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He sits in the bath house.
The hot water reaches up to the middle of his chest, but it doesn't do much to calm his nerves. That's reasonable, though, because he isn't nervous, no. He's not nervous at all.
He feels like there are thousands of thoughts in the form of ice shards, slipping and sliding about inside of him, and he can't get hold of any of them but he can feel the effect of all of them. Each and every one draws thin lines into him.
He sits in the bath house.
He thinks.
It's eleven fifty seven, the twenty third of May. Three minutes to their birthday. Do they even know? Do they even care?
It's eleven fifty eight. The bath house that he found here is open twenty four hours, seven days a week.
It's eleven fifty nine. He isn't tired at all.
The water is so hot. He can't stay here forever.
(Maybe he could,
what difference would it make?)
It's twelve. Karamatsu moves his legs to stand. The warmth of the water leaves his body. He's the only one here.
He's the only one ever.
---
They do remember.
(But how could they not, right? That was a dumb thing to think. That five people could collectively forget their own birthday.)
He sits at the table with them and his parents, and they're singing that birthday song, and his mouth is moving and words are coming out.
Everyone cuts their own slice of cake. Everyone gets a big piece. Their parents take one each and leave. Osomatsu takes three slices. Jyushimatsu takes two.
That leaves just one for him, and it's okay.
Right?
He's twenty three now.
---
He finds himself back at the bath house, same time (eleven thirty, eleven thirty), same hollowness inside him.
He washes, gets into the bath alone. It's strange, not having people to talk to. Not having faces to see. Not having to see his own face on others' bodies and experiencing feelings he can't and won't ever experience.
He lets the hot water burn him alive.
(He wishes it would.)
He supposes there's a good reason why people don't come to this bath house. It's eleven thirty on a weekday night. He wouldn't come either if he had things to do and people to be with. Like work. Like friends. Like a family.
(--and by family he means a child and a beautiful wife and not five brothers who can never be decent or quiet and two parents who stare with their disappointed eyes.)
He watches his reflection scatter on the water's surface.
---
Well, in the end, who is he?
Who is Matsuno Karamatsu, anyway?
He ponders this on the way home. It's cold, and he should have put on more layers, but his toes and fingers can freeze off for all he cares.
He's just one in a set of six. A NEET.
(No plan.)
He sighs, and his breath mocks him as it fades into the cold air. He wouldn't mind disappearing too.
---
He stays awake for another two hours, on the roof in his pajamas and a thick coat around his shoulders.
The wood of his guitar is cold.
He doesn't strum or sing. He just sits there, feeling empty, letting the chilly air pass through him.
---
They go out together the next day.
He's so thankful for his shades.
(Don't see the baggage.)
He wonders how he got this weird. So sentimental, and emotional.
It's not manly, he feels.
Not even Osomatsu really looks at him, and for once he is relieved.
It's frightening.
(Was he expecting anything different?)
---
That night, he cries without any sound.
The bath house is an echoey place, and he's already a lunatic for going there in the dead of night in the middle of winter.
(What image is left to preserve?)
---
He wakes up a lot later than he's used to. The sun is already high in the sky, and their heater turned off.
There's a note left for him on the pillow beside his. The kanji is terribly straight, like there are invisible boxes around each character.
Please pack up the futon. - Choromatsu
He's the futon pack-upper.
---
That's who Matsuno Karamatsu is, he supposes.
The second one.
The one nobody remembers.
The one nobody wants to be around.
Is he really that horrible?
---
It gets harder.
The late night bath house becomes his sanctuary. He's alone in there. It's freeing, letting his tears fall and fall and fall without having to worry about people laughing or telling him that he's crying again.
His chest still feels tight when he walks home and when he wakes up and when he laughs.
They don't tell him that they hate him.
They show it. It's all about subtlety.
It's nothing like the boldness he believes in.
---
He awakes, miraculously, at four in the morning.
The room is cold.
He can hear Jyushimatsu's nails in the bathroom beside their room, the agonizing sound they make as he claws them relentlessly across his broken, torn skin.
He can hear Jyushimatsu whimpering. Whispering that he's so, so sorry.
He gets up, finds his brother's bandages and the lotion, and opens the door.
When they're done, he sits by the side of the futon, toes icy on the tatami mats. He sings a song.
He helps Jyushimatsu fall asleep.
---
The bath house announces that it's going to start closing at ten instead of never. He's drained just by reading the notice.
He sits in the bath house and lets himself brim over with nothing but the cold, dreary sadness inside him.
