One-shot
…
With anxiety-filled tremors in his hands, his retrieval of the pieces he’d managed to scavenge from the ceremony left much to be desired. The few pieces he did have were incomplete—a destroyed certificate that he’d briefly thought of framing when he got home to remind himself that even if he was worthless and talentless in every other area, he’d at least managed to earn something for himself and maybe others would see it and be proud of him. He should have known better.
Melancholic eyes watch as the pieces eventually slip from his grasp—the wind blowing them far from the loose grasp of his pointer-finger and thumb—and disappear into the horizon. The sky is practically bursting with color—hues of rich gold, topaz orange, ruby red, rose-petal pink, amethyst purple, and sapphire blue. The colors even intermix, bleeding together like rich water-paint.
It'd been a while since he’d paused to even glance at the sunset.
The colors bursting across the sky hadn’t even given him pause in the busy, overcrowded city that he’d been relocated to when he was seven-and-a-half. The tall buildings coupled with towering lights made it impossible to even get a full appreciation for the sky’s capability of adopting nearly every color for its palette.
Once he’s gotten rid of every piece remaining in his pocket—he didn’t even remember what he’d been thinking as he’d mindlessly crouched to grab every piece his trembling hands could gather into his fists—he draws his knees to his mid-section. Curls inwards like he can shield his heart from being hurt—the echoes of the shouted words and sudden pin-drop silence turn into piercing flaming daggers that cut deep.
He thinks it might be the betrayal of today.
Genya knows that he wasn’t always right—he had never been and could never pretend to be even at his proudest moments, not that he had a lot of those—but, did his worthlessness and pathetic nature have to be revealed to every single one of his peers and other students his age that participated in the student events today? It’d felt like such a high, winning the competition and having his name announced so that everyone could associate his name with being the ace of their school’s shooting team. A high that had lasted for a split second as the certificate was being handed to him—and he could see the fancy scripture and colorful embellishments—before someone had snatched it and torn his confidence to shreds along with the certificate.
A tear slides down his face at the memory and he lifts a sleeve to roughly wipe at his cheek. It felt stupid to be crying over a flimsy piece of paper. But, he supposes that it’s the apex of terrible things today—like, if he’d been scolded for everyone to hear, the sting could only be slightly alleviated by the fact that he had something shiny to cling to remember that even if he was talentless in every other regard, he still had this one thing.
He's at least relieved that the presenter and their people had quickly ushered him off the stage before he could have a very public meltdown—their promises of shipping him a new certificate falling on deaf ears as he’d continued walking.
Genya had refused to rejoin the crowd—the weight of their stares renewed from the first few weeks after Genya had transferred as a second-year last year. He’d simply walked until his tears started pouring down his face and then he’d ran. Weaving around people with the practiced ease of someone used to avoiding large figures and menacing gazes until he was breathless. He’d wound up at a bus-stop and used his pass to just sit on the bus for ages—occasionally wiping his tears with his sleeve until a kind old lady had offered him a few tissues.
By the time he’d gotten off the bus—he’d been one of the last few stragglers—and he’d wound up near the beach a few minutes before sunset.
His shoes are discarded on the sand beside him, socks stuffed into them in a weak attempt to avoid tracking more sand off the beach then he was comfortable with. For years, he’s avoided the beach—unable to shake the magnitude of his memories.
When he was seven-and-a-half, his family had been on the rare family car-ride to the beach for Sumi’s birthday. Stuffing the lot of them into the car had been a rare treat—but one their mother was desperate to do so since their father had died in a mugging a few weeks beforehand. None of them had really mourned the hateful man—aside from their mother as she was the sole person in their family to remember the man she’d married and not the one who’d raised fists and hurled words like serrated daggers at his own flesh and blood. A beach day—something that Genya hadn’t experienced since he was two—had been a wonderful idea, in theory. Spending hours chasing the waves, teaching his younger siblings how to build sand-castles—despite the fact that Genya had never built one, either—and munching on fruit kept cool by the cooler bag they’d gotten secondhand at a yard-sale.
The Shinazugawa family never made it to the beach—hit by a driver that had a seizure at the wheel. In his nightmares, he remembers holding the twins—attempting to shield them from the collision—as they’d died. He remembers the cries and screams and persisting fear as he’d woken in a blood-stained back-seat. He remembers listening to one of his younger siblings gasping for air.
From that day forward, the beach had been avoided like it’d contained the plague.
It was also the last place that anyone would think to look for Genya Shinazugawa—now, sixteen and no longer seven-and-a-half.
He cups a pile of sand, lifts it, and then watches the particles drain from the gaps in his fingers. Genya empties his hands and regathers the sand—the repetitive motions are comforting, in an odd way. If he focuses on them, he won’t have to focus on his humiliation—
—people had stared, gawking at him and then whispering to each other in a way that resembled snakes hissing. An entire audience had witnessed his brother, the math teacher, storm onto the stage, shred his certificate until it was unrecognizable, all the while shouting about his poor grades. It’d been a complete betrayal. He knows his grades are bad. He knows that he’s not talented in any school-subject. He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows—
—Genya wants to scream. He wants to scream and curse because all of his thoughts circulate to the fact that it’s unfair. He’s doing the best he can—why isn’t that good enough? Why can’t he be good enough? He just wants to feel like he’s good enough. Genya fists the sand, a sob rips from his throat and thick tears start to stream down his face. It’s like he’s a deranged lunatic—he wants to shout about everything and nothing at all until he’s breathless and then even further.
