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Assistant: Title: Charred Flesh
        Author: peachcandykiddo peachcandykiddo 
        Chapter: 1/1 
        Summary: Kentarou has OCD. It's whatever, really. Not like it affects his life that much -- until it does, and suddenly the touch of one of his teammates sets his skin ablaze, and it's not "whatever, really" anymore. Yahaba Shigeru causes Kentarou a whole concoction of problems -- but Kentarou finds himself drawn towards him anyways.
        Contents: Summary:
            
              Kentarou has OCD. It's whatever, really. Not like it affects his life that much -- until it does, and suddenly the touch of one of his teammates sets his skin ablaze, and it's not "whatever, really" anymore. Yahaba Shigeru causes Kentarou a whole concoction of problems -- but Kentarou finds himself drawn towards him anyways.
            
        

        
  Notes:





    
      This fic started as a little bit of a vent, just to get my thoughts out onto paper and maybe figure stuff out at least to some degree. I kinda dropped it and then came back to it a few months later when I was doing better and it was actually like, really good, so I decided to finish it up :)) This is based on what my OCD does to me, and obviously everybody experiences it differently so I apologize if it doesn't live up to what you think OCD should be. I hope you do enjoy, I put a lot into this project :)
    




  





    
        
          
  Obsessive compulsive disorder. OCD.

  Kentarou wasn’t sure what to do with the diagnosis when he got it. He didn’t 
  
    feel 
  
  like he had OCD. Sure, his room wasn’t the messiest, but it wasn’t clean either. He didn’t have to switch the lights on and off a certain amount of times when he left the house.

  But the doctors were professionals. He supposed they had to be right.

  For a while it was just a thing. Kentarou didn’t mention it, and he sure as hell wasn’t taking any medication. He didn’t want sh@t in his head scr@w@ng with his brain chemistry. That just sounded like it would make the problem 
  
    worse.
  

  But gradually, Kentarou realized just how much of his life was affected by the seemingly unimportant 
  
    disease. 
  
  Disorder, whatever. His OCD was why his very skin was set ablaze by the touch of that girl he liked a while back. Why he fell behind with his schoolwork, why he was plagued by such raging perfectionism. 

  And why he couldn’t stop thinking about Yahaba Shigeru.

  And not in the cutesy shoujo manga type of way where his face and ears went red and he smiled to himself in the dark in his room. He couldn’t stop thinking about Yahaba Shigeru to the point where it felt like he was going to 
  
    implode 
  
  because his brain and body were just full, and maybe he would if he didn’t do anything.

  So he slammed volleyball after volleyball into the court, staying long and late after practice to try and get all of the pent up energy in his body out only for it to be replaced by even more every single time. Somehow his body never reached capacity.

  All because Yahaba Shigeru was stuck up and annoying but he was perfect and amazing in every way and Kentarou couldn’t deal with it. Because everyone else could see how perfect and amazing Yahaba was as well. Some more than others. And Kentarou was jealous. He was really jealous. If petty jealousy would be described as green with envy, Kentarou would be… he couldn’t think of the right word. Just extra green he supposed.

  However, yet again, the emotions Kentarou felt weren’t the cute, easy to tell a story about sort of emotions. They were horrible, awful, plaguing everything he tried to do. He just couldn’t forget about Yahaba and that girl who touched his shoulder.

  Slam.

  Another serve so hard it hurt Kentarou’s hand. Another ball hitting the other side of the court, bouncing off of the floor and into the wall, and then flying back towards him.

  Slam.

  Again. Another serve.

  Kentarou hated this he 
  
    hated it
  
  . He couldn’t get Yahaba out of his head. He couldn’t forget the sight of that third-year girl flirting with him.

  Slam. Again.

  The gaggle of first years pushing their friend forward as he protested, face bright red.

  Slam. Again.

  It was all Kentarou could do to not go on a rampage and punch anyone who dared come close to Yahaba in the face. He hated feeling like that.

  Kentarou wasn’t a violent person, really.

   
  He was just a little… protective. That was all. 

  
    Yea right
  
  , even Kentarou himself knew that was b@llsh@t.

  That was why he ended up leaving Aoba Johsai’s volleyball club in his second year. The community team was much better. There was no Yahaba Shigeru there for him to obsess over, no pent up rage for him to have to smother.

  It was nice. Being normal.

  Normal.

  Kentarou wondered when he stopped considering himself normal, when he let that label define him so much.

  Until Iwaizumi weaseled his way back into Kentarou’s life and coaxed him back onto the team for the Spring High. Then everything came back all at once, washing over Kentarou like a tidal wave, pulling his head under until he couldn’t breathe anymore and his lungs filled with the overwhelming emotions.

  That game against Karasuno was the worst Kentarou had ever played.

   
  He was distracted beyond belief, unprepared for just how much being around Yahaba again would affect him. And then Kentarou was up against a wall with Yahaba in front of him, pressing his shoulders into the wood paneling.

  He barely heard Yahaba’s words as he was lecturing him, instead focusing on the burning feeling under his uniform where the other boy’s hands held Kentarou in place. The very cells of his body ignited within his flesh.

  It was too much. This was too much. It was all too much.

  On the way home after their loss, Kentarou couldn’t think about anything other than the burning feeling where Yahaba had touched. He hated it. He hated this. Why couldn’t he just be f@ck@ng normal.

  He should be able to be touched by his teammates without being like this.

  Who was he kidding? All parts of Kentarou knew this wasn’t an issue with his teammates. This was a Yahaba thing.

  Yahaba f@ck@ng Shigeru.

  Who was sitting a few rows in front of Kentarou, joking around with Watari, his shoulders brushing with the libero’s far too often. He wanted to break something. He cracked his knuckles aggressively, trying to ignore the first year in the row next to him who was staring.

  He wasn’t even close to friends with Yahaba — why did Kentarou feel such a strong sense of possession over him? He couldn’t figure out why he wanted this particular teammate to himself so badly.

  That is, Kentarou couldn’t figure it out until he found himself on the floor in the corner of the locker room, crying. He was into dudes. 

  And not just into any dudes, Yahaba. Stupid, Yahaba. Stupid, stupid. Stupid.

  Just like the rest of his emotions, this cry session was no cute, picture perfect moment. Kentarou looked disgusting. Like, really disgusting. His shoulders where Yahaba touched him burned, his jersey melting through his skin until he couldn’t take it anymore and just stripped off his shirt. There should have been marks there, Kentarou swore there had to be marks there. There wasn’t a burning feeling there for nothing.

  But there were no marks.

  Desperate for relief, Kentarou stumbled over to the showers and turned one on just enough for water to fall from the showerhead but not enough for there to be any heat to it at all.

  The water didn’t cool the burning on his skin but it masked his tears as just water droplets falling down his face and the shaking of his shoulders as simply an effect of the cold. Which was good, because Kentarou couldn’t stop himself. He was standing in a cold shower in his uniform shorts still, sobs wracked his body and he couldn't stop it. 

  He couldn’t breathe, Kentarou felt like he was being crushed by a freight train. Like there were thousands of tons of pressure on his chest, pushing down on and constricting his ribs. Preventing his lungs from expanding. The gasps for air ripped through Kentarou’s throat, leaving him wheezing and inhaling more water than air. Kentarou was in the middle of a coughing fit when 
  
    he
  
   entered the room.

  “Kyou— Kentarou?”

  
    Why did it have to be him?
  

  "Are you okay?”

  Yahaba stood in the entrance of the shower room, all concerned and motherly. Kentarou didn’t need him.

  "I’m fine,” he simply scowled. Yahaba needed to go away. He was the last person Kentarou wanted to see him falling apart in the shower.

  "You’re obviously not fine.”

  Yahaba’s voice was frustratingly calm. Infuriatingly so. Couldn’t he see that Kentarou wasn’t okay? And all he had to offer were comments so calm it seemed like he couldn’t care less.

  "Go away.”

  "I don’t want to leave you like this,” Yahaba stepped closer once more, too much closer.

  "I said go away,” Kentarou growled, his voice dropping. He was losing the energy to fight Yahaba on this. He was losing the energy to fight his own brain on things. He was losing the energy to fight.

  “Kentarou.”

  Before Yahaba’s hand could even get close to his shoulder Kentarou was shoving him away.

  "Don’t f@ck@ng touch me!” he barked, hands burning where he had touched Yahaba, "I don’t want you here.”

  Kentarou regretted what he had done the instant Yahaba’s expression shifted. Confusion turned to hurt, and the setter turned around and left with a mumbled sorry.

  F@ck.

  As it turned out, the only thing worse than the burning jealousy over the guy Kentarou’s obsessions centered around was hurting him.

  Kyoutani swore that he punched the wall hard enough to crack the tile, but he just bruised his hand. Really badly.

  That night, he didn’t sleep. It was a school night, but Kentarou didn’t really care. It was almost like he was punishing himself in some way. As stupid as that sounded, depriving himself of sleep because he yelled at Yahaba. But Kentarou’s mind was never known to be very logical.

  The next morning Kentarou showed up to school and slept through all of his cl@sses until somebody shook him awake for lunch.

  He didn’t really want to eat either, so he went to the library.

  That was a mistake.

  Of course he was there. Stupid Yahaba. He had to be everywhere Kentarou was.

  Kentarou avoided him like the plague, but Yahaba seemed to have some sort of heat-detecting superpowers because Kentarou was still ambushed.

  "Are you okay?”

  "I have OCD,” Kentarou blurted. He wasn’t really sure why.

  "Oh, I—“ Yahaba bumbled for a moment, seeming unsure of what to say. Kentarou wasn’t sure what to say.

  "It’s why I was all… weird after the match against Karasuno,” Kentarou continued, talking just to keep talking, "I get all obsessive and sh@t over people, uh, you. I guess.”

  Yahaba shifted uncomfortably where he stood. Kentarou knew he shouldn’t have mentioned that part.

