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I’d believed that I’d be able to do it someday but reality sure is harsh. Suspended within a vortex of impatience and insecurity, my mind turns dark.
When she comes to, Ena realises her fist hurts. It's clenched, raw at the knuckles, steadily growing redder and redder. She hisses at the sting. Manicured fingertips bite into her ruddy palm, crescent indents forming on the skin.
She looks down. Her heart sinks. Straight in the middle of the portrait she had slaved over, envisioning brutal evaluations by Mr Yukihara, is a hole straight through the figure's face. Bright splatters of colour disrupt the otherwise muddy painting, a statement amongst the earthy tones. They scream rebellion; they're childish and a mistake and a reprieve nonetheless.
Despite all of her effort, she's faced with a half-baked, meaningless mess of a piece. God, she can just imagine the piercing gaze she would receive had she presented it during her class. Everyone else around her makes leaps and bounds in their artistic journeys, while she festers at the bottom making no progress at all. She growls and swipes another stroke of napthol scarlet on the bruised canvas. Her art is beyond saving now.
For such a ruined piece, what harm would another resentful mark do?
She lets loose: claws at the surface until colour builds up under her nails, smears paints to obscure any semblance of a human, yells at the canvas for being so horrid. The words bleed with loathing, makes the air heavy, dyes it darker.
Ena only knows she's been crying when the dampness on her cheeks becomes sticky, and droplets settle on her legs where the canvas had been punched through. It draws out a sick laugh from her. Whatever became of that aspiring child, sparkling with pride at every new piece, who believed she was a prodigy? Now whatever her sore hands produce is a mockery of art itself. Her focus blurred, her technique flawed.
“Why can't I do anything right,” she sobs, “I just want to burn this already!”
Honestly, it sounds like an impulsive yet genius idea to watch it be purged in flame, engulfed in heat and turned to nothing but ashes. The deserved destruction of something wholly unworthy. A spectacle of dancing embers.
Instead, she stands up and holds the canvas above her head with bloody fingers. The crash against the floor is music to her ears, staining the carpet phthalo green. Breaths laboured, she stares at the utter mess she's made. Disgust simmers from her gut, bubbling up her throat.
“I hate this! I hate myself! I hate living like this!”
Each statement is accompanied by a stamp against the portrait, denting the already ripped canvas. The pain feels right; after all, she was the artist behind such a failure. More sobs are torn from her shaking frame, energy quickly seeping out from her body. All she can do is cry, faced with the results of her actions, aching all over and with no one to absolve her of the guilt.
She slumps on the floor, knees giving out. Covered in wounds, Ena feels numbness washing over her. She can't tell what's worse: getting caught up in the throes of negativity or riding out the emptiness afterwards. Her red-rimmed eyes bore into the painting, wondering where it all went wrong.
Then her stomach growls.
As if on autopilot, she navigates out of the room and slams Akito's door open.
Instead of having his headphones on and doing whatever it is he does, he’s wrapped up in blankets, curled in a foetal position. He's rocking back and forth, eyes wide, visibly cowed. As soon as he meets her gaze, he pales and retreats further into the sheets.
Ena's voice is hoarse. “Akito?”
He doesn't respond, or even seem to acknowledge she's said anything. He stays still, closed off like a turtle. Like he's scared of her.
“Hey, Akito. We should go eat.”
Still, he shows nothing. The only sign he's alive is his periodic blinking to interrupt his disconcerting stare.
“Aren't you hungry?”
Frustration seeps into her tone, sharp like the edge of a blade. Akito actually starts at that, flinching despite her not moving. She feels a pang of regret.
Ena hesitates invading his space. It's what a good older sister would do, but a good older sister wouldn't even have their younger sibling be so afraid of them anyway. She takes a fortifying breath and treads towards him, trying to look as non threatening as possible.
“I'm not gonna hurt you, okay?” The words are acrid on her tongue. She's messed up so badly. “Come on.”
Distrust swims in his eyes. He looks nothing like the menace of a teen he usually is, all smug like he owns the place. Before Ena is a child terrified out of his mind. Alongside the urge to protect him is the hatred she feels for even letting this happen.
