Chapter Text
Ittetsu Takeda adjusted the glasses on his nose. Before him were six boys: some of them tall, athletic; others short and scrawny, each in this room for all manner of different reasons. Some sat in their plastic chairs awkwardly, with their hands folded stiffly in front of them, but others were lazily slouched with rolled eyes. They were each unique and interesting and severely unwell in their own, special way. And here they all were, together for the first time.
Takeda had learned a little about these boys in the last few days. Only a touch of information; the barest gist of what might be going on in their young, guilt-addled minds. One of them was bullied his entire childhood. One of them didn’t eat enough. One of them had suffered a suicide in the family. One of them had been uprooted by false allegations. One of them suffered panic attacks. One of them had watched a sibling die.
He didn’t know which was which.
…Well, except for the second one. The blonde must have been the anorexic. He was way too skinny.
The boys knew the vague reason why they’d been summoned to this place, but not the finer details. Not the reason they’d been put into a line, been forced to introduce themselves to one another. Why this looked a whole lot like an awkward tea party, with the untouched cups going cold on the coffee table; with the chocolate biscuits cruelly ignored.
Takeda tried not to frown at this sorry lot. He was the Head of Wellbeing at Sendai University; he’d forged friendships before, he’d encouraged boys and girls alike to come out of their slumps. But these boys… god, they looked a lot more miserable than what Takeda was used to.
He took a deep breath. “Hello, boys. It’s nice to finally meet you all.”
They stared at him blankly, silently. That sodden one with the greenish hair wouldn’t stop fidgeting with his fingers, twisting them about in his lap. The one with the black curls’ leg was bouncing restlessly, but his expression was unreadable. The skinny one looked like he’d rather die than be sat in this room, held at hostage, maybe at gunpoint.
Takeda waited for a response. It did not come. They all shifted about awkwardly, and the silence was so loud that Takeda swore it might actually deafen him.
He sighed. Better he did the talking. “My name is Ittetsu Takeda. Feel free to call me my first or last name, whatever makes you more comfortable. Why don’t we all introduce ourselves? What are your names, and what do you study?”
He was going to start with the first boy, but that poor one shrunk deep inside of himself, chewing tight on his bottom lip. Maybe he was the one who got bullied. Takeda waited for somebody, anybody, to start.
Finally, one boy just barely lifted his hand. “Hey. Kotarou Bokuto, and I take Sports Science.”
A small smile graced Bokuto’s lips, and Takeda could tell he was the most confident of the bunch. He seemed marginally oblivious to the awkward tension in the room; only slightly adverse to being forced to make friends with strangers.
Bokuto had black hair which had been streaked with white, slicked up into a spiky style with gel. He was also decently-built, definitely an athlete.
“Thank you. Nice to meet you, Kotarou. Who’s next?”
The tall one with the black hair raised an eyebrow. “Tetsurou Kuroo. BioChem. Why are we here?”
“Good question,” Takeda sat back in his chair. “We’ll get to that after everyone’s had a chance to meet.”
“Not sure why that’s necessary, but sure.”
Takeda cleared his throat. “Who’s next?”
“Kei Tsukishima,” said the blonde, eyes rolling skyward into the back of his head. “History.”
“I’m Keiji Akaashi,” chimed in the one with the bouncing leg. “I do Law with Sociology.”
“Kenma Kozume,” the short one stared down at his fingernails. They were bitten and bloody. “And Computer Science.”
Slowly, all eyes shifted to the freckled one on the end. The one Takeda had nearly made the damnable mistake of forcing to go first. The poor kid was trembling, staring at the beat-up Converse on his feet, worrying his lower lip so hard that Takeda worried it might split. Tsukishima looked deeply unimpressed at this kid’s anxiety. Akaashi seemed slightly more sympathetic.
“Hey,” Kuroo clicked his tongue. “We’re not that scary, are we?”
“No,” the last one finally gulped. He sounded quiet and timid, like a child who hadn’t spoken in so long, they’d forgotten how to sound out the syllables. “Just… I forgot all your names already.”
Takeda blanched. What the hell was he going to do with these kids?!
Bokuto barked a laugh. “I’m pretty memorable! How could you possibly forget about me?”
“Stop,” Akaashi bristled. “I think you’re making it worse.”
Takeda grasped for the folder on his desk, quickly thumbing through it with all the twitchy-handed emergency he could muster. There were pages of student profiles; all manner of information on how to handle different crises situations; of numbers to call if need be.
Finally, he found the list of names; the document he’d printed when he’d first heard of these boys’ troubles. The names weren’t attached to the boys’ faces, but by process of elimination, Takeda could quickly figure out who this was.
“Your name is… Tadashi, that right? Tadashi Yamaguchi.”
Yamaguchi swallowed thickly, slowly lifted his head. “Yeah, that’s me. I take Electronic Engineering.”
Bokuto tilted his head, curious. “You don’t look like the type.”