  "You touched me during the match and I just kind of, broke down I guess. It’s hard to explain without sounding like a total nut.”

  "You’re obsessed with…” Yahaba trailed off, "Me. I didn’t realize you were gay.”

  "That’s what you got out of this?” Kentarou grumbled, "For your information, obsessions with someone don’t have to be romantic. And I'm not. I’m bisexual.”

  "So you have OCD.”

  "Yea.”

  "And you’re all… obsessive.”

  "Not the best or most non-offensive wording, but yes.”

  “You said it.”

  “I get to say it.”

  "Over me.”

  "Yep.”

  "What do you… what do you mean when you say that?”

  Kentarou simply sighed. This was humiliating. His face felt like it was on fire. Burning. He was just… blushing this time, face red with embarrassment.

  "It’s pretty much just that I can’t stop thinking about you, and I get really jealous. Like irrationally jealous. It’s all really f@ck@ng stupid and frustrating and it makes everything feel like it’s too much, and I'd really rather not talk about it anymore. I promise I’m not some psycho killer who’s gonna lock you in my basement.”

  "Okay.”
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼  
 
  Since Kentarou came clean to Yahaba, he couldn’t tell if anything had changed. He couldn’t tell if Yahaba seemed afraid of him now. He was never afraid of Kentarou now — and he didn’t show it now if he was. Practice was the same as always, and Kentarou went home confused.

  What the hell was wrong with Yahaba? Why was he not bothered by this? Why did it not make him uncomfortable? Kentarou had just admitted that he had an unhealthy obsession with him — why did Yahaba act like it wasn’t a big deal? Kentarou knew that he would feel weird about it if someone told him they couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  If Kentarou knew someone felt the same way he felt about Yahaba about him he’d be uncomfortable.

  Really uncomfortable.

  But still, Yahaba approached him at lunch the next day, like nothing had happened.

  “
  ‘Sup, Kyouken?”

  The way he used that nickname. When Oikawa said it Kentarou wanted to bash his skull in, but Yahaba? Yahaba was different. It set his chest on fire and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

  ”
  I’m eating,” Kentarou mumbled through a mouthful of rice, hoping it would cloud the constipation in his voice.

  "Well, yea, duh,” Yahaba laughed, sitting next to Kentarou. His knee accidentally bumped into Kentarou’s — basically on instinct, his body went rigid.

  "Sorry,” Yahaba apologized quickly, moving over to give Kentarou some space, "I wanted to see if you wanted to come over after practice today, I need some help with my biology homework.”

  "Aren’t you scared that I'm gonna like… I don’t know, snap and kidnap you and keep you in my basement or something?” Kentarou grumbled, his eyes trained on his lunch before him.

  "And why would I think that?” Yahaba hummed, “You told me that’s not what that was, and I trust you.”

  "How are you so cool about all of this?” Kentarou questioned, turning his head to make (almost) eye contact with Yahaba, "I’m all like… weird and stalkery.”

  "You’re really not,” Yahaba explained, so nonchalant, "You’ve got a disease, you can’t control your obsessions. I know you’re not a bad dude, so I trust you.”

  "A disease?” Kentarou scoffed, "That’s really great wording.”

  "You know that’s not what I meant.”

  "Yea, okay.”

  "So help with my bio homework? You
  
     do 
  
  have the best grades in the class. ”

  "Yea, sure.”
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼ 
 
  "Hey, Kyouken, wait up!”

  Right, Kentarou was going over to Yahaba’s. He almost forgot.

  No, that was total b@llsh@t. It was all he’d thought about all day. So much so that he could barely remember what they learned in biology that day. He hoped that didn’t hinder his ability to help Yahaba.

  As Yahaba called out Kentarou slowed his pace so the other boy could catch up, falling into step.

  "Practice sure was something today, huh,” he hummed as he walked with Kentarou down the sidewalk, hand getting so dangerously close to his that Kentarou could feel the current buzzing around it. He barely registered Yahaba’s words, instead staring down at their hands, his fingers twitching like they needed something to do. So he lifted his hand and began to crack his knuckles, one by one. Anything to get his hands away from Yahaba’s.

  "God, I hate it when you do that,” Yahaba shivered, "It’s so gross.”

  "Well it sure sucks to suck,” Kentarou grumbled, "I’m pulling the compulsion card, you don’t get to be annoyed.”

  "Ugh, fine,” Yahaba groaned, tearing his gaze away from Kentarou’s hands and shoving his hands in his pockets, "You know, I was doing some research the other night—”

  "Research? I’m not your f@ck@ng science project.”

  "I know you’re not,” Yahaba shot a pointed glance at Kentarou, "But I wanna understand it better, considering I'm the lucky guy who gets to be the object of all this.”

  "I knew you were at least a little bit creeped out by me,” Kentarou stated like it was a victory. It really wasn’t, he didn’t want Yahaba to feel weird around him, but he was right. He liked being right.

  "Am not,” Yahaba affirmed, "Just because I wanna get what’s going on in your head doesn’t mean I was creeped out.”

  "Well you could always you know… ask me.”

  "That’s in my plan,” Yahaba explained as he pushed open the door to his house, "But I didn’t want to pry too much.”

  "I mean,” Kentarou followed Yahaba into his house, slipping off his shoes in the entryway, "It would be nice to talk about it with somebody, I'll tell you if it’s too much if you promise not to judge me for any of it.”

  "Sounds like a deal to me,” Yahaba shrugged, leading Kentarou up the stairs to his room.

  Kentarou kind of couldn’t believe that he was opening up to somebody like this. His whole life, he dealt with everything on his own. Asking for help was not in the cards. Showing any weakness wasn’t an option. But now, Yahaba, someone who he was barely friends with, knew more about Kentarou than anybody ever had.

  Yahaba’s room was really nice. It was clean, in very strong contrast to Kyoutani’s. His mom often got on his case about leaving dishes laying around and covering every surface in his room with… anything really. A mess.

  Kentarou
   set his things down on the floor and took a seat on the rug while Yahaba opened the curtains, letting the bright afternoon light into his room.

  "Why don’t you come sit up here with me?” Yahaba offered as he climbed up onto his bed, dropping his own backpack by the pillows. Kentarou simply gave him a blank stare, "Right. The touching thing.”

  "Yea,” Kentarou nodded matter of factly. He didn’t feel like spiraling into another breakdown today.

  "Since I'm allowed to ask questions,” Yahaba spoke as he flipped through his biology textbook to the pages assigned, "What is it with that?”

  "The touching thing?”

  "No, the mitochondria,” Yahaba deadpanned, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Yes, the touching thing.”

  He didn’t have to be a d@ck about it.

  "I don’t really know,” Kentarou answered, quite unhelpfully looking back on it, "I guess it’s just like… you’ve got this glass of water, and it’s already full to the brim. Then you touch it, and it all comes spilling out. That’s how it feels. Like my body constantly has all of this energy, all of these emotions, so big and strong it feels like I'm suffocating. And then you touch me and it just… makes everything worse. And it all overflows.”

  "Oh,” Yahaba sighed, "That… that makes a surprising amount of sense.”

  "Yea,” Kentarou nodded, and then he was talking even more. He should feel uncomfortable with how much he was telling Yahaba, but he just wasn’t, "And then it’s just like,  I try to get rid of all the energy. But I can’t. And it just keeps building and building and it feels like every second I can’t take any more, but I can and it just gets worse and worse. And nothing I can do helps.”

  "Oh, sh@t.”

  "Yea,” Kentarou hummed for a second time, "And I'm just so… not used to physical contact, it doesn’t help at all. It makes me feel like I'm literally on fire, and everything’s consuming me, but then I want more but I know if I get more I'll never want to stop and then I'm stuck in the whole loop again of too much energy and—”

  “Kentarou,” Yahaba interrupted his rambling abruptly, "Do you want a hug?”

      
  A hug. That sounded pretty nice. But what if he could never let go? What if he hugged Yahaba and broke down?

  "I just explained 
  
    exactly 
  
  why that’s a terrible idea.”

  "I know,” Yahaba repeated, "But do you want a hug?”

  Kentarou squirmed for a moment. He did, he really did. He supposed if Yahaba was offering…

  "Yea. I do.”

  "Come here then,” Yahaba held out his arms just slightly, and a little more quickly than he’d like to admit Kentarou was climbing onto Yahaba’s bed and melting into his arms.

  And at first, he felt that rush of emotion. The wave that threatened to wash him out to sea and drown. As that wave tugged at his consciousness Kentarou’s breath caught in his throat and he almost pulled back, but he felt Yahaba pull him in closer just ever so slightly, and he stopped fighting.

  He was aware of everything. Yahaba’s thighs shifting beneath Kentarou as he found a more comfortable position, his arms around Kentarou’s shoulders, hands gently holding onto the fabric of his shirt. All over it hurt, it felt like Kentarou was drowning and on fire all at the same time. If before Yahaba touching him caused the water to spill over, this now was dumping an entire pitcher into a small cup.

  But it felt good.

  Because Kentarou knew that Yahaba wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. He didn’t have to worry about how it was going to feel when that presence was gone. For now, it was just them, just Kentarou’s face buried in Yahaba’s chest. He smelled like body spray and fabric softener, a combination Kentarou never expected to find himself enjoying. But eventually a certain calm washed over him, and his lungs no longer felt full of something, his skin no longer burning with the sensation of a red-hot fire that wasn’t there.

  He wanted to enjoy this for a few moments longer.

  Enjoy the low tide just a bit longer. Because he had no idea when the water would come rushing back in and choke the air from his lungs. He was waiting for it.

  It never came. 

  Even when Yahaba loosened his grip, letting go so they could turn their focus to biology, the wave didn’t come. Held at bay by the pressure of Yahaba’s thigh pressed against his, textbook bridging the would-be gap between them.

  He wasn’t cured, obviously.

