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Tendou Satori had been called many things as he grew up.
‘Monster’ was, of course, always popular. The kids liked to shout it at him on the playground or write it on his classwork, or even shove notes of it in his locker when a teacher wasn’t looking. It was easy to deal with for the most part; Tendou took well to the act of not caring, at least in the moment.
It was also easy to hide. His mother could never really believe that her son was anything but popular, and it was easier to let her believe what she couldn’t see than try to explain why he didn’t like school. He let her believe it was the homework, or the early mornings, really anything other than what it was.
He had to be normal, was what his mother always said. “Your soulmate will hold ideals about you for their whole lives,” she would say. “You really want them to think you’re weird? Just try to behave like the other kids, Satori, please?”
Who was Tendou to tell her no? So he nodded and apologized for whatever it was he’d done wrong. Life moved on, but it didn’t get any easier.
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“I just don’t understand,” his mother sighed, brows pinched together. “What made you feel this way? You are a very giving young man, Satori. Who made you think you weren’t?”
He was a few weeks into senior high, and it seemed his mother still hadn’t realized what an oddity Tendou was amongst his peers. He’d walked home soaked from a group of boys dumping their waters on him, and all she could ask was what he had done to provoke them. The conversation had devolved from it not being his fault to Tendou making a comment about people not liking him.
You, Tendou wanted to say, but he settled for something else. “Kids weren’t very nice to me in school growing up, you know? They still aren’t.”
“Why wouldn’t they be nice to you?” His mother sighed again, long and heavy. “You know, Tendou, I think you have this all wrong. I think those kids were just trying to make friends with you.”
“I promise they weren’t,” Tendou said, and he couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped. “But it’s fine. I’m working on it, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“I’ll always worry about you, Satori,” his mother said, with her voice pitched up as if she were talking to a small child. “You’re my child.”
Satori tried not to let it bother him but damn did he hate it when she talked to him like that. It was like he was still 10, like the last six years of him growing up were nonexistent. But saying something wouldn’t change her, so he just hugged her back and let the topic fall.
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There was one summer that, between volleyball and summer classwork, his mother had dragged him out to the countryside to clean up his grandmother’s old farmhouse. Tendou had hated every second of it. Not because of the work itself; he didn’t mind helping his grandmother. Rather it was the company and the sleeping conditions that really got to him.
His mother’s side of the family had always been unafraid to voice their opinions, and that didn’t stop at their opinions of him. They pushed and pulled at every part of him. from the way he walked to the way he worked to the way he spoke, until there was little left at all for them to criticize. Not only that, the house was small enough that he was forced to share a room with his mother, during which he simply could not sleep just for the knowledge that she was in the room.
When he had timidly asked if his aunts and their soulmates would be able to finish up without them while they were driving home she had broken down, first in anger then in some kind of twisted self pity.
“How could I have raised such a selfish child?” His mother shouted, still sobbing pathetically. “I raised you better, Satori. Where did I go wrong?”
Tendou curled into himself in the passenger seat, wishing desperately to be anywhere but stuck in a car with his fuming mother. There really was something truly pathetic about the way she was crying, and something in Tendou snapped.
“I don’t ask for much,” she continued. “Just some help sometimes when I need it, you know? You can’t even give me that?”
No, Tendou wanted to say. Because you and all my aunts and uncles make me uncomfortable. Because I can’t sleep in the same room as you. Because you all pick and pick at every part of me then wonder why I ended up this way.
But he can’t say that. Because no matter how hard she’s crying right now, how badly Tendou wants to crawl out of his skin, he knows his mother loves him. He knows it with every picked-at piece of him that she had always, and would always, love him with every torn-up piece of her.
“Your soulmate won’t want you like this,” she cried, “and then what will you do? Live in my house forever, unable to make it on your own? You won’t be able to even keep a job, Satori, let alone get someone to like you enough to move in with you. Oh, I just don’t understand how I messed up so badly with raising you.”
She was quiet for a few moments, then, until she whispered words that would never leave him. “You really are a monster.”
Every word she said hurt. It was hard to block it out, hard to block her out with the way she was wailing. So he let her talk, and talk, and talk, and stared out at the stars that dotted the sky. Later he knew he wouldn’t remember hardly any of the conversation. He would only remember the parts that hurt the most. The rest would cling like cobwebs, the words themselves out of reach but the way they made him feel sticking to his skin like a second layer.
