Ritsu is not afraid of his brother.
His memories don’t know that yet.
But it’s been years since he last had a nightmare about that day, and with Shigeo coming to terms with himself and Ritsu coming to terms with his brother (all of his brother), he hoped the worst memory of his life would simmer down and give his subconsciousness a break.
And things have been so good between him and Shigeo these past months. Things between them have been normal— sibling normal, not their normal. They even had a proper fight, raised voices and slamming bedroom doors and all, and it’s all Ritsu ever wanted to have a normal relationship with his brother like normal brothers do.
So when a time-capsule of a nightmare vaults him back to that day, it’s… jarring.
It really is a time capsule. He’s scared, and a bully is yanking him away from Nii-san hard enough to bruise, and his throat hurts from screaming at them to stop. Then Nii-san changes, and the fear becomes pain and the pain becomes darkness, and then the darkness becomes something that is shaped like his brother but wrong. It hurts. He wants Mom. He wants Dad. He wants whatever his brother has become to disappear.
But it is his brother. There's blood in Ritsu’s hair and on the road and Nii-san is yelling his name and crying and the world is too bright, spots everywhere, and—
That thing is not his brother
“Ritsu? Ritsu, it’s okay, you’re—”
Ritsu heaves awake, tangled up with iron in his lungs. Shigeo’s hand is on his arm and blood and darkness and
“Get away from me!”
Ritsu shoves him in the chest with both hands. A gust of psychic energy swipes across the room, throwing books and pencils. The curtains flare around the windows. There’s a nauseating sound as Shigeo hits the wall.
Ritsu chokes.
The nightmare evaporates. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, sheets and blankets twisted around his legs. His hands are outstretched. He isn’t afraid of his brother. His brother is on the floor, silent and still. Ritsu was gasping a second ago. The air around him is gone now.
“Sh—”
His brother is on the floor.
“Nii-san!”
Ritsu tears himself face-first out of bed and guns it for Shigeo’s side. Shigeo’s moving, too, but slowly, pushing himself up on an elbow while his other hand clutches his head.
“Nii-san!” Ritsu drops to his knees. His hands hover and his heart pounds. “Are you okay? I-I didn’t mean to, oh my god, I’m so sorry, I, are, are you hurt? Where did—”
Blood seeps through the cracks between Shigeo’s fingers and rolls down his arm.
Ritsu’s stomach sears the back of his throat.
“Ritsu!”
The bedroom door slams open. Mom and Dad. They look distraught and exhausted and ready for a fight. Ritsu is not ready for the expression Mom makes when she sees the blood.
“Shige!” Mom gasps. She drops to her knees and grabs Shigeo’s shoulder. “What happened?”
It’s directed at anyone who’ll answer.
“I-I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Ritsu scrambles out, strangled. “I-I didn’t know it was him and I—”
But he did mean to. And he did know it was Shigeo. In his head he was nine years old surrounded by faceless scoundrels and that is not Nii-san, and if he’d had psychic powers back then he would’ve done exactly what he did now.
Mom is trying to pull Shigeo’s hand away from his face. “Let me see, let me see. Where did you hit your head? Shige.” Dad lands at Ritsu’s side and takes him by the shoulders, coaxing him back. Ritsu can’t move. He doesn’t know if he wants to. Mom’s voice grows increasingly urgent. “Shigeo.”
“M’ okay,” Shigeo croaks. His attempt at reassurance has the opposite effect. “I—Ritsu—”
“Ritsu’s here, he’s alright,” Mom says, dismissive. She pulls his face between her hands and combs his hair out of the way. His hand falls to his side, covered in blood. Ritsu’s lungs won’t take air. “Focus on me.”
“I-It’s not his fault,” Shigeo’s voice shakes. He sounds sick, or like he’s trying not to cry. “I scared him, he—”
“Shigeo, I need you to look at me.”
Shigeo shuts his mouth. The silence is tense. The only light in the room is whatever moonlight gets through the window and it’s not enough for Ritsu to see what expression is on his brother’s face.
“... Okay.” Mom smooths Shigeo’s hair back one more time before she drops her hands to his shoulders and holds fast. She turns to Dad with a gaze made of stone. “Hospital.”
It’s decided that Dad should be the one to take Shigeo to the ER, leaving Mom and Ritsu behind. Ritsu hates being left behind. He’s relieved he isn’t going. He stands at the front of the hallway while Mom wraps Shigeo’s head on the couch and Dad looks for the car keys. Ritsu’s feet are nailed to the floor.
“Ritsu.” Mom beckons him over. “Sit with him for a second, I need to pack a bag.”
Pack a bag. Overnight? Is it that serious? “I—” Ritsu wants to be with his brother. He also wants to put a barrier around himself and not let anyone close. “I can’t.”
