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Ena’s always thought one younger brother was enough of a headache. So when she sees two figures that look exactly like Akito walk over to the fridge, she isn’t really sure how to feel.
“Ena?” the Akitos say. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She realises she’s been squinting at him since he walked into the kitchen. The two Akitos are blurring together and apart. It’s not doing very much for the ringing pain in her temples. Close the fridge door if you’re not using it, she wants to say, but can’t find the means to.
“Akito, hold on,” she says instead as she walks, or more realistically stumbles, over to her brother. She nearly trips and falls onto the tiled floor, but Akito lets go of the fridge door and catches her right before she does. Several seconds go by, none of which Ena spends trying to stand up on her own. Akito’s grip is starting to hurt a little, but at least he’s not letting go.
“What the fuck, Ena? What’s wrong with you?”
The mumbled string of insults she lets out doesn’t mean much when she’s talking as if she’s underwater. She hears Akito sigh in exasperation and retaliates by squishing her head into his shoulder, a very disoriented attempt at a headbutt.
“Okay- yeah. Shit, let’s go to the couch, alright?”
She hums in agreement. The couch sounds nice. Soft. Cozy. Ena’s quite cold, she realises, as she pushes against Akito’s chest to support herself on her own two feet again. He’s so warm, she thinks, deliriously fascinated.
Her eyelids threaten to slip shut against her own will. She isn’t actually quite sure where her will is, because she can barely force them open again. The marble counter is starting to multiply now, too. Is she witnessing the world cloning itself?
The next time she looks like she’s about to fall, Akito hooks his arms under her knees and behind her back, picks her up in one confident swoop. She feels her body oscillating as he makes his way over to the couch. He’s still so warm. Ena spends the rest of the trip contemplating the metabolism of teenage boys.
When he lays her down on the couch, she looks up at him with newfound curiosity. Huh, there’s only one Akito now, she thinks.
“What the fuck do you mean there’s only one of me now,” he says, and she realises that she announced her observation aloud. She supposes it makes sense, considering how he carried her to the couch, and there’s only one of her. Actually, she doesn’t know if it makes sense. She squints up at him again.
He squints right back at her, but his expression is more concerned than it is confused. “When’s the last time you ate? Or slept? Or done anything that contributes to the bare minimum of your survival?”
Her lips curve downward into a frown as she tries to think of the answers. Instead of finding them, she comes up with, “Akito, what would you do if a clone of me showed up?”
“I’d cry,” he says deadpan, without missing a beat, “because it’d mean less cheesecake for me when mom brings one home.”
Her frown deepens, but she supposes it's a fair argument. She wouldn’t know how she’d feel about sharing cheesecake with two Akitos, when she already struggles with one.
Akito seems to realise he isn’t going to get very far in terms of comprehensible conversation with Ena, so he walks away into his room. Within the span of the next few minutes, Ena comes to the harrowing conclusion that she’s been abandoned. In this cruel, cold, world, she’ll have to fend for herself. It’s Ena against everything. It’s—
A piece of clothing being thrown at her. She cranes her neck to stare at the hoodie that is now sitting on her stomach. She blinks at it as if she’s expecting it to do something. Like a cartwheel, or maybe even a backflip.
Akito reappears in her vision. He looks so worried. Ena wonders what’s got his eyebrows furrowed so deeply. Did something happen at school?
“Ena, can you sit up?” Akito asks. She takes a moment to think about it before slowly shaking her head. “I didn’t think so. I’ll help you up, okay?” She takes another moment to think, and nods.
Akito slowly pushes her back up until she’s in a sitting position. Her head spins for several seconds as she tries to focus her vision on something, anything. She can see the clock in their living room, but can’t tell what time it reads.
“Ena, hello, Earth to Ena,” Akito says as he waves his hand in front of her face. She tries to swat it away and misses miserably, but he seems to get the message. “Let’s put this hoodie on, and then you can sleep here. How does that sound?”
She nods again, and Akito manually lifts her arms over her head before pulling the sweater onto her body. It, like Akito, is very warm. She hums happily as he reaches behind her to tuck the hood over her head.
Slowly, he manoeuvres her body until she’s lying down again. She can feel her eyes closing again now that she’s this warm, and this comfortable.
As her consciousness finally begins to wane, she can hear Akito talking to someone over the phone. His voice is quiet in consideration for her. Akito is so kind, she thinks. She wonders briefly where he learned it from, considering the household they both grew up in.
