Chapter Text
“Yes. Ok, fine. What, no! Just—yeah, sure. See you soon....Mich, please. Yeah. Ok, bye.”
Mika exhales loudly through his nose and presses “call end,” placing his phone face down onto the table gently.
“After much unnecessary effort, he said he’s coming,” Mika announces. The tips of his nails tap anxiously against the plastic of his phone case. “He should be here in a few minutes.”
Yu slurps noisily on the end of his straw. “Oh, great. Can’t wait.”
Mika huffs. “Reign yourself in, Yu. I don’t need both of you in a bad mood today.”
“Oh, don’t even compare me to that fucking —”
“Yu-nii, please!” Yuu-chan intervenes. He shoots Yu a nasty look. Yu sneers right back. “We don’t need to make things worse than they already are.”
Mika raises an eyebrow. Yuu-chan blushes and stirs his iced tea. Yu mutters something vulgar under his breath.
Yuuichirou sips his cappuccino and sets the mug down gently. “Mich is a bit...inhospitable.”
Yu snorts. “That’s a fancy way to say ‘a complete fucking asshole.’”
Yuu-chan kicks him. Yu stomps on his foot hard enough to shake the table.
Mika steadies his cup and sighs. “No, it’s ok. Mich has been difficult ever since he’s been back.” He rests his head on a first, tracing the wood grain with his finger. “It’s been so weird having him around. It’s been a long time. Years.”
“Oh yeah,” Yu says. He puffs his cheeks out. “Totally. Just imagine how we feel.”
Mika knows it’s true, but it still stings. Yuu-chan must notice the hurt on his face because he swivels toward Yu. “You don’t need to say shit like that.”
“Shit like what?” Yu asks, defensive. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking!” Yu holds a hand in Mika’s direction. “Don’t act like you don’t want to know exactly why Mika has been sitting on this massive secret for years!”
The blood drains from Mika’s face.
“Knock it off, you brat!” Yuu-chan shouts.
“Who are you calling a brat!?!”
“We are in public. There is no need to yell.”
“Stay out of it, Ichi!”
“Enough! All of you!”
Yuu-chan, Yu, and Yuuichirou all pause and look toward Mika in the wake of his outburst. It isn’t often Mika feels the need to raise his voice, but when he does, it isn’t for anything good. Yuu-chan shrinks down into his seat in shame. Yuuichirou sighs, long and withering. Yu pouts, crosses his arms, but stays quiet.
Mika pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “God, Mich isn’t even here and I’m already getting a headache.”
“Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you.”
Mich announces his presence in the same dramatic fashion with which he reentered their lives, unexpected and bracing. In the doorway of the cafe he stands, arms crossed over his chest, an immaculate eyebrow raised as he stares daggers at his brother. Mika’s face has gone from sheet white to scarlet in a moment, and he clears his throat, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.
“Mich,” Mika stutters. “That’s not—”
Mich chuckles. “So sensitive. Can’t even take a joke.”
Mich walks to the table slowly, eyes scanning the four of them just slow enough to be intimidating. The chair screeches unpleasantly as he pulls out the seat next to Mika and plops himself down, chin resting in the cradle of his hands.
“Well now,” Mich purrs. “Here I am. Here we are.” Mich looks at Mika out of the corner of his eye and makes a move for his iced soy matcha latte. “Now what?”
“Now”—Mika deftly snatches the drink from his naughty hands, and Mich has no right to be pouting because he doesn’t even like matcha—“Now, you apologize to Yu, Ichi, and Yuu-chan for what you did at school yesterday. You know, when they thought you were me and that I was saying those mean things?”
“If you acknowledge that it was grief born of a misunderstanding, then why press the matter further, little brother?”
Mika sputters. Mich takes this as opportunity to snatch his drink. “Oh?” he says, brow lifting in that elegant way Mika spent hours in front of the mirror trying to replicate as a child. He delicately swirls the ice and lifts it to his lips. “You don’t like being called little? Outgrew the endearments?”
The violent clatter of a table interrupts Mich’s gleeful spiel. “Hey!” shouts Yu, half-rising out of his chair. Yuuichirou pinches the bridge of his nose, long-suffering. Yuu-chan tugs half-heartedly at the hem of Yu’s bomber jacket, grimace smushed against the heel of his hand. “Don’t pick on Mika, you snake!”
“Yu!” erupts Mika, scandalized.
Mich looks down on Yu over the plastic Starbucks logo, unfazed. “Hiss, hiss. Slither,” he deadpans. “Not a creative one, now are you?”
If at all possible, Yu burns redder. His knee bangs once more against the bottom of their poor table, jerking their drinks into a dangerous dance. “What did you just call me?!”
“Boring.”