“He wants you,” Mom says gently.
Ritsu’s rebellious feet carry him forward. Mom reaches for him as soon as he’s close enough, pulling him the rest of the way. He’s angry at himself for sucking attention away from his brother when he’s hurt.
“He’s okay,” Mom tells him. “Let me know if he passes out, okay?”
That does not sound okay, but this is bad enough already without his arguments. Ritsu nods, sits beside Shigeo with his hands in his lap, and Mom dashes into the kitchen. He stares at her houseplant, seated neatly on the sill of the window above the sink. He counts the leaves, trying to remember how to breathe, until he musters the courage to turn.
Now that he finally gets a good look at his brother, Ritsu can see why they’re taking him to the ER. His expression is… weird, too wide but hauntingly vacant. The bleeding seems to have stopped but there’s dried blood all over his face. Mom wrapped an ACE bandage around his forehead to keep pressure on it.
Ritsu is terrified to touch him. Shigeo tips his head against Ritsu’s shoulder and Ritsu’s blood squirms under his skin, every inch of him crawling. He didn’t mean to hurt Shigeo. He did mean to hurt Shigeo. Bile scorches the back of his throat.
“Does it hurt?” Ritsu manages.
“Mm. Yeah.” Shigeo is slurring. “I’m not upset with you, though.”
It would be easier if Shigeo was upset with him. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk.”
Shigeo doesn’t answer this time, just sinks into Ritsu’s side and breathes shallowly. Ritsu keeps his hands pinned beneath his legs.
Mom helps Shigeo with his shoes and then Dad helps him out the door. Mom locks it behind them. Ritsu’s still on the couch. He misses Shigeo’s bodyweight against his shoulder. Fear wraps around his stomach and coils like a spring.
Mom sits with him, facing him. He doesn’t face her. She reaches for his hand. “What happened?”
“I—” Ritsu’s tongue is too thick. His mouth tastes like copper. “I had a dream about when we were kids and—” He used up all his breath. He tries to inhale. It doesn’t work. “—I-I got scared and—I wanted to get him away from me.”
Mom squeezes his hand. Ritsu’s eyes burn. He clamps his hand over his mouth and tries not to cry.
“I don’t want him to stay away from me,” Ritsu chokes.
Mom pulls him into a hug. Ritsu sobs into his fingers.
Four hours later, the doorhandle jingles.
Ritsu jolts, alert, nearly sloshing cold tea all over himself. Mom made the tea for him after Shigeo left with Dad. Did he drink any of it? He doesn't remember drinking any of it.
Mom reacts with more composure but nearly audible anxiety, squeezing Ritsu’s shoulder briefly as she gets her feet under her. She leaves her own mug of tea on the coffee table. It's still full, like Ritsu's, and cold. Ritsu follows her off the couch and stops halfway between the living room and the genkan. Mom and Dad have been texting and Mom has been relaying updates, but information has been sparse, and he knows she's keeping things from him because she doesn't want to stress him out. He doesn't have the energy to push it. He doesn't know if knowing more would ease his stress or drive the nails deeper.
Mom yanks the door open and ushers Shigeo and Dad inside.
“Eight stitches,” Dad reports, his voice lacking depth. His arm is around Shigeo’s shoulders, holding him against his side. Shigeo’s wobbling on his feet, blinking too often and too slowly. White bandages bind his head securely underneath his hair. “He’s pretty drugged up. Painkillers. But the doctors said he’ll be alright with plenty of sleep. We got a doctor’s note for the school, he won’t be going anywhere for a few days.”
“A concussion, then?”
“Yeah, but not severe.” The door closes behind them and Mom locks it again. “We got lucky.”
Mom nods. She takes over, kneeling to Shigeo’s height and Dad musses Shigeo’s hair very, very gently before stepping over the genkan. “Hey, Shige,” Mom murmurs, steadying him, “I know you’re tired. We’ll get your shoes off and you can sleep on the couch tonight, okay?”
Dad steps into Ritsu’s line of sight and drops a heavy hand onto his shoulder. “You holding up?”
He can’t feel his legs. “Is—Is Nii-san okay?”
Dad nods. “He’s gonna be out of it for a while, but it’s alright. Your mother told me the gist of what happened. It’s not your fault. Shige’s pretty worried about you.”
That makes him feel worse. “He—”
“I mean, don’t tiptoe around him,” Dad says, more firm. “Shige did that way back when. We’re breaking cycles, here. Alright?”
Dad doesn’t understand.
“Hey, Ritsu,” Mom calls, her voice barely above a murmur, “could you grab Shigeo’s blankets from his room?”