The last forty minutes or so of the drive was quiet, and even that was unbearable. All that was left was his mother, sobbing hiccups in the driver seat, and Satori, curled in the passenger seat and so, so numb.
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Ushijima Wakatoshi was like a breath of fresh air. He was like stepping out of a hot room on a cool autumn night, like surfacing in a sea of stars after drowning for years.
It wasn’t immediate–at least, Tendou didn’t feel like it was–but it was certainly the fastest Tendou had ever become fond of someone. They went from volleyball partners to friends to something else, something more real than Tendou had ever known.
Showing his soulmark had been an accident. He was at Ushijima’s house for dinner; apparently, his green-haired companion had talked about him enough to get his parents curious, and eventually they got fed up with not having a name for the face and demanded he come over. Of course, Tendou had made a fool of himself not ten minutes in and had spilled curry down the front of his shirt.
“It will be too big,” Ushijima said, tossing a t-shirt his way.
“Better than nothing.” Tendou shrugged, face still flame-red from embarrassment. “Man, I can’t believe I did that.”
“It’s fine.”
To others it sounded forced, like a false placation, but Tendou could pick up on the sincerity in the ace’s tone. Ushijima wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it, so Tendou pulled his curry-stained shirt over his head without a second thought, nearly jumping out of his skin when Ushijima slammed his dresser drawer back into place.
Tendou turned to look at him, halfway through getting a new shirt on, but any words died in his throat. Ushijima was staring, no, scrutinizing him. It wasn’t obvious, not to an outsider, but Tendou could see the way his friend’s eyes had narrowed, how his lips were just slightly parted. It was an expression Tendou had never seen on him before, and certainly not directed at him.
“You… uh… Ushi?” Tendou stuttered, for once in his life at a loss for words. Ushijima just stared, until he suddenly lurched forward as though he just remembered that he could move. He stumbled to a stop, mere inches away from Tendou. One large, steady hand reached out, gently pulling at Tendou’s forearm. His fingertips nearly brushed his soulmark, but he pulled back just enough to avoid it.
“These aren’t freckles,” Ushijima said, voice soft and monotone.
“No.”
“This is your soulmark.”
“Yeah,” Tendou shrugged, confused. “It’s not much, I know. Kinda lame, actually–”
He was silenced by Ushijima pulling away and, in one smooth motion, pulling his own shirt over his head. First because damn Ushijima, maybe a date first? But then because oh– oh.
There, on Ushijima’s forearm, a smattering of dots that could have also passed as freckles if not for the way they were placed identically to Tendou’s own. Tendou reached out, as if entranced, stopping just shy of Ushijima’s tanned skin.
No explanation was needed, then. Ushijima reached out first, calloused skin meeting the smooth length of Tendou’s forearm reverently. It felt a little like the world exploded behind Tendou’s eyelids, and for a moment his vision was nothing more than a blur of light and color, but it passed within a few moments and from a careful hand cradling his face. Tendou reached out, grasped Ushijima’s forearm, and watched as lines began to expand between the dots until a constellation was formed.
It took a moment of studying it to realize what it was, and before he knew it he was crying. It was a bird, of course it was, the silhouette of some kind of eagle outlined against both of their skin. Ushijima pressed closer to him, hand pressing more firm to the side of his face.
“You’re crying.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Tendou sniffled. “It’s okay– I’m okay–”
“Breathe, Satori,” Ushijima instructed, quiet and firm. “I have you.”
By the time they made it back downstairs, Tendou had mostly composed himself. Ushijima’s parents had evidently sensed that something had happened; they had eaten already, and set the rest of the food in the microwave to keep warm. Tendou was the one to show them, thrusting his own forearm out, pulling at Ushijima’s wrist until he did the same.
He let himself be pulled into a group hug, grinning at Ushijima over his mother’s shoulder. It didn’t fix everything; Tendou was still scared, still shaking. He hadn’t told his mother, nor could he even begin to guess how she would react. It was a start, though.
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Nothing changed, really. Tendou and Ushijima were still just them, just each other’s best friend, but there was more, too. There were forehead kisses and family dinners, and teasing from their teammates and, eventually, a dorm together at Shiratorizawa. Not until their third year, of course, when they were confident in the direction their relationship was going, but it was still better than rooming separately and pining from a distance. That was when the flower tradition started.
