It wasn't a light or a sound that alerted Koji so much as a feeling. A disturbance in the air that altered the trajectory of the swirling dust particles in their ethereal descent. The sensation of something changing, something squirming through the stillness, brushing against the enflamed sack of fear and shame in his own chest. Igniting his own terror.
This was not the first time something Koji had said had sent his twin to the bathroom for hours, or the first time he'd been screamed at through the door for checking to see if Koichi was alright. He found himself bewildered and entirely unable to understand how his offhand comment had elicited such an extreme, irrational, emotional response. He couldn't connect his brother's form from before to the distortion that lived in his skin now beyond the agonizing fact that it was, still, Koichi. He didn't know what he'd done wrong or how to stop causing the most important person in his world so much pain, or frankly if he was causing the pain at all. If he was just the lance that vented the infected and swollen sores in his brother's soul before they ruptured. The desire to help and a fear of making it worse held him in stagnation; it was not the first time he'd feigned sleep, pretending he couldn't hear his twin cry, waiting for him to stop and sneak into the futon next to him.
It was, however, the first time Koichi hadn't come to bed, the first time he'd just stayed in the darkness, weeping quietly. When the little sobs finally stopped Koji closed his eyes and turned his back to the door, but the pale relief in his chest quickly dissolved into an unknown and acrid variant of anxiety. He was being quiet, slinking down the hall, rummaging in the kitchen, and Koji prayed he just wanted water and found the glass in the bathroom unsatisfactory. But the sounds of water or the rustle of a snack never came, just the return shuffle, hurried now. An escalation, terrible immanency, and the crystalline fear in Koji's chest pushed its way into his blood and sent it pounding through his limbs. What had Koichi gotten in the kitchen? What was he going to do? Koji threw off the blanket, rolled to his feet, and snapped open the door. His brother flinched at the sound but didn't turn, electing to fling himself into the bathroom and shut the door.
"Koichi," he tried gently, frowning at the click of the lock as he approached the end of the hall. "What are you… doing in there?"
"It's nothing," he replied in a high, artificial voice. "It's nothing, go back to bed."
"I- I can't." Thin layers of stacked guilt, willful ignorance, and toxic optimism cracked and gave way inside him as he pressed a hand to the bathroom door, trusting his exhausted weight to it. "I can't do this anymore- I'm worried about you. I need to know you're okay."
"I'm fine. I'm fine, so go to bed. Just go to bed."
"Stop lying to me." He wanted to yell, to take out all his frustration on the door, but instead he just whispered, leaning his forehead against the wood and futilely trying the door knob. "I know you're not fine, so please stop lying to me. I've known for a while now and I've made it worse and I'm sorry-"
"No you haven't!" Koichi's voice was suddenly sharp, insistent. "Don't say that. You haven't made it worse. It's me, it's all my fault, because of the way I am. So I have to do this, I deserve this and I need it. You haven't done anything, so you can leave me alone."
"I won't. I'm going to stay with you now. Mom's not back yet, it's just you and me. Let me in."
"No! No, you can't come in! You can't see me, not like this! If you see me you'll stop me and I can't let that happen. Please, I have to, I can't be stopped."
"Please let me in," he repeated, doing his best to ignore his brother's frantic cries. "Please let me help, let me be with you- let me do something. I can't do anything from out here. You're hurting and all this denial, all this hiding, it's not making it better. Maybe I can't make a difference, maybe it is hopeless, but I have to try and I can't try if you don't let me in."
Silence, but he could feel his brother's warm, shaking body on the other side of the cheep wooden door. His hand on the round brass, mirroring Koji's. Again he tried to turn it and again he met the rattling resistance of the lock.
"Koichi please?" For the first time perhaps in his life Koji allowed his voice to be plaintive, barely more than a breath- a prayer. "Please let me in?"
And the lock, hesitant but startling in the stillness, clicked free. Koji let out the sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding and twisted the knob, keenly aware of the shuffling just beyond. Back here at the end of the apartment the streetlight had little power, strong enough to catch the edge of objects and create outlines but not so much as to cast shadows. Indeed the room was already so saturated with shadow it couldn't possibly tolerate more. There was the pedestal sink on the left and behind that the toilet, the shower stool and bath on the right. Koichi's hiding place was not immediately apparent, yet as Koji slid slowly over the threshold he caught sight of his brother's huddled form bunched in the space between the toilet and the wall, ominous and dark. Without taking his eyes from that terrifying form, Koji felt around for the light switch, clicked it on, and felt his muscles go slack even as his stomach clenched in a frenzied, animalistic attempt to help him escape the source of his horror.