Something to do. She knows he needs that. Dad straightens up and Ritsu sprints down the hallway. Shigeo’s bedroom door is open. His futon is unmade. Ritsu hauls everything into his arms, determined to only make one trip, and stumbles back into the living room. Shigeo’s been moved to the couch already, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. He looks out of it and drained, but all there this time. Better than earlier. Ritsu hands the blankets off to Mom. He’s not sure where Dad went.
“Thank you, Ritsu.”
Mom fusses with the bedding. Ritsu tries to step away, but Shigeo is coordinated enough to snag the edge of his sleeve, somehow, and Ritsu freezes mid-step. He wants to run. He wants to stay. He looks at Mom helplessly and finds her smiling softly. It’s a sad and tired smile, soaked with relief.
They’ve been here before.
That day, Ritsu woke up alone on the couch in the dark with his head stitched and bandaged. He’d asked where his brother was. Shigeo had locked himself in his room and placed a barrier over the door. The first day, scared and in pain, Ritsu was relieved. By the second day, he was lonely and sad and missed his brother. Back then, Ritsu didn’t understand how Shigeo could keep himself locked away for so long.
He understands now.
He also understands Shigeo’s fingers clenched in his sleeve. He’s been on both sides of it as of tonight.
Mom’s relief, Dad’s bated breath.
They’ve been here before.
“I’ll stay,” Ritsu tells her.
He thinks she’s going to cry. She might, still, behind closed doors, but for him she kisses his forehead and tells him to wake her up if he or Shigeo need anything. She kisses Shigeo’s forehead, too, messes with the blankets a little more. Then she disappears down the hall that leads toward hers and Dad’s room. Ritsu doesn’t hear the bedroom door shut.
Shigeo yanks Ritsu by the arm.
Ritsu yelps, but he was caught off-guard and his jelly legs aren’t helping. He crumples over Shigeo and the contact vacuums the air out of his lungs all over again, fear breaking out over his skin. Shigeo presses his face into Ritsu’s shoulder and curls into his side.
It felt like a step backwards, but Shigeo is acting like nothing has changed. Ritsu lets himself bring an arm around Shigeo’s shoulders, stuffing his aura down lock and key and throw away the key. Shigeo’s vibrant aura hums like a purring jaguar.
“... Nii-san, I—” Apologizing isn’t enough but it’s all he can do. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just, I… I got scared, but it’s not your fault—”
“Ritsu.” Shigeo sounds exhausted. “I… I want to talk about this. But I can’t right now.”
Guilt. “Yeah, of course.” He should go. “I, I should go to bed, I’ll let you sleep. Just, if you need anything, um, I’ll leave my door open.”
“Ritsu.”
“I hurt you,” Ritsu stammers, trying to move but not quite having the heart to tear Shigeo’s arms off of him, even if it’d be easy, “you, you’d sleep better if I left.”
“I’m not afraid of you. I’ve never been afraid of you.” Shigeo’s arm cinches around Ritsu’s waist. “It’s not the same as it was before, Ritsu. We’re not the same.”
Shigeo’s words paralyze the ones in Ritsu’s throat. He stops, sinking back into the couch without meaning to. Shige’s aura is warm.
He and Shigeo fought a couple weeks ago. Proper fight, like siblings do. No one was thrown around with psychic powers. They made up a couple hours later and went on like nothing happened.
Last week, when the weather was warmer, he and Shigeo held water in their mouths and watched stupid fail compilation videos to see who broke first. It dissolved faster than either of them expected and Ritsu’s laptop spent five hours in a pan of dry rice that day.
They’ve been talking. Actually talking, not skirting around each other with empty platitudes and stale reassurances. Ritsu has been more honest with Shigeo about his feelings than he has been their entire lives and Shigeo is getting there, too.
Ritsu is learning to verbalize and Shigeo is learning to express.
Shigeo is not afraid of himself and Ritsu is not afraid of his brother.
“We aren’t the same,” Ritsu echoes.
“We aren’t the same,” Shigeo agrees. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m going to pass out now.”
“Okay. I’ll be here, if you need anything.”
“M’ kay.”
Once Shigeo’s asleep, it doesn’t take long before Ritsu follows, comforted by his brother’s breathing and the familiar swell of his aura.
Come next day, Shigeo is a little bit more like himself. With prescribed painkillers staving off the worst of the ache, he seems mostly tired with a side of disoriented. The two of them play Mario Kart after lunch and try as he may Ritsu simply cannot play awfully enough to let Shigeo win. And he really does try.
When Shigeo falls asleep on the floor in front of the TV while watching Ritsu play a story-driven RPG, he snags a throw blanket off the couch to wrap around his brother’s shoulders. Shigeo sleeps on.
They don’t talk about it that day.
The next day is Saturday, but Mom probably would have called Ritsu out of school if it weren’t a weekend. Shigeo doesn’t sleep as much this day as he did yesterday, but clarity means sharper pain and not a lot of conversation. They don’t talk about it that day either. Nor Sunday.