They had the day off classes and practice. Ushijima was caught up in something with his parents, leaving Tendou to his own devices. He’d taken a train to central Tokyo to explore and had stumbled upon a little flower shop. He’d only meant to poke inside, but the smell and the sight of all the plants made him more nostalgic than he cared to admit.
He wandered the aisles aimlessly, running his hands over leaves and petals and stems until he felt a small prick. He jumped, pulling his hand back, watching blood well up from the small wound, and glanced up to see the source.
A wall of roses met his eyes, organized into small bouquets by color. As if entranced, he reached out for the yellow rose that had pricked him, gently tugging the group of them from the wall. He would never tell Ushijima this, but his green-tinted hair had always reminded him of dark flower stems, and the yellow roses he held were a perfect example of it. He wasn’t sure if Ushijima would let him, but suddenly he had to know what his soulmate would look like with flowers in his hair.
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Ushijima looked beautiful with yellow roses in his hair.
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Telling his mother he found his soulmate was the best and worst thing Tendou had ever done.
She’d been happy at first. “Ushijima is a wonderful young man,” she’d gushed. “Oh, Satori, I’m so happy for you!”
“Yeah, he’s pretty great,” Tendou said awkwardly. “I’m lucky to have him.”
Something about that statement must have sparked something in her, because suddenly her smile fell flat. “You are,” she agreed. “You are very lucky to have gotten him as a soulmate. I only wish he felt the same about you.”
There were so many things wrong with that statement, mainly who would say that to their own child? But what was worse was the way a void opened in Tendou’s chest, like the floor had dropped out from under his feet. The high he’d been riding since they’d found out was ripped away with brutal force, leaving him numb.
“He seemed happy?” Tendou managed through the lump in his throat. “He’s– we’ve been best friends for years now, mom.”
“Yes, yes, and that’s all lovely,” she waved it off. “But we’re talking about soulmates here, Satori.”
She muttered the next part of her sentence. Tendou doesn’t think he was meant to hear it, but he did. He heard it as if she’d said it right into his ear, as if her voice were the only thing left in the world.
“Nobody wants a monster for a soulmate.”
“I just thought you should know,” Tendou said, acting as if he truly didn’t hear her. “I’ll introduce you to him at some point over the summer, okay?”
She didn’t answer, and really Tendou didn’t want to know what she thought anymore. He slipped out the back door, sitting on the porch to stare out at the stars. His eyes traced the constellations in the sky while his fingers traced the one on his arm.
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Tendou couldn’t avoid introducing his soulmate to his family forever. He didn’t want to, selfishly; he didn’t want to share his little pocket of good with his family, not with the danger that they could drive him away forever. It couldn’t be helped, though, so when Tendou got too fed up with the sly remarks and the shameless begging that came from his family, he organized a dinner where they all could meet him.
It wasn’t perfect. Really, it was horrible. Not even an hour in, the topic of his grandmother’s farmhouse hit the table. Tendou wanted to run, to hide, feeling that old panic well up in him. He’d been ready for ridicule, for snide remarks from his mother. He gripped Ushijima’s hand tighter, and he knew his soulmate noticed when he shifted his grip, too. He wasn’t ready for her to lie.
“Oh, Satori was so sweet for wanting to help,” she gushed. “I told him he didn’t have to, but you know how he is. He wanted to help more, but by the time we could’ve headed back the work was mostly done, you know?”
“How cute,” his aunt said, looking at Tendou. “You really were such a sweet young man, Satori.”
Tendou was rising from his seat before he could stop himself, wheezing a rushed excuse as he went. He stumbled into the nearest bathroom and practically slammed the door, breaths heavy and short. He gripped the edge of the sink, staring into his reflection to meet angry red eyes.
It wasn’t fair. Tendou moved to stare at the soulmark on his arm and nearly felt sick. He had told Ushijima about this already, about the work and his family and the car ride home. He felt fake, now. He felt crazy. He felt like everything his mother had said had been a dream, or a hallucination. It was so frustrating that only a few words could knock the ground out from under him, could shake the frame of his reality so bad he began to question every memory he had.
The door rattled under a few harsh knocks. “Tendou.”
“No,” Tendou said. “I’m fine. Go back to the table.”
“Satori. Door. Now.”
And really, who was Tendou to resist?
Ushijima tugged him into his arms the moment the door opened. Tendou went easily, as he always did when his soulmate was involved. It was as easy as breathing to fall into him, letting him pull his pieces back together with red string and careful hands. Once Tendou started talking it was like he couldn’t stop.