“Perfect,” Takeda forced the widest smile he could. His cheeks hurt. “That’s everybody. Now, Tetsurou- you wanted to know why I’ve summoned you all here, and I’m sure everybody else does, too.”
“I thought it was grief counselling,” Bokuto contorted his face.
So he’s one of the ones with a dead relative, Takeda mentally-noted. He’d need to remember that.
“Me too,” Kuroo’s eyebrows furrowed.
And Tetsurou’s the other one. So who is everybody else?
“It’s not,” Akaashi lowered his gaze, twiddling his thumbs. “No one I know has died.”
“Aren’t you a fortunate bastard?” Kuroo gave him a bittersweet smile.
“Language.” Takeda cut in, scrubbing a hand over his face. “This is counselling, of a sort, but it’s different for all of you; not always grief, sometimes something else. Think of it as more of a support group than anything.”
Kenma sunk deep into his hoodie, letting the hood shadow his features. “I get it. We’re the miserable freaks on suicide-watch.”
That caused a couple of weak laughs from the other boys: a small smirk from Akaashi, a loud bark from Bokuto, mild amusement from Tsukishima. Poor Yamaguchi didn’t react, only kept his gaze glued to the floor as if he physically couldn’t move it.
Takeda felt his face burning. Who the hell were these kids?!
Traumatised children, he reminded himself. They’ll act out because they don’t know to act… well, in.
“That’s not it at all-!” he spluttered, making a great show of waving his hands around in the air. “Or, well, not exactly. You’re a group we’ve gathered based on some similar circumstances, that’s all. We think you might be friends.”
At that, Tsukishima snorted a laugh. Takeda felt himself blanching.
Kuroo scoffed. “You got a problem being friends with people like us, Four-Eyes?”
“Yes, actually,” Tsukishima raised his eyebrows. “This is fucking stupid.”
“Language-!” Takeda coughed. “I already told you-”
“He’s right,” Kenma muttered under his breath, not attempting at all to hide his disdain. “I guess your guys’ flatmates went to pastoral with concerns about your wellbeing, too? I know mine did.”
Everyone nodded their agreements. This was turning out just horribly.
“That may be true,” Takeda frowned, trying desperately to steer the conversation back on track. “But it doesn’t mean I’m trying to baby you. You’re adults, at the end of the day. I’m just here to push you in the right direction.”
“The right direction… off a bridge?” Tsukishima looked at him curiously.
“No! Oh my gosh, of course not-!”
Takeda’s eyes darted around, frantic, desperate, unsure of what the hell he was supposed to say. But he realised, then, that each of them were laughing, if only quietly; just these subtle chuckles and meaningful glances, as if they were afraid to show their sense of camaraderie, but nevertheless it was there. Even Yamaguchi had cracked a small smile, although he still stared down at the carpet.
Well, they had to bond over something. Even if that something was hating this situation.
Takeda shook his head. “Okay. Boys, welcome to the Sendai University Support Group, also known as the SUSG. You can call it that for short, if you like.”
“I’m not gonna do that,” Bokuto furrowed his eyebrows.
“Call it whatever you like, then. The six of you are here, yes, because of some concerns about your wellbeing. You all live in buildings close to one another and have apparently been struggling to mesh properly with your flatmates, all for different reasons, so I decided to throw you in together to help you build a bit of a bond. How does that sound?”
“Horrible?” Kenma murmured.
“Embarrassing,” Akaashi picked at one of his nails.
“Like I’d rather kill myself on the spot,” Tsukishima rolled his eyes.
Takeda heaved a heavy sigh. There would be no getting through to these boys, no matter how hard he tried. He may as well just call the whole thing off.
Bokuto shrugged. “Not that bad, surely. I’m fun. You’ll all get along with me, no problem!”
“I highly doubt that,” Kuroo forced a smile.
Takeda found himself grasping at straws, battling their edgy jokes to repair the mood. He gulped, turning his gaze to the one and only lifeline left silently hunched over in his plastic chair.
“And… Tadashi? What do you think about this arrangement?”
Tadashi Yamaguchi slowly lifted his head, forced himself to look at the others. He seemed to shrink inside of himself, as if he were way shorter than his actual height. His freckled cheeks were rosy-red; tinged at the bone with embarrassment, and yet he forced himself to open his mouth anyway.
“I think… it sounds kind of fun.”
The rest of them stared at him, grimaced, made gestures of boredom or disgust. But Takeda was thrilled.
“See, that’s the spirit! Kotarou, you think so too, don’t you?”
“I never said that,” Bokuto put his hands on his hips. “I said everyone would like me, not that I would like them.”
Takeda’s eyebrows creased. “Yes, well… I’m sure they will.”
“Doubtful,” Tsukishima grumbled under his breath.
Kenma pulled at one of the strings of his hoodie, a deep-set scowl plastered on his face. “Being put into a room and forced to make friends. I feel like such a freak.”
“Hey- at least we’re all freaks, here,” Kuroo winked.