As she nears his bed, she realises just how small her brother looks like this. He breaks their eye contact to glance at her hands, eyebrows furrowing slightly, the corners of his mouth turning. Confused, she holds them out in front of him. They're mangled from her raging. Her stomach twists at the sight.
“Can I?” she trails off, looking towards him for confirmation.
The small incline of his head forward is enough. She sits on the space left on the bed, unsure of what to actually do. Her hand settles on his own, fingers slotting into the gaps between his own gently.
Minutes pass and the awkward air has only thickened. However, Akito looks far less scared than he was at the start, which Ena notes with relief. The blankets have been shucked off his shoulders, pooling around his legs. They breathe in sync, full yet tentative.
Ena finds her voice again after coughing. “I'm sorry for being noisy and scaring you. It's just, my art wasn't working out and I got really mad, you know? I didn't mean to make you scared.”
“Obviously,” he mutters, “But I hate listening to it. You're so violent sometimes. I thought you were gonna come in here to hurt me.”
She would've made a scandalised gasp if his words didn't come from a place of experience. It really sickens her, how she's gotten to this point. How her brother expects she'll bruise him as she did to herself. The memories of her nails bloodying his skin makes her want to hurl.
Akito continues, “But you hurting yourself instead isn't any better. I don't know what to do when you're like this. I don't know if anything I can do will help.”
“It's not your responsibility to care.”
“But who else would?” he retorts.
He's free of the blanket cocoon now, posture straighter, gaze fiery. “Cause dad isn't gonna ask you about it, so who else would? Just cause I'm younger than you doesn't mean I shouldn't.”
“It's not that,” Ena says feebly, “I don't need your pity.” He grows irritated at that, hand clenching hers tight. When she winces, he startles and rushes out an apology.
“I'm saying it because.” Akito pauses, trying to find the words. “Because I get it, kinda.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Thinking what you're doing is a waste, I guess. That everything you do belongs in the trash.” he sighs.
Ena tilts her head. “You do, too?”
“Of course I do! What, you think just because I was good at soccer means I didn't struggle?”
“I didn't know, okay? You brought home medals and trophies all the time, and would boast to me about your team winning so I thought it was easy for you.” she huffed, recalling a far younger Akito, running up to her with a fake golden trophy in hand, talking a mile a minute about his victory.
“Well I do. Wait, do you even know what I've been doing? Because you should know by now my soccer career is—and has been—six feet deep underground.” Akito levels her with a glare.
A quip is on the tip of her tongue yet dies down as she considers his question. What has Akito been doing? He's never really talked about it, keeping his activities a secret like it could bring about the end of the world. But she's never asked him either.
He takes her silence as an answer enough. “God, of course you don't know. You don't care at all.”
“Don't put words in my mouth, you brat! You never tell me anything, how am I meant to know when you're being so cryptic?”
“Because if you cared, you'd want to at least know what I've been doing. Are you so caught up in your own misery that you forget I exist? Is that it?” he spits.
Frustrated, Ena tosses her hands in the air. “Oh my god! What is it then? Whatever in this stupid world is making you feel inferior?”
“I'd tell you if you weren't being so condescending about it! Why do you always have to make such a big deal out of things?”
“I do not!” she gasps, affronted.
“Yes you do. I don't even think I should tell you, because it means nothing to you anyway.”
Ena hisses. “You don't get to decide how I feel about anything.”
“See, this is why I can't open up to you. You get so mad even though all I'm saying is the truth.”
“The truth?” She's in hysterics now, awful laughter spewing out in breathless bursts. “I do care, I'm supposed to. Or is it that you don't want me to, so that's why you haven't said anything? You wanna tough out your pain like the cool guy you say that you are? See where that takes you.”
“Don't call it that!”
Her voice drips with venom. “Why not?”
“The only reason I don't break down like you do is because I'd hate to make you feel as fucking terrified as I do! You have no idea how much it scares me. And I don't wanna lose control and land you in hospital or something. This household has already been through enough tantrums—”
Ena sneers. “If you're gonna care so much about what words you use, how dare you call what I went through a tantrum. You have no idea about how much I wanted to disappear back there.”