“There’s so much wrong, ya know? I mean– they want me to grow up, they want me to stay young, they miss how I used to be but they also used to hate me? I just don’t know what they want from me.”
Ushijima was silent, always silent, but he held Tendou a little tighter through his shaking. Tendou held on just as tight, trying hard to get rid of the feeling of something missing that had been settled in his chest since he was a child. It wasn’t that Ushijima wasn’t enough (though somewhere in the back of his mind, that didn’t feel right, either.) It was that he wasn’t.
“I’m trying to understand her,” Tendou muttered, pressing his cheek to Ushijima’s shoulder. “I want to understand her. I hate feeling like this.”
“It will pass,” Ushijima said, like it was that simple.
Maybe it was. Maybe all Tendou had to do was wait it out, let time and distance heal what it seemed like no words could. He couldn’t change how his mother grew up, nor could he change the way she had raised him. Maybe all they needed was what they had never given each other: space.
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Eventually, Ushijima couldn’t stand to see Tendou so sad whenever he saw his mother, nor could he stand the way Tendou was pulling away from him, the fear of his mother being right putting a wall between them.
“What did she say?” Ushijima asked, sitting on his bed across the room. They had just finished moving into their dorm. “Or was it something I did?”
“Nothing,” Tendou said vehemently. “It wasn’t anything you did, Ushi. Please don’t think that.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
“Do you– I mean. Are you happy? With me as a soulmate?”
“...what?”
Ushijima stared at him with that same look he had when he first saw his soulmark. It was like he was trying to figure out what, exactly, Tendou meant without asking. They stared at each other, Tendou wide-eyed as Ushijima studied him. Rain poured outside, the sound of thunder and running water filling the silence. It was a long time before he spoke again.
“Are you unhappy with me, Satori?”
“No,” Tendou said. “No, not at all. Just– humor me?”
Ushijima rose from his bed, and for a moment the world dropped from beneath Tendou’s feet. He was ready for Ushijima to storm to the door, to be angry at Tendou for insinuating that he was anything but happy, but he didn’t.
He crossed the room in a few long strides, dropping down to kneel at Tendou’s feet. He took his hands into his, pulling them towards his own chest. Lightning flashed, and not a moment later thunder struck. The room fell into darkness, the overhead light blinking a few times before turning off completely. Illuminated by the dim light of the storm outside, Ushijima began to speak.
“She is wrong,” he said, pressing Tendou’s palms to his heartbeat. Tendou felt the gentle pulse in the tips of his fingers, felt the man’s warmth spread from his hands to warm the parts of Tendou that had been so scared, to coax him into even breaths. “You are not a monster, Satori Tendou. You are mine with every part of you, just as all of me is yours. And it is more than this.”
One hand left Tendou’s to trace the lines of the bird on his forearm, then reached up to press to the side of his face. “You are more than your soulmark, Tendou. You are more than my soulmate. Whatever it is she has told you? Be rid of it.”
“Nobody wants a monster as a soulmate,” Tendou whispered, pushing his hand more firmly against Ushijima’s chest. “You won’t be happy forever. I don’t think I can make you happy forever.”
“Do not speak for me.” Ushijima brought one of Tendou’s hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to his palm with a whispered promise. “I will spend the rest of my life convincing you that I love you, Satori.”
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Tendou, once their third year started, stopped talking to his mother.
It wasn’t gradual. It was simple; he didn’t call her one morning, she never texted. It was like they simultaneously gave up. Tendou focused on his studies, she focused on work, and thus was born the space that they both seemed to want.
“It’s weird,” Tendou admitted, staring down at his phone after a week of radio silence. “I mean– I know this is what I was going for? She made me feel unwanted before I even knew I had a soulmate to want me. She had no right to do that to me.”
Tendou was just repeating Ushijima’s words back at him, and he knew it, but Ushijima didn’t say anything. He just set his hand on Tendou’s shoulder and pulled him into his side, taking Tendou’s phone and turning it over on the counter.
“She still loves me,” Tendou said. “She just– needs to realize how it hurt me.”
Tendou didn’t know if he was trying to convince Ushijima, his mother, or himself.
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Tendou didn’t meet Hinata Shoyo until well into their third year of senior high. He’d heard of him, of course; some of his teammates had gone to the junior high game he had appeared in, and had told him all about it once the rumor that Karasuno was rising in the ranks began circling.