Ritsu goes to school Monday, without Shigeo. Tome harps on him about it. When Ritsu gets home, Shigeo’s bandages are gone and his bangs hide the stitches on his hairline.
“How was school?” Shigeo asks.
“It was good. Tome says hi. You missed an algebra pop-quiz.”
Shigeo hugs his knees. “My grades can’t afford that…”
They really can’t. “You’ll catch up,” Ritsu says. He drops onto the side of the couch opposite his brother and slings his shoulderbag to the floor. “How’s your head today?”
“Better. I’ve stopped seeing spots.”
Ritsu didn’t know he was seeing spots. “That’s good. I’m gonna get a head start on homework,” he picks his shoulderbag back up and stands, “but if you need something, say something.”
Shigeo opens his mouth. Then he stops, looking conflicted. “Okay. Thank you, Ritsu.”
They’ve stepped backwards.
“Ritsu? Are you busy?”
“Oh. Not really, it's just homework,” Ritsu says. He sits straighter, looking up at his brother in the doorway of his bedroom. He didn’t feel like sitting at his desk, so he and his homework have camped out on the floor for tonight. “Did you need something?”
Shigeo nods, hesitates, then steps into the bedroom. He sits on the floor across from Ritsu with Ritsu’s schoolwork between them. “We need to talk.”
Oh boy. “I don’t want to talk right now, Nii-san.”
“I don’t either.” Shigeo looks down. “But it’s kind of all for nothing if we don’t talk to each other.”
Ritsu really, really doesn’t want to talk, but this isn’t just about him. He nods, nerves popping, and pushes his books aside. “Okay. Um…”
Where do they even start?
“I’m sorry,” Shigeo blurts. “I—I should have thought about it more before I tried waking you up. I assumed it was a nightmare because of Claw, or…”
Ritsu doesn’t know where they should start, but he knows they shouldn’t start there. “You don’t have to apologize,” Ritsu says, disbelieving. “You were just trying to help, and… I don’t know why it was that dream. I haven’t had a dream about that day since we were little kids.”
“Why do you think you had a dream about it now?”
“I don’t know? I guess I’ve been thinking about our relationship a lot lately, but in good ways, so I don’t know why that would’ve caused it.”
Shigeo nods, quiet. He fidgets with a loose string in Ritsu’s carpet. “Are you… still scared of me? It’s okay if you are.”
“I’m not,” Ritsu says. It’s true. “But I was before, and when I dream about it it freaks me out.” They honestly aren’t really dreams. Memories his mind hasn’t put to rest. “But I’m not scared of you.”
“But you’re scared of losing control like I did. Because you know what it’s like? To be hurt by it.”
“Yeah.”
A moment passes. Ritsu realizes what he just said.
“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” he amends, or tries to. Shigeo’s face is carefully stoic and that isn’t good. “It’s not about you, I just don’t want to hurt you.”
Shigeo nods. “You don’t want to put me through what I put you through.”
Ritsu grits his teeth, frustrated. Why is he so frustrated? This is supposed to be stepping forward again, not back. “Can you stop phrasing it like that? I said I’m not afraid of you.”
“But you’re afraid of becoming like me.”
“No I’m not, Nii-san.” He thinks about what Dad said and breaking cycles, but it seems like they’re always going half a step forward and half a mile backwards. It makes him angrier. “We can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep doing this.”
“But if you’re scared of me—”
“I’m not,” Ritsu flares. The curtains billow even though the window is closed. “I keep saying I’m not, what else do you want from me?”
The pages of Ritsu’s books shuffle around, a pencil rolling against gravity on the carpet. He doesn’t know which of them is responsible.
“I just want you to tell me if you’re scared,” Shigeo stresses. “If I’ve done something—”
Anger brands Ritsu’s heart to his ribs. “The problem isn’t you, Shigeo,” he snaps. “Stop making every problem about you.”
A thunder-like crack bursts between them. Ritsu’s anger vaporizes. He yelps, staggering back. Shigeo’s already as far away from him as he can get, wide-eyed. Ritsu doesn’t know which of them did that either. It might’ve been both of them.
He looks at his brother’s face properly. It isn’t the first time Shigeo has worn this expression, but it’s the first time Ritsu understands. Shigeo looks exactly how Ritsu felt last week, staring across the room as he realized what he’d done. As he realized Shigeo was bleeding.
Ritsu’s throat closes up. “You’re scared of you.”
Their parents almost hit Shigeo with the door as they barge in. Shigeo catches it with his aura, luckily, but that would have been—not funny, but kind of, a little bit, in an awful way. The sheer volume of relief in Mom and Dad’s faces is almost as haunting as their horror had been. Ritsu wants to talk, now, but Mom says it’s time for dinner and there's little arguing with that.
