He couldn’t help it - the unwithheld snicker that leaked between his teeth at his lackluster supplement to his presence. It was … silly in a way, to be constantly faced with his own abundance of confidence and Shigeo’s lack thereof. He regarded him so highly, he could, at times, forget that where his opiniated image of himself swelled beyond modest terms. Teru’s cheeks went pink, reminding himself again and thereon to practice a life of diffidence.
❛ You only need to bring yourself, ❜ He brightly insisted, the uplift of his mood no longer dampened by his spiraling thoughts, ❛ I’m not chef, but I am perfectly capable of cooking. As a host, I’d be happy to prepare you a meal. We could even go shopping for ingredients together, if you’d like. To make it more of a team effort? ❜ The pitch in his voice climbed, ending on endearingly hopeful the longer his offer went on. His fingers danced over his lap again, entwining and unfurling, unsure of where to let them rest without seeming to anxious, ❛ you’ve helped me plenty in the past, you know? I wager this endeavor will prove no different. You are a compassionate person, and a wonderful friend - ❜ And suddenly the air went out of him, like he’d just been sucker punched in the stomach. His voice crackled over the word friend, haltingly, and Teru hung his head like he couldn’t even believe it had even come out of his mouth.
After an extended moment of inward berating, he raised his head and sucked back in the air that he had lost - gradually, his previous demeanor returned in bits and pieces, ❛ … If - If I am at all worthy to refer to you as such, that is? I know we’ve had our differences in the past and that things are entirely different now, that those are things we have moved on from, but I never - ❜ Teru’s laugh was bitter this time, completely uncertain of himself after one slip-up alone, ❛ - I never quite apologized for what I’d done to you, have I? I had a hideous overreaction to have my self-perceived superiority threatened. I find it - ❜ He fumbled the word, now staring studiously at his fingers, finally folded still over his knee, ❛ … implausible you choose to speak to me at all, no matter what lengths I go to in order to correct my behavior. Perhaps it is what fortifies my belief that I am undeserving of your benevolence, but am wholly grateful for it none the less. ❜
Shigeo’s mind lingered a pace behind, savoring the details that set his anxieties at ease. Of course Teruki would be good cook, and Shigeo liked choosing vegetables from the store, and they were friends, and they were friends--
His heart lurched as Teru’s aura darkened. Only then did he begin to understand where this was going.
In the short time they’d been hanging out, Shigeo had come to appreciate one very interesting talent that Teruki seemed to possess-- namely that he could inspect the jumbled word salad that Shigeo often made while pawing around for his point, reach in to find the exact idea he was failing to convey, and repeat it back to him but with words much simpler and much more sensically ordered than Shigeo himself could manage right then. Shigeo had often coveted this skill, but never quite as much as he did right now. Without warning, Teruki had picked up speed, tone changing, the topic sliding away from his control and into something that made him feel sick.
An apology, Shigeo noted at long last. He sucked in a breath, but could barely hear it over the pounding of his heart. It didn’t feel like an apology. At least, he couldn’t make himself feel like he ought to on such an occasion. It was all too sudden a change, the sharp edge of a lightning strike cutting through stagnant air like a knife through flesh--like clouds overhead, a darkening sky, a trembling body, air thinning, eyes darting, breath shallow, senses dulling, unable to cry out as the breath he held lodged tightly in his chest--
--but then he exhaled, eyes blowing wide. How long had he been frozen there? Teru was still there looking desperate and haunted and a handful of other things Shigeo couldn’t quite identify. Somehow he had wandered away from this shared moment, far beyond the pleasant breeze accompanying the afternoon sunshine. It felt surreal now, being offered an apology by a person much too friendly on a day much too lovely when he had felt himself at the knife’s edge only a heartbeat before. It was a bit like being in trouble, only he was the principal and he hadn’t asked to be and he still had detention anyway. Something like that.
More importantly, it occurred to Shigeo he hadn’t said anything in a while. Longer than even his most egregious of social faux pas, in fact.
What was he supposed to say? That it was okay? He was pretty sure the whole thing was far from okay, despite how forgiven Hanazawa might be right now.
And he had forgiven Hanazawa...right? He hadn’t asked himself before, but surely he must have. They ate together sometimes and they had defeated Claw, so that had to mean they were friends by now even if they had never said so out loud. But Shigeo wasn’t exactly experienced enough to know how official the naming of friendships should be, and anyway, his concerns about the whole thing led to further concerns rather than answers. It was all kind of hard to think about, so he just didn’t. It was easier to let Hanazawa lead. He had probably thought about it enough for the both of them.
“It’s okay,” Shigeo began, before correcting himself
“Well, not okay, but...you wont do it again, so...”
He glanced away, uncomfortable. Hanazawa always seemed prepared dictate their relationship, so he wasn’t particularly ready to be passing verdicts. And anyway, Hanazawa always appeared perfectly comfortable no matter what the circumstance. He had this way of making other people feel comfortable along with him. With the sunny attitude he always offered Shigeo, it was almost as though Teruki had forgotten what they’d done together. Sometimes Shigeo could nearly forget, too.
“I...didn’t realize it bothered you, Hanazawa-kun. You always seem so...”
Shigeo paused, trailing off. His heart rattled in his ears. Maybe it would always be a bother. For both of them.
“You’re a good friend,” Shigeo said at long last, his voice soft beneath the chatter of passers by. “Maybe you weren’t before, but you are now, I think...”