“But the thing is I do understand! You won't let me talk about it because you're only concerned about yourself.” Akito seethes.
Once more, the intense feelings clawing at Ena's heart return. This time, the anger is directed to her little brother. For what he considers is the truth, he's doing a fantastic job riling her up on the side. His word choice is deliberate and poisonous. There are far more graceful ways to go about it.
“I've had it with you!” she yells, pushing Akito down onto the mattress.
Instantly, her arm pulls back. The motion comes naturally, the swing to his face would be so easy. Then it would be followed by the crunch, the agony, the scream. It would sate some horrid, bloody satisfaction in her.
Until she looks at him properly. How much he's blanched. How his breaths are shallow and shaky. How he hasn't even bothered to fight her off.
She promised she wouldn't hurt him.
Ena crawls off him immediately, backing away from him until her back collides with the wall. Head shaking, the bile rises again. How could she keep doing this? She's the worst of the worst, someone who can barely hold back from hurting her brother.
She croaks, “I'm leaving.”
“Don't.” Akito looks just as terrified as she is.
“What?” she says.
“Don't go.”
Filled with even more trepidation, she approaches the bed once more. Seeing how vulnerable her brother is, she listens to what little familial instincts she has and wraps him up in her arms, fighting back tears. “I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm a shitty older sister. I can't—I can't do anything right. I almost hurt you. What's wrong with me?”
“At least you're trying. You stopped, didn't you?” Akito rubs her back, voice watery.
“It's not good enough. You deserve better. I care about you, I do.” she weakly protests.
He laughs. “We've never done this before, have we?” When Ena pulls back to look confused, he elaborates. “Talked about our feelings.”
“No… Not really.” she mumbles.
“We should do that more, I think. Hey, why are you giggling?”
Ena laments. “When you say it out loud it sounds so simple. But it really isn't.”
“We'll get better if we do it more.” Akito's eyes have regained their clarity. They seem like the kind belonging to a leader.
The moment breaks when his stomach growls. He groans while Ena laughs at his expense, yet they both stand up to head to the kitchen.
“Wait a sec, let me clean up my room.” She remembers, peeking through her door.
“Actually, first on our agenda is dealing with your hands. How do you expect to eat when they look that sore?” He asks, holding one gingerly as he walks them to the bathroom.
Ena pouts. “I didn't think about it, okay?”
“Well thank goodness I'm here. Without my common sense, you'd be whining about it while we ate.”
“Hey, I'm not that insufferable!” she complains, swatting him on the head.
“Sure, whatever makes you sleep at night—well, more like day.”
Today marks the first day Ena voluntarily ventures outside of the house, not including school. Deceptively lovely, even though the forecast said it would rain, the sky is as azure as ever. She gazes up at it from the café window, breath held. The beauty of nature still manages to captivate her sometimes, more vast than she can imagine and so vivid. Her bandaged hands itch to try to portray it herself, wonders what paints could capture such a hue.
A bell chimes as the door pushes open, revealing a slightly dishevelled Airi. Her face lights up as she sees Ena, effectively ridding her of her eye bags. She walks over, tote slung over her shoulder.
“It's been ages since we've met like this! I'm so happy to see you!” Airi beams, sliding into the chair.
“Same here.” she returns. Airi's sunniness appears to be infectious, as Ena can't fight the smile off her face. Not that she really wants to.
She surveys her friend's appearance curiously. While she does look as pretty as ever—a fact the budding idol industry does not appear to realise, apparently—Ena can tell fatigue lies beneath her energetic front. She must have been practicing again. Anger always wells up when she thinks about the many injustices management has done against her, time and time again.
Airi's smile grows a touch wobblier under Ena's intense gaze, a flush decorating her cheeks. That breaks Ena out of her spell, and she blushes in response, ducking her head. Airi lets out an endearing giggle, letting her know her actions are well received.
“You've been practicing again, haven't you?”