He wants to just run—disappear forever so he can avoid the looks because now, he’s not just a delinquent kid that transferred to the prestigious school as a second-year, he’s also a complete and total failure. Everyone knows that he’s just a leftover burden.
A waste of space. Worthless. Useless. Pathetic. Stupid. Idiot. Moron. Dumbass.
He suddenly holds his palms to his ears, digs them in to try to block out the mean voices. It doesn’t help. They don’t go away like they should. Like he so desperately needs them to. Instead, they grow louder and louder and suddenly he’s breathless.
Breathing hurts.
He can’t breathe.
Genya grips at his throat, struggles to take in any air at all. Tears are still streaming down his face. He can hear a white noise—static—developing in his ears. The corners of his vision start to turn white.
He chokes.
Attempts to inhale. Breathe, just breathe. Come on, it’s so easy, why can’t you breathe? It’s so simple to just breathe. Anyone can do it. Why can’t you?
His eyes are burning.
Genya slumps to the side, distantly registers the sand pressing against the side of his face. His gasps are starting to lose sound—he can barely even hear them anymore. His lungs refuse to inflate—refuse to accommodate for the air.
It feels like a punishment from his body. Like, his body is punishing him for being such a waste of resources. He’s so pathetic—what moron can’t breathe? He’s so selfish—undeservedly too. What right does he have to be chasing highs? He couldn’t even properly protect his own baby sisters and brothers. He couldn’t even make his own life worth anything at all. He’s not brilliant. He’s not a genius. He’s just nothing. He’s a shameful dumbass.
He’s not deserving of any type of happiness—he hasn’t earned that right.
Genya still feels like he can’t breathe—though he does register that, at some point, his lungs started cooperating again. Numbness starts to settle—chased in by the night’s cool air. The sun has long-since set.
He’s not ready to move—not yet.
…
The day passes slowly yet quickly at the same time—a conundrum he’s unsure of explaining. The sun burns on his face and he knows that he’ll probably have the red, sun-darkened skin to accompany it. He doesn’t bother to move from his secluded little hiding spot. He also doesn’t bother to pick up his phone, wallet, or bus pass from where he’d dropped them by his side before he’d practically collapsed against the granules of sand. He watches a few people amble past—very few noting him and steering clear of the scarred teenager. A child, filled with painful childlike naivete, had run up to him at some point and given him a cool water-bottle. Aside from that, he remains undisturbed.
The scar came from before the accident, though he’d acquired a few scars from it and since, but it’d been from his father grazing his face with a broken beer bottle during a fit of rage because Genya had been too loud when he’d gone to get water in the middle of the night. Sanemi had been furious—as furious as an eleven-year-old could be—when he’d awoken to Genya crying silently and pulling on his blankets for help. The one thing that Genya regrets, to this day, about that night is waking his brother up. They wouldn’t have the matching facial scars if he had just dealt with the injury by himself or waited till morning.
Genya passes the time through toying with the sand—he shut his phone off during the bus-ride. He’d never run-off quite like this before. The only other times hadn’t really been running-off persay, but instead falling asleep at a friend’s house and forgetting to inform his elderly relatives—who’d barely even noticed his absence. Genya had thought about running away from them a few times, visiting the relatives that had taken Sanemi in—separating the two brothers within weeks of their family’s bodies being lowered into the ground—but he’d been too embarrassed and ashamed by how he’d lashed out at Sanemi for letting them be separated.
Thing is, he always thought that if he was running anywhere—taking off to anyone—it would always be towards Sanemi Shinazugawa.
Now, the last thing he wants to do is look at the person who resembles someone who used to love him. Someone who loves him—someone who cares even a little bit about him—wouldn’t betray him like that. No matter whether Genya deserves it or not.
It doesn’t matter that his brother is completely right about Genya’s own talentless, innate burdensome worthlessness—
Maybe, he’s being selfish again.
In their entire lives, Sanemi had never been wrong. He’d always strove to do the right thing—he had high morals and was incredible and smart and so talented. He’d always been a certified genius. Therefore, it was more likely that Genya was completely in the wrong and just too stupid to see it.
Regardless of right or wrong, Genya knows that—right now—he can’t even stomach seeing Sanemi. He knows that the minute he does, he’s going to burst into pathetic sobs that will just make him even more stupid and pathetic.
For the umpteenth time, he wishes that he were anyone else. Someone smarter. Someone better. Someone loveable.
Genya supposes that his inability to be loved—he’d long accepted that he’d never deserve love again after he’d failed to protect his little siblings like Sanemi and him had promised each other that they would. They’d promised to tackle that burden. And Genya had failed—it was no wonder that his brother was completely right to loathe him. He should consider himself lucky that Sanemi tolerated his presence at all after the elderly relatives that had taken him had succumbed to their age.
It's pointless to wish that he could be loved. Completely useless like the rest of him.
With a desolate sigh, he covers his face with his arms. Buries himself in them. He’d deposited his school jacket onto the sand once the sun had reached its zenith—the sand around him blisteringly hot—and unbuttoned his uniform top. He’d even rolled up his pant-legs, though the school uniform was completely soiled by a disgusting concoction of sand and sweat.
He probably smells awful.
Genya cringes at himself, unable to stop himself from subconsciously sniffing and then grimacing. Even if he didn’t have the best sense of smell in the world, it would take someone who’d completely lost the sense to not notice the profound smell of teen boy.