Really, it was no rumor. The evidence was plain; the Karasuno Crows were taking flight once again, slowly but surely climbing the food chain. Tendou wondered, a little giddy, how long it would take to get to play them in a proper match.
Tendou’s parents didn’t come to his matches anymore. Or, if they did, they spent them hiding in the crowd. It wasn’t a big deal; if there was one thing Tendou didn’t need his mother’s validation for, it was volleyball. He almost wished they would’ve, though, just to see the way Hinata flew across the court. Even if it meant they had to see him lose to him not once, but twice.
“If I had to lose,” Tendou said, stopping in the lineup while shaking Hinata’s hands, “I’m glad it was to you. Give them hell at Nationals, little bird.”
Hinata stared up at him like he’d hung the moon, jumping up to Tendou’s height in excitement. Tendou thought he saw something, a set of freckles on Hinata’s arm that looked sickeningly familiar, but then the little middle-blocker was gone, off to shake the next person’s hand, calling out an affirmation to Tendou as he went.
“We will, monster-blocker!”
It should’ve hurt. As much fun as Tendou had playing as a guess blocker, he hated the title it had given him. No doubt it was started by someone he used to know; it hit too close to home to be coincidental. But Hinata said it with reverence, like it was something to be proud of. For most of his life, it hadn’t been. Tendou was the Monster of both Shiratorizawa and his family, and he knew that was where his volleyball legacy would end. Despite this, despite knowing that this game would be his last, he looked to the ceiling and smiled.
Standing on a court Tendou knew he would never play on again, he let himself be just a little proud.
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It all came to a head at graduation. He could hardly believe he’d even made it that far, standing with Ushijima after the ceremony ended. His underclassmen were crowded around him, tears in more than a few eyes as they said goodbye. They were walking away when Tendou’s world stopped.
His mother was picking her way through the crowd, his father in tow. He hadn’t even seen them, didn’t even know they were there, then all of a sudden they were in front of him.
“Congratulations, Satori,” his father said warmly, pulling him into an awkward hug. “We’re very proud of you, kid.”
“Thanks,” Tendou choked out. “And– thanks for coming.”
“Of course,” his father said, then stepped away.
Tendou’s eyes met his mother’s, and it was like the world stopped turning. His focus narrowed down to just her. The stadium disappeared, leaving the two of them to stand and stare and wait.
“Hi, mom,” Tendou said, hating the way it brought tears to his eyes.
“Satori,” she said, her eyes looking at him, then Ushijima, then him again. “You look well.”
“I am. So do you.”
“Satori–”
“Can we–”
“You first.” She smiled.
“Can we talk?” Satori asked, feeling the way Ushijima’s hand tightened around his own.
“Of course we can.” Her smile brightened, and for a moment the months of no contact disappeared. “Why don’t you both come over for dinner?”
“Yeah,” Tendou said, smiling back at her. “Let me just…”
He made a vague gesture, trying to think of a reason to procrastinate, but she just smiled again. “Of course, of course. Finish up here. Come by in the evening, sweetheart, we’ll have dinner done by then.”
“Yeah. Uh. See you later?”
His mother leaned in for a hug that he cautiously accepted, and he couldn’t help the way he leaned into her. “See you later, Satori.”
She walked away, then, with his father waving one last goodbye before turning to follow her. The whole interaction left Tendou drained in a different way than the ceremony had. This, more than graduation, was where everything changed. He leaned into Ushijima, who had watched everything with a critical eye, no doubt ready to step in should his mother have said something untoward.
“Let’s go home,” Ushijima said, beginning to pull Tendou from the stadium. Of course, they no longer had their dorm, but Ushijima’s parents had already gone home and would welcome the intrusion.
Tendou spent the entire three and a half hours at Ushijima’s house doom spiraling, plus a half hour of actually pulling himself together and getting ready. By the time they were leaving his house, Tendou felt mostly ready.
It wasn’t like Tendou didn’t want to see his parents; on the contrary, he’d missed them a lot more than he would care to admit. He’d just spent so long hating them, so long being hated by them, that he didn’t know how to love them anymore. There was so much bad blood, so many unspoken words between them. Tendou had grown since junior high. He’d learned how to love. He’d loved Ushijima, and had been loved by his parents. He’d grown so used to life without them: was it possible for them to be part of it again?