She falls asleep to the sound of a call ending as exhaustion finally wins over.
—
When Ena regains consciousness, the room is dark— the sun must have set hours ago. She peers at the clock to check the time before remembering that it’s Saturday, so school isn’t in session.
She tries to rub the sleep out of her eyes as she sits up, grasping her bearings; she doesn’t really recall how she got here. She recognizes the dark green hoodie she’s wearing from Akito’s closet, but doesn’t remember putting it on.
She remembers working on her submission for an art contest— the due date drawing ever closer— and walking to the kitchen to get herself some water. Exhaustion was hitting her in waves, but she couldn’t afford to rest if she wanted to submit her piece on time.
A startled noise escapes her throat when she sees Akito, asleep at the foot of the couch. He’s cross-legged on the ground, head leaning against the armrest. His neck is at an angle that Ena can tell will cause him grief when he wakes up later.
Their parents don’t seem to be home seeing how the lights in the house are off, except for the one in Akito’s room. Aside from Akito’s faint snoring, it’s entirely quiet. He looks like something nostalgic, soft and peaceful.
Now that she’s looking a little closer though, she feels a pang of concern at the signs of tiredness written across Akito’s face. There are vague bruises beneath his eyes, visible even under the dim lighting, and his lips are downturned into the smallest frown.
It isn’t the first time she’s noticed it, but she’s never really considered it properly until now. Akito’s always been the kinder one between the two of them; he’s learned to speak through his actions if not his words, so even if they fight, (which is quite often, even for siblings,) Ena’s never doubted how much Akito cares for her.
He cares, in the slices of cheesecake and glasses of juice he leaves outside her bedroom, with notes that read, ‘You get really annoying if you haven’t eaten anything, so have this’. In the obnoxiously loud methods he uses to get Ena up and out of bed to make sure she’s out of the door in time for school.
She wonders, sometimes, how Akito grew up to be the one taking care of her so often. Then pointedly ignores the shame she feels for not being able to do the same.
She reaches out to move a strand of hair away from his face, but it’s apparently enough to stir him from his sleep. Ena retracts her hand when he groans and shifts, stumbling to awareness. His eyes flutter open, and he looks at her blearily. “Ena?”
“Morning, Akito,” she says, voice fond. He blinks at her dazedly, and it reminds Ena of what he used to look like back when he was younger, waking up from a nap.
“Oh,” he huffs, “you’re back to normal.”
He tries to straighten up and winces, hand landing on the crook of his neck. Ena tries to figure out what he means by ‘back to normal,’ but comes up blank.
”Were you the one that brought me here?” After a moment of consideration she adds, “shouldn’t you be at practice right now?”
Akito looks at her like she’s stupid. Normally, this is the part where she’d get upset and start an argument, but she can’t really bring herself to disagree with his expression at this moment.
“I came out to the kitchen when you started looking at me like I grew three arms,” Akito starts, and Ena blinks in confusion. “You were delirious, couldn’t even stand up properly. I cancelled to make sure you weren’t going to trip and die in the middle of our house. What the hell have you been up to?”
“I- um,” she stutters, suddenly slightly embarrassed, “there’s an art contest coming up that I’m trying to participate in. I really want this piece to turn out well, so I guess I lost track of time while I was working on it?”
It’s not entirely untrue, she does want to put all her effort into ensuring a top spot in the results, but she isn’t revealing the part where their father walked into her room two nights ago and spent the better part of the next hour criticising the details of her art. Akito was out that night, rehearsing with his group for an upcoming performance, and hadn’t been there to witness any of it.
She hasn’t slept since, devoting all too many minutes into redrawing and recolouring, trying to morph her work into something her father might not be ashamed to look at. Even her Nightcord account has sat abandoned at her computer, despite the half-dozen messages that have appeared in her inbox since.
Ena often thinks her father would be a lot easier to deal with if he was wrong, if he didn't know a thing about what he was saying. Yet every comment he makes really does turn Ena’s piece into something better, more refined, and takes it a step closer to what she envisioned in her head to begin with. It’s frustrating, but more than that it’s humiliating, to have to bend to the will of the man who knows the leverage he holds over her.