“Oh, yeah. Sometimes by the end of it I feel like a dying fish, but at least I've been working on my stamina. It's tough work to dance around a stage with stable vocals.” Airi shudders for dramatic effect, and Ena giggles in response. “Geez, I could never do that to myself. I'd keel over a few seconds in.”
Airi shrugs. “You get used to it, I guess. Not like you're trying to become an idol, but I think you've got the looks to make it through popularity contests.”
“You flatter me.” Ena bats her eyelashes and squeaks when Airi pinches her cheek.
“I mean it y'know!”
“And I mean it when I say I can see you're improving, because I may or may not have been binging your group's content. Keep at it!” she cheers, miming holding lightsticks in her hands. At home, near her bed are two official QT lightsticks.
“It feels great to have someone say that. Not gonna lie, recently I've been in some slump. I know that I should be progressing, but I don't think that I am.” Airi sighs.
Raising her glass of yuzu-ade, Ena declares, “Here's to doubting yourself and your talents.”
Hand reaching for a non-existent glass, Airi curls it as she realises she hasn't yet bought a drink, but still knocks her fist against Ena's. After they both grin about it, she stands up to go order, momentarily leaving Ena to her own devices.
She doesn't know if it comes as a surprise to her that Airi's also been struggling. Everyone important around her seems to be dealing with that same issue. Except with Airi, she can at least see beneath the cheery veneer, she knows her hopelessness intimately. With Akito, they never talked about anything significant. They've never cried about their life's woes as she has with Airi multiple times.
How many important words have been left unsaid between them?
Breaking away from those dreary thoughts, she takes in the café's atmosphere. It isn't the most popular, so it isn't that busy even during the lunchtime rush, quiet except for the clink of cutlery and low hum of idle chatter. Ena quite likes it that way; here would be a great place for her to catch up on homework and be productive for once. However, that entailed peeling herself from her bed, which is a task even Sisyphus wouldn't manage.
In front of her is a plate of cheesecake, decorated adorably. She'd already taken two indulgent bites, until remembering that it wouldn't be polite of her to scarf down her food before Airi even arrived. The taste was on the sweeter side, and she was totally on board with having it again—however nothing could beat the homemade souffle one Airi could whip up, sweet yet with that addicting kick of lemon. She takes another forkful of cheesecake.
Airi returns with a glass of peach ice tea and a cat-like dessert, hunger shining in her eyes.
“That looks so cute! Mind if I snap a few pics?” Ena gushes.
The small hand reaching for the fork stops. “You should do it quickly, or else it'll disappear before you can even try.”
After Ena finishes taking some shots, Airi digs in after mumming an apology to the feline face she demolishes with her cutlery. “I'm sorry, little one…”
“How cruel of you.” Ena wipes a crocodile tear from her eyes.
If she were the one who had decorated the dessert, she might have genuinely sobbed at its demolition via fork. The texture of the icing for its fur looked so meticulous, and it seemed very comfortable sitting on the fluffy bed of cake. She wishes she could produce art like that, which tugs at the heartstrings of viewers.
So far, this outing has been normal. Airi is doing splendidly at acting normal despite Ena's lengthy rant over the phone the day prior. If she hadn't glanced at her bandaged hands a few times, Ena would've thought she hadn't told her at all. It was very Airi of her to not press upon old wounds, but this time she needed it to be addressed.
After a few more bites, she sets down her fork. “You know a few days ago?”
“The one where you…” Airi trails off, making a strange gesture. From the raise of her brows, Ena can tell she wasn't expecting it.
“Yeah. That day. I feel really bad about what I did, and after we ate we didn't really talk much afterwards and I think he deserves a better apology than whatever I gave him back then.”
The other's face turns pensive. “You could do something to show him you care. Like give him a gift, seeing as we're already out. When me and my sisters usually fight, after the bad emotions pass we make it up to each other.”
“That's a good idea. But I don't… Really know what he wants.” Ena mumbles.
“It's good that I have insider knowledge, then.” Airi smiles conspiratorially. “A little birdie told me that he's been into street music lately, so maybe he'd like something like that.”
She raises an eyebrow. “And how do you know that? Communicating with that runt, are you?”
