I decided to write another chapter, I guess...I got such favorable reviews...so, thank you to everyone who did. I hope it's as good as the last one, at least.
Ritsuka was sitting at his brother's desk, ears pricked forward in concentration as he puzzled over his homework. Whatever it was, it was taking his whole concentration, even if he might have preferred to be doing something else. He usually did his school work in his own room, because Seimei always had to have his computer, but on that day his brother was busying himself otherwise. Ritsuka ventured a look in Seimei's direction and saw a most curious expression on his angular face, one he couldn't place on his own, and so he returned to the math problem. He knew the older boy was looking at a photo album, but what about it was so fascinating he knew not; he didn't care. He wanted the work to get done.
Seimei was, indeed, looking at an old photo album – the only one left in the house. His mother had burned the others because she couldn't bear to see her 'dead' son anymore. She got rid of him, of his memory, by burning everything he ever touched. That's why Ritsuka had brand new furniture decorating his room, but it no longer bothered the youngest brother.
The dark indigo eyes strayed over the many glossy pictures, associating most to memories, some fond, others not. However, one picture in particular caught his eye.
"I can't understand this," whined the small, round-cheeked boy as he held up a rather thick book that weighed heavily in his weak arms. His small ears were shifting left and right in irritation, and a larger hand slid down to pat his head. Ritsuka looked up at his brother but couldn't manage a smile; Seimei took the book away from his and dropped it onto the coffee table – then he frowned, leaned forward and made sure the book was straight on the table. He always was picky that way, unlike his messy brother who threw his clothes and toys around as if he'd been born to do so.
"I would hope so; that's Shakespeare. No six year old understands Shakespeare," he assured his little brother, neglecting to tell him that he, at six years old, had read it. Then again, he was born smart enough; not that Ritsuka wasn't smart, but 'intellectual' wasn't a word he'd use to describe his little brother. Seimei had spent hours pouring over the dictionary to make sense of half of it, and when he was at the end he'd already forgotten the beginning.
"I want to read everything you have," Ritsuka chirped in determination.
"Why?"
Their conversation was interrupted when their mother came in, a small smile playing at her lips, her arms hugging a bag that clearly came from a toy store. The eldest boy had to stop from rolling his eyes; his brother was constantly getting new toys, and forgetting the old ones and his room resembled more a warehouse for toys than a place to live. He didn't mind as much because his brother was always happy to get toys – in fact he often contributed to the growing mountain of gifts he received – but the mess was driving him crazy. He had to grit his teeth almost painfully whenever he entered his brother's room.
"Ritsuka, I bought a present for you," she informed her youngest son as she set her elegant hat down on a cabinet.
The toddler ran from his brother's side, to Seimei's annoyance, and grabbed onto his mother's leg, eyes glued to the blue bag. His mother pulled out an unusually large teddy bear from said bag and set it down in front of the boy, folding the bag and putting it away.
The bear had fur the color of caramel, eyes as green as the lawn during the summer and there was a purple velvet bow, the same color as its owner's large eyes – that was probably intended when his mother chose it at the store – wrapped around its neck. Ritsuka loved it instantly, of course, and was quick to return to his room with it. For the rest of the day, Ritsuka stayed in his room, leaving Seimei to read book after book on the couch, bathing in the sun's light as it filtered through the window, until suppertime when he came down to eat.
Seimei remembered that he had nothing against the bear itself, because if he did it would have disappeared quickly enough. He wouldn't have remembered the incident at all, possibly, had it not interfered in his daily routine. It still bothered him now, as he was sitting on his bed listening to the sound of Ritsuka's pencil drawing elegant numbers and letters on a sheet of paper.
Ever since his brother graduated from the crib to the 'big boy' bed, Seimei had convinced his little brother to sleep in his bed rather than his own. He didn't lie and tell him there were ghosts in his closet or flesh-eating monsters under his bed, no, but he did promise to keep the nightmares away. His brother didn't know what they were, but he gave his younger self such a description that he never sought to sleep in his own bed again. Their parents couldn't say anything about it, no matter how odd it seemed to them and anyone else who found out about it, so they let it go on. Eventually they forgot they ever sought to put an end to it. They had never questioned Seimei before Ritsuka was born, and they soon learned that it was unwise to do so, so they stopped. Seimei was as free in his house as anywhere else, unlike most boys his age.
The bear changed that. The bear took his place, although comparing himself to such a silly toy even in these circumstances disgusted him, and the first night came when Ritsuka didn't. Seimei waited and waited, playing on his computer, waiting for the younger boy to come and slip under the sheets. He never came. So he went to bed alone, unable to control his fury and effectively destroying one of his favourite pillows at some point during the night. He rarely lost his composure, and that night he learned that his little brother was as much his greatest strength as his greatest weakness.
The next morning, he woke up early and went to make Ritsuka breakfast before his mother tended to it. He placed everything onto a small table and heaved it all up upstairs, down the hallway and into his brother's room. He thought, at the time, that he had angered his brother into staying away from him and so he sought to make it better. But when he saw the large bear's beady eyes staring at him from between Ritsuka's lanky arms as he slept, he knew that bear's lifetime was coming to an end. And Seimei is rarely, if ever, wrong.
It took two days, longer than he hoped, to get the bear safely away from Ritsuka without anyone noticing he'd taken it. What happened to the bear was lost amongst his many memories, but he knew Ritsuka never saw it again. When Ritsuka saw that the bear was missing, he barged into his older brother's room, tears filling up his violet eyes, and the eldest boy knew he'd won and a similar battle would never occur. Ritsuka was a smart boy, he wouldn't let it happen again.