  Kentarou ran home that night instead of taking the train, about five miles more than he  usually ran, five miles more than his body could handle. His body couldn’t handle Yahaba Shigeru either. It was the same, suffocating, overflowing feeling as always. Like his lungs and ribs were being crushed and he just needed to stand in a deserted parking lot and 
  
    scream
  
   until he couldn’t anymore. 

  Kentarou didn’t do that, so he ran home. Ignoring his body’s protests, the way his muscles burned and begged for him to stop. The burning couldn’t get any worse than the searing pain on his skin, his back where Yahaba’s hands fell as he held him. His thigh where their legs sat pressed together. His hand where Yahaba brushed it to flip a page in the textbook.

  Nothing could top that. Not even the cramp in his side, begging for hydration that Kentarou couldn’t provide.

  He practically stumbled into the door, letting his body drop to the floor as he pulled off his shoes. It was loud — but he didn’t have the strength in his muscles to lower himself down any softer.

  “Ken?” 

  A voice came from the hall. 
  
    Sh@t.
  

  It was late — Kentarou probably woke somebody up.

  Around the corner came Konami — his older sister. She was in her first year of college, but opted to stay home to help out Kentarou’s mother. At least he didn’t wake anybody up. Konami was often up late working on schoolwork. Nursing degrees didn’t come without copious amounts of homework.

  “Did you fall?” she continued, pressing on, “Are you okay?” 

  As she moved further into the foyer, Kentarou could see her face, and he couldn’t lie to Konami’s face.

  “No.”

  Her face morphed into an expression of pity, and she sat down next to Kentarou on the step.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her voice was soft — always soft. In a world where everything was blistering burns and scorched flesh, Konami was cooling water. Tender hands bandaging a wound.

  If Kentarou wasn’t breaking down before — he was now.

  He found himself collapsing into Konami’s arms, all concerns for his image lost. He didn’t have to be a tough guy for his sister. She saw him at his lowest points.

  “It all hurts, Nami,” he wheezed into her shoulder, holding her as tightly as he could possibly manage. He wasn’t sure how he wasn’t hurting her, “It hurts so f@ck@ng bad, I can’t take it, I feel like I’m going to break.”

  “Hey, breathe,” Konami murmured gently, voice soft in Kentarou’s ear, breath warm on his skin, “It’s okay, Ken, just breathe.”

  Being held like this. Kentarou didn’t realize how much he needed this. When Yahaba did it, it set his insides on fire, igniting fireworks in his chest that just burned, never going off. Never releasing. Konami holding him like this was like a needle to an overinflated balloon. One gentle touch — and it all came flooding out.

  “I can’t be around him, he makes me—” Kentarou didn’t know how to finish that without Konami getting the wrong idea. Or, the right idea. Just not the idea Kentarou wanted her to get, “He makes me feel like this all the time and I 
  
    can’t f@ck@ng take it anymore.”
  

  “Who does, Ken?”

  “Stupid f@ck@ng Yahaba,” Kentarou grumbeld before he quite realized he was telling her. He was spilling his guts to her, words spilling out as his chest deflated and the fireworks finally went off.

  “That kid on your volleyball team? Number seven, isn’t he?”

  “Six,” Kentarou corrected without even thinking much about it. Why the hell did he have Yahaba’s jersey number memorized to the point where it came out so easily? He knew why — it was because he had grown accustomed to spotting Yahaba in a crowd with it — but he didn’t want to think about that part, “He’s a total @ssh@l@.”

  “Is he?” Konami prodded, “You just went over to his house to study for like four hours.”

  “Three,” Kentarou corrected once more, the torrent in his mind and  body finally calming, “I ran home.”

  “You what,” Konami deadpanned, grasping Kentarou’s shoulders and pushing him away to look him the eye, “Isn’t that 
  
    far
  
  ?”

  “Like five miles.”

  “Ken!”

  “It’s fine!” Kentarou argued, shoving her hands off of his shoulders. Now that he was past the initial breakdown moment, he had the energy to be prickly again, “I’m just sore, don’t tell Mom.”

  “Mom’s gonna 
  
    kick your ass
  
   for not taking care of yourself,” Konami punched Kentarou’s shoulder, just hard enough to hurt for moment, btu not any longer.

  “That’s why you 
  
    don’t tell her
  
  ,” Kentarou repeated, moving to return to the task of untying his shoelaces, “So shut it, snitch.”

  “I’m not a 
  
    snitch
  
  ,” Konami huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “Just because I’ve told Mom about things 
  
    a few times
  
   for your own well-being doesn’t make me a snitch.”

  “So you had to tell her about Mitsu?” 

  “Okay, maybe I was just being a bit of a b@tch about that part,” Konami shrugged, clearly not caring too much about her supposed 
  
    snitch 
  
  status. The girl in question was an old girlfriend of Kentarou’s — from his first year of high school.

  She had been his only girlfriend.

  Yamakawa Mitsu — the girl who kickstarted his attachment issues, and ultimately led to the OCD diagnosis.

  Mitsu was nice, and she was really pretty. Like, drop dead gorgeous. She was in the class above Kentarou, and he only saw her in passing. He was ecstatic when she asked him out.

  He snuck Mitsu in one night, one thing led to another, and then he was sobbing in Konami’s room because he couldn't touch her without it feeling like his skin was on fire and she wanted to do more and more and he just 
  
    couldn’t he couldn’t. 
  
  He wanted to do more, too. But he couldn’t.

  Then she dumped him — and Kentarou really started to lose his sh@t. He was angry all the time — more so than usual. The compulsions got worse, he had to read each page of his textbooks four times, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything. If he lost count, he’d start over. Kentarou could hardly make himself a meal anymore because he had to check the measurements, ingredients, and procedure so many times. It was getting in the way of his grades, his eating, volleyball.

  The frustration and pent up anxieties led to some pretty serious self-mutilation issues — and that’s when Konami finally told their mother about everything that went on.

  Kentarou stayed overnight in a crisis center, went through some testing, and received the diagnosis. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

  Until recently, the words were enough to put him at ease. Compulsions no longer took over his life now that he knew where they were coming from. However, he found a new attachment, and things were going downhill again.

  “Just don’t tell mom, okay?” Kentarou avoided eye contact, partially to avoid eye contact, partially because the knot on his shoe was 
  
    really stuck
  
  .

  “Do you need help with that?” Konami gestured towards Kentarou’s struggling hands, he just couldn’t get a good enough grip on the shoelace to untie it.

  “God, yes please,” Kentarou wheezed, letting Konami take a stab at untying the knot. 

  Within seconds, his foot was free, and Kentarou was convinced that Konami had some sort of skills in the dark arts.

  “How the hell did you do that,” he mumbled, standing up and slipping his feet into his house slippers.

  “Magic,” Konami shrugged, but Kentarou heard the ghost of a laugh in her voice, “And acrylic nails.”

  “Witchcraft.”

  “Whatever,” Konami rolled her eyes, “Did you eat dinner at Yahaba’s?”

  It was then that Kentarou realized that he 
  
    hadn’t
  
  . It wasn’t on purpose, the two just… didn’t get around to dinner. They were busy cramming for the bio test that was coming up soon. And Kentarou was too busy trying not to combust.

  “No.”

  “Come on then, I’ll make you something, what do you want?”

  It was late — Kentarou could hardly ask her to make him food. She was up this late, she had homework to get done so she could sleep. 

  “It’s fine, I can get it.”

  “No, you won’t,” Konami shook her head firmly, walking into the kitchen, “I know how you get with recipes, especially when you’re having a bad day.”

  “It’s fine,” Kentarou argued, trying to shoulder past her, “I’m capable of cooking myself food without having a breakdown.”

  “Ken, come on,” Konami blocked his path to the pantry with her body, “Just let me make you dinner.”

  There was no point in fighting Konami once she made up her mind. That was one thing the Kyoutani siblings had in common — they were both 
  
    painfully
  
   stubborn. When they clashed, it was a disagreement of epic proportions.

  “I’ll just toss some ramen in the microwave, it’s fine,” Kentarou moved her out of the way himself. As stubborn as she was, she didn’t play volleyball for an (almost) finalist team. Maybe it was a couple bracket slots away from finalist, but. It didn’t matter. Kentarou was stronger regardless.

  He pulled a package of ramen from the shelf, and began unwrapping it. He 
  
    could 
  
  make ramen just fine, he’d done it a million times. Double-checked the directions a million more. Triple-checked them another million.

  “No, I’ll do it, and I’m doing it 
  
    right
  
  ,” Konami argued, snatching the half-unwrapped package from Kentarou’s hands, “Go sit down.”

  Finally, Kentarou went to sit down at the table. He didn’t particularly feel like dealing with the compulsions tonight, anyways.

  Konami set the water to a boil in the tea-kettle, emptying the dry noodles into a bowl. While the water boiled she sprinkled various spices and seasonings into the bowl, just how Kentarou liked it. He didn’t remember ever telling her specifics — she just kind of paid attention and remembered one day. 

  Minutes later, Kentarou was presented with a steaming bowl of spicy ramen, free of triple-checked instructions.

  “Thanks, Nami.”

  “No problem Ken,” Konami tossed a pair of chopsticks onto the counter, “See how easy that was to just let me cook?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Kentarou snorted, resisting the urge to kick Konami in the shins. He didn’t — but mostly just because he was sore.

  “Don’t stay up too late,” Konami sang as she exited the kitchen, leaving the oven light on.

  “I won’t,” Kentarou hummed into the darkness, and then he was alone at the table with his bowl of ramen, too hot to eat yet. He stirred the noodles for a moment before pulling a few out, blowing on them, and attempting to put them in his mouth. 

  It 
  
    burned. 
  
  For real, this time. Not the phantom burning he so frequently experienced.

  “
  
    Sh@t,”
  
   he swore to himself, nearly dropping his chopsticks in the bowl.

  Waiting for it to cool down, Kentarou decided to pull his phone from his pocket. He hadn’t even looked at it since practice ended and he texted his mom that he was studying with Yahaba.

