh . . .”
“Mean what?” Mob asks. Hanazawa rubs the side of his neck, glancing over at him.
“Does that mean we’re friends?” he asks.
“Oh,” Mob says. “Yeah. Let’s be friends.”
Hanazawa beams at him, and it’s so unlike every other smile he’s worn so far that Mob’s spoon bends all the way into a circle.
“Okay!” Hanazawa says excitedly, leaning in again. He’s brimming with a sudden rush of energy that Mob doesn’t really know what to do with. He’s . . . really pretty, though.
Mob guesses Hanazawa was right. Pretty’s not just for girls after all.
Hanazawa smiles wider. Mob’s spoon twists around his fingers, which is . . . new, definitely.
“Um,” he says, staring at his spoon in mild bemusement. He doesn’t think even Ritsu can unbend this. Ritsu shifts forward anyway, obviously about to reach for it, but Hanazawa points at it first and twirls his finger and the whole thing straightens back out, shining golden-bright. “. . . thanks.”
“Sure!” Hanazawa says, still beaming at him. Mob, very slowly, takes another bite of his dinner. He watches Hanazawa the whole time. Hanazawa keeps beaming at him. It’s . . . weird.
His spoon, mercifully, stays unbent.
“You have to apologize to my other friends, though,” he says, and Hanazawa nods eagerly. “And I really mean it about not wanting to fight anybody.”
“Okay!” Hanazawa says, beaming even brighter. Mob looks at him for a long moment. He’s acting really . . .
Oh.
“Do you not have any friends, Hanazawa-kun?” he asks.
“Um,” Hanazawa’s smile turns a little sheepish, and he ducks his head. “Not . . . really, I guess. I mean, you saw those guys at school. They all ran off on me.”
“Yeah,” Mob says, frowning again. “I think you should hang out with people who like you more than that.”
“You don’t even like me at all!” Hanazawa says with a laugh, beaming at him again. Like it’s funny, or something.
Mob doesn’t like that.
“I mean it,” he says. “Everybody you told me about sounds bad. And you said they laughed at you.”
“So?” Hanazawa says. He looks like he doesn’t even care about that, but Mob definitely cares about that.
“Don’t hang out with people like that,” he says more firmly.
“Will you like me better if I hang out with better people?” Hanazawa asks, scooting his chair a little closer to Mob’s. Like he’s asking for rules or something.
“No,” Mob says. “But you still should.”
“Why?” Hanazawa says.
“They don’t treat you right,” Mob says. “So they don’t deserve you.”
Hanazawa glows. Not literally–his aura’s not doing anything. But he looks really, really happy.
“Do you have a best friend?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Ritsu,” Mob answers automatically. Which . . . might be a lie, kind of. But . . .
“I said a best friend,” Hanazawa says, grinning at him.
“Then no,” Mob says.
“Then I’m gonna be your best friend,” Hanazawa says confidently. Mob . . . blinks at him. His spoon curls up again.
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” he manages after a moment, feeling . . . weird.
Really, really weird.
Mob stares at Hanazawa for a moment. Hanazawa keeps beaming at him. He glances towards Ritsu, whose face is totally unreadable, and his parents, who both look a little bemused. None of that helps. At all.
“Can Hanazawa-kun spend the night?” he asks, finally, and Hanazawa really does glow this time. Ritsu stiffens; Mob’s parents glance at each other. “Please?”
“. . . door open,” his mom says. “And separate futons.”
“Okay,” Mob agrees with a nod. He still doesn’t like Hanazawa like that, but also he doesn’t want Hanazawa thinking he wants him to do anything weird, so he’s not going to complain.
“Thank you!” Hanazawa blurts, visibly thrumming with delight. He fixes Mob’s spoon again, and they all finish dinner. It’s Mob’s turn to do the dishes. Hanazawa leans against the counter next to him and dries them. Mob feels weird, again. He’s not sure why.
Ritsu watches them for a minute, for some reason. Then he goes upstairs to do his homework.
Mob feels weird about that, too.
Different weird.
He says good night to his parents, and he and Hanazawa head upstairs too. He left all his homework at school, so he’s going to get in trouble later. Maybe if he goes in early, he can get some of it done before homeroom . . . ?
