Part Three


Chapter Twenty-Nine

It's always been so easy to pretend like I knew everything because for the longest time—my whole life, in fact—I really thought I did. But it turns out, I really didn't know anything about much of anything at all. And now my dad—my stupid, happy, tireless, love struck, predictable, dependable dad—has paid the ultimate price for my arrogance. My dad, who I somehow always believed, at least in some small part of my vast brain, was utterly invincible. My dad, who I never, not once, imagined would ever leave me, leave my brother, leave Mom. Even during that awful year when all they did was fight, I knew my dad wouldn't leave because I knew, without a doubt, that he loved us more than his own life.

I guess it figures he'd have to go and prove me right by dying.

Dying.

My dad is dead.

What am I supposed to do now?


Home

"Kusuo-kun?" Teruhashi spoke quietly as she padded down the hall, and Kusuo could almost feel the concern radiating from her. "Are you okay? You've been out here for a long time."

Kusuo shrugged.

"Okay." She reached for him, her fingers brushing the skin of his elbow before tracing down the length his arm and over his wrist to grasp his hand. She laced their fingers together and waited, though for what, Kusuo had no idea. Minutes—or maybe hours, who cared?—passed before Teruhashi seemed to realize she wasn't getting anything out of him. In response, she tugged him toward the room where she had left Yuuta, both of her hands cradling his one.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked once they were safely in the room, the shoji door slid firmly closed. Kusuo looked around for Yuuta. He was sound asleep on a child-sized futon with his arms and legs akimbo beneath the summer duvet. His hat was gone, and his clothing had been changed into a plain white yukata. Thank the kami for that because Kusuo honestly had no idea how he'd react if he walked in to find Yuuta unconscious and covered in blood and brains.

"Come on." Teruhashi tugged him to Yuuta's bedside but stopped him from sitting for a moment so she could situate a cushion beneath him. Kusuo waited at her silent order, then dropped gracelessly to the ground once the cushion was in place. It was comfortable, a distant part of his brain noted, but considering how numb he was, he doubted he'd notice the difference between it and the hard floor.

Teruhashi sat beside him on a second cushion, folding her legs to one side as she leaned against his shoulder. Her fingers stroked his arm from wrist to elbow with the hand that wasn't still holding his. She was humming too, a soft, sad sounding song that was somehow almost comforting. He didn't want her to stop, at least.

What did he want, anymore? He felt so lost; like a castaway set adrift at sea but this time without any powers to get himself and those around him back to safety. There was an emptiness inside him now that he didn't know how to fill, or what to fill it with.

Part of him wanted to tell Teruhashi what happened, but he couldn't find the words. And would she even care? He knew she liked his mother well enough, but he couldn't recall her every spending much time around his father. Did she ever laugh at his lame jokes? Listen with a smile as he recounted his day? Sigh dreamily at the over-the-top devotion he showered on his wife?

Kusuo thought she had done all those things at least once, but he honestly couldn't remember.

His eyes fell on Yuuta, and the gaping hole in his stomach widened to a sucking pit. How could he tell Yuuta that his father was dead, too? His mother missing? Or was it father and mother missing? Kusuo hoped so, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

All of this was his fault, wasn't it? If he'd only kept his powers, none of this would have happened. Why did he have to be so selfish?

Teruhashi shifted closer, her fingers still stroking up and down his arm as she hummed that soft, sad, comfortable song. He stared at her, uncomprehending.

"Aren't you going to ask me what's wrong?"

"I did," she said without looking up, her fingers shifting from drawing lines across his skin to drawing circles.

When she said nothing more, his brow furrowed, and he frowned. "Aren't you going to ask me again?"

She shrugged the shoulder not pressed against him, and he noticed for the first time that she had changed too. Her white, bloodied dress now exchanged for a pristine white yukata. A yukata that was loose enough for him to see the curve of her collar bone, the slope of her breasts.

"You'll tell me when you're ready," she said, jolting him from his perusal of her flesh, and still her fingers traced. She went back to humming as well, and that seemed to be that.

How? Kusuo wondered as he stared at the profile of her face. How can any one person be so…so…perfect?