Maybe it wasn’t just the sight of a delinquent teenager that kept people at a distance—it could also be the fact that he smelled awful.
Another full-bodied sigh escapes, makes his shoulders droop even more and he considers the half-finished water-bottle emptily. He feels ashamed—using up those people’s gentle kindness like he even deserved it—because he knows that, deep down, he shouldn’t be here. Running away from his problems probably makes him a coward—adding one more foul word to the list of his attributes that might as well be tattooed all over his body in bold, large ink for even a stranger on the street to see.
He eyes his phone; the darkened screen of the device absorbs sunlight rapidly and he knows it’ll be like burning his fingers once he picks it up from the sand cushion.
Lifts his gaze to the skyline—it’s sunset again, marking it a full-day since he’d dropped himself on the beach. A full-day since he’d drank anything but half-a-bottle of water. Longer than that since he’d eaten anything. Hunger doesn’t come though—in fact, the thought of eating churns his stomach into knots—and he runs a hand through the untamable, black hair of his mohawk.
“Are you alright, son?” A voice breaks the spiral of his thoughts. Genya snaps his gaze from the skyline he’d been getting lost in as his mind peacefully went blank to peruse the old man wielding a cane. There’s a vibrant youth in eyes that are surrounded by wrinkles and weathered skin—a stark contrast that briefly makes Genya uncomfortable, but he dismisses it. “You’ve been out here since morning.” The man grumbles a bit as he slowly lowers himself to sit beside Genya, cane poking into the sand in front of him.
Inwardly, he scolds himself for not being helpful. “I don’t know.” Genya’s hoarse voice scratches at the inside of his throat. He opens his water to take a quick sip under the hope that it will make the dryness abate even just a little bit.
Caramel eyes regard him for a second. “You don’t know if you’re alright, boy.” The man remarks and Genya rolls his shoulders even more inwards, makes himself smaller. “What’s troubling you? Sharing with an unbiased stranger could help.”
For some reason, it all comes spilling out. The fact that his older brother is his legal guardian that he’s living with—he even shares that it’s the first time he’s been to the beach since his other close family members died—and the horrible tension between them. He shares his regret for the stupid words he’d spewed as a child. He divulges the details of joining the shooting club—and how his brother had detested it, but Genya had selfishly refused to give it up—and winning an award at a shooting competition. The last thing he overshares is how his brother, the school’s math teacher, had stormed the stage and shredded his award certificate all the while shouting about his failing grades.
It feels relieving—like he’s taking bricks off his shoulders with each detail—to share it with someone who doesn’t know him. A person who’s never met him before. Part of him almost feels like he still doesn’t deserve this kind of release from the negativity that gathers inside of him.
When the last of his words fade away, his voice disappearing, the sun has already set and the sky is lit by a waning moon and speckles of stars. He grips his elbows and wonders what the man might say to everything that Genya had unloaded on him. Wonders if there’s any bit of right or wrong—if the man thinks that he should go home to sort out his mess rather than spend another night in the sand.
Finally, the elder releases a hum as he strokes his chin with consideration. “You’re still a boy. It’s not wrong for you to want to have fun and enjoy the life you have—you’ve lost enough that you should absolutely find happiness.” The man states firmly. “Grades are important for education—but it’s not the end of the world to not need a higher education such as college or university if that’s going to end with you making your life miserable. You’ll waste away your precious life that way.” He adds, wistful.
“I don’t know what I want.” Genya’s voice breaks.
“You’re young. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now.” The man consoles him. He pats his shoulder—a hint of awkwardness in the movement. “Let me tell you something. I can see where your brother is coming from—I spent my whole life working a blue-collar job that left me miserable and broke these old muscles and I wanted the best for my girls. I pushed my daughters to study hard at school and one of them flourished under it while the other suffered. I didn’t want her to ever end up like me and I ended up pushing her too hard that she up and left one day. She made her own way in the world and it wasn’t until last year that we started talking again—but she’s happy now, which is the best thing I could have ever wanted for her.” His elder sounds so sad and heartbroken as he tells his story.
Genya relates to the girl in the story more than anything though. He figures that, maybe that’s what the man meant by his own status as seeing from Sanemi’s eyes. “I don’t want to leave Nemi.” Genya whispers quietly.
He wipes at his eyes desperately. He still feels a sob bubbling in his throat. “I think your brother is trying to do what he thinks is right for you—higher education works for some people more than others and it promises financial stability. He wants you to never starve or lose like you did before.” The man informs him before he shakes his head disapprovingly. “But, that doesn’t mean that what he did is right. He shouldn’t have humiliated you like that or made you think that you had to give up what makes you happy.”
He sobs. It’s a nice confirmation that he wasn’t being selfish when he signed up for the shooting club. “Nemi’s gonna be mad at me if I don’t put all my attention into my studies—he had to give up so much for me. He should have just continued living his life and put me in the system. I wouldn’t have blamed him for it.” Genya knows that, deep down, he’d only ever be a problem for his brother, and his brother would’ve been better off without being dragged down by him.
“Your brother would not have been happier knowing his brother was placed in the system. His life wouldn’t have been better without you in it.” The man sternly remarks to him. He wraps an arm around Genya’s shoulder and allows for him to sob against him. The sobs rip through his body—painful-sounding.