Koichi had his knees pulled to his chest, both white fists tight around the hilt of their kitchen carving knife and his pale, terrified face turned towards Koji. His first thought, more the shrieking of his assaulted reason than a coherent assessment of the situation, was that his brother was crying blood. Thick streams of viscous liquid ran from his eyes and ears and it was just the startling whiteness of the room, the contrast, that made the blood appear black. But it wasn't blood. Or anything else that made any sort of sense. Just… black, so black it looked matted, moving like a liquid without reflecting light like one. The sclera of his brother's eyes looked grey, as if he'd been weeping the stuff for so long it had stained, and the tracks from his ears ran down his neck and over his collarbone. Down his chest without staining his shirt, without interacting with the cloth at all, completely adhered to Koichi's skin.
"Oh god Koichi," he choked on the words, sliding to the floor as his legs just gave out underneath him. "Oh god, what's happened to you?"
"Stay back," Koichi warned, recoiling into his corner. "Don't try to stop me; I have to do this. It's the only way, the only thing that will help. If you care about me at all you won't stop me."
"Stop you," Koji repeated dumbly, too stunned to process what he was seeing with any kind of speed. "What are you going to do? Why… What's the knife for?"
"I have to do it. Can't you understand that I have to do it? I can't take it anymore; I have to let it out- I have to vent! This darkness, it won't let me live. I have to let it vent."
He leaned his head towards Koji just a little as he pleaded, uncurling one fist from the knife's hilt and pressing his fingertips to the tile to support the weight. Koji's chest heaved as he took deep, steadying, panicked breaths, his features working to process what his twin meant by vent. Like he understood and yet didn't want to understand. All the crying and moodiness and yelling and only now did it feel real. Only now did he see the vastness of his brother's suffering, the depths of his pain and the unfathomable edges of his oppressive darkness. Once so warm and comforting, the darkness had gone insane inside his twin's skin. And in a flash of clarity Koji realized that he neither could nor needed to understand in order to help. If Koichi guided him, then Koji's light could lead them out, lead them back to those first frail steps of balance once more.
"Wait," he said sharply, holding out both hands as if he could hold up his brother's resolve from here. "Wait, just wait. I've known things have been hard for you, I've known and I did nothing and I am sorry. It doesn't matter if you blame me or not because it's true. I'm sorry. Just please put the knife down. Please put it down and talk to me. I don't want you to hurt yourself-"
"But I have to hurt," Koichi insisted, equally sharp, indignant even. "I have to hurt. It has to be pain. I've tried everything else; this is the only way for me to get better."
"I don't believe that."
"I don't care what you believe. It's true. Pain is the only way."
"Does it have to be the knife?"
It was impossible to tell if it was the question or the raw desperation in Koji's voice that gave Koichi pause. He blinked more dark ooze from his eyes and lowered the knife, letting the blade's tip rest of the tile by his feet. Koji jumped on the moment and crawled closer, not yet within arms reach, not yet close enough to take the knife, but closer nonetheless. He was still breathing hard, slow, rattling breaths as he tried to control his own foaming fear. In stark comparison Koichi looked calm and thoughtful, streaked in black and stoic. As if in all this madness he'd finally found a sliver of true clarity, something about which he was certain, a decision he'd made himself.
"I have to hurt," he said slowly. "It won't be quiet until I hurt, it won't let me go. So please let me do it. Please understand that I have to do it and don't be angry with me."
"I'm not angry and I won't get angry, I promise. And I do, I understand, but will you wait just a little while longer? Will you let me try… just one thing?"
Koichi looked at him, an agonizing combination of skeptical and hopeful, and Koji looked back with what he prayed was a reassuring expression. The way his twin's image swam told Koji that he'd teared up himself, hot, clear tears that contrasted horribly with the opaque black liquid that dripped from his brother's face. But still, underneath it all, the two shared a face and a bond. Koichi hadn't thought he could be more afraid yet there he was, trembling before his twin's sincerity. Trying, and failing, to take a steadying breath, he nodded, feeling his first traces of relief when Koji returned his nod with a tiny smile.