Nobody cares for that. Nobody wants to see that.
He stays until one.
---
The house gets a lot quieter at night. Perhaps that is why Choromatsu rises out of bed at two in the morning, sits by the window and reads a very thick book by the light of Todomatsu's phone.
Karamatsu can't help but wonder what he is reading, but he doesn't dare to ask.
At two, his eyes are still red, and his sunglasses are in the living room.
---
He misses going to the bath house, and it shows.
He has to hold it in when he's in the hot water, not alone, not free.
It's like trying to hold sand in his palms.
Inadequate, the voices say. It's impossible.
He hates himself loves himself because
nobody else will.
---
The next day, Ichimatsu has a panic attack.
It happens at one in the morning, in the bathroom, two weeks after their birthday. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to do.
He tells Ichimatsu it's okay, to breathe, to follow him.
It's ironic.
He doesn't want anyone to follow him. In any sense.
But Ichimatsu looks so small and terrified, and he is pale and he's breathing at five thousand breaths per second, so Karamatsu puts those (selfish, selfish) thoughts aside.
He recalls what Choromatsu taught him.
He shows Ichimatsu how to breathe.
---
Yeah. Breathing. He can do that.
But he can't live.
Matsuno Karamatsu doesn't want to die,
he wants to do more than just breathe.
---
There's one night.
He isn't careful, and lets the sand slip through the cracks of his hands.
He's sitting there, his hands in his lap, and before he knows it, there's salt water running down his cheeks
and making him look horrible and he knows they're going to tease him about it for days. For months. Years.
He's helplessly choking on his sobs.
Painful, painful, painful.
---
He is brought out of the water and has a towel put over him.
Osomatsu isn't smiling.
He wonders if all of them are merely empty, cracked glass jars. Half-glazed, something you throw away, something you don't want to keep around. Broken bottles get in the way and make a mess.
And you don't know how to fix it, so you just buy another one.
Osomatsu just sits there on his stool. He tips the basin and pours water over himself. He moves like he wants to say things.
(He wants to say it's okay,
he doesn't know what to do with himself either.)
---
He doesn't want to die.
He doesn't want to hurt them even more.
He just wants to be someone worthy of loving.
---
The next day, it's like nothing happened at all. They act like they didn't see anything.
He doesn't know if he should be disappointed or relieved.
---
"Hey."
Ichimatsu rarely comes to talk without using his hands, and it surprises Karamatsu so much that he has to stare at his brother for a good minute before responding.
"Do you want to go feed cats with me?"
He comes home with fur on his leather jacket. He smells like cat food.
---
He sits in the hot water.
The emptiness still doesn't leave. His brothers are talking, their voices rising above his head.
Then,
suddenly,
"What do you think, Karamatsu-niisan?"
---
He realises none of them are really living.
That is, if you consider 'living' as being a college graduate with a degree and a new apartment.
If you consider 'living' as going to parties every day and getting smashed so you can feel alive and worth something.
He wonders how many people actually do live.
---
Osomatsu goes with him to the secluded bath house sanctuary that night, apart from the rest of their brothers who go to their usual one.
"Wow, it's really quiet here," Osomatsu says. His voice breaks across the sound of running water. Karamatsu nods. The water's the same with or without people around.
They sit together in the hot water.
It consumes his thoughts.
He thinks.
Osomatsu talks about pachinko and girls and he describes his ideal lady to Karamatsu for the fifty third time since their birthday.
He can nearly recite it. It makes him smile. He wants to treasure this little bond between them.
What he doesn't expect is his older brother's voice cracking as he finishes his last sentence.
It's a painful, painful sound.
---
Who is Matsuno Karamatsu?
(He's a selfish man.)
He asks that of Osomatsu as they walk home. The older brother scratches under his nose. The tears are long gone. He wonders if he could, too, perfect the act of successfully washing the red from his eyes before facing the ones he loves.
"Hmm...you're the one and only Karamatsu. My lil' bro."
Osomatsu smiles and smiles and it's very contagious all of a sudden.
(Thank you for being there.)
They stop at a vending machine and buy two cans of beer.
Maybe he's not that different.
---
That's who Matsuno Karamatsu is, he supposes.
He's the self-centered, second brother.
He's the embarrassing one.
He's the futon pack-upper.
He's the cry baby.
He's the cat feeder.
He's the one who pays for the food.
He's still learning how to be a good person. He's still breathing. Not quite alive yet, but he's getting there.
Maybe, for now,
that's just okay.