Chapter Text
“Speaking”
‘Thinking’ (Thoughts Saiki can hear)
‘Repressed thoughts’ (Saiki can’t hear)
“Saiki speaking”
+++
“Are you mad at me?” Toritsuka knew it was a stupid question. Of course Saiki was mad, Toritsuka had just tried to kill him!
“Not at all,” Saiki responded, and for a moment — just a moment — Toritsuka believed him. And then he saw his face. Had he been in his right mind, Toritusuka would’ve realized that the exaggerated features were meant to be a joke. But he was exhausted after a week of having his mind poked and prodded and altered and rewritten.
“Your face is scary! I’m sorry!” He bowed slightly, still unsure of how to tell when Saiki was joking.
Which Saiki definitely didn’t help with.
“I’m just kidding,” Saiki said, “I’m actually a little grateful.” And Toritsuka wished he could let himself believe that.
+++
“Toritsuka! Wake up!” Mr. Matsuzaki’s voice startled Toritsuka awake, making him jolt in his seat. He was in detention.
‘And it’s all Saiki’s fault.’ Toritsuka felt comfortable thinking that, he knew he was well out of Saiki’s 200 meter range. Because while he was stuck in detention for something that ‘isn’t even my fault this time’, Saiki was sitting in his room, probably feeling smug as ever. And Toritsuka hated him.
…Well, that’s what he wanted to believe. But, truth be told, Toritsuka could never hate Saiki.
Even if he wanted to.
Even if Saiki had thrown him out a window.
Even if Saiki had insulted him every chance he got.
Even if Saiki had sent him right back to this goddamned school without a uniform, knowing Toritsuka would get detention.
Even if Saiki ignored Toritsuka’s pleas to teleport him home, because he was so fucking exhausted and he felt like crying because his brain was so confused and he barely knew what was going on and he missed his bed and nobody even realized he was gone.
Because Saiki had protected Toritsuka. No matter how often Saiki said he should let Toritsuka die, how often he said the world would be better off, how often he said everyone would be happier, how often Toritsuka believed him, he had protected Toritsuka. And that made it all okay.
…
“Sorry, sir,” Toritsuka didn’t make eye contact with Mr. Matsuzaki, too scared of what he’d see. “It won’t happen again.”
…
It didn’t feel okay.
+++
Toritsuka was basically asleep before his head even hit the pillow. You’d think he’d be well rested – he was basically unconscious for a whole week! But for some strange, inexplicable reason, having someone fuck with your brain makes it a bit difficult to get a good nights sleep.
He was so happy to see his bed that he cried tears of joy.
Wait- those weren’t happy tears. Those were the tears of someone who was just brainwashed and forced to try and kill one of his closest friends, only to realize said friend hadn’t even noticed his week-long disappearance. No one did. Well, not no one. The ghosts had asked about him, even said they missed him. That really did make him shed a tear of joy.
But he couldn’t touch ghosts, and he so desperately wanted to touch someone, anyone, just so their warmth could erase the icy cold fingers of the scientist. And he didn’t want sex or anything perverted like that. Despite his personality, he’s not actually thinking about boobs and women 24/7. However, he’s friends with someone who can read minds, and those are some of the easiest things to mask his real thoughts with.
And if he was being honest with himself (which he never would be), the thought of touching some like that — or worse, having them touch him — was making him a bit nauseous.
“I just want a hug,” He whispered, and the tears that had been slowly falling down his face quickly turned into muffled sobs. He curled into himself and cried and cried and cried. He hadn’t let himself cry like this for a long time, but there was just so much and he couldn’t hold it in. He cried because he was lonely and afraid, he cried because he was still confused and couldn’t tell which thoughts were really his, and he cried because of those other awful things that he never wanted to think about again because they all made him feel sick.
And he cried because he felt weak.
And he cried because he felt useless.
And he cried because he was all alone.
And he cried until his body was too tired and drained to cry anymore. So he closed his eyes, and finally laid down.
Sometimes the ghosts would whisper to him at night. They’d tell stories, try and start conversations, or just talk about random ghost shit.
But tonight, they left him alone.
He wished he could say he had a dreamless sleep.