Whoops, real life distracted me. Welp, on with the story...
Ichimatsu
There's a lot of stuff that bothers Ichimatsu.
He dislikes bright lights, or loud noises. He dislikes crowds and social situations and getting too much attention put on him.
He even dislikes his brothers, sometimes. Or maybe, just one in particular?
Ichimatsu dislikes Karamatsu a lot.
The way Karamatsu dresses irks him, like he's always going to some kind of party that only he's invited too. He hates the way Karamatsu laughs at his own stupid speeches. He hates that way of talking too, as if anybody cares for long winded explanations.
He resents the way Karamatsu walks, or sits, or carries himself. How he always turns away from people somehow. Or how he draws back when they reach out.
He can't stand the way Karamatsu smiles. Like it's been forced on his face. Like it's not even real.
Ichimatsu can't stand Karamatsu, because Karamatsu is so blatantly miserable, but nobody else seems to notice.
And he doesn't know what to do about that.
Ichimatsu has categorized Karamatsu's behavior into two moods.
Sometimes, his brother is being painful for the sake of being painful. Because it makes the others laugh and Karamatsu is a lot of things if not dramatic. He enjoys the attention.
Maybe it's hard to get it any other way?
Todomatsu likes to poke fun at him when he acts like this, but in the end the two of them are sitting against the wall making stupid faces at Totty's phone while he makes pictures.
Ichimatsu tries not to stare at them, tries to tell himself it's not jealousy he's feeling. He doesn't care about those kinds of things.
Karamatsu can say something funny, genuinely funny, and Osomatsu will laugh and they'll share a glance, a look between them.
They probably think nobody notices, but they are idiots after all.
It's ok though. Ichimatsu doesn't mind at all.
Because when Karamatsu laughs it's real and his frame relaxes, leaning into his older brother as if they are kids again.
It's the other times that bother him.
When Karamatsu is being painful because it is all he has left.
Because he thinks it might keep his brothers from noticing the strain in his smile or the fatigue in his eyes.
When his hands are clenching at every word and he flinches when somebody addresses him. When he looks like he hates himself as much as his brothers sometimes pretend to hate him.
When all Ichimatsu wants to do is grab him by the scruff of his neck and push him into the wall, yell at his face to stop being such a pathetic idiot.
Yell at him to just speak his mind, to stop pretending to be ok with this, stop pretending they're not hurting him, stop pretending he's fine.
Karamatsu is not fine.
But instead, Ichimatsu does nothing. He sits back and slowly moves his hand through dark fur, tries to seek comfort in the feeling as he watches his brother pretend to be something he's not.
He finds a letter, once.
It's old and wrinkly and hard to read, but the hand-writing is unmistakably Karamatsu's.
He almost doesn't read it at first, thinking it's probably one of his shitty brother's inane poems. Then he catches a glance at the words and his blood runs cold.
Ichimatsu burns the letter after that, together with some other of shittymatsu's stuff, for good measure.
At night, he lies awake and wonders where Karamatsu is going, to write a farewell letter like that. Maybe he's going to run away from home again, like he did a few times when they were back in high school?
But the words were a lot more final than that, a lot more permanent, and Ichimatsu tries not to consider the few letters he wrote himself, that sounded much the same.
He's probably just reading too much into this.
Probably.
Then one night, Ichimatsu goes into the bathroom, and Karamatsu is there. It almost never happens that the two of them are alone in any room together, and something is on the tip of his tongue.
Maybe a question or maybe a scolding, something that tastes a bit like concern.
He swallows it down quickly and occupies himself with opening the medicine closet instead.
There's not much in there, mom's painkillers and some stray pills for an upset stomach. And the pills Ichimatsu is supposed to take every evening, the ones that are supposed to keep him happy and functioning.
They fulfill their role reasonably well.
He reaches out to grab them, watching Karamatsu out of the corner of his eye as he's bend over the sink, distantly aware that something's wrong, something is-
His hand misses its target and bumps against the painkillers instead, knocking them out of the cabinet to hit the ground hard. The bottle makes a dull, plastic-like sound when it connects to the tile, not the clattering Ichimatsu was expecting.
Its empty.
Something settles in his gut then. Something heavy and chocking. Something that makes him turn slowly.
He can't see Karamatsu's face, bend like he is.
Ichimatsu looks into the medicine cabinet every night. He knows the bottle was still half-full yesterday.
He opens his mouth, tries to say something, but Karamatsu stops him.
"Don't." He raises his head and his eyes look distant, empty. "Just don't, Ichimatsu. I'm... I'm tired tonight." He is smiling but it's even more fake than all those other times.
It all comes back to him then.
The shaky hands and withered looks. The long sleeves hiding pale skin, hiding the inside of Karamatsu's elbow. The syringe he found in the trash once.
It all comes back to him, and Ichimatsu doesn't know what to say, how to respond.
So he doesn't say anything as he watches Karamatsu stumble his way to the bedroom.
He pushes against Karamatsu the following night. Kicks at him under the blankets until his toes hurt.
Karamatsu doesn't wake up.
He's still sleeping the next morning and Choromatsu makes a comment about their elder brother's laziness. Ichimatsu has to resist the urge to throttle him.
It's hours later, when he's sitting in the living room fidgeting with his sleeves, that he hears the sounds of shuffling from upstairs.
Ichimatsu had forgotten what pure relief felt like before then.
When Karamatsu enters he stares at him, at the whiteness of his face and the messy hair. At the way he deflects Osomatsu's comment at sleeping in so late. At the way he pats Jyushimatsu's head when he joins him at the table.
entirely ready to start another round of play-pretend.
He swallows as he watches them. Maybe he should say something. Maybe he should-
Karamatsu locks his eyes on him. He still looks tired, Ichimatsu thinks.
So then again, maybe he shouldn't.