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Once up, Genya never wanted to lay down again. He holds onto that simple truth weeks after settling into Sanemi’s home, to the ire of his brother. There are a lot of chores for such a big house, and Genya doesn't feel right leaving them all to Sanemi. He never did, even when they were children living in a much smaller house.
The problem quickly shifts from not being able to stay awake to insomnia, when he becomes awake enough to dream those dreams become nightmares. Only, that doesn't bother Genya, because he doesn't want to sleep. He wants to be alive for the rest of his life. It's not a concept his brother can grasp, so Genya avoids the topic.
Though it is woefully difficult to avoid much of anything when Sanemi catches him doing chores every time, without fail. Isn't he supposed to do chores? Most older brothers would demand their younger siblings help them, or at least Genya thinks so. Tanjiro didn't seem to ask much of Nezuko, but he's always been kind of a freak in Genya’s eyes.
There’s nothing strenuous about sweeping dust out of the entryway, but Sanemi seems to dislike him doing it as much as he did when Genya offered to chop firewood. And while it's true that Genya is not fully healed yet, the aches and sharp pain that flares up along the right side of his body are proof, he wants to move. He may never fully get better, it might be the price he pays for living.
But that isn’t something Genya wants to trouble his brother with. So he just does chores. Unfortunately that troubles his brother in a different way.
“Give me that.”
The cloth rag is snatched from his hands before Genya has a chance to offer it on his own. Not that he was going to, but it’s the thought that counts. Genya levels his brother with a very neutral stare while Sanemi pretends not to see it, taking up the task of wiping down wooden bowls near a basin of water.
“Alright then,” Genya picks up a basket of vegetables, he intends to at least move them to the small counter space beside where Sanemi is washing. His brother doesn’t even say anything this time, simply snatching the basket and placing it beside him before going back to work.
It takes a lot to keep the frustrated look off of his face, genya can feel his lips pursing and his brows furrowing. He smooths them out in a second, taking a deep breath. Surely, this is excessive. There’s no way that he shouldn’t be able to lift a small basket.
Genya sighs loud. Sanemi pointedly does not acknowledge it.
“Fine...” Genya mumbles.
He'll just find something else to do in the house while Sanemi is preoccupied here. A totally non strenuous activity that will let Genya finally be useful around his brother's home. As he walks to the doorway that would lead into the main house, Sanemi stops him with a very serious sounding, “Wait just a second.”
Genya pauses mid step. Sanemi turns to him, an awfully estimated look on his face, and an even more awfully judgmental tilt to his chin. “Go sit down right there.” Sanemi points at the lowered wooden box that runs along the side of the narrow room.
His foot touches back onto the ground and Genya struggles with himself for a second. There’s no way Sanemi is serious, and yet Genya already knows his brother is serious. With eyelids lowered and his shoulders slumped, Genya walks back to the makeshift bench and sits there. From where he is seated Genya turns right to look out a larger window at the end of the long room, then left to see his brother’s back and the small window beyond him.
“What If I told you I was just going to go lay down?”
“I wouldn't believe you.”
Sanemi answers in a straightforward manner, even if he isn't looking in Genya’s direction. It's a big change from the strained conversations they had managed in the past. Barely managed, really, Genya had at one time been banned from interacting with him for a reason.
Genya rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “That's not fair.” He says. It's an understatement.
Still, it's hard to stay irritated when things are so much better than they used to be. Genya often finds himself existing in a state of gratefulness, that he has his brother again, that he made friends, that he is alive. Genya takes a deep breath, watching his brother work quietly.
“Nemi’...” Genya starts,
The answer he gets is just a simple grunt from Sanemi, encouraging Genya to go on, or at least confirming that his brother had heard. Genya plods forward regardless, “Remember, mom’s hands used to be so dry in the winter…” he stops when Sanemi flinches. An ugly feeling starts to build in him, each second that ticks by making Genya believe he has mistepped.
After a while his brother stiffly answers, “...Yeah.” and seems to be listening more acutely.
That feeling is disrupted, and against his better judgement he continues, “Cause’ she was always washing our clothes at the river. She wouldn't even let you help because she said you’d fall in.” Genya smiles sadly. “Her hands even bled sometimes.”
“I'm surprised you remember.” Sanemi’s voice comes out pale, or maybe unsure. “Koto hadn't even been born yet.” When he speaks next he sounds more certain, “Mom had too much on her hands to stop me after that.”
Genya laughs and it feels nice. Sanemi’s shoulders shake with subtle laughter and it feels even nicer. They've never spoken about their mother or their siblings, not past horrible charges of misplaced guilt and broken apologies. This is airy, this is easy, even though it seems like it shouldn't be.
“Koto cried a lot, right?”
“You cried more.”
“I-! I don't think I did!”
“How would you know?!”
Sanemi has turned his head a tad, just so he can see Genya as he speaks. His eyes are upturned, and the sight of them brings an uncontrollable grin to Genya’s face.
“You're just like mom, never letting me do anything to help.” Genya teases, “Must've inherited it from her, or maybe you're just taking your old frustrations out on me.”