"What's wrong?" he cocked his head sideways, arching an eyebrow. He opened his arms so his brother could jump into his lap and burry his small head into his chest; he let his tail brush against Ritsuka's forearm, the long hairs tickling the sensitive skin.
"My bear's gone!" he hollered, ignoring the long appendage rubbing his arm in an attempt to distract him.
"I'm sorry," Seimei whispered close to his brother's silky ear, rubbing Ritsuka's back with one hand. He heard sounds coming from his computer as the online game continued without him, but he ignored them.
"Did you steal it?" Ritsuka asked hesitantly.
Seimei's tail flicked in surprise and it returned to rubbing against the desk rather than his brother's skin. He moved his face away from Ritsuka's and plunged his gaze into the hesitant one looking up at him from a few inches lower.
"Why would you say that?" he inquired.
"…I thought you might have been jealous."
A bird landed in front of Seimei's window and gazed at the two brothers through the glass. The wind eventually picked up and it flew away, leaving nothing behind but a slim black feather. Somehow he remembered that vividly.
"Don't say silly things," he pretended to be offended. He told his brother never to lie, and he tried not to lie to Ritsuka in return – he simply twisted the truth around so it would fit his ideals and plans. He wasn't lying, exactly; he was presenting the truth differently. Besides, he wasn't jealous. Jealousy was a weak emotion, like most of them in fact, so he didn't feel it. He just didn't like someone – or something – other than him having control over his little brother.
"And besides, you don't need a bear to sleep with, you have me," he smiled and ran his hands through Ritsuka's straight black locks because he knew it would irk him.
"Can I put a ribbon around your neck?" Ritsuka smiled at him; his upper gum missed two teeth and one was growing on the bottom set. Seimei was satisfied to see that they were all straight and perfect, devoid of any malformations.
"No," he said sternly. He was no one's pet.
He pushed that page aside, still wondering what he'd done to the offensive bear. Probably something more humane than he'd ever practiced on an actual person. There was another picture deserving of his attention on that page – his little brother holding a plastic shovel in one dirty hand and half his body submerged in damp, dark sand. His mother was in the picture as well, but he didn't pay her much attention.
Seimei had never seen the sea through his eyes but he'd read and seen enough that he wasn't impressed when he saw it stretching before him, outlined by the horizon and the long stretch of golden sand. The waves rolled onto the beach, gobbling up anything in its way before retreating to the endless blue mass it was born from. He observed it for ten seconds before getting bored and lying down on the sand, legs outstretched, and taking out a book from his bag. Ritsuka, however, stood there for fifteen minutes with his feet in the warm sand, eyes wide and too stunned to smile like he no doubt wanted to. Their mother bent down to pick him up and placed him next to his brother, promising she would return with refreshments.
"It's so big, Seimei. Does it end somewhere?" questioned Ritsuka as he attempted to dig a small hole in the sand with his growing, bushy tail. His ears flicked to get rid of the sand that seeped in whenever the wind picked up once more.
"Yes, but it's too far to see."
"Can I swim there?"
The eldest smiled.
"No. But, when we're older, we can go there by plane or by boat," he offered slowly. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, his mother coming back towards them as she fought against the breeze.
"To do what?" Ritsuka questioned excitedly, eyes shinning all of a sudden.
"It'll be a trip. Just you and me."
Ritsuka agreed quickly. Their mother came back and handed her children some beverages: lemonade for the cadet and chocolate milk for the eldest. Ritsuka thanked her but he stayed quiet, staring at the ocean over the top of his book, lost in thought.
When he was done, he insisted on making a sand castle like the other children were doing a little father down with their parents and siblings. He wanted Seimei to come, of course, but the thought of walking around in the muddy sand and having sand caked under his nails made him shiver terribly and he bit back a growl. With a forced smile he refused, and was even more aggravated when Ritsuka's smile turned to a frown and his grip on the plastic shovel faltered.
"Go make a big castle, better than anyone else's, and I'll come take a picture once you're done," he insisted, eyeing the neighbouring sand castles. Some were very intricate. But they wouldn't be good enough, because Ritsuka wouldn't have made them, and that was what would make whatever structure Ritsuka fabricated beautiful beyond words. He smiled to himself when his brother cheered up and begged his mother to come; she quickly capitulated to his demands. She always did, being as weak-willed as she was.
The final product was a bit crooked, the roof half-built and lacking any kind of door or entrance, but he rubbed the base of his brother's ear with his thumb and lifted him up, placing him on his shoulders – while making sure the muddy feet stayed well away from his skin and clothes. Their mother went to get the camera while Ritsuka struggled to get down, afraid he would be dropped. Only when she was back did he allow Ritsuka to return to the ground.
He picked up the camera, held it up to his face, and pressed the little button.
"Seimei, I need help with this," Ritsuka yelled for the third time. It wasn't like his older brother to be so disconnected from the world, as if his ears were clogged with cotton swabs.
Seimei set the album on the bed and got up, letting his feet drag painfully slow on the floor, before standing next to his brother and leaning forward so their faces were nearly levelled. He reached out to let his thumb rub Ritsuka's soft cheek while pretending to think about the answer to the simple math problem. His brother leaned into the touch and Seimei hummed contentedly before writing down the answer carefully.