“I don’t want to be hated anymore.” Genya murmurs once he’s got ahold of himself.
“I highly doubt that your brother hates you. I’ve never once hated my daughter—I’ve feared for her livelihood and future before, definitely, but hating her would be like cutting off both of my arms.” The man shudders. Genya also shudders as he grimaces at the thought of being arm-less. “I can imagine that it’d be the same for him.”
He sniffles, exhausted. “You think?”
“I know.” The elder suddenly gets to his feet using his cane. “Now, come along, you’re not spending another night on the beach. You’re going to come stay with me tonight and then we’ll get you home tomorrow.”
“But—” Genya starts to protest.
A noise cuts him off, impatient-sounding. “But nothing. Get a move on, son.” The man waves a hand impatiently. “My name is Oikawa—by the way.” He adds.
Genya stares up at him for a moment before another impatient gesture has him scrambling to gather his few things—phone, wallet, bus-pass—into his pockets and sling his school uniform jacket over his arm. The night breeze rustles their hair as they move up to the wooden pier, Genya silently follows the man to his sea-side home.
…
“It’s not much, but it’ll do for tonight.” Oikawa flicks on the light to his spare bedroom. The room is covered in a layer of dust, showing that it hadn’t been used in quite a few years. Genya wonders why the old man doesn’t clean more often but doesn’t comment on it—unwilling to do or say anything that would get him kicked out. “Get in the shower and I’ll get some sheets for the bed. Here are some old clothes that should fit you from my son-in-law.” Genya suddenly finds himself with an armful of clothes.
A pair of dark sweatpants and a white t-shirt with a red crab centered on its front. A towel is also flung over his head before he’s being shoved towards where the bathroom must be located.
Genya shuts the door behind him and turns to appraise his reflection in the bathroom mirror above the sink. Violet eyes observe the reddened skin that is already starting to peel in some places. He strips out of his shirt quickly, dropping it into the sink and cringes at the contrast of red and his normal skin-color. The sun-burn feels hot to the touch and he knows that it’s probably going to be a miserable night—not that last night was any better as he didn’t even remember if he’d fallen asleep.
He closes the shower curtain and turns the handle to turn on the water—listens to the creaks of the old pipes as the shower-head starts to release cold water. Genya makes sure that no water is pooling anywhere outside the tub, before he strips of the rest of his clothes and ensure that he has a towel to use. He counts under his breath before getting under the spray, feeling the sand come off and watches as the water under his feet darkens with wet sand.
He scrubs himself clean, tries to avoid aggravating his sun-burn too much, with the bar-soap that was already in the shower. Genya turns the water off, feeling a little better than when he’d initially stepped under the spray.
Genya towels himself off and dresses quickly. Even though he is tall for his age and more muscled than most teenagers, the sleeves still come down past his elbows and he has to roll the top of the sweatpants over once before stepping out of the bathroom. “That was quick.” Oikawa comments as he gives him a critical once-over. Genya tenses and wonders if the other would force him back in the shower if he found him unclean enough. “You’re going to need some aloe for that burn.” The other notes and nods to himself.
Folded sheets are on the mattress and Genya busies himself with making up the bed as Oikawa disappears somewhere and then returns with a large bottle of green aloe. “You don’t need to do so much for me.” Genya attempts to protest. “I really appreciate the kindness you’ve already given me.” He bows, hands clasped in front of him.
“Oh, shut it, son.” Oikawa rolls his eyes heavily as Genya peeks up. “It’s a bed and clothes—not luxury food and clothes from lavish places worth more than this entire neighborhood.” He mutters as he forces the bottle into Genya’s hands. “I’ll get you something to eat and then it’s to bed with you.”
“I’m not hungry but thank you for the offer.” Genya declines.
“Have you eaten at all today?”
A long silence passes between the two and Genya observes the other sigh, leave, and then come back with a bag of chips. “Thank you, for everything.” Genya bows deeply once more. “Good night, sir.” Oikawa grumbles a bit, waving him off, before he completes the exchange of good-night and shuts the door behind him as he leaves.
Genya sits on the edge of the bed, one hand on his knees while the other holds the aloe. The chips sit on the dresser beside him. His phone, wallet, and bus pass sit innocently next to the bag and Genya sighs before he grabs his phone.
He holds down the button on the right-side of the device to power-on his phone and watches the phone manufacturer logo pop-up as well as the service that Sanemi uses. He only has a few seconds of silence as his phone loads before notifications start flooding in.
Genya cringes, scrolling through the vast collection of messages. 48 missed calls and over three hundred text messages from Sanemi. He scrolls past those to see the other messages—there’s twelve missed calls from Tanjirou and forty text messages. There are three calls from Zenitsu and two text messages and even one from Inosuke, though the text message is hardly decipherable as though the other had been attempting to talk but was garbling through water. There’s more messages from his group-chats—he has one with the shooting club, one with Tanjirou, Zenitsu, Inosuke, Kanao, Muichiro, and Nezuko, and one with Senjurou, Muichiro, and Nezuko.
He figures that it’d be easier to respond to the shooting team first—their messages all seems to be expressing their sympathies that his older brother did that with a few team members even threatening to torment the math teacher. He messages his gratitude for their kindness and tells them not to do anything to Sanemi.
Genya will tackle that issue later. Probably.
