It's been two weeks since he last came to work, she said over the phone.
I'm worried for him, she said over the phone.
I'm afraid he may have actually done it, she said, shaking over the phone.
Mikoto sighed, only turning the key in Nozomu's front door, stepping in with a bag of groceries. It's been a solid half-year since he's actually visited or been visited. After receiving a certain call- missing work for so long was unlike his brother, at least without his hoarde of students- Mikoto sounded nonchalant over the phone.
By as soon as he'd hung up, he was panicking, resorting to morphine to calm himself again, bringing more with him on the eight-hour drive to his brother's if he needed it. He hoped he wouldn't; but he knew rather well how this would be. It wasn't the first time this happened, it wouldn't be the last, but it was always frightening.
Taking off his shoes, setting his overnight bags down and walking in in socks, he put the groceries in the kitchen to move where he knew damn well that Nozomu would've holed himself into. His bedroom, west corner, in the closet, curled up and crying, scared and miserable and utterly pitiful.
He was right- damn well, he was a doctor, he should be right- and he rather grimaced. Nozomu was there, messily dressed, but not crying, not shaking. Simply curled there, numb, staring out and not moving in the slightest. With a sigh, he knelt, dragging his brother out with little protest, setting him somewhere where he could watch him, make sure he wouldn't just fall over and die.
Carefully and meticulously, Mikoto checked over for reflexes and watched as small signs of life creep back into his younger brother. Nothing wrong with him other than… whatever caused his shut-in, Mikoto supposed.
He made food for the younger and watched him eat, dissecting patterns and amounts and threatened him to eat more or he'd be force fed. The younger only obliged without a word.
He may have flunked psychology, but Mikoto knew his brother well enough to know that it was easily some sort of mental issue for now. A sort of dysphoria, maybe.
Nozomu, as soon as he'd cleared his food and Mikoto took the plate away- mumbling some sort of relieved comment in his British-sounding English- stood, shaking and faced his brother, frowning. Confused, almost. He only spoke one word, and it was enough to make the older scoff.
"Why?"
"Because I'm your brother."
Nozomu didn't know how to retaliate, exactly, save for step up and hug his older brother. As awkward as any of their hugs were, it was comfortable. It felt safe. Caring, like you were loved and always would be.
He couldn't help the fact that Mikoto's hugs were the bit that always made him feel the worst for being selfish like he tended to be, and he always found himself sobbing like a small child and comforted with shushes and being held.
Nozomu hated the fact that he had Mikoto when he was patient. Mikoto and patient or nice or caring didn't go in the same sentence- same paragraph- on any other occasion. But this wasn't any other occasion, this was this.
He shared a bed with the older, and he didn't mind it. It rather reminded him of how he'd crawl into bed with his older brothers, and it'd be the four of them. As much as Mikoto would complain and call it lame while Kei told him to shut up or he'd sleep on the floor, they were comfortably cramped on their pushed-together beds and the occasional fall-through that usually ended in laughing and a sprained ankle and more laughing.
"D'you still snore, Miko?"
"If it's an issue, I'll sleep somewhere else."
He received no answer save for the tightening of his brother's arms around his waist, and that was answer enough for him.
A/N: Writing stupid brotherly love things idek I need to stop writing at four in the morning What am I even doing anymore.
Everything I write for this series is just like I don't even.