  There, on the top of the screen, was a message from Yahaba.

  Kentarou could hardly bear to read it.

  That night, he left his phone on the kitchen table, not even caring that it wouldn’t be charged the next morning.

  The theory was out of sight, out of mind. Kentarou wasn’t sure how well that translated into reality — because he laid awake for hours anyway, thoughts and sensations floating around in his head.
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼ 
 
  Turns out he 
  
    did 
  
  care if his phone was charged in the morning, because Kentarou found himself asking Yahaba for a charger at morning practice.

  “No, sorry, I don’t have one,” Yahaba shook his head as he tied his shoes, pulling his kneepads up properly, “You can probably ask Shinji though, he has everything in his practice bag. Swear to God that thing is magic.”

  That sounded like Watari — but Kentarou didn’t necessarily want to 
  
    talk
  
   to Watari. Nothing was particularly wrong with the guy, but he was Yahaba’s best friend. He didn’t know how much he knew, if he knew anything at all, and how he even 
  
    felt 
  
  about Kyoutani. 

  Whatever. He’d have to suck it up.

  “Hey, Watari,” he approached his teammate across the gym, tucking his knee pads under his armpit, “Do you have a phone charger I could borrow?”

  “Yea, just make sure you get it back to me before practice is done,” Watari pulled a cable from his backpack, handing it to Kentarou.

  “I will, thanks,” Kentarou went to turn around and find the outlet by the bench, but he was stopped by Watari.

  “What’s up with you and Shige?”

  
    Of course. Why wouldn’t Yahaba tell his best friend in the world?
  

  “What do you mean what’s up with me and Yahaba?” Kentarou bristled, not bothering to hide the aggression.

  “Whoa, calm down,” Watari breathed, “I just meant you guys have been talking, I thought you totally hated him.”

  “I hate most people,” Kentarou sighed, “Just ‘cause I talk to him doesn’t mean I don’t still think he’s insufferable.”

  “Fair enough,” Watari shrugged, “He’s a pompous @ssh@l@.”

  “
  
    Finally
  
   someone who gets it,” Kentarou laughed, the tension dissipating. Maybe he could get along with Watari after all.

  “Hey, he is still my best friend,” Watari jabbed, and it felt like a knife in Kentarou’s chest, “So don’t get carried away.”

  He 
  
    knew 
  
  Yahaba could have friends. He wanted Yahaba to have friends. Something, still, sent that stabbing pain through him. Because if Yahaba had other people maybe he’d leave Kentarou, and then where would he be?

  He tried not to think about it as he crouched down next to his stuff, plugging the charging cord into his phone. Yahaba wasn’t going to just up and leave — they had a year still left on the volleyball team together, that alone was probably enough to keep him around. Yahaba wasn’t going to quit now.
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼ 
 
  “Have you considered medication?”

  Kentarou was studying with Yahaba at his house again when he dropped the question.

  “I don’t know,” Kentarou didn’t look up from his textbook, “I don’t really want sh@t in my brain scr@w@ng with it, you know?”

  “I think you don’t really get what SRI’s do,” Yahaba hummed, closing his notebook and leaning against the wall, shoulder pressing up against Kentarou’s.

  “SRI’s?”

  Yahaba wasn’t wrong. Kentarou hadn’t exactly done much research — maybe he should have. He just decided that he didn’t want it — he wasn’t so sure now. Sure, maybe the concept was… weird. The thought of taking a pill that would change how his brain worked. He was apprehensive.

  “Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors,” Yahaba explained, “They fix the balance of serotonin in your brain, and it usually makes OCD symptoms a lot more manageable.”

  “So I’ll be taking happy pills,” Kentarou huffed, more than a little amused by the concept.

  “Not necessarily,” Yahaba continued, “SRI’s block a channel that takes serotonin back into the presynaptic neuron, making serotonin receptors more active, and regulating the balance in your brain chemistry.”

  “You’ve done your research.”

  “I think this kind of stuff is really interesting,” Yahaba stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t even look at Kentarou when he was talking about him, “I think the human mind is fascinating, there’s so much we haven’t figured out yet.”

  “I’ve told you, you know, I’m not your science project,” Kentarou mumbled.

  “I know you’re not, and I don’t think of you like that,” Yahaba shifted to sit facing Kentarou, “I can value you as a friend and be super interested in neuroscience at the same time, you know.”

  “I 
  
    know,”
  
   he crossed his arms over his chest, “How come you know more about my mental illness than I do?”

  “Because you’re a dense idiot who doesn’t bother to figure things out,” Yahaba shrugged, “I’m bored of studying, do you wanna play video games or something?”

  “I’m gonna kick your ass at Smash,” Kentarou grinned, climbing off of Yahaba’s bed. The old Wii was downstairs in the living room.

  “Actually, it doesn’t work anymore,” Yahaba broke the news as they walked down the stairs, “The disk got all scratched.”

  “What? That’s stupid,” Kentarou huffed, “You’ll have to come over sometime, we can use my copy.”

  “I’ve reached the level of friendship to be allowed to step foot in the Kyoutani household?” Yahaba gasped, feigning dramatics, “I’m 
  
    honored,
  
   Kyouken.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Kentarou fought the blush creeping up his ears with the words. He didn’t need Yahaba’s stupid flirting right now.
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼
 
  “Are you 
  
    sure 
  
  it’s a good idea to have Yahaba over?” 

  Kentarou was sitting in Konami’s bed while she studied at her desk — though, she wasn’t so much 
  
    studying 
  
  as she was nosing into Kentarou’s business.

  “I know how you get with your space, and with the compulsions and whatever,” Konami continued, “Shouldn’t you just stick to at school and his place?”

  “Yea, but his copy of Brawl got busted,” Kentarou explained — like a video game was worth the mental strain, “So I invited him over.”

  Konami raised an eyebrow at him, and it was then that Kentarou realized that he was scratching at his knee. There was an odd prickling feeling in the skin — almost burning.

  “It’ll be 
  
    fine,
  
   Nami,” he argued, looking her in the eye. It 
  
    would
  
   be fine. He was getting better at dealing with it. And he started taking medication. He had only been prescribed the pills for a few days, and he didn’t particularly notice much of a difference. But they were helping, probably.

  “If you say so,” Konami sighed, “But I reserve the right to kick his ass if he’s a d@ck, okay?”

  “I can kick his ass just fine myself, thank you,” Kentarou huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “He’s Yahaba, he’s a stuck-up @ssh@l@, his ass will be kicked plenty.”

  “Whatever you say, Ken, now get out of my room,” Konami turned in her chair back to her desk, “I have a test tomorrow.”

  “Yea, whatever,” Kentarou rolled his eyes, walking out of Konami’s room and shutting the door behind him.

  She made a good point about Kentarou and his personal space. He had a thing with people being in his room. He had a thing about a lot of things. But he trusted Yahaba enough. It would be fine. 

  And he would be there soon — Yahaba was nothing if not extremely punctual. The noon train arrived at the station near Kentarou’s house a few minutes ago, meaning Yahaba would be walking up to the door any minute now.

  Sure enough, as Kentarou was walking down the stairs, a knock came at the door.

  “Hey, Yahaba,” Kentarou opened the door, greeted by a grinning Yahaba.

  “You can call me Shigeru, you know,” Yahaba stepped into the house, slipping off his shoes in the entryway.

  Kentarou had never thought much about what he called Yahaba. He just called him what everyone else did. Should he have been calling him Shigeru? He didn’t typically use people’s first names. He wasn’t close enough to anybody. Besides Konami, of course, but she was his sister. That didn’t count.

  “Then hey, Shigeru I guess,” Kentarou corrected. It felt odd, the way Shigeru’s name rolled off his tongue. Kentarou didn’t know how he felt about it — but Shigeru smiled, so, he must have liked it.

  He figured he could keep calling him Shigeru if it made him happy.

  
    Sh@t.
  
   When did Kentarou start thinking sappy sh@t like that? It was fine when his feelings were the product of a chemical imbalance — but if this was mental illness it sure was one hell of a symptom.

  “The Wii’s up in my room,” Kentarou explained, leading Shigeru up the stairs, “Bathroom’s right there, and that’s my sister’s room. Don’t go in there — she might kill you.”

   
  He gestured towards the door towards Konami’s room, closed now.

  “She sounds lovely,” Shigeru laughed, sweet and bubbly. 
  
    Sh@t.
  

  “She’s a b@tch,” Kentarou laughed, he knew there was no truth to his words. So did she, if she happened to hear.

  “Hey!” 

  Konami’s voice came from behind the door, and within moments it was flying open.

  “What’d you call me you little b@st@rd?”

  “I thought you were studying!”

   
  “I 
  
    was. 
  
  Until 
  
    somebody
  
   decided to start slandering me in front of the guest!” Konami huffed, turning to Shigeru, her voice softening in a heartbeat, “How’s it going, Yahaba?”

  “I’m doing pretty good, thanks,” Shigeru snickered, clearly amused by Konami.

  “
  I did 
  
    nothing
  
   of the sort,” Kentarou hummed, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Did too,” Konami grumbled, shoving her door closed once again, “Quit calling me a b@tch!”

  “Then quit eavesdropping!” Kentarou yelled through the door, and then they were headed next door to his room.

   
  He cleaned before Shigeru came over — so his room was uncharacteristically neat. Not perfect, but fairly neat. The floor was free of dirty clothes and clutter at the least. 

  “You’re so lucky that you get to have a TV in your room,” Shigeru hummed, sitting down on Kentarou’s bed, “My parents won’t let me.”

  “I mean, it’s kind of janky,” Kentarou shrugged, powering up the console and grabbing controllers from the shelf. The television 
  
    was
  
   pretty janky — Kentarou was pretty sure it was older than he was. 

  “Yea, but you don’t have to go all the way downstairs to play video games,” Shigeru caught the remote Kentarou threw at him and settled back into the pillows, “Holy sh@t, you have 
  
    everything
  
   unlocked?”

