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“You're just a kid,” he tells her, only a few years older and with words that sound barely any wiser, “Be a kid.” he says and it sounds like a plea. Not for help, because there’s nothing that can save him now, but for the reassurance that he is still a good person , still the kind of hero she believes her only big brother can be.
He doesn’t want to be saved, not when there’s still so much standing in front of him. So much work to be done before he gets his turn.
But the sight of his sister’s smile—
There could still be a chance if it’s for his sister’s smile.
So for her sake, he picks up bloodied knives and undetectable poisons with hands that are barely any larger than hers. Burning every candle down to a puddle of wax and curls of smoke, scanning through piles of papers with eyes that stare down war and death, holding onto a memory shared in their garden to cover the memories of his misdeeds and sins.
“Big brother!” she calls, small fingers squeezing her toys like she squeezes his shoulders in every hug. Her hands feel like love, recently discovering the joy in music and in dance instead of the feeling of spilled ink and steel. Her face lights up with wonder and pure adoration, the sound of her laughter brings Ayato more rest than any amount of sleep, than any amount of work.
I’m her older brother . He repeats, and the long days grow easier. Even when he chooses meetings over dinner at home, breaks a few promises that he knew he couldn’t keep. Even if he spends more time in his office than by her side, spends more money on assassins than on gifts and ribbons to put in her hair. He’s her sorry excuse of an older brother, shortening his lifespan to extend hers.
I’m her big brother! His heart screams when she no longer looks at him when she says goodbye. He doesn’t expect her to understand why he leaves her alone in a house that suffocates the sunlight, cold rice and lukewarm soup going untouched on their table for two, occupied by one. She only has one brother, and so he makes sure to come home, even if it isn’t for dinner, passing by a girl who had to grow up faster than she grew taller whenever autumn arrives at their estate.
“You’re home!” She says, and he supposes she’s right. His little sister tugs at his sleeves, holding onto where scars carve their way into his skin underneath his gloves and layers of clothing. He looks at her and he just loves her, reaffirmed in his decision to give her everything in their parents’ place even if it means he must break in return. And still, he’s glad for it, glad to have been born—glad to have been put on this very earth with the sole purpose to love her through every turbulent storm.
“You’re home.” She would say again when she’s a little older, this time, words falling from her lips with a voice that sounds a little wiser. Extending to him a hand that no longer feels so small in his palm, wearing a bright smile on her face that makes Ayato want to cry out, ‘Look at you! You’re all grown up! My little sister is all grown up!’
His little sister is all grown up, ten years passing by in the blink of an eye. She’s all grown up now, standing proud on the love from their mother and father, built on the hope shaped by Ayato’s childhood dreams. Made gentle and wonderfully kind, his little sister is everything perfect, everything he could never be.
And he feels relieved—relieved that this world will have no choice but to love her as much as he loves everything about her. Relieved that his little sister will be adored by everything under the sky because she is everything he isn’t—she’s lovely, she’s gentle, she’s beautiful, and she’s his pride and his joy.
“You’re home.” Ayaka smiles at him, clutching onto a red sleeve and kept safe through the night by a vision lit by loyalty.
Her big brother falls apart, sharing a meal that’s gone cold, but still manages to taste warm. Chatting away while seated at their table for two, occupied by three.
Welcome home , he hears, and he supposes they’re right.
His little sister has made a home out of their lonely garden, clinging onto every promise her brother hasn’t broken , but put on hold until he can come home from work, waiting for the day they can be just kids together.
But Ayato isn’t sure that day will come, when he looks at his little sister and realizes that she no longer needs his protection. Or perhaps she never needed it at all, with her wings outstretched to each corner of the sky, she soars further than his eyes can see. She’s wiser than their mother, even stronger than their father. She’s made of all of the very best parts of their family, inheriting all of Thoma’s sunshine while basking in the shadow of Ayato’s moonlight.
Before he knew it, his little sister was all grown up.
Mother, father , he prays and he prays, our Ayaka is all grown up.