“You don’t even know me, you son of a—”
“Yu, please!” Mika touches his shoulder. Yu goes down without much force, grousing and huffing and nursing his smoothie like it’s the only thing keeping him from clawing Mich’s eyes out. “And you—give me my latte back! If you really like it so much, I’ll buy you one.”
Now it’s Yuu-chan’s turn to look affronted. “Mika, don’t spend your money on him.”
Mika groans. Ignoring the slow but steady creep of a shit-eating grin across Mich’s cheeks, Mika levels Yuu-chan with a long stare, brimming with all the incredulity he usually saves for Yu’s flirting.
“Don’t spend money on who, Yuu-chan?” says Mika. “My own twin brother?”
“Whose absence from your life left even us, your childhood friends, devoid of the knowledge even of his existence?” Yuuichirou mutters.
Mika’s glare has lost most of its sting by the time it whips to the last member of their party. “Not you too, Ichi,” he pleads.
“Well, since it seems you have your hands full here, dearest twin of mine,” Mich drains the latte, tosses the ice-filled cup to Mika’s chest, and pops back onto his feet, “I have errands to run. Ciao, Amane brothers. I’ll see you at home, baby brother.”
“Mich, you are not leaving—and all of you, stop!”
Mika’s head spins as his sanity swirls down the drain. Every noise whirlwinds together in a disastrous cacophony: Yuu-chan’s unimpressed scoff huffed toward Mich’s retreating back; Yu’s bark of “good riddance, bastard;” the passive aggressive drum of Yuuichirou’s fingernails against his paper cup; but above all, the indecipherable lilt of Mich’s parting words, silvery like leaves carried to Mika’s ears by the gust of the cafe door opening.
“It’s clear that you never needed me here anyway, Mika.”
Mika’s eyes blow wide. The crash of his chair cracking upon the tile and the sharp silence that followed strike as an afterthought as he gives chase.
“Mich, wait!”
“Mika?!”
“Mikaela, your beverage—!”
“Holy shit Mika, are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”
“You three!” Mika spins on his heel and jabs a finger at the brothers, who freeze. Yuu-chan bends over to retrieve his chair, Yuuichirou’s hair lies akimbo from the mad dive to save his cup, and Yu fists his shirt over his heart. “You’re not helping, so wait for me here—and stay put.”
Mika barrels through the swinging doors without another word.
He catches up to Mich not far in his mad dash in the direction of the house. Mich walks proudly, notes Mika through wheezing breaths and pumps of his arms—with shoulders pulled back and chin held high. His ponytail is loose; each bob sends another curl bouncing out of place.
Had they been eight years old, Mika would reach out and yank the strands, breath held in the anticipation for his enraged shriek. But the years stretch like the sidewalk between them: grayed out, barren, and sprawling vast, wider a distance than Mika can cross on his own.
Goddamn, Mich is fucking fast.
Mika grits his teeth and hollers his brother’s name. “Mich! Stop, please!”
Mich tosses him a wayward glance.
“Oh, Mika,” he calls, tone light and airy and so devoid of the pain Mika thought he heard, he almost wonders if he imagined it. Mich walks backwards, hands clasped leisurely at his back, and watches Mika approach. “Left your boyfriends for me? I’m touched.”
Mika takes in a great lungful of air. “Stop walking away and wait for me, you stupid brother!”
Mich’s heel hits pavement. He stops— finally, Mika thinks bitterly to himself—allowing Mika time to sprint the last three crosswalks, blasting past Mich by several steps. Mich snatches him by the arm with a muttered “whoa there, don’t hurt yourself.”
Mika hunches over, chest heaving. “Thanks,” he croaks into his knees.
“Yeah, yeah, no problem.”
Mich crouches. The sunlight catches his eyes, highlighting how unimpressed he is with a mirthless twinkle: an expression that Mika has never seen on his own face. In times like these, Mika can’t fathom how the boy before him could possibly be his twin.
“So, are you going to tell me why you ran after me with such enthusiasm, or will you pass out in public and have me drag your unconscious body home?” Mich asked dryly.
Mika coughs. “You are such an asshole.”
“Thanks. Love you, too.”
“Why,” Mika says when he’s regained his breath, “is it always your first instinct to just run away when things get complicated?”
Mika rises back to his full height. The slant of Mich’s mouth is as vague and unreadable as ever, emptily pleasant, but they’ve been reunited long enough that Mika sees the cold slate gray of stone behind the curve of his lips. Mich doesn’t speak as Mika regards him, but his insufferable smugness is absent at last, and Mika considers that victory enough. Besides, he has enough rage for the both of them.
Mika’s had enough of a lot of things for the both of them, for a very long time, but Mich seems set on denying him at every turn.
“Why did you leave?” Mika asks him.
Mich looks at his shoes, then back up at him. A dark look flickers across his face—emotion at last. “Something tells me this isn’t about the coffee shop.”