  “Yea, I did it all when I was way younger,” Kentarou shrugged, scrolling through to select a stage, “I’m a bit of a completionist.”

  “A bit? This stuff is a pain in the ass.”

  “Yea, yea, whatever,” Kentarou laughed, starting the game, “Shut up so I can kick your ass.”

  “Not if I kick yours first.”
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼ 
 
  Technically, the plan was to study over at Kentarou’s that Saturday.

  In reality, Shigeru’s backpack sat in the corner of Kentarou’s room, untouched. They played video games the whole time — and it went pretty much as usual. Kentarou kicked Shigeru’s ass, and Shigeru whined about how 
  
    unfair
  
   it was.

   
  Except the entire time Kentarou was fighting the 
  
    stupid gay thoughts.
  
   He didn’t know how to deal with romantic feelings towards Shigeru, he didn’t know how to deal with romantic feelings towards 
  
    anyone
  
  , really. 

  There were stupid things he expected. Like blushing constantly and being nervous around Shigeru. He was used to weird things around Shigeru, anyways.

  What he wasn’t expecting was to step back into his room after walking Shigeru to the train and still being able to envision him sitting there. Kentarou could practically still smell him. Shigeru always wore stupidly strong deoderant, Oikawa complained every time he pulled it out at practice. Yahaba told him it was either the pleasant woodsy musk or sweat and teenage boy hormones.

  Kentarou stood in his doorway and all he could see was Shigeru sprawled across his bed with him, controller in hand, looking like he was considering using it as a weapon to gain an upper hand.

  Whatever. He’d make himself stop thinking about it, distract himself. He put an old Zelda game in the console and started it up.

  But no matter how hard Kentarou tried, he couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t shake the smell of Shigeru from his nostrils, the warmth where he had been sitting. It was just warm because well — it was a bed — but Kentarou’s brain didn’t want to make that connection.

  Eventually, he just couldn’t anymore. Kentarou could feel the wave washing over him, and he couldn’t stay in there anymore.

  Kentarou shut the lights off behind him, and then he was knocking on Konami’s door.

  “Come in!” she shouted from inside, and did just that.

  “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

  “You said it would be fine if Yahaba came over,” Konami sighed, turning in her chair to face Kentarou.

  “It 
  
    was
  
   fine,” Kentarou argued, sitting down on Konami’s bed, “And it is fine, I’m taking 
  
    preventative measures, Nami.”
  

  “Preventative measures are good I suppose,” Konami turned back to her laptop, “Do you want the lights off?”

  Kentarou
   nodded, and Konami stood to switch off the lights. The only light in the room came from her laptop screen and the lamp on her desk. 

  “Thanks, Nami,” Kentarou pulled one of her pillows close to his chest, burrowing under the duvet.

  “Yea, ‘course,” Konami settled back into her desk chair.

  “Love you.”

  “I love you too, Ken.”

  Kentarou wasn’t sure what time it was when Konami shut off the lights and climbed into her bed with Kentarou. 

  “Make room for me,” she grumbled, shoving Kentarou towards the side of the bed, sliding into the spot between him and the wall. He responded with little more than a groan of complaint, pulling the blankets tighter around his shoulders.

  She didn’t even bother to call him a blanket hog.
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼ 
 
  Kentarou totally blew his biology test. 

  He wasn’t feeling very confident about it and then Shigeru was… Shigeru and Kentarou didn’t get any studying done. On top of that, taking the test itself became so agonizingly slow that Kentarou barely finished because he had to keep checking and make sure he colored in the correct answer. 

  He was 
  
    so done 
  
  with this.

  The medication was helping, and for the most part Kentarou was getting his compulsions under control. Medication, however, wouldn’t cure his infatuation with Shigeru.

  He had to fix that himself.

  Kentarou just… didn’t know how to do that.

  He didn’t know how to stop thinking about Shigeru, about the way the corners of his lips turned up in a snarky smile, the way he let his hair fall in front of his eyes when he was distracted. His hair looked soft. Kentarou wanted to run his fingers through it so bad.

  Worse than that, though, is what Kentarou wanted to 
  
    do
  
   while he was running his fingers through Shigeru’s hair.

  It was 
  
    distracting
  
  , and it made paying attention to absolutely anything near impossible.

  No, not near impossible. Straight up impossible.

  Kentarou
   let his hand fall to his desk, and there was a spot of blood on his fingers. He had been scratching at his arm— but he didn’t think it was that hard. He supposed his nails were getting long again, and he must have pulled off a scab or something.
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼
 
  Kentarou
   was having one of 
  
    those days.
  
   Those days where he woke up and knew it would be bad the moment he opened his eyes.

  Not for any particular reason, Kentarou just felt 
  
    bad.
  
   Well, actually, it had been a couple days since he had taken his medication. It was the week before final exams, so the volleyball club didn’t practice in the mornings. The change in schedule screwed with Kentarou and he just… forgot. So there was a particular reason.

  Regardless of why, the day was 
  
    hell.
  

  Kentarou ate lunch alone again, for the first time in a long while. He couldn’t be around Shigeru right now.

  If class was bad — practice was worse.

  Kentarou was distracted. He kept messing up his footwork and flubbing attacks. His approach was wrong — if he didn’t step off on his left foot his jump was all wrong. tThe jump had to happen on a third step — and Kentarou kept spiking too close to the net.

  “
  You good, Kyouken?” Shigeru called out from center court, “Your attacks are getting messy again.”

  “‘M fine,” Kentarou forced out, reaching around to scratch at the back of his neck. The sound of Shigeru’s voice sent a prickling feeling down his spine, “Just an off day.”

  “We all have ‘em,” Shigeru hummed, and Kentarou froze against his will. Then the ball was in Shigeru’s fingertips and Kentarou had to be up at the net 
  
    now
  
  .

  His right foot hit the ground as he lunged forward, and Kentarou was only on the second step when he was t the net and he had to jump 
  
    now
  
  , but he couldn’t because he had one more step and he tried to jump but before Kentarou knew it — his face smashed into the floor.

  He should’ve taken that third f@ck@ng step.

  “Ken, are you okay?”

  Shigeru’s hand was on his shoulder and Kentarou’s entire body was igniting, white-hot fire on his skin.

  “Don’t touch me!” Kentarou’s forearm burned where he shoved Shigeru away and he probably looked insane. Sitting on the gym floor with his knees pulled ot his chest, blood pouring from his nose, scratching at the place on his shoulder where Shigeru had touched. Kentarou couldn’t spare the energy to care.

  ”
  Don’t touch him without asking,” Kentarou heard Shigeru explaining and it made him want to rip his f@ck@ng ears off, “He’s got a thing.”

  Kentarou settled for pressing the heels of his psalm into his ears so hard it was starting to hurt. He hardly noticed his fingers scratching at the skin behind his ears.

  “Kyoutani.”

  Iwaizumi’s voice replaced the echoing of Shigeru’s 
  
    he’s got a thing
  
   in Kentarou’s ears, and he could loosen the pressure of his hands over his ears.

  “Can I help you up?”

  Kentarou could hardly muster more than a nod.

  Then a pair of strong arms was lifting him from under the armpits, and Kentarou’s feet were back on the ground.

  “Let’s go outside,” Iwaizumi hummed, and they were walking. Kentarou didn’t realize his eyes were still squeezed shut until he opened them and watched his feet walking him out of the gym. There was a lot of blood dripping on the floor — someone would have to clean that up.

  Outside the gym, iwaizumi sat Kentarou down on the steps, handing him a towel.

  Kentarou
   held it to his face, finally stopping the flow of warm blood onto his lap.

  “What happened in there?”

  He wanted to say something, but an invisible force strangled the words in his throat.

  “
  It burns,” was all he managed to choke out, scratching at his arm. He had to make it stop. He 
  
    had to.
  

  “What does?”

  “
  
    Everything.
  
  ”

  “Can I call someone for you?”

  “Konami,” Kentarou breathed. Their mom was at work, she was all he had.

  “Type her number in,” Iwaizumi held his phone out towards Kentarou, and he did just that. He 
  
    knew
  
   the number was right, but something in his mind fought that notion as Iwaizumi pressed call and brought the phone to his ear.

  “Hey, this is Iwaizumi, I play volleyball with Kyoutani— Yea, no he’s… he’s not doing very well. Something happened— Can you come pick him up? — Great, thank you so much.”

  “Your sister’s gonna be here soon,” Iwaizumi hung up the phone, “Do you want me to wait with you?”

  Kentarou nodded, and Iwaizumi stayed.

  Iwaizumi didn’t exactly 
  
    do
  
   anything besides sit there, but Kentarou felt less alone as he sat there with his arms around himself, scratching at his skin.

  If he could speak, Kentarou would’ve made Iwaizumi stay right where he was when Oikawa stepped outside the gym with Kentarou’s bag. The captain’s spoke in hushed whispers, low enough that Kentarou didn’t get much outside of the fact that they were talking about him.

  “Hey, quit scratching.”

  When Oikawa returned to practice, Iwaizumi took his place next to Kentarou once more, “You’re bleeding.”

  “I can’t,” Kentarou clenched his hands into fists, “I have to make it stop.”

  “
  Does it make it stop?”

  “Yea,” Kentarou nodded, “For a minute.”

  Talking was good. Being able to speak even fragments of sentences was good.

  “Can you make it stop any other way?”

  Kentarou paused for just a moment. He supposed that what he was doing now with his hands was working.

  “Maybe.”

  “Let’s keep doing that, then,” Iwaizumi hummed, “Can you try something with me?”

  Kentarou was up for anything right now. If it would get rid of the burning, he’d do anything.

  “I’m gonna count, and you’re gonna breathe with me. In for six, hold it for seven, and out for eight,” Iwaizumi explained. It sounded stupid. Kentarou didn’t understand how breathing would extinguish the fire dancing across his skin.