And she really was perfect, wasn't she? Not because she was pretty or because she put on that 'pretty girl' front. No, she was perfect because of her imperfections. She had so much confidence and drive and yet, at the same time, could be so insecure, jealous, and petty. She was smart and knew it but allowed herself to be dumb with Yuuta as they danced across the room or she helped him with his kindergarten homework, exclaiming with delight every time he found the right answer because she had just been so lost. She smiled at everyone, but she smiled at Kusuo, at his family, at Yuuta, and every time she did, he had to brace himself or risk losing his breath in that soft 'offu' she'd coveted for so long. She treated everyone fairly, like they were important and known and loved, and not just because she was a perfect pretty girl, but because she needed, more than anything in the world, to feel loved herself. To feel like she mattered to someone, anyone, for who she was instead of who her parents wanted her to be.

Looking down at her now, indigo eyes closed with a soft smile on her petal pink lips as she hummed her soothing song to fill the oppressive silence, Kusuo realized with a jolt that, more than anything, he wanted to be that someone. He didn't know if he loved her, didn't know if he ever would, but he wanted to try. Because he realized now that while Teruhashi may not be perfect in all the ways that matter to the world, she was probably the most perfect person in the world for him.

"Teruhashi."

"Hm?" She looked up, her eyes slipping half-open in a sleepy daze. She looked so comfortable, so content, and he wanted that for himself. Needed it. His entire life had fallen about his ears in shambles, but somehow this girl was an anchor in the storm.

No, Kusuo decided as he shifted around, one hand on the ground by her hip while the other came up to cradle her face. She isn't just a shelter in the dark. She's so much more than that.

She was the smell of his mother's cooking, the echo of Yuuta's laughter, the swelling of his father's confident heart. She was warmth on a cold day, a smile after a bad night. Her presence filled every inch of his house, of his life, and without her, he was growing increasingly certain he would collapse like a doll without a spine. Because Teruhashi wasn't just something to hold on to, she was the everything holding him up.

She was home.

Her brow furrowed as she looked up, her hand raising to cover his still resting against her face. "Kusuo?"

He kissed her.

It was both everything and nothing he'd expected based on the memories of that insane premonition he'd had all those months back. There was passion, but it was bridled, channeled into a single press of his lips on hers in a way that burned. Her mouth was soft but unyielding as she pushed against his pulls and vice versa. She tasted like mint and affection—a combination he hadn't known could exist as he didn't know until that moment that affection even had a taste. But it did, and it tasted like her.

Kokomi twisted against him, twining her fingers into his shirt and pulling him close as his fingers delved into her hair to tilt her head to the side. She sighed against his mouth as she pulled back for breath, then dived back in with the sudden sweep of her tongue against his bottom lip. He groaned, fisting her hair in one hand and her yukata in the other, hauling her up against him until she straddled his lap. The yukata parted up to her thighs, giving Kusuo plenty to explore. He trailed a hand down her back and over her hip to draw the same lines on her bare leg that she'd spent almost an hour drawing on his arm. She shivered against him and pulled back with a gasp.

"Yuu-chan," she said, trying to disentangle herself. Kusuo clutched at her, his heart flaring with unexpected, uncharacteristic panic. If he let her go, she would leave, and she couldn't leave because he needed her. He needed all of her.

"Shh," she said, placing a gentle peck against his lips before drawing away again. "We have another room. I just don't want to wake Yuu-chan."

He loosened his grip with reluctance tempered by trust, but she didn't release him fully. Instead, she trailed her hands down his arms to grasp his hands and pull him to his feet. He came to her easily, willingly, and wrapped his arms around her waist before she could blink. He kissed her again, drawing her up on her toes until she had to step on his feet to properly reach him. Her fingers twined in the hairs at the base of his neck, tugging softly with every caress, and he groaned, drawing her flush against him. He broke the kiss to bury his face in her shoulder and breathe her in as he hugged her so tight, he was amazed she didn't complain for lack of air.

"Come on," she said, turning her head to press an open-mouthed kiss to his jaw. He shuddered but stepped back, though he'd claimed her hand for his own.

He felt so unlike himself as Kokomi slid open the wooden door separating their room from Yuuta's. Or maybe, he amended, not unlike himself as much as…more like himself? It was hard to explain, even in his own mind, because there wasn't a thing happening right now that he didn't want, that he was suddenly realizing he had wanted for a while now, but everything was so different when he had his psychic powers. He never had to guess what she was thinking or what her intentions were. He didn't have to wonder why she did what she did or why she didn't do what she didn't. Their roles in life had been so solidly defined that there had been no room for experimentation because everything had been so comfortable. He knew when she liked him, he knew when she loved him, and there was a sense of…almost confidence in that knowledge.