For Akito’s sake, though, she’ll keep it to herself. Akito hears enough when he’s home already; Ena sometimes suspects that he began pursuing street music as a means to escape the turbulence. She forces her lips into a tight smile, tries to look reassuring.
Akito looks at her unconvinced though, and says, “I hear it, you know. All the shit dad says to you. And we both know I’ve seen how it affects you.”
Ena opens her mouth to respond but he continues on, “I don’t know shit about art, I know, but I’ve seen your work here at home, Ena. It’s good. I don’t have to be a genius to see that.”
He exhales before looking up to meet her gaze, “and I’ve seen your work with Akiyama and the others too.”
Now this is news to Ena. Her lips part in surprise as Akito looks away, expression turning sheepish.
“I asked Akiyama what you guys are up to all the time so late at night. It took some prodding, but eventually they caved, asked me not to tell you that they told me,” he says, “but yeah. I’ve heard your music and seen the videos. Your art is- it’s really good. Toya thought so too.”
Ena tries to look indignant, but fails- it’s hard to ignore the swell of pride she feels at Akito’s praise.
“T-thanks,” she mutters before falling silent. A long moment passes before she asks, “have you been sleeping enough lately?”
Akito scoffs at her, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Seriously, you were acting kind of insane earlier. I was wondering if I had to call a doctor, or something. You looked awful too.”
She manages indignance this time, glaring at him. He simply raises his eyebrow, expectant.
“Fine, fine,” she surrenders, “but that doesn’t mean you can be neglecting your own health! You don’t look so great either, you know.”
She’s teasing, but Akito frowns. His face shifts to something more concerned, like the expression he wore before Ena fell asleep much earlier.
“I just- I get worried, sometimes, Ena,” he says, voice softer than it’s been all night. Ena blinks in surprise, caught off-guard by the sudden display of emotion. His gaze flits away again, trailing to the floor. “You rarely come out of your room some days. It’s hard to tell how you’re doing when I can’t even see you.”
The wave of shame Ena ignored earlier comes back in full force. She whispers, “Akito?”
She pats the space on the couch next to her, a silent invitation. Akito obliges, wringing his fingers as he settles and eyes still unsteady. Ena leans her head on Akito’s shoulder and it occurs to her, not for the first time, how much Akito has grown over the past few years.
She feels his shoulders relax a little as he exhales deeply.
“Akito,” she says, “you worry about me enough. You can afford to worry about yourself some more too, especially since I’m not very good at looking after you.” She lets out a small laugh, but the humour is lost on Akito. He stays silent, tension still not leaving his body entirely.
“I’m doing okay,” she tries again, “I just get caught up in one thing at a time, every once in a while.” She pauses, unsure where to go next. She pushes on anyway, “but I have you to look out for me, right? I’m grateful for you, Akito. I really am. I know I’ve never said it, but you’re a lot kinder than you probably think you are.”
She nudges Akito’s shoulder with her own, and he returns the action, laughing quietly.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” Akito says slowly. “I know you come watch our performances. Your outfits don’t blend in as well as you think they do. And…since you’re kind of the reason I got into music in the first place, I kind of owe you one.”
A moment of eased silence passes by. Ena hears the clock ticking from across the living room.
“You know how you can really show me how grateful you are,” Akito says finally, and she doesn’t like where this is going already. “You can treat me to the new waffle stand that opened near the mall.” He’s joking, kind of. He really would like the waffles.
“No way,” she whines, “aren’t you the one with a job? Can’t you buy your own waffles?”
“But Ena,” he retaliates, “they taste so much better when I’m not the one paying for them.”
They both giggle at that, and it’s comfortable, and warm. Here on the couch, with Ena against Akito, things feel okay.
“Alright, fine, I’ll buy the stupid waffles,” she says. After a moment, she says, “you know I love you, right, Akito?”
He seems to freeze up at that, unused to such outward expressions of affection from anyone in the family. But after a moment, he relaxes again and knocks his head against Ena’s fondly.
“I love you too, Ena.”
They’re still the same kids they were when they were two and three, or six and seven. Or now, at sixteen and seventeen. Despite the conflict Ena was victim to and that Akito had to witness, they’re still here and growing. Ena and Akito, as they outgrow old sneakers but never the way they care for each other.
They’ll always be right behind each other, ready to catch one another at a moment’s notice. They’ll always be there for each other, and as long as that’s true, Ena thinks they’ll be alright.