“Something told you?” Mika barks out a grating laugh. He clutches his chest, where his heart is staging a revolt completely unrelated to exercise. “I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult. I just want you back in my life.”
Mich scowls. “I never left your life, Mika.”
Footsteps hammer concrete at Mika’s back. He can’t be bothered to spare a thought for who might be coming—let them see the years of grief festering raw and unattended like a gaping wound between them. Mika isn’t the one who ran away. He grinds his teeth together.
“Are you kidding? You left. You didn’t even—you didn’t just leave me behind, Mich, you left Japan, and now you’re trying to tell me—”
“But you weren’t alone. You had Krul—”
“I didn’t need Krul, I needed you! ”
The shuddering breath Mich pulls through his teeth is the most blatant sign of discomposure Mika has spotted yet.“I...I know you can’t understand. But I was trying to protect you. From him. I was doing you a favor.”
“A favor?!? What the fuck are you talking about?”
Mich shakes his head and laughs. “There is so much you don’t know, Mika.” He narrows his eyes. “If you thought mom was crazy, she was nothing compared to dad.”
Ice water floods through Mika’s veins. “Don’t. Don’t talk about her.”
“After all of these years,” Mich breathes, face incredulous. “How can you still defend her after what she did to you?”
Mika’s pupils shrink to pinpoints.
Behind them, the clamour of three sets of feet against the sidewalk—those idiots, Mika told them to wait—draws closer with each passing moment. The sickening roil in Mika’s stomach churns fasters in tandem.
“Mika!” Yuu-chan calls. They must only be a block away. “What’s going on?”
Mich raises an eyebrow, evaluating the color draining from Mika’s face, and snorts. The walls are climbing up behind the blue of his eyes again. “Oh, you don’t want them to know?”
“Shut up,” Mika hurls through clenched teeth. Violence, unbridled and poisonous, swirls around his insides. It terrifies him.
“Why?” Mich asks. His eyes are dark and brimming with hatred. “Why don’t you tell them? Tell them that when mom offed herself, she tried to take you with her!”
Mika rears his fist back and punches Mich square in the face.
Mich grunts, surprised, as he falls backward. He lands painfully on his ass, hands scraping along the sidewalk in an effort to break the fall. When the shock has died down, he looks up to Mika looming over him, face still screwed up in rage.
Mich raises a trembling hand to the corner of his lips. He winces. His fingers come away red with blood.
“Would you look at that,” he mutters. He wipes the blood against his jeans and offers Mika a bewildered smile. “It looks like you did get stronger, after all.”
Mika doesn’t even have the chance to ball his hand again before the triplets are upon him, shrieking and practically hauling him into the air to get him away from Mich.
“Mikaela!” Yuuichirou gasps, scandalized. This is probably the closest he’s been in years to raising his voice—Mika is just glad he’s not doing a banshee-impression in his ear like the other two.
Speaking of: Yu tightens his grip around Mika’s midsection.
“Hold on, hot stuff!” he sputters. “I did not just see you knock that bastard down! He had it coming—I mean, what did he even say to you to get you to punch him?!”
“Could you have some tact for once in your life?” Yuu-chan hollers from where he has Mika’s arm—white-knuckled fist at the end and all—in a vice grip. With an icy glare jabbed in his direction, Mika makes a point of slackening his hand and shaking Yuu-chan off. He startles.
“Mika,” he says, tone softening. Uncharacteristically tentative, it draws the attention of his brothers. “About…your mom. Mich’s joking about her trying to…‘take you with her,’ isn’t he…?”
Yuuichirou pauses. Yu gapes.
“Mika?”
“Get off me,” mutters Mika, trembling. “I’m not going to start a fight.”
Yu and Yuu-chan freeze against him. Mika senses the look they exchange over the back of his head before they back away in sync, leaving him to regain his balance and inspect his throbbing knuckles in peace.
Mika’s blurred vision focuses on the red just as Yuuichirou pipes up, cautious but overly curious in that dulled way of his.
“Michaela, are you well? Your lip…”
Mich lowers his hand slowly. The stark relief of darkened blood against a pale complexion is a perfect mirror to what Mika sees on his own skin.
Mika’s world teeters ever so slightly on its axis.
“I’m quite alright,” Mich enunciates slowly, tongue darting out to sweep over the split lip Mika gave him. Those dead eyes bore through his soul.
“After all, Mika would never have the guts to actually hurt his only brother.” When Mich smiles, his teeth are scarlet. “It’s always the other way around.”
I was doing you a favor.
Mika wrenches away and bolts down the street. The blood roaring to his ears drowns out everything—the hammer of his footsteps, the calls of his name, the scuffle of Mich picking himself off the sidewalk—but for one voice in his head.
It looks like you did get stronger, after all.
Hot tears run down Mika’s face. It feels like a lie.