Hanazawa ducks into his room. Mob follows him in, carefully leaving the door ajar and not bothering to turn the light on. The guest futon is laid out next to his; one of his parents must’ve gotten it out.
“I’ve never had a sleepover before,” Mob says, looking down at the futons.
“Me neither,” Hanazawa says, grinning over at him. “Not, uh–you know. Not counting . . . stuff.”
Mob frowns. Hanazawa’s eyes dimmed a little bit, when he said that.
“We’re not doing anything like that,” he says. Hanazawa brightens again, bouncing once in place. “You spend the night at people’s houses when you do that stuff?”
“Sometimes.” Hanazawa shrugs.
“Don’t your parents get mad?” Mob asks.
“No.” Hanazawa shrugs again.
Mob doesn’t like that, for some reason. He looks back at the futons.
“Are you tired yet?” he says, maybe a little abruptly. Hanazawa laughs and hooks his hands together behind his back.
“Super tired,” he admits. “I almost never use that much power in one day. And it didn’t even do anything to you! You’re amazing, Kageyama.”
“I’m really not,” Mob says. Hanazawa beams at him again, that bright, unbrittle thing from the dinner table.
Mob feels . . . weird.
“Your mom’s a really good cook,” Hanazawa says. “And your dad’s really nice. And your brother’s really smart!”
“I know,” Mob says. He almost asks what Hanazawa’s family is like, but . . . doesn’t. He wonders if they laughed at him.
He doesn’t like that thought.
At all.
“You’re acting different,” he says.
“I’m really happy,” Hanazawa says, ducking his head. His face is red again. “I mean, we’re friends now, right?”
“Yes.” Mob tilts his head. “That’s enough to make you this happy?”
“Guess so!” Hanazawa says with a self-conscious laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Weird, huh?”
“Kind of,” Mob says. No one’s ever been this happy to be his friend before.
“Do you want to hang out tomorrow?” Hanazawa asks hopefully.
“. . . okay,” Mob decides after a moment’s consideration. “You can help me look for Dimple. Since you exorcised him. And then we can go meet Master Reigen.”
“Okay,” Hanazawa says, nodding quickly. “I can do that.”
“Good,” Mob says. He looks around the room, then eyes Hanazawa. “Don’t do anything weird while I’m sleeping.”
“I–I won’t!” Hanazawa blurts, waving his hands in the air. “I’m really–I’m sorry. I thought you’d . . . like it. Guys usually . . . do.”
“You don’t even like it,” Mob says.
“Well, yeah, but . . . that’s different,” Hanazawa says, shifting uncomfortably.
“Why?” Mob tilts his head again.
“Because I’m . . . not normal.” Hanazawa looks at his feet. “Because I’m not really a guy.”
“I don’t like the people you hang out with,” Mob says.
“I won’t hang out with them anymore,” Hanazawa says, looking back to him and drawing himself up. “I promise. I’m your friend now.”
“Good,” Mob says, then frowns a little. “You should make other friends, though. Nice ones, I mean.”
“I, uh . . . I don’t know how to do that,” Hanazawa says awkwardly, wilting a little. “I’ve never had a nice friend before.”
“Do you know nice people, at least?” Mob asks.
“I mean . . . probably, but they all avoid me,” Hanazawa says, mouth twitching humorlessly. “Because, you know. I’m an asshole.”
“Okay,” Mob says, taking a moment to consider. “You should stop being an asshole, then.”
Hanazawa bursts into laughter, then drops onto the guest futon. He rolls onto his back, wrapping his arms around his stomach.
“Good point!” he manages gleefully, still laughing. Mob sits down on his own futon and waits for him to finish. It takes a minute. “You’re really funny, Kageyama.”
“Not really,” Mob says. Hanazawa grins up at him, arms still wrapped around himself.
“You really are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says warmly.
“So not many good things have happened to you, then,” Mob says, and Hanazawa laughs again.
“Nope!” he says cheerfully. Mob kind of expects him to start crying again, but he doesn’t. Well. He’s not good with people, so he guesses that’s not a surprise.
“That’s not right,” he says.
Oh.
Now Hanazawa’s crying.
He’s still grinning, though.