“Nobody is a freak!” Takeda yelped, again gesticulating all sorts of nonsense with his hands. “Even if people might have told you that in the past. You’ve all been in bad scenarios, sure, but that doesn’t make you bad people.”
Kenma glanced at Tsukishima sceptically. “I think this one’s a bad person.”
Tsukishima seemed almost amused by that, so much as he did pissed-off. “Oh yeah? And what does that mean?”
“You look like you might’ve bullied that poor kid sitting next to you.”
Yamaguchi made a small noise in response, managed to stammer out some semblance of a reply. “He- he didn’t, I swear! We’ve never met before.”
“None of you have,” Takeda quickly jutted in. “Which is what makes this arrangement special. We’re going to be meeting at this time every Wednesday afternoon. You guys will never have lectures on a Wednesday afternoon, so while your flatmates are off at their sports and socials and things, you can come here to meet up.”
“I do sports too,” Bokuto pouted. “What about me?”
Takeda wanted to scream. These kids were impossible. “Well you’ll just have to miss these practices, and attend all of the other ones.”
“Hardly seems fair,” Bokuto muttered.
“I think it does,” Kuroo gave him a lopsided smile. “Miss your important social and health activity to hang out with a bunch of loser guys you don’t know or like. It’ll be fun for you.”
“You lot are sarcastic,” Takeda buried his face in his hands. “I think I have my work cut out for me.”
At that, they all seemed to agree. They’re bonding over my misery. Over how hard they’re making this for me.
Takeda shook his head. He took a deep breath. With all of the authority he could muster, he continued. “It doesn’t matter. I have faith that you boys can overcome this loneliness, this hurt. You’ve all been wronged- by people, by the universe, maybe by your own heads. You’ve all thought you were hopeless, one way or another, but we’re going to meet as a group to prove that’s not the case.”
“That one on the end looks hopeless,” Tsukishima murmured.
“I can hear you,” Yamaguchi just about managed to respond. “And I have a name.”
“Good, Tadashi. Stand up for yourself,” Takeda applauded him. “That’s a big step, and this is only session one. Also, he’s right; let’s all call each other by our names from now on.”
Yamaguchi blushed, seeming both cowed and humiliated by being called out for his brave act of self-sufficiency. He hung his head, went back to staring holes into the ground; to wishing he could be swallowed whole by said holes. Takeda wanted to burst into tears.
“You’re not gonna have names to me,” Kuroo folded his arms. “I’ve already forgotten all of them.”
“Even mine?” Bokuto pouted.
“Sure,” Kuroo shrugged. “I’ll just give you all nicknames. So you’ll be Frosted Tips. That skinny one is Four-Eyes.”
Takeda cringed. “This is supposed to prevent you from being bullied, not cause it.”
Tsukishima snorted a laugh. “Like I’d think pointing out the mere fact that I have glasses, counts as bullying. I promise I don’t care.”
“I think this one needed to get bullied,” Kenma muttered. “Just to humble him a bit.”
Kuroo laughed. “I like you. You’ve got a bit of a mean streak.”
“The feeling’s not mutual, just so you’re aware.”
“Boys, please,” Takeda tried hard not to keel over. “You’re exhausting me. We’re nearly out of time for our session, and all you’ve managed to do so far is make fun of one another.”
“Better that than we just sat in silence,” Akaashi shrugged.
“…Maybe.” But still, this didn’t feel like progress at all. Takeda had hoped they might open up to one another; might share the details of what made them unwell, sad, lonely. Instead, they had just picked apart one another’s appearances for the last hour.
Bokuto heaved himself from his plastic chair. He rolled his shoulders and stretched. “So next week? Same time, same place?”
It was starting to feel like this was a terrible idea. But Takeda just nodded his head solemnly.
“This isn’t going to work,” Tsukishima looked around disdainfully. “Not if we have to sit on these stupid chairs. I just won’t show up.”
“What’s wrong with the chairs?” Takeda frowned.
“Murder on my back,” Kuroo stood up. “I feel like an old man.”
“And way too small,” Tsukishima grumbled. That might have been true- he did look massive compared to the small frame of the chair.
“…Fine,” Takeda buried his face in his hands. “I’ll get new chairs. Anything else?”
“I’m sure we’ll have more requests in time,” Kuroo grinned.
“I’m sure you will, menace children.”
When they finally left his office, Takeda slunk to the floor, back pressed against the wall. That was, quite possibly, the worst hour of his career. He feared this group was only going to taunt one another into suicide; not help each other get better; not help create friendly, healthy bonds. What if this made their bullying worse? What if it made them even more miserable?
For now, only time would tell. He’d just have to keep an eye on them for now.
Death, bullying, eating disorders, taunts. An awful mix of situations for an equally-awful group of boys. The first meeting of the SUSG could be, very officially and also very reluctantly, chalked up as a failure. A horrible, stupid, undeniable failure.
Takeda wanted to rip the hair from his scalp. But instead, all he told himself was, I guess I’ll see you all next week.