Ritsu helps Mom clear the table afterwards. In between trips from the dining table to the kitchen, Shigeo disappears.
“Shige turned in early,” Dad says, rolling up the table cloth. “He said his head was bugging him.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Is everything alright between you two?”
… Kind of? “It’s not bad,” Ritsu decides, stacking cups. “We talked some earlier. I’m gonna try talking to him again tomorrow.”
The answer seems to satisfy Dad. He tousles Ritsu’s hair. “Well, we’re here if you boys need us.”
Ritsu nods. He waters Mom’s plant with the leftover water from dinner.
Shigeo’s bedroom door is closed when Ritsu goes to brush his teeth and Ritsu can’t help but take it personally. Sometimes he hates that he’s an esper—he can tell Shigeo isn’t asleep based solely on the stewing thrum of his aura. Which also means that Shigeo can feel him and is still keeping the door shut.
Ritsu is feeling a little petty that night, so he shuts his bedroom door too before sitting on his bed with his back to the wall and blankets coiled tight around his entire body. He feels small and impotent and he hates it.
He checks his phone for the time. 8:06pm. That’s too early to go to bed but he’s sick of being awake. He mindlessly flips through his contacts like TV channels, trying to drown his thoughts. The cursor lights up Reigen’s contact and Ritsu…
No. He won’t.
But…
Ritsu is just angry enough to consider hurtling his phone into the wall, and just desperate enough to hit Call instead.
It rings two and a half times.
“Yo, Ritsu. I honestly forgot I had your number,” Reigen says. “This is Ritsu, right?”
“It’s Ritsu.”
“Everything okay? You don’t call me.”
“Mostly.” Ritsu fidgets. Is it too early to regret calling? Maybe he should just hang up before he says something stupid. But then he’s back to ground zero and he can’t keep putting Shigeo through this. “I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Um. How do you deal with yourself for hurting someone who’s one of the most important people in your life?”
There's a loud clammer from Reigen’s end. “Wow, uh. Hang on, what?”
Ritsu feels sick. “I’m not saying it twice.”
“Cool, got it.” Something rustles. Paper? He’s at the office this late? “Went right for the throat with that one. Uh. Is this about you or are you asking for your brother?”
“Both, but I called because of me.”
“Do I get context?”
Ritsu doesn’t want to say it out loud, but there's no other way to make Reigen understand. “I slammed Shigeo into the wall and gave him a concussion. By accident. With my psychic powers.”
“What?”
He definitely isn’t going to say that a second time.
“How did that happen? Is he okay?”
“He’s okay.” Dad’s We got lucky rams into Ritsu’s skull like a truck. “Dad took him to the ER. He must not have had any sort of barrier up because he hit the wall really hard. But he’s okay, just… stressed. I keep stressing him out. I had a nightmare about what happened when we were kids and that’s—that’s what started it. He was worried and wanted to check on me and I… threw him.”
Reigen is quiet long enough to tick Ritsu’s regret meter up a couple knobs. “... Shit. I don’t know where to start with that.”
Ritsu doesn’t know what he was expecting.
“He’s okay, though? Shigeo’s alright?”
“Yeah, he’s… he’s okay. He’s stressed out, though. I don’t know how to stop stressing him out.”
“Right. What did you mean about things not being okay with you guys?”
Is it that hard to figure out? “It’s all wrong,” Ritsu says into the phone, squeezing himself into the corner of the bed. “B-Being in Shigeo’s shoes made me realize how much it must’ve messed him up when he accidentally hurt me when we were kids, but he thinks I’m still scared of him and he wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell him I wasn’t, and it came out wrong when I tried to explain and then I got mad. He went to bed before we could talk about it. I want to talk to him, but...”
“Yeah.” Reigen draws a long and slow breath. “That must’ve brought back a lot of shit for both of you, huh?”
Reigen doesn’t know the half of it. Ritsu crushes himself against the wall. Ashamed and frustrated tears make his throat burn. “Mm.”
“It sounds like you guys are just misunderstanding each other. In any case, it’s not something you can solve right now. Sleeping on it might not be a bad id—”
Ritsu sobs.
He can’t remember the last time he was overwhelmed enough to cry.
“Ritsu? Hey.”
Ritsu presses his arm over his eyes and shakes his head. Keeps shaking his head. Damn it.
“Ritsu.”
“I-I slammed him into a wall,” Ritsu blubbers, spasms in his lungs. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt him but I did, an-and then everything I wanted to say came out wrong and that hurt him, too."
Reigen stays quiet. The tears taper just so that he can keep up with them, flicking them off his face.
“I’m sick of hurting him,” Ritsu sniffles, throttled. “I’m sick of giving him reasons to hate himself but I don’t know how to make it stop.”