At the same time, he had to do this. He had to know if this was fixable or not, otherwise he’d spend his whole life wondering whether he truly should have thrown it all away. They had made him feel worthless. His mother had made him feel unloved for so long no matter how hard she’d tried, and Tendou is sure he hurt her back just as bad. Despite that, despite the hurt and the anger, there was fear. Could he really spend the rest of his life without his parents?
“You don’t have to do this,” Ushijima said softly on the walk over. “We will understand.”
“I do,” Tendou whispered, looking into Ushijima’s sunset-cast eyes. “I have to know if we can fix this.”
Ushijima stared at him for a few moments, surveying him for any sign of hesitance. When he found none, he nodded. “Alright.”
Walking back into his parents’ house felt surreal. He knew everything about this place; he’d grown up here. At the same time, it felt like he had stepped into foreign territory. Nothing felt the same anymore; they’d gotten a new rug while he was gone, and the kitchen cabinets were green instead of blue. It was enough of a difference to open up that cave in his chest, the one that was scared he had already lost them forever.
“Welcome, welcome!” His mother ushered them further into the house, herding them towards the dining room. “Let’s eat a good meal first, hm? We can talk after dinner.”
Eating felt much the same as it had at that dinner party. Tendou’s pleasantries were forced, and he could tell his parents’ were, too. The only person who seemed even marginally relaxed was Ushijima, though Tendou knew it was mostly an act. As soon as they all were done eating, his father stood.
“Ushijima and I will do dishes,” he said, beginning to gather all the plates from the table. “Why don’t you two get comfortable in the living room?”
Ushijima rose from his seat, but he hesitated until Tendou reached out and nudged at his arm. Go. He had to do this alone.
He and his mother sat on opposite sides of the sofa, curled up and facing each other. Tendou expected his mother to start, to tell him how much his distance had hurt her, but she didn’t. She just smiled and said, “Go on, Satori. I think it’s your turn to talk first, this time.”
“What you said really hurt me,” Tendou choked out. “And it wasn’t just that time. You pressured me so much about being normal for my soulmate without actually knowing who they were. You made me feel unwanted, both by him and you. You couldn’t seem to decide whether you wanted me to grow up or stay young forever. I just– you hurt me, mom.”
It was like he couldn’t stop, once he’d started. It all rushed out of him; the bullies at school, the comments about his soulmate, the judgements and the hypocrisy and the way he’d felt so, so small when she’d called him a monster, too. His mother sat through all of it, that sad smile never leaving her face even as she began to cry.
“I’m sorry,” Tendou said. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you mom, I know I have, but this has to stop. I want–”
I want to love you again, he almost said. “I want to be your son again.”
“You have always been my son, Satori,” his mother said. “You always will be, no matter what. I know this won’t just fix it, but I never meant to hurt you.” Tendou bristled, ready to cut her off, but she continued. “That doesn’t erase it, though, does it? I’m sorry, Satori.”
“I can’t forgive you,” Tendou whispered. “But–” he struggled, trying to find the words to convey the way the black hole in his chest was healing.
“You don’t have to, sweetheart. I would never expect you to.”
She reached out a hand, and Tendou took it, sniffling. “We can work this out, Satori. And–” she paused then, considering her words. “I will try harder, too. Let’s start by letting me meet this soulmate of yours properly, hm?”
They were both sniffling at this point, past the point of tears, and Tendou laughed wetly. “Yeah. You’ll love him, mom. He’s amazing.”
“I can’t wait, then.” She smiled, squeezing his hand a little tighter. She sounded tired. “Let’s save it for another night though, hm? Do you have somewhere to sleep?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t say where. She didn’t ask.
“Then I’ll text you tomorrow, honey. I love you, Satori.”
“I love you too, mom.” And for the first time in years, Tendou meant it.
｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✧໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ
It got better from there. It was strange, how his mother went from estranged to his most fierce protector (well, other than Ushijima). It made a monster of Tendou, one that jumped to the defense of anyone who began to question themselves in the face of their soulmate, or any time someone else made them feel that way. But it cured the monster inside of him, too. It let him hug his mother goodbye when he left for university, and let them call every morning again.
Tendou had been afraid that the price he’d paid for happiness was his parents’ love. He’d spent so long believing there couldn’t be one without the other. He was lucky, for once, that he was wrong. Lucky that there was enough grace in both of them to move past it.
Eventually, the bad blood would dry and flake away, drift off into the wind, paint the sky in the sunset hues Tendou used to watch with his mother as a child.
It would sparkle like stardust.✧