“I’m definitely going to be your best friend,” Hanazawa says.
“You said,” Mob says. Hanazawa grins wider.
“Well, I meant it,” he says. Mob looks up at the ceiling. He isn’t sure what to say. No one’s ever said anything like that to him, so . . .
“I don’t know if I like you that much,” he says.
“I mean, why would you?” Hanazawa asks with a laugh. “You’ll like me soon. Promise.”
“How do you know?” Mob asks, looking back down to him with a frown. Hanazawa grins at him.
“Because I’m gonna be your best friend, duh!” he says.
“. . . that doesn’t actually make sense.”
“Don’t care,” Hanazawa hums, wrapping himself up in the guest futon’s blankets. He’s glowing again–literally, again. He doesn’t seem scared of his powers at all.
Mob wonders if he’ll ever be able to be like that.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he says, gripping his thighs for a moment. Hanazawa peeks up at him.
“Oh, yeah, you terrified me,” he says. “You don’t have to be sorry, though. I–”
“If you say you deserved it, I’m going to get really mad,” Mob says tersely. “Nobody deserves . . . that.”
“Hm.” Hanazawa pulls the blankets up to his nose, still peering up at him. “You think I don’t deserve to be scared?”
“Yes,” Mob says.
“I’m scared all the time,” Hanazawa admits. “I didn’t think meeting somebody stronger than me would be . . . anything like this.”
“What did you think it’d be like?” Mob asks, frowning down at him.
“I guess I thought it’d hurt more,” Hanazawa says. “And I definitely didn’t think whoever it was gonna be was gonna be nice.”
“You thought it’d be one of those adult espers,” Mob says.
“Well . . . yeah?” Hanazawa shrugs, wrapping himself up tighter in the blankets. “They’ve been getting stronger and stronger. I just figured, eventually somebody really tough would turn up.”
“Come find me if they do,” Mob says. “I’ll help you.”
“You don’t really have to,” Hanazawa says, closing his eyes. “It’s too much.”
“Too much?” Mob frowns.
“Yeah,” Hanazawa hums. “Way too much.”
“It’s not,” Mob says. “If you need help, I want to help.”
Hanazawa laughs. Mob frowns again. He doesn’t like that laugh.
“No one’s ever helped me,” Hanazawa murmurs into the blankets. “Not like that. It’s too much.”
“Who told you that?” Mob asks, feeling that sharp, bristling feeling inside. Hanazawa cracks an eye open. Glances up at him again.
“My parents,” he says. Simple. Straightforward. Like it doesn’t even hurt to say.
Mob almost explodes.
“What,” he says.
“My parents,” Hanazawa repeats. He shrugs. “That was what they told me when they left.”
“Left,” Mob echos.
“Yeah, they’re in America,” Hanazawa says.
“For how long?” Mob asks. Surely Hanazawa means just for a week or two. Maybe a month. Surely he doesn’t mean–
“A few years now,” Hanazawa says.
“Ah,” Mob says. He looks around his room. Looks down at Hanazawa, all curled up in the guest futon. “Who do you live with?”
“Oh, I live alone,” Hanazawa says, then lifts his chin to grin mischievously at him. “You should come over sometime. We can stay up as late as we want.”
“Maybe,” Mob says warily. “If you’re not going to do anything weird.”
“I won’t,” Hanazawa says with a laugh. “Promise.”
“Mm,” Mob says. Hanazawa curls up under the blankets again. Mob looks back at the ceiling, just . . . thinking, kind of. Trying to think, anyway.
It takes a long time. He’s not really . . . good at it, after all. Not even when it’s not about complicated stuff.
“Okay,” he says finally.
“Mm?” Hanazawa says. He sounds sleepy.
“Okay, you can be my best friend,” Mob clarifies, and Hanazawa immediately sits up bolt-upright, his whole face all lit up.
“Really?!” he says. Mob nods, and he beams. Mob has a hard time seeing the same person who attacked him, but also this is definitely the same person who attacked him. And also tried to do weird stuff to him. And cried in front of him. And exorcised Dimple, and doesn’t have any friends, and hurt his friends, and lives alone, and . . .
And is, Mob supposes, going to be his best friend.