Work Text:
Bloody lips were nothing.
Bloody lips earned after a long night of drinking, a long night of being with your brothers and simply trying your best to seem like, yourself.
Bloody lips earned after drunkenly confronting a certain brother about his attitude and being pushed up against the wall.
Earned after spitting in his face and getting your teeth immediately bashed into the back of your head.
Earned after sitting on the kitchen floor for an hour after and shakily watching the blood drip for your mouth, tasting the iron on your tongue and hating it.
Earned after realizing that this soul crushing despair you felt in the pit of your stomach wasn't from the alcohol, but from the realization that not even your own siblings tolerated you.
Yeah, bloody lips were nothing.
Karamatsu knew that. He knew that he should be used to it by now- the arguing, the threats, the confrontations and the physicality of it all. He knew he shouldn't feel his knees shaking after every incident, and he knew he shouldn't feel his heart race every time his younger brother came into the room.
But he felt it anyway.
He felt small in comparison of the other. His muscles would tense every time they came close to contact, and he felt his throat tighten up whenever the other would so much as give him a passing glance. Sleeping next to him led to nights where he simply wouldn't sleep, instead staring at the ceiling and hoping their shoulders wouldn't accidentally brush for the wish that they never, ever would have to actually come into contact again.
He couldn't tell if he hated his brother or cared for him.
When Ichimatsu would spend whole days in bed, scarcely eat, spend way too much time by himself and refer to himself negatively any chance he got.
And Karamatsu would get ahead of himself and try to say something to the other about it all, only to be shoved to the floor and told to fuck off.
It was hard.
It was really, really hard.
In terms of his feelings for his brother, they were a rollercoaster. It went from vague hate to fear to compassion, then from annoyance to envy to absolute rage. He'd often get in the other's face when feeling rage, demanding to know why he had such absolute fucking hate for him, only to be grabbed by the front of his shirt and have venomous words thrown into his face.
And, honestly? Sometimes, Karamatsu would cry. Not in front of anyone, of course, but he'd cry. Spending nights in the bathroom sobbing into a cheap leather jacket and wondering whether or not his brothers could hear him- and, ultimately not caring much if they did. It was unlikely anyway.
Sometimes Karamatsu wished that he'd been born into a different family.
Sometimes Karamatsu wished he hadn't been born at all.
Of course, he'd quickly shake off the latter of the two and decide that ultimately, even if he truly wished for that, there was nothing he could do to change it.
So he went on.
He went on, bearing the ghosts of past memories and the overbearing thoughts of the future. Wondering when he'd get another broken nose, or another black eye.
Wondering when he'd finally get along with his brother.
Of course, he'd shake away the thought and figure that he'd probably have to deal with the scratches and bruises for a while, and while that possibility made him weak in the knees, he saw it as a fact. And he saw that fact as... bearable.
It was all... bearable.
Bloody lips were nothing, after all.