He responds to the group-chat with Senjurou, Muichiro, and Nezuko next. The three of them were offering their own condolences with Nezuko updating Senjurou on the gist of what happened since he hadn’t been there. Their last few messages were concerned about where he was since Tanjirou had heard from Giyuu, who’d spoken with other teachers, that Genya hadn’t gone home since the award ceremony.
Genya opens the bag of chips and eats a few. His stomach protests the food initially, but eventually gives in. He wipes the crumbs on his borrowed sweat-pants. He messages back that he’s fine and that he hadn’t really been thinking clearly since the award ceremony—but he’s safe, now. Nezuko responds instantly, expressing relief that he’s finally answering before asking—read: demanding—where he is. Genya sighs and says that he’d started running and wound up on the bus and ended up at the beach.
Collectively, their group seems to be taking several seconds to think before a call from Nezuko takes up his screen. Genya answers after hesitating for a brief few seconds. “—you went to the beach of all places? Are you ok? Are you still at the beach?” Nezuko questions, concern thick in her voice.
Genya nods to himself and then realizes a heart-beat too late that she can’t see him. “Yeah. It just ended up that way.” Genya sighs into the phone. His throat still feels a bit dry and he knows that he sounds hoarse.
“Are you still at the beach?” Senjurou questions. Genya pulls his phone away and realizes that he’s on a conference call with the other younger siblings.
“No.” Genya answers. He bites his lip. Contemplates telling them that he’d trusted a practical stranger. “Someone ended up talking to me at the end of the day—a nice old guy. Oikawa. He’s letting me crash here for the night.” Genya gets out in one breath.
A few beats of silence pass for there’s a relieved sigh from Nezuko. “I can and can’t believe that you just took off like that—do you know how worried everyone has been about you? You just disappeared without a word and oh my god—I need to tell Tanjirou that we finally heard back from you.” Nezuko’s voice went a bit distant and he hears her shouting for her older brother, obviously taking the mic away from her mouth to do so.
Genya exhales, falls back on the bed, and curls up around the bag of chips. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to worry everyone. I just—just couldn’t stomach going back there—” He bites his lip as he thinks of Sanemi’s apartment.
Muichiro sighs. “I wish you would have at least contacted one of us to let us know that you’re ok.” He lectures a bit. “Although, it’s completely understandable that you didn’t want to go home with that jackass.”
Senjurou yelps. “Please don’t use bad words. Kyo would not be happy—”
“That sounds more like a you-problem, then a me-problem.” Muichiro interrupts, voice deadpan. Genya can’t refrain from huffing in amusem*nt as he takes a handful of chips into his palm.
“Genya-kun, are you really there?” Tanjirou’s loudly joins the call from Nezuko’s end.
Muichiro sighs. “Why are we letting older siblings into this?”
Genya bites his lip. “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry for worrying you Tanjirou-kun.” He apologizes.
Tanjirou’s sigh sounds extremely relieved. “Thank God. I’m so glad to hear that you’re ok. I was so worried when Shinazugawa-sensei phoned this morning to ask that we send you home and then we had to tell him that you weren’t here and I could hear him starting to freak-out. We ended up calling almost everybody to see if they had seen you and when no one had since the award ceremony—” With every word, Genya feels a renewed sense of guilt for turning his phone off.
He really hadn’t meant to cause so many people so much worry—hadn’t really thought it through to point of thinking that people would even care that he had left. Genya can guess that he probably had thought that it would be the same scenario as it had been in the past when he’d been living with his other relatives. No one would typically notice the small things about him before.
Feeling properly chastised, he clears his throat and takes another sip of water.
“I’m really sorry. I’ll properly apologize to everyone tomorrow.” Genya states.
Tanjirou exhales. “Please don’t ever do something like this again, Genya-kun. If you need space from Shinazugawa-sensei, just come to one of us, we’ll hide you from him until you’re ready to face him again.” He pleads.
Genya nods once more. “Yeah, I will. Thank you.” He bites his lip.
“Are you going to contact Shinazugawa-sensei tonight?” Tanjirou questions.
Muichiro huffs. “I say—don’t. Let the man-child stew in his own guilt forever.”
Tanjirou gives another sigh. “That’s not very nice, Mui.”
Genya can practically hear the eye-roll this time. “And the man-child was being nice when he acted like a right jackass to Genya.” Muichiro sounds pissed. More pissed than Genya had ever heard the seaweed-head sound before. Normally, Muichiro was a little more apathetic and distant—simply tagging along with them as a neutral party that mainly recorded the messes the group of younger-siblings occasionally found themselves in. “He can suffer, for all I care. Genya can just move in with us since his brother’s a piece of sh*t.”
Senjurou interrupts. “But that would be really mean, Mui. Even if Shinazugawa-sama does deserve it.” He doesn’t sound like he cares much for Genya’s older brother anymore. Not even the bare vestiges of admiration remain from the math-loving youngest of their group. “Genya is too kind for his own good to do something like that.”
Nezuko giggles. “Careful you two. You’re going to make him cry if you keep going.”
Genya glances at the clock ticking away the seconds on the wall. “I’ll talk to Sanemi tomorrow.” He admits, yawning. The sun had really physically and emotionally drained him today and he’s exhausted from even tracking their conversation.
Senjurou softens from his own anger. His voice loses its irritated edge as he speaks. “We’re so glad that you’re safe.”
Nezuko hums in agreement. “Yeah.”
“If you need Yui and I to beat your brother’s ass—” Muichiro starts.