  “It helps Tooru when he’s panicking, so I’m hoping it’ll help you too,” Iwaizumi continued, like he could sense Kentarou’s skepticism. Maybe he could. Maybe the king wasn’t the only one who could read Kentarou like a book.

  Iwaizumi started counting, and as stupid Kentarou might’ve thoguht it was, he breathed with him. He didn’t understand it — but the fog in his brain was starting to clear. Panic became discomfort, burning faded into an odd numbness. 

  It was then that Konami rounded the corner, still in her pajamas. She probably only just woke up, “How bad is it?”

  “
  Pretty bad, I think,” Iwaizumi stood to meet Konami, and Kentarou let the captain speak for him. For once he didn't mind.

  “Do you know what happened?” Konami asked, looking towards Kentarou like he was about to fall apart. He minded that part.

  “Uh, he’s been off all of practice,” Iwaizumi kept looking back and forth at Kentarou, “Then he tripped and fell, smashed his face into the court. Yahaba tried to help him but he—”

  “Yahaba, makes sense,” Konami sighed, “Okay, thanks Iwaizumi.”

  “Yea, of course,” Iwaizumi nodded before retreating back into the gym, and Konami moved to crouch down in front of Kentarou.

  “Hey, Nami.”

  “Ken,” she breathed, reaching forward to grab Kentarou’s hands. She hardly flinched when Kentarou tightened his grasp on them, he was way stronger than her, “What happened?”

  “Bad day,” was all he had the energy for, “I had to jump on a third step but I didn’t and so I fell.”

  “You didn’t fall because you didn’t take the right number of steps,” Konami squeezed his hands, and when she did it he didn’t mind. The pressure was nice, “You just fell, you know that right?”

  “I do,” Kentarou breathed, because he 
  
    did 
  
  know that. But he couldn’t shake the feeling. That he messed up and now he busted his face and his head hurt 
  
    really bad
  
  .

  “Can you stand?”

  Kentarou’s legs felt like jelly, but he could indeed stand.

  He let Konami carry his bag and escort him back to the car. She laid down her jacket on the passenger seat — probably so Kentarou didn’t get blood everywhere — and shut the door for him.

  The ride home was quiet. He tried not to scratch at his arms, the skin was already torn up enough. He should cut his nails. Iwaizumi’s breathing thing helped, almost. It didn’t restore any of Kentarou’s energy — he still felt like he was about to collapse from sheer exhaustion — but it kept the panic at bay.

  By the time Kentarou and Konami arrived home, their mom had returned from work. She worked in a local veterinary practice, so her days were over by five in the afternoon. It was 5:44 when Kentarou stumbled in the door. Practice was supposed to go until seven. 

  “Hey, Nami, I was wondering where you were,” Kentarou’s mom called out from the kitchen, meandering in to the entryway. Her face fell when her gaze landed on Kentarou, “
  
    Ken.
  
  ”

  “Mom,” Kentarou mumbled, trying to avoid her concerned gaze.

  “What happened?” She murmured, reaching her hands up to the side of Kentarou’s face.

  He couldn’t make the words come out.

  “Mom, he’s okay,” Konami stepped in after hanging her keys up on the hook, removing her hands from Kentarou’s face, “I can handle it, okay? I got it, trust me.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure, I’ll take care of him.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can you get up the stairs?” Konami hummed as they reached the obstacle, “I’d love to, but I can’t haul your heavy ass up there.”

  ”
  Yea,” Kentarou snorted, almost a laugh. He was unsteady, but he made it up to the stairwell alright.

  “Go get in the shower, you’re all covered in blood,” Konami gently directed Kentarou towards the bathroom, and he didn’t bother to resist the change in direction. A shower sounded nice.

  However, when Kentarou faced the task of actually getting in the shower, he could hardly muster the energy to even think about it. It wasn’t long before he decided to just step under the cold water of the shower still in his practice clothes. Maybe it didn’t make the most sense — but his shirt and stuff was also all bl@@dy. Might as well rinse it off. 

  Leaning against the wall, Kentarou finally relaxed. The cool water of the shower washed away the remnants of the burning feeling, and he was just 
  
    tired. 
  
  His nose ached, and the skin scratched raw on his arm stung. Eventually his eyes fell closed — but Kentarou wasn’t exactly sleeping. 

  He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there when Konami knocked on the door.

  “Ken, can I come in?”

  He mumbled a yes, and Konami was sliding the bathroom door open.

  “Are you just sitting in the shower in your clothes?”

  “It was too much energy,” Kentarou hummed, hardly bothering to open his eyes.

  “You haven’t even washed your face,” he could hear Konami setting a plate down on the counter and grabbing something from the cupboard, “You’re useless, Ken.”

  He offered little more than a laugh breathed through his nose. He kind of didn’t care right now.

  Then there was pressure on his face and 
  
    sh@t, that hurt.
  

  “
  Nami!” Kentarou whined, squirming away from the touch of the wet towel on his face.

  “Ken, quit it,” Konami grumbled, holding Kentarou’s face still, “I’m trying to wash the blood off your face, you little b@st@rd.”

  “I can do it,” Kentarou mumbled back, halfheartedly reaching for the towel.

  “No, you’re gonna do a half-assed job,” Konami laughed, “And I’ve already stuck half of my body in this shower so you’re just gonna let me wash your face, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Kentarou agreed, and Konami was gently wiping the blood off his face. He hardly noticed it when she was lifting his arm by the wrist, frowning at the state of it.

  “Ken,” she murmured, “This is bad.”

  “
  It’s fine,” he pulled his arm back, holding it close to him. It was bad, he knew it. Almost as bad as the ones on his legs that landed him in the treatment facility. He didn’t try to let it get that bad — he just. He had to make it stop.

   “
  Will you let me take care of it at least?”

   
  Kentarou just nodded.

   
  “Okay, come on.”

  Konami turned off the shower, and it was only just then that Kentarou realized just how 
  
    cold 
  
  he was. The burning was gone, but now he was shivering. His shirt stuck to his body, leeching the heat from his bones.

  “I’m gonna go grab you some clothes, go ahead and dry off,” Konami handed him a towel, and then she was leaving the bathroom. 

  Kentarou 
  stood on shaky legs, pulling his shirt over his head. The wet garment fought him — and for a moment Kentarou felt like he was suffocating. His shorts were next, and soon Kentarou was standing in the shower in wet boxers, frozen to the bone.

  Drier now, but freezing.

  He was just stepping out of the shower, towel around his shoulders, when Konami returned. She placed the pile of folded clothes on the counter, taking Kentarou by the shoulder and sitting him down on the bathroom floor.

  “Let me see your arm,” Konami pulled the first aid kit from the cupboard, sitting down next to Kentarou.

  His arm was pretty scratched up. The skin peeled away in patches, raw angry spots peeking out from underneath. Kentarou had fundamentally scratched the skin off his arm in two places. His upper arm might’ve been bleeding, still. Not bad, but a slow ooze.

  “God, Ken,” Konami breathed for what felt like the billionth time that afternoon.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Kentarou didn’t like worrying his sister. She was so caring, and cared so much for him. He didn’t like making her worry. He tried not to. Obviously that hadn’t been working very well lately.

  “It’s okay,” she hummed, pulling a bottle of hydrogen peroxide out of the cupboard, unscrewing the cap.

  “Can we skip that step, please?” Kentarou murmured, eyeing the bottle. That sh@t 
  
    hurt.
  
   He didn’t get why they couldn’t just clean it with water.

  “I don’t want it getting infected,” Konami sighed, pulling Kentarou’s wrist towards her, “I’m sorry.”

  “Yea, but it hurts like a b@tch,” Kentarou whined, biting back curse words as she poured the liquid onto his arm. The spot on his forearm was burning all over again, but not the phantom burning, it 
  
    stung
  
  . The liquid bubbled and fizzed for a few moments before Konami was patting it dry, and wrapping soft gauze around his arm. 

  “You always hurt yourself in such inconvenient places,” Konami murmured as she worked, tending to the upper part of Kentarou’s arm now, “It’s so hard to bandage up without you looking like you just got mauled.”

  “Sorry,” Kentarou jabbed, enough energy had returned to his body to fight with his sister even the smallest bit, “I’ll make sure to scratch my skin off in a place that’s better for you.”

  “Oh, shut it,” Konami laughed, securing the wrap on Kentarou’s upper arm with a pin, “Go change now, you look like you’re about to freeze half to death.”

  “I am,” Kentarou mumbled, pushing Konami out of the bathroom.

  When the door shut behind her, Kentarou caught his gaze in the mirror. He looked exhausted. He hardly looked like himself. He looked tired. 

  Someone else stood in front of him in that bathroom. Someone with patchy scars on their legs and bandages wrapped around half his left arm. This guy looked broken and weak — Kentarou wasn’t broken and weak. He got angry and punched things, and yelled. He was one of the strongest players on Seijoh’s volleyball team, and he wasn’t sent spiraling at the sound of his teammates voice.

  Except he 
  
    was.
  

  Kentarou finished drying off, and changed into the clothes Konami brought for him. They were warm — like they just came out of the dryer. Maybe they did. She even brought him his favorite sweater. 

  Clothed once more, Kentarou looked a bit more like himself. Maybe it was partially the sweater with the dopey looking dog on it, or the fact that he couldn’t see the bandages under his sleeve, but Kentarou looked a bit more like himself.

  When he stepped out of the bathroom, Konami was waiting still, sitting outside in the hall, typing out a message on her phone.

  “Mom made dinner,” she stood from her spot on the floor, rising to meet Kentarou, “Ramen, how you like it.”

  Dinner was good. It 
  
    was
  
   made just how he liked it — the right combination of spices, and without compulsive instruction checking. He couldn’t force much down his throat, but what he did manage to eat was warm and comforting. His mom was a good cook.

  “Ken, c’mere,” Konami caught Kentarou as he was heading out of the kitchen, a pair of nail clippers in her hand. He let her trim his fingernails — he was planning on doing it anyways.

