He isn't surprised when he hears it – he plugs his ears too late, and what comes bleeding in is a sickening tremor, a cavity rusting away the soft comfort of a voice he knew in every tone and every broken splinter but not this, nothing like this, the starved gasping that says, once, twice, panicked, hopeless, "Hide, listen."
He's had enough.
"Group counseling?" Hide's mouth falls open at his mother. He was disgusted by the pity in her eyes. He didn't need counseling, he was fine. "You've got to be kidding me."
The blonde throws his head to the side, lifting his lips into a grimace of hurt as he ran his tongue over his back teeth, a trick he used to manage anger and some choice language.
"Look, Hide, it's what's best. We can fix you," His mother stated, using that tone and body language he hated, that shit that told him she was being fake about her concern.
"I can't be fixed!" He snapped, standing up.
"Hideyoshi!" His father shouted in an attempt to get him to calm down. "We've seen how you look at other...boys. It scares us. We just want to help. Your mother and I..we both know this will help you."
"I don't need help!" Hide fumed, the anger rolling off him in waves with the heaves of his shoulders as he panted, eyes wild.
"You're just confused." His father muttered, skewing a piece of mildly burnt chicken onto his fork.
"Confused..What?! No! No counseling, no ganging up on me like this!"
No one says a word then.
It's a thankful habit, stopping right before he can break and scream and plead, but also a frustrating one, because everything piles and piles and piles up until it is all dropped.
Let go.
His parents words only made everything worse, contributing to the building pain that grew and filled the hollow holes in his heart, leaving no room for escape.
Hide can't have someone cracking the code of how to ignore them or how to get rid of them. His parents.
"You're broken. You can be fixed with prayer and God."
Those words. Those words frosted over with hatred and blunt hostility was just a little reminder of what Hide may hear mixing with the gurgle of his blood when it's time for him to go. The words that sent chills down his vertebrae. The words that scared him.
No one wants to be blamed for being crazy and hearing it.
No one wants to be called a child for being scared of a thing that can't even touch you.
Needless to say, the pleading didn't work. A pissed Hide was dropped off at the counseling building at 11:00 A.M. that following Saturday. He had grumbled, even sworn, and listened to loud music through his headphones during the entire car ride. Not that it helped him any.
Hide walked into the place, having been rid of his mother outside the door, with his hood up, head slouched and hands dug into his jacket pockets.
He heard the instructor before he saw her.
She was an attractive woman with long red hair, parted down the center and worn loose, adjourned with a black corset dress with sheer neck and arms, showing generous cleavage. Her voice was cheery and lifted, flamboyant undertones sparking off its octaves. A name tag was pinned to one of her breasts with the name Itori scribbled on it.
"You must be Hide. Come on, we're just about to start!"
Pathetic, he raises his headphones and places them over his ears, keeping his gaze directed on the floor. A part of him wants him to look back up – maybe her voice was just closer than he thought, more angry than he thought, more dead. Maybe he was going to get a squeeze on the shoulder and then his Mom would appear and say, "It's alright. We accept you."
Hide can't help thinking it's his own fault he stands here, that his parents decisions were compromised by the fear of not getting grandchildren and the fear of his loyalty towards God - his fault that there's a certain word sizzling weakly behind everyone's lips, a word he's scared to say for the possibility of it summoning him again.
Bisexual.
He looks back up and realizes the woman had pulled him along. The male blinks at the wide circle of chairs that were now in front of him skeptically; they were about half filled with kids about his own age, late teens mind you. These people weren't really speaking beyond idle small talk – they felt the discomfort in it, and that in itself is even more uncomfortable, because if there's anyone they've depended on to be at ease with, it's each other.
But what really caught Hide's eye was the boy slouched in his chair.
He had pale skin, olive eyes, and short black hair, seemingly avoiding eye contact with anyone as he picked at a fingernail. And then this boy looked up and gave an awkward smile, both olivine orbs glittering with sadness, pity, and something else just plainly foreign.
His words fall straight through him, their only impact the growing shake in the bottom lip he tucks between his teeth, muscles contracting in his throat around words he maybe never got the chance to say, and body twitching with the infinite escape he never earned.
One thought scrambles in Hide's mind.
What is Kaneki doing here?