“—whose ass am I beating?” Genya hears Yuichiro in the background, doubtlessly joining the conference call for the first time. “and when and where?” Yuichiro adds. Genya has a feeling that he’s completely serious. The normally volatile twin didn’t take much to snap—and if it was Muichiro asking then Genya could bet the minimal amount of money he had saved on Yuichiro showing up with a butcher knife and maniacal grin.
“Shinazugawa-sensei the dickhe*d.” Muichiro answers instantaneously.
“No one is getting beat up!” Tanjirou interjects at the same time.
Muichiro hums noncommittally. “We’ll have to see about that.”
Genya feels a deep and profound warmth that he did have people that would fight for him—even if he knows that it’s unnecessary. “Good night everyone.” Genya calls out as he moves to hang-up.
Before the call fully disconnect, he can hear Yuichiro starting: “Wait, was that Genya—hasn’t he been missing—” Genya exhales and drops his phone. The low-battery symbol blinks on his screen and he clicks the phone-screen off with a slump developing in his shoulders. He rolls over to lay on his stomach, presses his face into the laundry-detergent-smelling pillow, and tries to will himself into not crying.
Even if he knows that he has to go home tomorrow—he’s still scared.
He’d never run from Sanemi before. He’d run from Kyogo dozens of times—most times he hadn’t been able to get away from him. He’d run from the elderly relatives that had taken him in—never getting further than the bus-stop before reminding himself to turn away because if he did leave, he knew that he’d probably never see Nemi again.
And Genya knows that Oikawa only shared parts of his story with him to provide him with Sanemi’s perspective—which he appreciates. As much as he appreciates that the man reminded him that he should absolutely chase happiness. No one has ever encouraged him like that before. They always wanted him to be something different—smarter, less threatening, kinder, pleasant. In the past, people had pointed at him and whispered about how scary he was—how his somewhat delicate features had been wasted to his facial scar and delinquent attitude.
Genya wraps his arms around the pillow and squeezes tightly, completely forgetting about the aloe gel that should soothe the burning skin simmering against the fresh sheets of the cot. He closes his eyes and even still wishes that he was someone better.
…
“Where the f*ck have you been?” The words are more a demand than a question and Genya blinks, a bit taken aback by the suddenly enraged face of Sanemi Shinazugawa in front of him. He’d gotten on the bus after he’d woken and Oikawa had stuffed him with food and forced him to take the aloe gel with him even though Genya had claimed that he could buy some later—departing from the sea-side town around noon and a four-hour bus-ride had brought him back to the city. He’d only realized a bit too late, once he’d gotten off the elevator on their floor, that he didn’t have his keys—having left them with his school things next to one of his friends.
Genya had barely paused in front of the door before it was being forcefully flung open, nearly slamming into his face if he hadn’t flinched back in time. Genya stares wide-eyed at his older brother and feels more than a bit misplaced. He opens his mouth before closing it, unsure of himself and what to say.
Fingers wrap around his wrist and tug him forward, thickly-chorded arms band around his shoulders and he lowers his head to make the sudden embrace less straining. The anger doesn’t quite whoosh out of Sanemi—but he shakes as he holds Genya close in the doorway of his apartment and Genya suddenly gets the feeling that he’s less angry and more closer to scared in that moment. Sanemi pulls away abruptly and grabs Genya’s chin harshly, “Don’t ever f*cking do that again. Do you understand me?” His red-rimmed eyes bore into Genya and he blinks a few times, even more taken aback.
He doesn’t know what to say—he’d been bracing himself to be yelled and screamed at for acting like a child. And this—while there were similar notes to what he’d braced himself for—wasn’t exactly starting off with a punishment.
Impatience lines Sanemi’s movements as he tightens his grip on Genya’s face. “Answer me, Genya.” He demands.
“I won’t.” Genya stutters, barely squeezes the words out through the tight grip. “I promise, aniki.” He adds. He’s not entirely sure himself of what he’s promising—to never disappear anywhere wordlessly again, probably. Even still, he can see the way Sanemi scans his features before his glare hardens and he bodily shoves Genya into the apartment, slams the door shut behind them.
“I’ll ask again—where the f*ck were you?” Sanemi looks like he wants to shout—but, for once, it looks like he’s keeping his anger on a loose leash. Genya pauses as he’s toeing off his shoes in the entrance before he swallows and rolls his shoulders inwards.
Even if he had all the time in the world to prepare what to say—his mind blanks at the least opportune moment. “I—I got on a bus and went to the beach.” Genya finally stammers after a few heartbeats of silence pass wherein he can see more and more tension forming as it bleeds across Sanemi’s countenance.
The only thing that gives away Sanemi’s shock is the slight widening of his eyes. It’s only a momentary reaction—before his face steels itself and his glares rises in ferocity. “Why in the hell would you do something like that? Huh? How could you just run the f*ck away like that? What the hell is wrong with you?” This is the blow-up that Genya expects.
If he could, he’d shy away from it, but there’s nowhere to hide from Sanemi. He flinches. “Why the hell do you care, Sanemi?” Genya lashes out, unable to resist. It’s the first thought that had popped in his head when he saw all of the missed calls and unread messages. “You have made it so f*cking obvious that you don’t care—”
“How can you say that you damn brat?” Sanemi interrupts.