  Finally, Kentarou collapsed into his mom’s bed. He didn’t have the energy to haul himself up the stairs again. And his mom had the better television in her room. And it was his mom’s room. When he felt really bad, he liked to sleep in his mom’s bed. Even if she wasn’t right there, the smell and warmth made it feel like she was.

  He had just settled in when Konami stepped into the room with a pile of blankets in her arms, and as Kentarou snuggled under them he found that they had just been pulled from the dryer. Konami switched on the television as Kentarou found a place in her side, pulling up an old documentary series. He liked watching nature documentaries when he felt terrible. Something about it put his mind at rest, let him think of something else.

  Konami held him tightly to her chest — and Kentarou  felt safe. For the first time that day he felt somewhere close to 
  
    alright. 
  

  He didn’t even notice that he was drifting off until his mom was climbing into bed with him and Konami. The three of them only just fit on the bed, but they stayed there regardless. 

  The documentary on the television was talking about Antarctica, and the emperor penguins. How they would huddle together for warmth. Kentarou kind of felt like a penguin, sandwiched between his mom and sister.

  “Ken, honey,” his mom’s voice came through the silence, “Are things getting bad again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay.”
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼ 
 
  Kentarou had only been home for two days and he felt like he was going 
  
    insane. 
  
  His mom thought he had a concussion — so he was trapped in his house with a strict 
  
    no-screens 
  
  rule. Including his phone. 

  He suspected there were other reasons for that, but he didn’t bother pressing the issue. 

  A break from Shigeru wasn’t the worst thing in the world right now. 

  Eventually, though, he started missing his friends. Because first and foremost Shigeru was a 
  
    friend
  
  , and Kentarou liked being around him. 

  Finally, at the end of the week, Kentarou was allowed back to school. His mom watched him like a hawk that morning, ensuring that he ate and took his medication, but she let him leave. 

  Normally, Kentarou had a mild sort of disdain for going to class. He didn’t hate it, but it sure as hell wasn’t fun. Now however, compared to the dimly lit, screenless hell he’d be enduring the past few days? Class was heaven on earth. 

  He didn’t exactly have any clue what was happening, but he scribbled what he could in his notes. He’d figure it out later. 

  A lot of people were giving him weird looks. Kentarou knew why. His left arm was still snugly wrapped with gauze and athletic wrap — it was sure to garner attention. But it was too hot to 
  
    not 
  
  wear the summer uniform. Kentarou would take weird looks over being sweaty all day. 

  It wasn’t like he didn’t get weird looks anyways.

  He went to eat lunch with the guys on the volleyball team like normal.

  As he walked up to the table, they all looked at Kentarou like he would break at the smallest breeze.

  “I’m not going to explode, you know,” Kentarou sat down in an open spot between Iwaizumi and Kindaichi.

  “Are you okay?” Oikawa asked from his spot on Iwaizumi’s other side, leaning over to look at Kentarou.

  “I’m 
  
    fine,
  
  ” Kentarou grumbled. They had to be stupid and 
  
    care 
  
  about him and sh@t, and want to pry. Most of them only looked mildly confused — but Iwaizumi and Shigeru both wouldn’t stop glancing over to Kentarou. Shigeru especially. For the entire lunch period, his gaze kept flicking over to Kentarou, then back away when he realized that he was looking. Kentarou got sick of it pretty quick.

  “Can I talk to you in private?” Kentarou stood, looking across the table at Shigeru.

  He looked like he had been waiting for this the entire time.

  Kentarou picked up his things, and Shigeru followed suit. They found an empty hallway, and Kentarou turned to face him.

  “Are you okay?” The words tumbled out of Shigeru’s mouth like he had been holding them back for days. Maybe he had been. Kentarou expected texts when he got his phone back — there were none.

  “I’m 
  
    fine,
  
   Shige.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ken,” Shigeru breathed, guilt written all over his face, “I should’ve thought before I—”

  “It’s not your fault,” Kentarou stopped him before he really got going, “I was off my meds, and it was just bad timing. You didn’t do sh@t.”

  “But I—”

  “You didn’t do sh@t,” Kentarou repeated, “I don’t want you to be… tiptoeing around me because of this. I’m 
  
    fine,
  
   I need to learn how to deal with this. It’s not your job to fix it.”

  “I know, but I…” Shigeru paused, “I don’t like seeing you hurting like that.”

  “It’s the only way I can get better.”

  “I know,” Shigeru sighed, “I just wish there was a better way.”

  “Trust me, I wish there was too.”

  “So you took my advice? Started medication?”

  “I thought I told you?” Kentarou honestly thought he told Shigeru that he got the prescription. There was a lot going on, he supposed he easily could have forgotten.

  “No, you didn’t, you dumbass,” Shigeru laughed, shoving Kentarou’s shoulder.

  It didn’t burn so terribly this time.
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼ 
 
  “Y’know, Shigeru.”

  They were doing homework on Kentarou’s bed, knees pressed together and arms within reach.

  “You never did tell me why you’re not all 
  
    freaked out
  
   by my sh@t.”

  Kentarou had wanted to know just 
  
    why 
  
  Shigeru didn’t care since he told him. From the get go, Shigeru had only seemed mildly confused. Never uncomfortable. He got sick of waiting for Shigeru to tell Kentarou himself — so he was asking now.

  “Well, at first I was 
  
    really relieved,
  
  ” Shigeru laughed, and that made 
  
    no
  
   sense. Why the hell would he be relieved that Kentarou had some weird obsession over him?

  “I thought you hated me.”

  “That’s still to be determined.”

  The butterflies in Kentarou’s stomach were certainly inconvenient. Reason enough to hate Shigeru.

  “Yea, whatever,” Shigeru snorted. When he laughed, like 
  
    really
  
   laughed, Shigeru snorted. It was really funny, and 
  
    really adorable, 
  
  “And then I guess I… kind of liked the attention? Like I know you said it wasn’t in a romantic way, but I don’t know, it gave me a sort of hope. I guess.”

  
    Hold on.
  

  Was this what Kentarou thought it was?

  No, it couldn’t be.

  “It wasn’t,” Kentarou mumbled, not thinking much before the words tumbled out of his mouth. It suddenly felt like the air was heavy. The quiet was palpable — and if Kentarou raised his voice above a whisper, he’d break it.

  “
  
    Wasn’t?”
  

  
    “Yea.”
  

  The butterflies were back again.

  Had Shigeru been this close a few minutes ago?

  Still though, the only part of Kentarou that was touching Shigeru was his knee. He wanted more.

  “Can I touch you?” Shigeru breathed, hands hovering gingerly above Kentarou’s skin.

  Electricity buzzed in the open air between them as Kentarou was nodding yes, and then Shigeru’s hands were planted firmly on his knees. No, it was more his thighs. The burning feeling was higher up.

  
    “Can I kiss you?”
  

  Before the question had even left his mouth, Kentarou was pulling Shigeru closer and his entire body ignited as their lips connected. Shigeru’s hands tensed at their place on Kentarou’s thighs like he had been waiting for this moment for forever, and Kentarou supposed he had been too.

  Shigeru’s touch was no longer hot fire on Kentarou’s as his fingertips dragged along his skin, because the flames engulfed his entire body. It wasn’t possible to burn what was already charred.

  “Let me know if we need to stop,” Shigeru was mumbling into Kentarou’s lips, and Kentarou hardly listened, letting the other boy push him down against the pillows.

  Kentarou’s breath seized in his chest as Shigeru kissed him — lips moving against his with a sort of practiced ease. Kentarou didn’t realize Shigeru was 
  
    this good
  
   at this. 

  “This is okay?” Shigeru hummed while his hands crept under Kentarou’s shirt, voice warm on his face.

  “Take it off,” he wasn’t sure if he was speaking the words so much as he was breathing them, and Shigeru was pulling Kentarou’s shirt over his head. Within moments Shigeru’s was discarded as well — and the skin-to-skin contact was the most excruciatingly amazing thing Kentarou had ever felt.  

  It was easier than Kentarou expected to fall into something of a rhythm.

  It had been a long time since he kissed anyone. A long time since he kissed anybody he liked 
  
    this 
  
  much. With Mitsu, it was different. Kentarou liked her, but something about 
  
    this
  
   was different. Maybe it was the medication. The flames no longer consumed his consciousness — only gently lapping at the edges. Shigeru’s touch no longer sent him spiraling. 

  Or, it did. But in a good way. A really good way.

  Shigeru’s lips moved with his in a nice, easy pace. Not so fast that it felt rushed — but not so slow that Kentarou was starving for 
  
    more.
  

  At the beginning, Shigeru told Kentarou to let him know if they needed to stop. Kentarou wasn’t sure if he ever 
  
    wanted 
  
  to.

  Something just felt so 
  
    right
  
   about this. 

  Shigeru’s phone was buzzing where it sat on the nightstand, and then his lips were no longer on Kentarou’s. 

  “Please don’t stop,” Kentarou practically whined — not entirely of his own volition — as Shigeru pulled away. 

  “Ken,” Shigeru breathed a soft laugh, and Kentarou wanted to hear him say his name like that over and over until the end of time, “I need to answer my phone.”

  “No you don’t,” Kentarou huffed, blocking Shigeru’s arm as he reached for the nightstand. 

  “
  
    Ken
  
  ,” Shigeru hummed, voice so soft and 
  
    sugary sweet
  
  , “Let me answer my phone, okay?”

  With the absence of the pressure that was Shigeru’s body on his — Kentarou could feel the fire growing. Starting to engulf his body again, flames reaching inside his chest to set fire to his very heart. 

  Shigeru picked up his phone, and Kentarou was searching for his shirt on the floor and fleeing to the room next door. 

  “Nami,” he breathed, “I think I’m gay.”

  “Well judging by what I’ve been listening to for the past fifteen minutes, you’re right,” Konami scoffed, not even looking up from her phone, “You’re really loud.”