“No, I'm just omniscient. I think it's the energy drinks.”
“Definitely them—I tried one and I think I ascended to another plane of existence somehow.” Ena nods sagely.
The pleasant jolt the yuzu gives her as she takes a sip reminds Ena to stay on topic. “How about after we finish eating, we go look around for what he'd like. I'll even get you something as thanks for listening to me mope.”
“You don't need to do that.” Airi pouts.
Ena sticks out her tongue. “Well I'm gonna. And you will appreciate my kindness.”
“Okay, okay.” she relents, beaming.
The flavour of her cheesecake is even sweeter now, yet she hasn't dusted it with sugar or anything. It warms up her insides, melts it into honey. Ena misses this: snacking with her best friend in the world, catching up on whatever happens in their lives. They're somewhat similar, she realises; they're both climbing an insurmountable peak, yearning for abstract greatness. Would-bes dashed to pieces and being torn apart by those with more respect to their name.
She takes comfort in knowing others are in that predicament. Truly, she’s so glad that it’s Airi who is her best friend.
By some miracle, Ena feels pride in her work. A spirit must have possessed her and amplified her productivity, because she hasn't felt that motivated in ages. Following her outing she went straight to sketching out ideas, even though after her outburst she hadn't tried to touch her art supplies at all.
Creativity thrummed through her like electricity, ideas pouring out onto her sketchbook faster than she could comprehend what she was doing. She felt alive. Instead of procrastinating on the piece, spending ages on the underpainting for fear of ruining it by introducing new hues, she jumped at the chance to produce art for her own sake. It was as if she was being dragged along, taken soaring through the skies, not tied down by others’ expectations.
Taking up the majority of the canvas is a spunky figure, radiating swagger and smugness. The hues are bold and bright with very little blending, neon yellow outlines against solid black shadows for contrast. Framing the figure are buildings and infrastructure to better communicate the street-like feel.
Even though she'd never tried this kind of style before, her many moodboards gave her enough of an idea. She’d experimented a little, stealing a can of graffiti from her brother's room in his sleep, scrawling out a tag in the empty space. In her sketchbook were several revisions of this; she needed it to be perfect.
She grins at the final result, holding a black fude pen in her hand. In the bottom right corner, she writes her signature, the symbolic endpoint of her artwork. This was the quickest piece she'd made in forever, and she'd sped up the drying process with a hairdryer out of impatience.
Typically after finishing something, her immediate next move is to take a picture and post it, waiting for the likes and comments to roll in. This time, there's only one person's opinion she needs to hear. Nobody else's. Ena picks it up off the easel and carries it outside of her room.
"Oh Akito,” she sings as she knocks on his door, “Let your favourite sister in the world in!”
She hears him grumble from inside the room, and as the door opens she holds up the canvas and loudly proclaims, “Look upon my work and despair!”
Whatever annoyed expression Akito has on his face fizzes away as he studies the canvas. Ena watches him go through all the emotions: shock, wonder, bashfulness. He meets her expectant gaze with a smile.
“Is this me?”
“No,” Ena snarks, “It's clearly someone way cooler.”
Akito chooses to ignore her sarcasm and runs his fingers over the painting almost reverently. He doesn't get many chances to see Ena's art because of her growing hatred towards it and unwillingness to show anyone. Though he doesn’t understand the technicalities behind it or the purpose of each brushstroke, he knew what it was trying to say. He could feel her regret for scaring him, her gratitude for his existence, her love of her brother.
From the few music references dotted around, he gasps. She had tried to find out what he was up to. Not only that, but she portrayed him as somebody certain and formidable. She wasn't ridiculing his newfound passions, but celebrating them.
Akito speaks earnestly. “Thank you so much, this looks amazing. You even painted me in those shoes I've been dying to have! How long did this take you?”
“Um, a few days maybe? Inspiration struck and I just ran with it.”
“Man, this is sick. I love it so much.” he compliments her again, fondness filling his chest.
“Well, I made it just for you… So y'know.” she mumbles, looking down at her feet.
