Author's Notes

From the few minutes since I wrote the last author's note, there isn't anything to add.

Except one thing I forgot to mention. The summary is metaphorical. He's not literally dipping a paintbrush into his blood and painting.

Kouichi's not being very clear. But then, he's Kouichi.

Open ended. On purpose. Roping it off reduces the effect I think. So make what you will of the end.

Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

Flicks of a Brush

Painting was art. But for him, it was also a reprieve. And with no other medium available to him in his solitude, what else could he use to paint his life but his own blood?

Kouichi K/Koichi & Kouji M/Koji

Rating: T

Genre/s: Angst

Part 2 of 2 - Reality

'Kouichi?'

The addressed look up at his brother, tilting his head slightly in a mild display of curiosity. Blue eyes met blue for the briefest moment, before the connection broke as a slight ripple spread from the surface, and all he could see clearly were the deep ocean blue regarding him, a slight smile on his lips.

'What is it?' Kouji said, a little annoyed.

'You tell me,' his brother said lightly, returning to the carrots he was working through with a sharp knife. 'You're the one who sounded like he was going to ask something.'

Sometimes, Kouichi made it extremely difficult to pin down anything definite about his personality. Or his mood. He had been more open in the digital world, and that first few minutes in the hospital, but perhaps that was simply the adrenaline from the constant fighting across a war-torn Digital World, followed by the briefest reward where nothing else was remembered. No doubt though, after they had all left, following the sudden flurry of tests and examinations after the 'miracle' of awakening from medical death, he would have had plenty of time for his body to catch up to his mind, and his mind to his soul. Apparently, the abnormality of the character was normal behaviour, because no-body else noticed anything, including those he hung out with on a daily basis.

He smiled constantly, though his eyes sometimes told another story before shutting off and reflecting the light. His tone varied, between light and dark, amused, curious and sometimes nostalgic and wistful, each telling stories of their own. He had to wonder though, how much of that was the real face, and how much was the portrait his brother painted to hide behind.

And why did he feel he had to hide?

An inward eye roll. That was a rhetorical question. Because he was so damn selfless and wouldn't let anyone else share his pain for one thing, and they probably wouldn't understand the full extent anyway. They, well, he to be honest, already knew the barer details, but to him, it was just a webbed mess. He supposed, in the end, he thought too differently, or perhaps he just wasn't sensitive enough.

That made him somewhat sad. His brother could read him to a 't'.

It made it difficult to wheedle anything out of his brother. He always knew. He didn't.

'Nothing. Never mind.'

Kouichi turned to look at him inquisitively.

'There's something bothering you,' he said plainly, turning back to the carrots, carefully cutting them into curry size pieces.

Kouji scowled to himself. His conversation was going to go around in circles again. It always seemed to.

'You know what's bothering me,' he said plainly, and with a little more bite than he intended. 'One of these days I'm going to really find you with blood all over your hands.'

He suddenly reached out and gripped the wrist holding the knife, steering it away from the last, small piece of carrot, taking it and popping into his mouth instead. Goodness knew how many times he had cut his own hand trying to reduce that to easy cooking size.

'Don't ruin your appetite,' the other half-playfully scolded, tipping the carrots into a bowl to cook later and reaching for the peeler to start on the potatoes.

Kouji glared for real this time. Damn his brother for worrying about everyone else but himself.

'I didn't ask,' Kouichi pointed out, setting the peeler down and disposing of the scraps.

That's right. He hadn't.

'Why mention it then?'

'You tell me.'

'I would if I knew.'

Kouichi made a noise similar to a sigh, carefully chopping the potatoes. 'You want to know,' he said softly. 'You see more, but you still don't see enough. I can't explain. You'll think I'm crazy or-'

He cut off as the knife slipped. More specifically, after the first drops of crimson splattered onto the slice he had just cut off. He pulled his hands, both of them, away before the rest was blemished, but made no move to wash them off. He had tired of trying to wash off blood that remained permanently etched upon his hands.

In the end, it was Kouji who took the other's hand and stuck it under the tap, turning the faucet to lukewarm and watching the dirtied blood run down the drain. He made them to grab the antiseptic and bandages from the bathroom, but his brother stopped him.

'What are you doing?' he sounded rather confused, genuinely so.

'Bandaging your hand,' the other responded, eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion and far more so worry.

Kouichi looked at the bleeding hand, then at the other, far from blemish but looking the same. 'Leave it,' he said. 'It takes a lot of blood to bleed to death.'

'You want blood all over the potatoes?' Kouji asked wryly, the only thing that would actually work.

Only, he hadn't quite expected the other to thrust the knife at him, blade thankfully down, and slip past to intended bathroom himself.

'Umm…Ni-san?'

He wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that he appeared to have touched a nerve. He looked at the vegetable knife, before soaping it, washing it off, and trying to continue with the potatoes. Key word, try. All he really succeeded in doing was making some sort of mess that might resemble the debris one would commonly find on a forest floor.

His brother's pieces were beautifully cut, each nice and neat and perfectly sized.

He growled to himself, before sweeping the scrambled potatoes into the bin. Somehow, their shapes turned his appetite off. He had never managed to gain the fine art of cuisine; he even managed to burn soup somehow. Hence why he left the cooking to his brother, mother and stepmother. Their father couldn't cook any better than he could.

Five minutes. That had only taken him five minutes. And in that five minutes, he had not heard a sound that he hadn't made himself.

Which led him to the bathroom downstairs, knocking on the door.

'Ni-san?'

The door cracked open, thankfully, as he would have otherwise used the emergency keys to get in, and that wouldn't have worked nearly as well.

The younger twin pushed the door open fully, looking critically at his brother, who had washed the fresher blood from his hands. Bandages were unnecessary now, the bleeding had stopped, for the moment at least, leaving a small red scar across the palm. It seemed so insignificant now, a small cut. Still, his brother pulled out the antiseptic from the first aid kit under the sink.

Kouichi said or did nothing this time, simply letting his brother play nurse, not even wincing at the supposed sting (had he even felt it? Or was he seeing something else?), nor cracking a smile at the cartooned bandaid that was placed over the cut.

'Blame Takuya,' Kouji said anyway, half glaring at the little dragons that ran across the strip of plastic. His brother didn't even crack a smile. 'Kouichi?'

The injured hand just sort of jerked. 'Was it bleeding?'

'Wha…yeah.' He had forgotten.

'But it's stopped.'

'Yeah, it has.'

'No it hasn't.'

Kouji looked at his brother, who was staring at his hands again.

'Do you think I'm crazy?'

The younger twin jumped at the sudden question, bumping his head against the cabinet. He let loose a few profanities under his breath, to which Kouichi automatically scolded, before forming enough coherence to give an answer to the question he had been asked.

'No, of course not,' he answered immediately, and entirely truthfully. He was just hurting, that's all.

'It's not normal though.'

'No…' he admitted. 'It isn't. But you're you. You've never been normal.'

Kouichi just looked at his hands again. 'You're always here.'

The younger twin looked away, a little guiltily. 'I'm not, I-'

'You shouldn't,' the other interrupted, a little vacantly, still staring at the blood coated hands, not even noticing the blood seeping through the bandage as the wound opened up again, failing to scab over, before reaching over to brush the other's cleaner ones.

'Why?'

He pulled away, and Kouji stared at the slight trail of blood left.

'That's why.'

The elder twin got up and slipped out, and the chopping sounds in the kitchen informed him that he had started on the onions. With the-

He practically flew into the kitchen in a panic, before noting the blade chopping cleanly. Blood thinly blotched the handle, but it was barely visible. Neither hand touched the food again, knife cutting, knife sweeping.

Kouji just watched, waiting for the knife to slip again. Visions of blood; they had become a reality, coating his hands with the thin film that persisted even when being washed away. How long then, before it came itself?

He looked at his own hands, seeing the trail of blood still marking one. Just a small part of his brother's burden, but it had given him the barest understanding and even less of that weight.

No-one else knew. No-one else understood. He knew little himself, but he knew he would not tell. He would not betray that.

His brother was still an enigma, shrouded in mystery and a veil of darkness that concealed the grief and sorrow of his past. Who knew what he had gone through as Cherbumon's right hand. Who knew what he had done as Duskmon. Who knew the full extent of the rampage of Velgemon, what had finally sated his painful hunger before he had been placated enough to be drawn back to Cherbimon. Who knew how and why it continued rebounding now, at times where the simplest things should not bring back such pain.

His brother didn't want him there, if only to spare himself. He would not have that, to save his brother as well as he could.

The knife slipped again, and his breath stopped for a painful moment, till it clattered to the floor.

Kouichi picked it up carefully, before continuing the process with a fresh, peeled, potato, carefully slicing it into curry-sized pieces.

'What did you see?' his brother asked carefully.

He stiffened slightly, before willing his body to relax and continuing the mechanical process. 'Nothing.'

He was lying. Kouji knew that. But he noticed the other had said nothing of late, though he had been waiting apprehensively for something to happen, some reaction, some words, some inlook.

He hadn't been waiting for them to become reality.

'Kouichi,' he repeated sternly. 'What was it?'

He said nothing but turned, and the knife suddenly flew from his hands, landing at the other's feet, if only because the other had rapidly taken a step back from the flying projectile.

'Do you want my blood to stain your hands?' the elder twin asked. 'Or the other way around?'

Kouji failed to understand immediately, heart still pounding from the sudden scare. Kouichi just picked up the knife and continued cutting, oblivious to the point where hallucinations had impinged upon reality.