“Because you never listen.” Genya raises his voice in response to the interruption. “I’ve told you so many times I’ve lost count that I can’t do school like you can. That I’m not like you. And instead of helping—all you do is f*cking scream at me for doing the best I can. You f*cking humiliated me in front of everyone. Now—once again, I’m going to be stared at like a delinquent. I’m going to have to deal with gang rumors and being blamed for every f*cking thing again. Because you couldn’t wait to remind me once again how much you hate me until we were alone. Instead, you had to destroy the one thing I’m good at—”
He starts to lose steam, sobbing harshly enough that he can barely see anything in front of him. He’s suddenly so angry and hurt that he’s breathless. That his body shudders with the effort to just breathe.
“—and I’m so sick of this. I stuck around with those old people for years on the off-chance that I got to see you again and apologize for what I said that day and so we could be actual brothers again. But, I should have just left. You’re not my Nemi. My Nemi loved me—he wanted me to be happy—”
Sanemi finally snaps again. “All of this over a f*cking award for being good with a damn gun.” His voice echoes loudly and Genya freezes. He stops moving. Stops breathing and can feel himself completely shutting down.
It’s like something inside of him just snaps.
Either, Sanemi doesn’t notice the sudden stillness or he doesn’t care—the latter is probably more likely. “Newsflash, Genya—being happy—” His voice twists into something mocking, “—doesn’t mean sh*t. You’re going to end up jobless and wasting your life if you chase after that stupid sh*t.”
Genya stares at his fingernails with dead eyes. “Then, I guess I’ll waste my life by your standards, Sanemi.” He mutters. He straightens, though his shoulders remain curled inwards to make himself smaller than he actually is. “Thank you for taking me in—but I’m not your burden anymore. I’ll figure out somewhere else to live by the end of the week—you won’t have to trouble yourself with thinking about my future anymore.” Genya ducks his head into a bow, tries to hide the slight tremble of his lips as he realizes that this was never going to get anywhere.
“The hell are you talking about—you’re not going anywhere—” Sanemi grabs his arm and Genya stares at him. He tries and fails to see the older brother that had once loved him in those features, but they’re foreign to him.
“You couldn’t even deny that you hated me, Sanemi.” Genya states factually.
“Because that’s f*cking ridiculous, Genya!” He shakes slightly as he takes in the complicated face that Sanemi is making. “You’re my baby brother, of course I f*cking love you. You’re not my burden, that’s f*cking insane.” Sanemi suddenly looks like he might cry and Genya’s eyes widen.
He doesn’t know what to do—what the next right thing is. Because Sanemi won’t listen to him when he says that he has no future in university or college. He just pushes his own ideas and what worked for him onto Genya and he’s not built like that.
Sanemi continues where he left off—and it’s the most they’ve honestly said to each other since their family died and they were separated. “Do you even realize how goddamn scared I was when I had no idea where you were? When none of your stupid friends could tell me? When the last anyone had seen you was that stupid ceremony? I thought that I’d lost you—that you’d disappeared somewhere and I would never see you again.” Sanemi’s voice lowers into something less volatile.
Genya feels tears forming in his eyes, breaking free and streaming down his face. Sanemi yanks him into an embrace and Genya flinches slightly before he gives in, relaxing himself. He slumps against Sanemi and almost wishes he was smaller still so that his older brother could hold him like he’d done when they were younger.
“I f*cked up. I shouldn’t have double-downed on what I did because it wasn’t right to do that to you.” His older brother finally states after several long minutes of them huddled together. “I shouldn’t have shredded that stupid certificate. And I definitely shouldn’t have shouted at you about your grades in front of all of your peers. It was wrong of me to do that and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Gen.” Sanemi sighs.
Genya’s cries grow harsher. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have left like that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Nemi.” He apologizes over and over again.
It’s like the floodgates have opened—all of the pain that had stock-piled inside of him bubbles to the surface. “It’s ok, Gen. You’re ok.” Sanemi reassures him. He runs his fingers through Genya’s hair soothingly. “You can’t go anywhere, ok. I don’t want to lose you.” The arms around him tighten at the words.
Genya grips tightly onto his brother’s sleeve. “I don’t want to leave.”
“As if I would ever force you to.” Sanemi scoffs. Slowly, Sanemi lowers them to sit against the floor. He doesn’t let go of Genya—as though, the second he does, Genya will disappear. Genya clings to his older brother, too. “And you’re right.” The words are abrupt and sudden and Genya pulls away from his brother and stares with wide, uncomprehending eyes.
He tries to remember what he could possibly be right about. Doubts resurface in his mind—maybe he was right in thinking that Sanemi didn’t love him at all and actually had rethought his choice in pleading for Genya to stay.
Callused hands cup his face. “Hey—don’t overthink, dumbass.” Sanemi’s voice softens.
Genya blinks the tears back. “Sorry.”
Sanemi grimaces. “And don’t apologize, either.” He states in that same, soft voice. “I shouldn’t be screaming at you all the time about your grades—if you’re doing the best you can then you are.” He continues.
He nods rapidly. “I am. I promise, aniki, that I am.” The words are desperate. He’s desperate for Sanemi to believe him—to know that Genya doesn’t mean to have such low-scores. That he’s trying his absolute best.
“Ok, I believe you.” Sanemi brushes his fingers through Genya’s hair like he did when they were younger—before everything. In those few, precious weeks when everything in their life was perfect and peaceful. “And—I’m not going to push for you to go to university anymore, but I do want you to complete secondary school at the very least. We’re going to see if some of your stupid friends can tutor you—not Zenitsu, he fails worse than anyone I’ve ever had the misfortune of teaching—and I’ll start helping you, too. Then, we’re going to sit-down and talk about your options. What makes you happy.” He continues.