He'd tried so hard to keep her at arm's length, spent years ignoring her, manipulating her, lying to her, and yet nothing he did had changed the way she felt about him. Not even telling her the truth.

"Are you sure about this?" Kokomi sounded nervous as she slid the door closed behind them, leaving just him and her and the single, king-sized futon laid out in the middle of the floor. "You seem upset, and I don't want you accusing me of taking advantage of you later."

Kusuo snorted, startled by how amused he suddenly was. "As if you could."

She grinned and traced her fingers across his cheek. "Are you ready to talk?"

Honestly, talking was the very last thing on his mind right now, but he should probably tell her something; otherwise, it might be her accusing him later of taking advantage.

He started at that sudden thought. Shit, am I taking advantage of her?

He probably was, at least a little, because she was warm and familiar and safe.

And here? He asked himself. Do I only want this with her because she's the only one here?

He thought of Aiura and her blatant invitations, of Mera and her subconscious appeal, of Yumehara and her tireless enthusiasm. He cared about each of them in his own way, even found them attractive on a purely aesthetic level. But if it was one of them here in this moment—Aiura, Mera, Yumehara, it didn't matter—would he still be having the same moment he was with Kokomi?

No. Not even slightly.

Yare, yare, Kusuo sighed and passed a hand over his face. I really am in love with her, aren't I?

After six years of dodging her, how in hell did he grow so sloppy as to get caught?

"Kusuo-kun?"

Kusuo released his sigh as a growl. "Stop calling me that."

"Sorry."

You will be, was on the tip of his tongue, but fortunately such a lame line was lost to the ether as he kissed her again. Her hands drifted up his sides, hesitating only a second before sliding beneath his shirt to span his stomach. His abdominals spasmed beneath her warm fingers, and he groaned at the feel of her, wondering how those ghosting fingers would translate across other parts of him.

Get a grip, idiot, he scolded himself as he slowed the kiss and pulled away just enough to press his forehead to hers. You were going to talk, right?

"Kusuo?" Her breath ghosted across his lips as she spoke, her fingers tracing circles up and down his stomach.

Oh, screw it. Kusuo trapped her in his arms and crushed his mouth to hers, drawing her toward the futon with a desperate, pulsing need. They would talk later, and he'd tell her everything, but right now, he really needed to come home.


Kaliea: For those of you who may be concerned, Kusuo is not taking advantage of her by not talking things out first. Kokomi is very well aware that something bad has happened, but she also has come to know Kusuo well enough to realize he's the kind of person that can't process things immediately, especially shocks. He diverts, he distracts, he finds ways to take his mind off whatever it is that is bothering him until he can find a way to fix it. An example of this behavior is his recurring need to return home during stressful situations in the anime, such as when his friends are stranded on the island or after he rescued the Okinawa trip. He needs familiar places to recharge, and probably familiar faces too. Despite his powers, or perhaps because of them, Kusuo has a greater need than most to surround himself with the familiar when he's unable to cope with things outside of his control. Kokomi recognizes this, and despite Kusuo having never said anything about it, she knows his need for her isn't just a physical thing or even a psychological thing; it's a deeply emotional thing. Kusuo says everything with his actions because he can't say it with his words or expression, and every action Kusuo has taken toward her for months, maybe years, tells her that he loves her.

Second thing, Kusuo's need for physical comfort right now is actually very real. My master's thesis is a practical application study of the different ways people grieve, and craving sex is one of those ways. It's not a carnal thing, it's a purely emotional experience. When someone has lost a connection that is so near and dear to them, it can often feel like a piece of themselves went with it. There's an emotional need to fill that void, and physical intimacy is one of the ways people can regain a sense of what they lost. Not with the person they've lost, obviously, but with someone they love and revere just as much, if not more.

I realize I'm probably not explaining it well, but my intent in this chapter was to show that Kokomi realized what Kusuo needed before he did, and that she was sincerely worried about taking advantage of him because he isn't normally a tactile person. Had Kusuo not realized his feelings for her when he did, she would have every reason to be worried about such a thing, but because of the way things played out, this encounter is entirely consensual on both sides.

That said, I'm happy to answer any questions or concerns you may have.

Also, yes. This was planned pretty much from the beginning.

Thanks for reading!