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Antsy.
Antsy antsy antsy antsy antsy. An would have a field day making fun of him if she were here.
Really, the couch should be a relaxing place to be, but one million too many things have happened in this house for it to really embody that. Akito’s leg is jittering up a storm, fabric rustling quietly in the otherwise silent house. He refreshes his messages again. Nothing.
With a heavy sigh, he lolls his head back, staring up at the ceiling. This has no business being as stressful as it is. Stress– is that the right word? Excitement, maybe?
He settles on both. Stressed and excited.
Excited, because this is the first time he’s properly seeing his sister in well over two months. He loves her, loathe as he is to admit it at times, and having her away for this long when he’s used to her bothering him constantly leaves something of a hole in his heart. Cheesecake, walking past the craft store, seeing cats and cute drinks; it all reminds him of Ena, much more now than he’d realised previously. Of course he’s at least a little happy to have her home.
But alongside that, there’s fear, clawing at his heart. He’s stressed, scared, because… so much can happen in two months, can’t it?
Ena has been doing better. He knows that. He knows because she told him before she left, yes, but also because of the changes to the selfies she posts and the annoying messages he gets from Mizuki. Her moods when they talk are as sporadic as they’ve always been, but he can tell she’s been okay, at least from what he can see. It’s relieving, but it scares him in equal parts. She’s doing better, so much better, and that could fall away so easily.
She’s alone. She’s unsupervised. She’s surrounded by art and artists, and it’s what she’s wanted her whole life but so much could go wrong. What if she falls, and no one is there to catch her? If the talent around her is unbearable, and she’s back in that deep cavern she used to be trapped in. What if she isn’t getting along with the people there, what if they hurt her, what if the world hurts her? So much could happen to her, and he’d never even know.
He’s scared to see the girl who’s going to walk through that door. Akito has seen Ena at her worst– eye bags so dark they look like bruises, skin pale and oily, nails torn and hands scratched up. He knows that look all too well; he’s scared of seeing it.
He’s scared of her like that, as horrible as it feels to say. He doesn’t want that girl to walk through the door.
He’ll take it, though. She’s still his sister. He’ll take any version of her.
(Honestly, that’s what scares him most. Seeing her like that is a million times better than not seeing her at all. She doesn’t have to learn about the nights he’s spent on the phone with his teammates, listening desperately as they try to convince him that it’s okay, that she’s alive. She’s alright over there.)
(Even now, he doesn’t quite believe them.)
He refreshes his messages again. Nothing new. He sighs deeply, heart hammering with anxiety, ready to call her. Then—
The front door clicks.
He perks up instantly. A moment passes, and it’s pushed open; Ena shuffles inside, multiple bags balances across her. “Jeez, you’d think there wasn’t a test for drivers here, I swear to– eh?!”
Akito isn’t sure what possesses him to latch onto her so fast, but something in him tells him not to let go. She stiffens for a moment, then huffs, dropping the bags in her hands and wrapping her arms around him; he sighs, pressing his face into her shoulder. The hallway is cramped and cold, and her shoes are still on, but Akito sinks against her regardless, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “Hi,” he croaks, voice pitiful.
Ena exhales softly, drawing lines on his back. “Hey, dumbass. Didn’t expect you to be so happy to see me…”
I’ll always be happy to see you, idiot. Even when you’re a bitch and you make me your personal slave, I’ll always be happy, ‘cause you’re you. I don’t give a fuck about the rest of it, it’s still you.
“…Whatever,” he mumbles, pulling himself back to rub his eyes, more than aware of the embarrassing heat in his cheeks.
Ena huffs again, but she’s smiling when he looks up at her. “Whatever,” she echoes, slipping her shoes off and lining them up next to his own. The contrast between his worn-out dance sneakers and her sleek Mary Janes is odd to look at, but it’s comforting, in a way. The bags are abandoned as she pushes him further into the house, “C’mon, would you? I’m hungry.”
“What, am I makin’ your food?” He wouldn’t actually mind doing so, but he still has to put up a fight. It’s Akito’s role as the younger brother.
“Yeah-duh,” she mocks, gently thumping his back. “I just drove here, dumbass. I’m your guest now, be a good host and make me a drink.”
He snorts, making his way back through the kitchen, because there’s no way in hell he’s avoiding this. He turns to look at her once he’s in the kitchen, and…
Akito has known for a long time the intricacies that his sister puts into her appearance. The difference between concealer over eye bags and foundation for a greater look, what eyeliner styles are meant to accentuate her lashes and what’s simply there to draw attention away from the red scleras. He recognises when an outfit is asking for attention, and when it’s desperately trying to dispel it. Akito knows his sister, all the hints and cues and language hidden in her looks. And now…
“What?” Ena raises an eyebrow at him, hip leaned against the kitchen counter.. “Is there shit on my face, why are you looking at me like that?”
“N-No, nothing. You look…”
Bruised skin, red eyes, bleeding nail beds and oily hair—
Akito exhales, smiling against his own will. “You look good, Ena.”
Her eyes widen, just for a moment; her expression settles again into a smug little smile, though he can see the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, bright and happy. “Yeah, of course I do. Now chop chop, carrot boy.”
He snorts. “Yes ma’am.”