Genya blinks a few times, rapidly. He’s surprised by the ease in Sanemi’s words. It’s that easy and simple for Sanemi to actually give him some leeway. “But, I thought that doing what makes me happy would make you upset.” He’s confused. Extremely so.
A sigh escapes Sanemi’s mouth and his hands are on Genya’s shoulder. They’re a mess on the living room floor—sitting on the ground and talking. “It scares me.” Sanemi corrects. “Because I worry that you’ll get hurt or end up with nothing.” He then shakes his head to himself. “Part of me is still scared about that—but I also needed to realize that if I try to force you into this mold, I’m going to lose you—again.” He shudders.
He tilts his head to one side. “Again? You didn’t want to be separated by our relatives?”
Sanemi’s eyes flash. “Never. I never wanted them to separate us, but I knew that staying together would not be giving you your best chance.” He answers, gritting his teeth slightly and a bit emphatically. “And let’s clear something up—I was never not going to take you in, Gen. Even before the relatives you were staying with passed, I was always going to come back for you once I had the money to.” Genya hadn’t known that at all.
With how tense things had been when he’d first moved in, he’d thought it had been an inconvenience to the life that Sanemi had built for himself. He never would have guessed that Sanemi had been doing all of that for him. It makes tears slip free from the confines of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I had no idea, Nemi. I thought you didn’t want me and were just dealing with me—I never thought—” He sobs as Sanemi once more pulls him into his arms.
“Dumbass.” Sanemi huffs. He sounds suspiciously close to tears, though. “You’re my baby brother.” He says, like that’s reason enough for dedicating so much of himself to Genya. “And don’t get me wrong—I’m still pissed that you ran away without saying anything—” Genya cringes as a note of anger resurfaces in Sanemi’s words. The white-haired brother deflates a second letter. “—but I’m so glad that you came home.” Sanemi finishes.
“I’m glad that I came home, too.” Genya’s voice cracks. It’s the first time he’s called Sanemi’s apartment home since he’d been moved in. The first time he thought that he’s allowed to do that.
Sanemi claps suddenly, loudly. “Alright—well, it’s time for dinner. I’m going to order us some take-out.” Genya wants to cling to him for a bit longer, but he knows that he can’t get too greedy or touch-starved. He lets Sanemi stand and then accepts his hand when Sanemi offers it to help him to his feet. Sanemi doesn’t let go. He tugs them both into the kitchen to grab a menu off the fridge. They don’t typically get take-out food, but Genya knows that if he tries to cook at all right now, he won’t be able to focus.
He gets the feeling that it’s the same for Sanemi too. Genya stares at the menu for a moment, before he picks his usual order. He’s not quite hungry—emotional turmoil makes the thought of eating anything difficult, but he also knows that he hasn’t eaten nearly as much as he’s supposed to as a growing teenager these last few days. “Can we watch a movie, Nemi?” Genya asks unsurely as follows Sanemi to his phone, driven to do so by the warm grip that Sanemi still has on his hands.
It makes him feel younger—like he did when they were seven and twelve respectively and Sanemi always held his hand when they went places. “Yeah.” Sanemi agrees. He dials the number on the menu and places their order for delivery.
Sanemi steers them over to the couch and plops down in his usual spot. Genya lets go of his hand and curls up next to him as he leans his head against his older brother’s shoulder. He feels a bit tired—the weight behind his eyes from all that crying and his emotions makes him feel like there are tiny weights attached to his eyelashes. He glances up at Sanemi to check that it’s ok for him to cuddle up to him and Sanemi rolls his eyes before he wraps and arm around him to pull him closer.
“How was the beach?” Sanemi asks.
He thinks about it for a long minute as Sanemi scrolls through their Netflix for a movie. “It was nice, I think I’d want to go there again, now.” Genya answers. Even though the sand had been hot and blistering against his skin—the waves had been soothing. And the air smelled sweeter and cleaner than it did in the crowded city.
Sanemi nods. “We’ll make a trip of it. I’ll even let you invite your stupid friends.” He states. Genya smiles brightly—he wants to do that, a lot. He wants to show Sanemi the waves and maybe even introduce him to Oikawa. “But, we are absolutely not forgetting sun-block.” Sanemi pokes Genya’s reddened arm and he cringes.
Genya nods his agreement. “Yeah. Definitely. I have aloe gel, too.”
His older brother rubs his head affectionately. “I’ll help you put it on after dinner.”
“Ok.”
Sanemi picks an action movie—which is incredibly typical of him, Genya notes wryly—and relaxes into the couch cushions. “You better not fall asleep before the food gets here.” Sanemi warns.
“Ok.”
“You’re falling asleep, aren’t you?”
“Ok.”
His eyes close as he listens to the warmth of Sanemi’s laughter and feels a brief press of warmth against his forehead before the shoulder he’s resting his head on shifts slightly and a blanket is draped over him. “I really do love you, Gen. Even if I don’t say it as much as I should. I’ll do better for you, I promise.” Sanemi whispers so quietly Genya’s not sure if the sentiment is even real. He smiles, though, and finally drifts off amidst the start of explosions from the action movie.
They’re going to be ok. Genya knows that—now.