Ena jumps when Akito places one hand on her shoulder. “If this is supposed to be an apology for before, you should know I've already forgiven you. You're not a bad older sister, not in my eyes. You wouldn't have done this for me if you were.”
She stares at him wordlessly, doubts prodding at her conscience. Akito adds, “I’m totally gonna hang this up on my wall.”
“Do you want me to help with that?”
“Nah, I’ll manage. While I do that, can you get that bag in the corner for me by the door?” he asks, taking the canvas from her and holding it against the wall.
Turning around, she reaches for the gift bag, glimpsing at the tag. For the best, most annoying sister in the world. She gapes at it for a little until she realises she probably looks stupid like that, shutting her mouth. Picking it up, Ena pushes the tissue paper away and looks at the gift.
“Akito, you shouldn’t have!” she cries, hugging the bag to her chest.
He smiles good naturedly, “Well I did, so all you can do is accept it.”
Pulling the items out of the bag, she sets them on the table. First is a set of stationery she’s been eyeing for ages, specifically for the over engineered pencil. After that is a limited edition picket with Airi’s face on it, signed on the back. Lastly is a letter she can’t bring herself to read right now for fear of the waterworks.
“And what’s all this for, huh?” she sniffles.
“To show you I don’t think of you as badly as you think I do. You get so caught up in that head of yours.” Akito flicks her on the forehead, ignoring her yelp.
“Way to kill the sentimental vibe.” Ena huffs, yet she can’t hide her warm smile.
Akito rolls his eyes, but pauses to hang up the painting. He ambles back to her side, looking rather pleased. “What do you think?”
She squints, looking at the wall like those stuck-up critics that roam galleries like it’s their hunting grounds. Ready to shoot down newbie artists, probably. “Best thing in your room, I’d say.”
“I was talking about the gifts, you know.”
“Well these are great, too. I could rant so much about this pencil, you have no idea. It’s weighted at the tip—I think I’m actually in love.”
“By all means, kiss it or something,” Akito muses, “So long as you don’t do that anywhere in front of me.”
Ena groans, seriously considering smothering him with his own pillows. “Oh my god, you’re disgusting! Sometimes you need to learn when to shut your mouth.”
“And you’re the one telling me this?” he replies, incredulous.
“I pride myself on my honesty.”
Akito deadpans, “Uh huh, sure you are.”
While she really wants to bite back, Ena steadies herself with a deep inhale and smiles instead. She unfolds the letter and begins to read, tugging the tissues nearer.
“You're the actual worst!” Ena grits between sobs.
Akito panics. “I didn't think you'd cry! I just told you how I felt.”
“Don't care. I don't wanna see your face ever again.”
She looks at the letter in her hands, his painfully sincere words. It's the kind of stuff that belongs in a poem, and should be immortalised for centuries to come. If Ena didn't have the physical proof, she'd never believe Akito could make something so touching. She blows her nose again.
“You don't mean that.”
She agrees woefully, “I don't,” says, “Now come here so I can hug you to death.”
Akito joins her inside blanket cocoon, reminding him of when they were far younger and not weighed down by responsibilities. When it was thundering, he'd sneak into her room for refuge, feeling her comforting presence right beside him. When did they stop doing such things?
“I don't say this a lot, so don't you dare make me feel embarrassed about it,” Ena starts, voice shaky. “Even if you're a massive pain, I love you a lot, yeah? No matter what you get up to, your big sis will always be proud of you. Don't ever forget that.”
“As if I'd ever.” he smirks.
“Just making sure!” Ena lies down, sending both their heads onto the mattress. “Now, because I'm older and you love me very much, you have no choice but to listen to me. I declare it nap time.”
Akito complains, lacking any real fight in his voice, “Are we children?”
“Of course not! We're just exhausted. It's time to catch up on some needed sleep, I think.” she kicks his legs under the blanket, grinning at his offended face.
Ena murmurs, “I don't know about you, but I feel very happy about this.”
“Me too," Akito agrees, "Now save those words for later, I'm taking you up on that nap offer.”
“Goodnight, you brat.” she whispers.
“Goodnight, big sis.”