Blowing an unimpressed breath, Sanemi turns back to his work. Genya is sure that it must be because he's hit the nail on the head. They lapse into silence again, but an uncomfortable thought has wormed its way into Genya’s mind. His brother is so similar to how their mother was, Genya has to wonder who he is similar to. He doesn't know. He doesn't really want to know.
He can't remember his fathers appearance beyond how tall the man was. There was no one who had ever made Genya smaller, even facing death, nothing had ever been as daunting.
The air around him feels prickly now, and Genya looks out the window instead.
“You cried when you weren't being held.”
Those words shock Genya a bit, he isn't very used to Sanemi starting a conversation, or at least he had thought this one was over. When he looks back Sanemi has turned around fully, leaning on the wooden counter. The smaller window above the counter remains cracked open, soft wind whistles through it, ruffling Sanemi’s already wild hair.
Genya stares out of the corner of his eyes, trying to feel less like his brother can read his mind. He doesn't object to Sanemi's words, he just waits, gives his brother the same consideration he had received.
It feels kind of rare, lately, that Sanemi will look at him as if he is anything other than someone who has nearly died. Like he does anything more than worry and thank god. Right now he just looks at Genya like he's a little brother, beloved and childish, not knowing any better. It's achingly familiar, and a bit patronizing.
“That's something mom always let me do. So you were always held, and that's probably why you cried on the rare occasions you were put down” Sanemi surmises.
“Sorry.” Genya mumbles, to which his brother replies: “Don't be. I'm the one who gave you the bad habit”
It wasn't really what he meant. Then again, Genya had a problem with his apologies, in the case of his brother. Oftentimes he didn't fully know what he was apologizing for. Being a burden maybe, but that wasn't entirely right. How could he be so thankful to be alive and so anxious to make invisible all signs of his life? That confusing feeling, the small squeeze in his chest, flared up along the right side of his body. And suddenly, it fades at the sound of his brother’s voice.
When Sanemi speaks, it's unfeigned, completely fond. “That was my favorite thing. I cried when mom said you had to start walking on your own.”
Genya laughs. “So we both cried when I started walking?”
Laughter rings out between both of them, it's not quiet but it's not loud. Maybe it just seems more private because it's them. That makes everything a little bit better. Each secret they share, every moment that they alone can keep record of in their memories. Genya is happy, even when he's sad. He fluctuates so frequently between the two, just stepping back over the neutral line on either side. He's so thankful, but at the same time.
“I miss them.” Genya’s voice cracks pitifully.
Sanemi’s smile fades, or maybe it crumples. He only flounders slightly and for a second, then Sanemi is kneeling in front of where Genya sits. Genya’s hands go from holding his chin to covering his face, his brother is suddenly too close and the scrutiny isn’t something Genya can weather.
Small, hiccuped tears spill over his hands. His brother’s hands, cold and dry, rest one behind his head and the other on top of Genya’s own, holding his cheek. “It's okay,” Says his brother, whose voice sounds reedy and weak and all wrong. When has Sanemi ever sounded like this? Genya can only recall a time where he was covered in his own blood.
It seems like Sanemi might be crying too. He says it a few more times, it's okay it's okay it's okay, but Genya doesn't know what it is. He just knows his heart hurts, and on his right side everything feels wrong.
“I miss them too,” his brother’s voice warbles, “all the time.”
Genya lets out a weird pained noise, he doesn't really understand it himself, and sniffles.
“I don't m-miss them all the time. Just w-when I try to- to, to remember them.”
It's something of a shameful admission. That even in this, Sanemi bears such a heavy burden, one that Genya cannot even hope to lighten.
“I must be an idiot.” His breaths come out in short halted puffs, “I’m s-so thoughtless.”
“Shut up Genya.” Sanemi hisses angrily. “Don't say that. You couldn’t possibly go on if that's all you thought about.”
He seems to pause, thinking about his words.
The small sliver of opened window lets that simple wind wash in, cooling the bitterness surrounding them. “I mean- I just mean… you're so much younger than me.” Genya hates this argument. But he doesn't really have the energy to contest it. “It wasn’t your fault. It's not your job to take all that guilt and just. I don't know. Sit with it.”
“It's not your job either.” Genya sways a little, then puts his hands down and kneels onto the floor with his brother. His voice is watery. “It wasn’t your fault either.”
Genya chokes on his words. “You were young too.”
After he says it, just a small and aching moment later, Sanemi puts his head down on Genya’s shoulder. His shoulders shake with silent tears, and in return Genya rests his chin on his brother's shoulder. Genya’s tears dry. He kneels with his older brother, watching out the window to the right. The window that is closed and fogs at the corners.
His eyes feel puffy. His cheeks are clammy. But nothing hurts, and Genya just holds his brother and is held in return. He can at least do this. If Sanemi will let him, Genya can do this for him.
“You should at least let me sweep the entryway. Or the veranda.” He jokes softly.
Sanemi, who hasn’t stopped crying, chuckles wetly and pats Genya on the back. It's as close to an okay as he will probably ever get. It probably is okay for him to be such a terrible mess all the time. At least Genya is starting to tell himself that it is okay. That he is okay even if he is not good, and that he is thankful to be better than yesterday.