The Universe Listened | Kiribaku

And you caused it

●Chapter Nineteen●

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Therapy: for whatever reason, that word seems to scare people. Or rather, it's the stigma behind the word, not just the word itself. People are scared of being seen as crazy by those on the outside looking in, they're scared of being seen as "less than" because they talk to someone in private once or twice a week.

As Kirishima started to regain his strength again, once he was able to keep his eyes open for more than five minutes, he and Katsuki stumbled onto the topic about therapy. It was brought up once before at the lake but was never mentioned again.

"I think... we should both try it," Katsuki said casually without glancing up from his homework. His back was pressed up against the wall, a good distance away from Kirishima just in case the asshole decided to sneeze or cough.

"Try what?" Kirishima pulled his away from the light in the far corner of the room and averted them to where he thought Katsuki was: at the end of the bed.

"You know..."

Kirishima cocked a brow and shook his head.

"Therapy," Katsuki replied aggressively.

"Oh... oh. Did you ever talk to your dad about it?" Kirishima asked.

"Nope." Of course, he didn't.

"Are you going to?"

"Only if you agree to talk to your moms about it. From the looks of it, you need it, too," Katsuki spat. The look that crossed Kirishima's face spoke volumes and told Katsuki that he might've just fucked up. "Shit―no, I didn't mean it like that. You've got unspoken demons too, that's what I meant."

Kirishima exhaled, his chest slowly falling as his teeth worked the inside of his cheek. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll talk to my moms about it."

And he did.

The conversation wasn't what he expected. He sat them down one evening when they were both home and through a quivering voice, he managed to explain everything he had been feeling. An endless loop of feeling okay and then not feeling okay. The self-harm and how it felt like the only viable way to cope with the loss of his sight. He explained the feeling of being stuck, the feeling of not being normal enough to function with the rest of society. He told them that for a while, a few years, he felt fine. Not bad or good, just fine, like he was coasting through life, but somewhere during the recent months, the feeling of being fine kept shifting endlessly from good to bad to good again. If he was lucky, it would end up on the "fine" spectrum, only for a moment though. Just long enough for him to revel in it, to enjoy and bask in before it's taken from him.

Kirishima could hear it in the way they spoke. He could hear the hurt. Ayami and Kaori were hurt because their child was suffering. Alone. He kept such painful secrets to himself and the hesitance as he finally let them out intensified the hurt.

Someone started crying. He could tell if it was Kaori who started the waterfall of tears or if it was Ayami. Or if it was himself. All he knew was when one started crying, the others followed and if it didn't stop the room would soon overflow and they'd all drown.

They felt guilty for not being there for their son as he fought a fight no one but his friends were aware of, and he didn't have the heart to tell them that. It's not like it was important either.

"We should've known... we should've seen the signs," Ayami said through the tears. Even after wiping them away and taking the time to calm down, the tears kept staining her pale cheeks.