“... Jeez, Ritsu.” Reigen’s tone has softened. The unfamiliarity of it makes Ritsu listen. “That’s—You can’t put all that on yourself.”
Ritsu scrubs his face with the hem of his sleeve. “I thought things were getting better between us,” he hiccups. It’s embarrassing, but he’s done with this worthless pride, at least for now. “W-We were finally able to just act like normal brothers, wh-what if I messed it up? I can’t mess this up, Reigen, I can’t.”
“... Believe it or not,” Reigen says, careful but steady, “you guys are still acting like normal brothers.”
“Wh-What?”
“So, look, I really only know you vicariously, but I do know Shigeo. You know the one thing he loves more than being your brother?”
“What?”
“Being your older brother. It was the first thing I ever saw him take genuine pride in.”
“... Really?”
“You’ve got no idea. Seriously, I mean that. He always wanted to be someone you could rely on and look up to. Dependable, you know? Now, obviously it’s a two way street, but that’s not really the point. He really wanted to be a good big brother to you. After what happened when you guys were kids, you weren’t really able to rely on him, were you?”
Ritsu swallows.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. Shigeo knew you couldn’t rely on him back then—it’s one of the reasons why he was so desperate to change. You guys have come a long way since you were kids. Hell, since last year. You can finally count on him and he’s able to fill that role like he always wanted.”
Ritsu always wanted that. He rubs his face again, regaining traction with his emotions.
“And I’m sure it’s a relief for you, too,” Reigen says. “You’ve had to deal with a lot on your own, huh? I bet it’s been nice to be able to rely on him.”
Traction gone.
“You’re settling into your roles as brothers for the first time, of course it’s gonna be a trainwreck. It’s actually a good sign that you’re comfortable enough to fight. It can even be healthy.”
“But I don’t want to hurt him,” Ritsu gasps. “W-We had a couple fights this year, but, I-I think he’s really hurt this time.” He’s really hurt this time. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“... Listen. Ritsu.” Ritsu is listening. “You’re gonna hate this, but this isn’t the last time you’re going to hurt your brother. It’s not the last time he’s going to hurt you, either.”
Stubbornness reinforces anger. “I won’t.”
“Yeah, you will. Sorry, but that’s what families do. It’s what everyone does. The people closest to us are the ones that end up in the crossfire more than anyone, unfortunately. Obviously toxic patterns are unacceptable but I don’t have to tell you that.”
Ritsu clings. He hears Reigen take a heavy breath.
“This is part of it,” Reigen says. “Not all of it. Your parents are probably gonna hurt you and you’re probably gonna hurt them. Friends, too. Anyone you care about and anyone who cares about you, you’re gonna hurt each other.”
Ritsu digs his fingernails into his knee. “That can’t…” His throat closes up around the words. He digs his forehead into his knees. “That—I hate that.”
“Yeah. But you’ve seen it, right? The light at the end of the tunnel?”
Ritsu presses himself into his blankets.
“It’s gonna be okay, just keep talking to each other. Be honest, be okay with being wrong, you get the point. Oh, and don’t go blaming everything on yourself, either. Mob has his own set of stuff to work through and a lot of it’s got nothing to do with you. Now, physically hurting him with your powers—that was an accident. You’ve gotta forgive yourself for that, no matter how much time it takes.”
“I can try.”
“Do that. In the meantime, don’t let Shigeo even think about coming into the office until he’s been cleared by a doctor or something. You said he has a concussion? Do you know how severe it is?”
“It’s not bad. He’s already doing a lot better, he was just really out of it the first couple of days. Head injuries bleed a lot.”
“Right. Well, let me know if anything changes. Or if he decides to be stubborn about it and you need me to ring him up.”
“Yeah.” Ritsu picks at his phone case. “Could you, um… not tell Nii-san I called?”
“Oh?” Great, Reigen’s gotta be grinning if it’s coming on his voice that thickly. “Hark the boundless pettiness of middle schoolers. Seriously, though,” Reigen’s tone drops, “I won’t tell him. I was surprised you called, but you can hit me up any time. As long as you don’t run around telling people I give free advice we’re golden.”
Ritsu snorts, and then it pisses him off that Reigen drew that reaction out of him. “You’re the worst.”
“Now, I could pick the low hanging fruit and bring up the fact that you called me first, but since I’ve matured beyond the need for petty higher-thans—”
“Good night, Reigen.”
Reigen chuckles. The joke drops out of his voice. “Night, kid.”
The sudden fondness is foreign, but honest. Ritsu can kind of see why Shigeo speaks so highly of him. He hangs up, puts his phone down and climbs out of bed to open his door a crack. Shigeo’s aura is still flickering around. They can talk tomorrow.
Ritsu coils himself in his blankets until it’s hard to breathe, and then he falls asleep.