"Alright," he said, licking his lips and holding out one hand. "Alright, I need you to give me the knife. I'm going to take it back to the kitchen and swap it out for something else."
Koichi didn't move and Koji licked his lips again, bobbing his head.
"I promise I will bring something else back, I promise. Please, Koichi, please trust me on this. Please?"
For a moment Koichi's knuckles went white around the hilt again and Koji's heart stopped in terror. Then his fingers slackened and he set the wood, delicately, in Koji's open palm.
"Okay," he whispered, voice shaking almost as badly as the body he curled into the wall once again. Fresh waves of black pulsed from his being and he dug his fingernails deep into his palms. "Okay, I trust you."
Koji nodded and stood, moving urgently down the hall and back to the kitchen. There was a clatter as he tossed the knife into the sink like something filthy, which caused Koichi to wince, and then the sound of the refrigerator opening. More crashing and wincing. Koji was in no mood to be delicate, not with his brother's desperate need burning in his back. And then in what was both a moment and an eternity Koji made it back to the bathroom. This time he was not cautious with his approach, casting himself onto the ground before his twin, prying one clenched fist from his chest, and stuffing it with something wet and frigid.
Ice.
At first it was just cold, but within seconds of contact the cold turned into an aching, biting pain. Koji curled Koichi's fingers around the handful of ice and held his fist closed with one hand, smiling in earnest when his brother's eyes closed and he sighed. The longer the ice chewed at his palm the more relaxed the dark twin became. His shoulders dropped, his ribs unbound, and his knees slid away from his chest. The muscles in his face loosened and when he opened his eyes again they were the clear navy blue Koji had come to expect from his own reflection.
"Hurts, doesn't it," Koji said with a wry smile, eliciting a weak and quiet chuckle like the sound of angel's singing. "Listen, you're my brother, Koichi. I don't know what happened, or even when, but I want to be there and help you through this, whatever this is. I want to help you be alright again. So whenever you get these impulses- whenever you need to hurt, can you do this instead? And can you talk to me? Tell me anything and if I'm being a dick just say so and I'll cut it out."
A puff of air that could've been a laugh or a sob burst from Koichi's lips and he gave his head a little shake, reaching up with his free hand to wipe his face. The heel of his palm ran across his cheek, across the black smears like streaks of liquid ash, and as he brushed away the marks they evaporated into thin coils of smoke. Midnight black, they swam through the air for a single, ethereal moment before vanishing into nothingness. It wasn't gone; they both knew that. These things don't leave, these distortions that live inside. But sometimes, by some logic that at once makes sense and doesn't, they do rest. And in their rest they allow their host to become human again.
Koichi's cheeks didn't stay dry for long. No sooner had he brushed away the overflowing darkness did true tears well to the surface and spill over. He gasped, trying to speak and yet entirely unable to get out so much as a syllable. The tears, fresh and clear now, refused to stop, no matter how many times he wiped them away, and his voice just wouldn't work. But this time Koji was there with him, by his side and experiencing similar problems. His own face was shining with tears and no matter what he tried the best he could do was make shushing noises. Koichi still held the ice in his fist and Koji held that fist in his, squeezing as cold water dripped between their fingers.
There is, undeniably, something about darkness that stimulates fear. But that something, formless and without reason, may be the very same thing that brings comfort. It's the lack of comprehension. A world turned inside out is terrifying, and in such a world the idea that you're loved and wanted is laughable. There seem to be no options, no alternatives to the pressurized whispers, even though there is no reasoning behind it. It's that very same lack of reasoning that necessitates faith, that allows you to overcome the whispers and believe someone when they tell you you're not alone. Maybe the world would never have twisted so horribly without the darkness, maybe not. Such a thing cannot be quantified. What is true is that without the darkness, without faith, you can't feel the hands that are offered, much less take them. The anchors, cairns on the way back to yourself.
Even though he didn't know it, even though he would never go back to the person he was before, Koichi would be okay again. And here, finally, with Koji by his side, he was starting to believe it.