  The longer Kentarou stood in the doorway, the warmer the fire got, the more the flames dug their tendrils into his body and seized his lungs. The back of his neck burned — but then again, everything did. Kentarou didn’t even know where to start he had to make it 
  
    stop. 
  

  “Oh, Ken,” Konami looked up and her expression softened. She sat up in bed, reaching her arms out towards him. 

  Kentarou was falling into her arms before he knew it, and she held his hands tightly. She knew him and his compulsions too well. 

  “What the f@ck is wrong with me?” 

  The words ripped themselves from his throat as his body heaved with breaths that wouldn’t quite come, lungs that wouldn’t quite inflate, suffocated by the fire in his chest.

  “Nothing is wrong with you,” Konami breathed, and her voice shook. 

  Konami’s voice never shook. 

  She was always so sure of herself, so sure of what to do. What the hell was Kentarou supposed to do if Konami didn’t know?

  “Nothing’s wrong with you, Ken, I promise.”

  “Then why is this happening to me?” Kentarou could hardly find the strength to produce the words, his voice came out in hardly more than a whisper. 

  Because why 
  
    was 
  
  this happening to him? What did he do to deserve for the brush of someone’s fingertips to set his soul ablaze, engulfing his body in pain so agonizing yet so 
  
    invisible?
  

  “I don’t know.”

  Konami always had the answer. Why the f@ck didn’t she have the answer? What was Kentarou supposed to do?

  “Ken,” Konami breathed, “Do you need to go back?”

  
    Back. 
  

  It was almost a year ago now that Kentarou went to the treatment facility. Almost a year ago that he was diagnosed, almost a year ago that his entire life was turned upside down. Now it was upside down all over again. 

  “I don’t know.”

  Konami knew what the I don’t know meant — and then she was letting go of Kentarou and getting up out of her bed.

  “I’m gonna go call mom, are you gonna be okay for a few minutes?”

  As soon as Konami released her hold on Kentarou’s hands he could feel the urge to scratch at every patch of skin that even so much as tingled with the invisible flames — but he nodded. Kentarou tightened his hands into fists and took a deep breath. It would be fine — just a few minutes while Konami called their mother at work. She had an overnight patient to watch. 

  When Konami opened the door to her room — Shigeru was standing there, as if he was about to knock. 

  “I’m sorry,” Shigeru blurted out, and Konami looked back at Kentarou. A look that asked 
  
    is he okay?
  
   

  Kentarou was nodding before he could even think about it, and Konami whispered a few things to Shigeru before stepping out of the room and pulling her phone from her pocket. 

  “Can I hold you?”

  Shigeru’s voice was tentative as he asked, standing next to Konami’s bed where Kentarou still laid, stuck curled in an almost fetal position. 

  He couldn’t muster the energy for more than a nod. 

  Climbing onto the bed, Shigeru grabbed one of the blankets that was shoved to the corner, and wrapped it around Kentarou’s shoulders. 

  Shigeru held him through the blanket — wrapping the fabric tightly around him, holding onto Kentarou’s hands just as Konami had. He felt less inclined to scratch at the charred portions of his skin now. 

  Laying there like that — things were almost okay. The fire didn’t exactly go down, but it wasn’t getting worse, either. There was nothing to feed it now. Shigeru held Kentarou close to his chest but he wasn’t actually 
  
    touching 
  
  him so all that was left was the suffocating comfort of the pressure of Shigeru’s arms around him. 
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼ 
 
  The next morning, Kentarou got a ten minute phone call to say goodbye to Shigeru and tell him what he should tell the team. They didn’t know how long Kentarou would be there this time. 

  Then Kentarou’s phone was left on the counter, and they were leaving. 

  His mom took the day off work so she could drive him herself, but Konami came with anyways. 

  When they passed Kentarou off to his nurse — a man who, to Kentarou’s displeasure, reminded him vaguely of Oikawa Tooru — he could hardly make himself let go of his sister. She practically had to pry him off of her. 

  The treatment center helped last time, but it was still scary, being away from his mom and sister. Just like the last time, Kentarou was under basically twenty four hour surveillance. He was considered too much of a risk to himself. At least he got to shower with the door shut, and could shave his face under supervision. His face got scratchy within a few days without shaving — he didn’t like that. 

  There were some things that were different now, though. Last time he was in an indeterminate ward, since they didn’t exactly know what the hell was wrong with him. He was around all sorts of kids. 

  Now, however, he was staying in the same sector as a bunch of other kids with OCD. He felt a little more at ease, with people who he knew understood. Even if it wasn’t the same struggle, they got it.

  Kentarou was almost starting to enjoy it there when it was time to leave again. He felt a lot more… put together this time. Last time he left he was practically still in shambles — just with fancy new paperwork. 

  Now, however, he felt okay. Like he could deal with it and deal with it okay. The doctors helped him figure sh@t out — even the always peppy Oikawa lookalike who Kentarou only sort of wanted to punch the entire time. He kind of grew on Kentarou after the first time the nurse wrestled him to the ground. He probably wouldn’t have had to if Kentarou didn’t fight back — but he couldn’t not fight back. Stubborn was one thing he prided himself on. 

  “Ken!” Shigeru’s face lit up when Kentarou walked into the gym a few weeks later. He did an awkward sort of trot, half-running, half-walking over to Kentarou, stopping just short. His hands hovered in the air like he was about to reach out to touch Kentarou, but stopped right before, “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  And Kentarou meant it. 

  “My nurse looked like Captain Asskawa.”

  “Hey, be nice to him,” Shigeru laughed, the smile on his face hardly faltering, “He was worried about you, actually.”

  “Was he worried about me or the team without me?” Kentarou joked.

  “Oh, shut up, he has a heart.”

  Shigeru was practically vibrating, fidgeting with his hands and chewing on his lip.

  “You can ask, you know.”

  Kentarou could tell when Shigeru wanted to say something by now. He got all weird and tense and… like 
  
    that. 
  

  “Can I give you a hug?”

  “
  
    Yes
  
  ,” Kentarou hardly had time to laugh before Shigeru’s arms were around his shoulders and he was holding Kentarou tighter than he ever had before. 

  “I missed you.”

  Shigeru had his face buried in Kentarou’s shoulder, but it didn’t bother him so much. Between the time away and the time away being where he was — there was little more than an unpleasant tingling feeling under his skin. 

  “I missed you too.”

  “Earth to Kyouken and Shige!”

  A disgustingly familiar voice yelled out across the gym. The one thing Kentarou’s nurse didn’t have in common with Oikawa was his voice. Oikawa’s tone was higher and more punchable, his nurse just had a normal voice. More normal than the captain’s, at least. 

  “Yea, I’m 
  
    coming
  
  ,” Shigeru whined, detaching himself from Kentarou as he walked over to the captain. 

  “Watch the attitude, you little b@st@rd.”

  “
  
    You
  
   watch the attitude,” Shigeru jabbed back, turning to make sure Kentarou was following him. He was. 

  It didn’t even send a twinge of pain through his body when Oikawa was throwing an arm around Shigeru’s shoulder. 
 
  ☼            ☼            ☼ 
 
  Things were better. 

  It had been a few weeks, and things were better. Not perfect, but definitely better. 

  Obviously Shigeru and the psych ward didn’t fix 
  
    everything, 
  
  but Kentarou was starting therapy. Some special kind. CBT, or something. 

  He was learning a lot about his OCD, too. When he was ignoring it, Kentarou didn’t exactly have much motivation to do any research. As far as he was concerned, the diagnosis was just words on a paper. 

  The burning of his flesh was something called a psychosomatic symptom — there was no physical cause, and was really just stress related. Which was why it got so bad when he was having a bad day already. He was learning coping methods for the compulsions, as well as how to just… shut them up. Because sometimes he just had to say 
  
    f@ck it 
  
  and trust himself that he did something correctly, and he didn’t have to double or triple check it. 

  And some things just… faded. Kentarou’s medicine evened out, serotonin levels stabilized, and things just started getting better. 

  He could kiss Shigeru without his entire body igniting. Kentarou still preferred warnings and such, but it was far better. 

  Shigeru was amazing, too. He never forgot to ask before touching Kentarou, almost to the point where it got annoying. Sometimes he 
  
    really 
  
  wanted to punch Shigeru in the face to shut him up. But like, in a loving way. 

  Kentarou still hadn’t told his mom about Shigeru, though. That was something he wanted to keep to himself for just a little bit longer. Well, to himself and Konami. But Konami hardly counted, he told her everything. 

  It was getting really easy, the way things were now. The school year was winding down, final exams finally finished, and Kentarou could actually 
  
    kiss 
  
  his boyfriend instead of studying. It was nice, for once, to enjoy Shigeru’s company without their textbooks open two feet away. 

  Until it wasn’t. 

  Shigeru’s palms began to sear into Kentarou’s shoulders where they rested — and he couldn’t take his mind off of it. Anything he tried just made it worse. 

  “Shige—“ he breathed, pulling Shigeru’s hands off of him, “I need a second.”

  Shigeru sat up without hesitation, climbing off of Kentarou like he was on fire. Kentarou felt like he was. 

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No, it’s—“ Kentarou shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, “It’s fine. I got it.”

  There was a thing he was supposed to do. A thing his therapist told him should help but he couldn’t remember what it was. Something that would offset the white-hot fire in his skin. 

  His hands creeped up to scratch at the skin — and it was then that he realized. He planted his hands firmly on the seared patches, only to immediately find that his skin was perfectly cool. Just as it should be. Not burning with the heat of a falsified flame. 

  Kentarou’s breathing returned to normal, and when he opened his eyes he found Shigeru sitting there, blanket in his arms. 

  He held them out, blanket stretching across his body, and Kentarou happily fell into the cocoon of warmth and soft fabric of the blanket. 

  He wasn’t fixed, but he was getting there, and that was good enough. For now, at least.'
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