It’s two in the morning and Shigeo’s aura is acting strange.
Ritsu jolts awake, annoyed at the buzz of Shigeo’s aura until his awareness catches up to him. He sits up, shivering when his blanket slips off his shoulders. Shigeo’s aura is cold and brittle like icicles, beating against the wall that divides their bedrooms. Ritsu can’t tell if Shigeo’s awake, but if his aura is like this then he’s definitely upset.
Ritsu puts on a pair of socks and leaves his bedroom silently. The hallway is dark. Shigeo’s door is cracked open, and Ritsu would take the time to consider that more if he weren’t so concerned. He pushes the door in.
“Nii-san?”
Shigeo is curled up on his futon. Everything looks okay but it feels backwards, or inside out, and that feeling seeps from his heart to his bones when he actually steps foot in the bedroom. Shigeo’s aura bristles and the air is made of static. And Shigeo is asleep. And Shigeo is crying.
He wonders how many nightmares Shigeo has had since that day.
Ritsu holds his breath and trudges through the static toward his brother. Shigeo’s aura is smacking him upside the head with Do Not Cross tape, but he knows Shigeo. Shigeo has never wanted to be alone. The curdle of his aura around Ritsu’s skin is nerve-wracking, but his brother wouldn’t hurt him, so.
Ritsu sits down and shakes Shigeo’s shoulder, carefully. “Nii-san?”
Shigeo jerks awake. He shoves himself out from under Ritsu’s hand, just out of reach, and goggles at him.
“Hi,” Ritsu says dumbly.
Shigeo gapes, wide-eyed. “Hi.” He sounds out of breath. “You—?” Shigeo touches his own face, startled, then quickly scours at the tears with his sleeve. “Wh-What are you doing here?”
“Your aura felt off,” Ritsu says. “I wanted to check on you, and—I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I want to talk about this and get through it, whatever that looks like.”
“Ritsu…”
Ritsu hugs him. Shigeo goes rigid with a breathless squeak. “I promise I’m not scared of you," Ritsu says.
The icy chill melts off of Shigeo’s aura as he hugs Ritsu back.
Shigeo’s futon isn’t as comfortable as Ritsu’s bed. He doesn’t know how his brother could possibly prefer it. Still, Ritsu lays flat on his back and pretends it doesn’t bug him. Shigeo mirrors him, shoulders touching. His aura has settled and Ritsu’s aura has unfurled, calming the bottled-up expanse in his chest.
Laying in silence beside his brother isn’t as awkward as he feared.
“I’m sorry about what happened earlier,” Shigeo says. “If you weren’t ready to talk I shouldn’t have forced you.”
“You didn’t force me. I’m sorry I got mad.”
“I’m sorry I was selfish.”
Ritsu mindlessly counts the tiles in Shigeo’s ceiling. It isn’t a tense silence, but he doesn’t know where to go from here.
“I should have listened to you,” Shigeo says quietly. “I—I’m not used to…”
Ritsu bites the inside of his cheek. “To me being honest about my feelings?”
“That’s not how I wanted to phrase it.”
“But it’s true, right? I lied to you about how I felt for years, but I mean it this time. I’m not scared of you or because of you. I love you.”
It’s more unguarded than he’s used to, but he thinks Shigeo needs to hear it.
“I love you too, Ritsu.”
Ah. He also needed to hear it.
“I thought I was over it,” Shigeo admits. It’s Ritsu’s line, so it catches him off-guard. “I think it’s like what you said about memories. It’s not there all the time, but if I think about it too much, all the feelings I felt before come back a little.”
Ritsu nods. He stares up at the ceiling.
“... I talked to Reigen,” he eventually says.
Shigeo sits up, astonished. “What? What about? Did he owe you money?”
“Wha—? No, just…” Ritsu groans, pressing his hands over his face. “He has a lot of experience dealing with people so I thought—are you laughing?”
“No, no, sorry.” He was so laughing, but he lays down again, this time on his side so that he can face him. “I’m sorry. I’m listening.”
Ritsu sighs. Shigeo might let it go tonight, but come morning and future thereafter Ritsu’s not going to be able to live that down.
Maybe that’s okay.
“I told Reigen the gist of what happened,” Ritsu begins. “He told me to tell you not to even think about work until a doctor’s cleared you for it.”
“I’ll ask if it’s paid time off.”
Ritsu huffs. Shigeo smiles. Ritsu takes a deep breath and rolls over on his side to match Shigeo, facing him. “He said that we’re probably going to keep hurting each other as we get older,” Ritsu said. “Probably not with psychic powers, but in other ways. He said that’s normal.”
It’s not like Ritsu hasn’t experienced that himself, anyway. Being close to people means being hurt by people. Being close to people means being the one who hurts people. The only hurts that have ever lasted for Ritsu have been the ones dealt to him by people he loved. They didn’t always mean it and they didn’t always realize, but it always hurt just the same.
“Oh,” Shigeo says. He blinks, then glances at his hands between them. “That… makes sense.” More time. More blinking. “I don’t like that.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“But it is reassuring that it’s normal,” Shigeo says. “If it’s normal, then, it should be okay as long as we talk about it.”
“I think so, too.”
If there's one thing Ritsu has learned this year, it’s how important it is to talk.
“This might come out the wrong way,” Ritsu says, “but being able to fight with you is actually refreshing.”
“Oh, that’s good. I feel the same way, even though I don’t like it when we fight.”
“If anything’s proof that I’m not scared of you, that’s gotta be it. I definitely wouldn’t have made fun of you for putting bananas in your cereal years ago.”
Shigeo’s expression falls flat. “You’re still wrong about that.”
“It’s a sensory nightmare.”
“You’re wrong about that too.”
Ritsu flops onto his back again. He hears Shigeo do the same beside him. “I’m glad you’re my brother,” he says. “... You’re a good big brother.”
Shigeo inhales sharply. His aura goes completely still.
Something shatters in the kitchen.
Shigeo bolts up. So does Ritsu. They make eye contact.
Then Shigeo bursts to his feet with Ritsu at his heels. Their parents aren’t here to tell them not to run and so they run, breezing down the hallway and spinning into the kitchen.
Mom’s beloved plant exploded. Not… entirely in a bad way. The plant outgrew its pot and split the clay in half, scattering soil across the counter. The plant itself is thriving, roots grappling the kitchen counter and flowerlets in full bloom in spite of the chill of the night and the night of the night. The stem has grown two sizes.
“Oh, no,” Shigeo says. He’s looking at the plant like it spawned another head and he’s trying to break the news gently. “It was coming along so nicely on its own.”
It could be the lack of sleep, the audacious hour, the stress or the fact that he isn’t stressed, the absurdity of his brother being so happy that the houseplant reaped benefits, the absurdity of their lives as a whole. Whether one of those things or several of those things or something else entirely, Ritsu starts laughing.
Their poor parents, honestly—Mom and Dad hurtle into the kitchen, probably expecting a burglar or blood or the end of the world. Ritsu’s laughing so hard he can’t breathe while Shigeo frantically tears through the junk drawer for glue.
“Why don’t y—” Ritsu’s lungs are too tight to take in air, but it isn’t stifling. “Why don’t you just use your powers?”
Shigeo stares at him, distraught. “How are my powers going to help me find the glue?”
“Nii-san, no, fix th— fix the, oh my god.”
“Fix wh—” Shigeo’s expression flattens, cartoonishly, like someone dropped a piano onto it. He turns his stare on the broken pot and his aura wraps around brittle pieces of clay. “Don’t laugh.”
Ritsu laughs harder.
“So.” Oh, right, Mom and Dad are here. “You two are… good?” Mom says. “What happened to the plant?”
Ritsu gets enough composure back to flail a hand in Shigeo’s approximate direction. “I told Nii-san that he’s a good brother.”
“Ah.”
“I’m being ganged up on,” Shigeo says. He’s found the glue stick, but since there's no use for it anymore he just stares at it. “I’m not sure this would have helped. I’m sorry about the plant, Mom.”
“Come now, I’m not sure it’s so bad,” Dad says easily, playing with one of the leaves. “Who knows, maybe it’ll grow on us.”
Mom, Shigeo and Ritsu stare at him. Dead silence beats over their heads. Then the leaf between Dad’s fingers and several leaves close to it shrivel up and die.
That does Ritsu in again, but his stomach is sore already from laughing so he tries to keep a lid on it. Dad has no such reservations until Mom thwacks him on the shoulder.
“Do not encourage this,” she says.
Dad’s still grinning, though. “Glue not encourage this?”
Shigeo walks away. “I’m going back to bed.”
“I’m going to bed, too,” Ritsu decides, and takes off after his brother. “Goodnight Mom, bye Dad.”
Dad chuckles. Mom rolls her eyes.
At least Reigen doesn’t stoop as low as dad jokes.
They echo goodnight as Shigeo and Ritsu turn down the dark hallway, but they sound a little stunned, like they just realized what kind of situation they walked in on versus the situation they expected.
Ritsu catches Shigeo smiling behind his hand.
“What.” Ritsu rounds on him. “There’s no way the glue joke got you.”
“It was funny.”
Ritsu shoves him. Shigeo’s composure slips as he giggles. His aura is untethered and Ritsu’s heart is warm.
Maybe stepping forward sometimes feels like stepping backwards. Maybe that’s okay.
Tomorrow won’t be another yesterday.