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Jyushimatsu hangs his head back, his arms behind him supporting his weight, his hands on the rough roof shingles (how can he feel that?). His legs are stretched out in front of him, his feet slowly swaying back and forth towards each other, away from each other, towards each other… (how can he do that?).
It’s cold. How does he know that? Don’t other living things feel temperature differently than he? Why doesn’t he feel things the way they do? Why does he feel the sharp bite of the wind, the chill in the air, how can he even tell that he’s feeling the cold right now? How does he process the things he feels?
He violently shakes his head to get rid of these thoughts, instead replacing them with a simpler, more mundane one that says he should’ve grabbed his hoodie before coming outside. Before he can continue the thought any more, like that he maybe should go inside and get it, he hears a familiar voice, unfamiliarly quiet (why does he know this voice is normally loud?): “You cold? It’s almost winter, y’know. You should have brought your jacket with you.”
Jyushimatsu feels a heavy weight drop on his head and shoulders, blocking his vision (what is his vision, anyway? what good are the things he sees if he doesn’t understand how he sees them?) He grabs at it, pulling it off (why is his first thought that he should pull it off?) to reveal a large piece of yellow fabric as well as his eldest brother sitting to his right, sitting slightly hunched over, looking over at him with the corners of his mouth slightly quirked up.
With a brief internal query of how he knows what yellow is, he quickly throws his hoodie over his head. In his haste, he didn’t bother to think about how hoodies, and clothes in general, work (they’ve always been difficult. He doesn’t need to ask why he doesn’t understand that), and ended up trying to put his head through a sleeve. He hears Osomatsu snigger, and say “here,” the sound of his voice slightly muffled by the fabric covering his ears (how does he know that what he’s hearing is muffled?). After his older brother pulls his jacket this way and that, he feels him start to pull at the bottom of his rightly-aligned outerwear, down onto the rest of his body.
…with the hood covering his face.
Osomatsu bursts into ugly laughter, a few snorts letting loose. Jyushimatsu rips the hood off his face lightning fast, turning his head to look over at his brother, who was currently doubled over with hands clutching his sides as if he pulled the greatest prank ever and didn’t just put his little brother’s hoodie on backwards. The loud, painful-sounding snorts are making up the majority of his laughter at this point. Jyushimatsu kinda hopes he punctures a lung or something. (no he doesn’t. he doesn’t have to ask himself about that).
“Osomatsu Nii-San…” he whines, pulling his arms out of his sleeves and twisting his hoodie around. “That was mean.” (what constitutes as mean?) He pops his left arm out, then his right, and accidentally punches his older brother in the side of the head. Osomatsu doesn’t even seem to notice, he’s laughing so hard. Jyushimatsu frowns, and taps at his head again, and again, and with his other hand, until he’s initiating a slap fight with Osomatsu’s head, laughing at his unfair fighting advantage of having an opponent that can’t fight back (not Osomatsu, just his head). The eldest Matsu brings up an arm to block, the other still gripping his side, but Jyushimatsu’s two arms easily overpower his one, and soon Osomatsu is slapping back at his younger brother’s hands with just as much vigor, his laughter having never stopped. They start to attempt sneak attacks on each other, hitting the other’s leg, shoulder, head, face, until there’s no more order or honour in this fight, just complete fucking anarchy, but the slap fight revolution is put on hold when neither one of them can breathe anymore, and they have to use their weapon-holding arms for a greater purpose: to grab their sides in hope of relieving the laughter cramps.
Jyushimatsu still has one arm out in front of him, in the hopes that he could actually stop Osomatsu from trying to attack him again, but he knows the fight is over when Osomatsu wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, his other hand raised to rub under his nose and his laughter shaking Jyushimatsu.
When the laughter fades away and they both calm down, Jyushimatsu realizes his oldest brother never let go of him, but he doesn’t say anything; Osomatsu isn’t often affectionate, so he’ll just enjoy his quiet company while it lasts. He brings his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them and wrapping his arms around his shins. He lets out a shallow sigh, closing his eyes as he registers the wind again and how it blows his hair around. Jyushimatsu’s melancholy must have been apparent enough for Osomatsu to sense, because the hand holding his upper arm seems to squeeze a little tighter, and he seems to be pulled just a little closer.
“You don’t normally get up in the middle of the night,” Osomatsu murmurs quietly, none of his usual snark evident.
“…neither do you, Niisan,” Jyushimatsu retorts, no malice in his voice whatsoever. (how would he know that? sure, Osomatsu is a heavy sleeper, but so is Jyushimatsu. why would he make that assumption? how does he come to that conclusion?)
“I always get up when someone else does. Only thing that ever wakes me up.”
Jyushimatsu is silent for a moment, realizing Osomatsu wants him to tell him why he’s up. He tries to think of a coherent way to summarize his thoughts, and, when failing to do so, blurts out, “I don’t understand how I exist.” Osomatsu looks slightly taken aback, his brow scrunched up, mouth opening and closing, and eyes wandering. Jyushimatsu, flustered, shoves his head face down to his knees, and takes a deep breath. “Never mind.”
“No, no, little brother, tell me what you mean.” When had Osomatsu become so tender? (how did he know Osomatsu wasn't usually soft and caring? how does he interpret people's personalities like that?)
After a few heartbeats, Jyushimatsu raises his head to look at his older brother, and tries again. “I just… I don’t get it, Osomatsu-niisan. How do I do stuff, like move my feet? How can I tell it’s cold? How do I know what to do to swing a baseball bat? How do I… exist?” He finishes lamely, similarly to how he did before, and breaks his eye contact with Osomatsu, not being able to handle his concerned look. With a dejected look, he faces the other way, hoping his older brother wouldn’t be disappointed in him. (how does he know he feels that way?)
“Jyushimatsu… Hey, c’mon. Look at me.” Jyushimatsu slowly turns his head just enough to be able to look at Osomatsu out of the corner of his watering eyes. He’s met with a reassuring smile and eyes soft enough to rival a kitten’s fur. His smile grows, his eyes close, and his finger meets the bridge between his mouth and nose, and he says, “I don’t have the answers for that, you know. I used to wonder about the same things, all the time. Sometimes I still do! It’s normal to wonder about things no one can answer.” His hand lowers starts to lower, but Jyushimatsu reaches for it and lightly grabs it like one would grab an object. He’s a little unsure of his own intentions, but Osomatsu twists their hands until their fingers link together, and Jyushimatsu realizes that’s what he wanted (he guesses that, anyway. How does he know what he does and doesn’t want?) Osomatsu keeps his eyes on their linked hands resting on their legs, and then he moves his gaze to look at Jyushimatsu with the most genuine expression he’s ever been given, his grin returning to the gentle half smile he had a few moments ago. “All that matters, though, is that you do exist, you have 5 kickass brothers who really appreciate that, and you’re important. Is that okay for now?”
The tears that have been threatening to spill out of Jyushimatsu’s eyes finally leak out, and he lets out a loud, shuddery sob and, unlinking their hands, throws his arms around Osomatsu’s middle, burying his face in his neck, continuing to shake and sob.
He feels Osomatsu’s abandoned hand bury itself in his hair a second later, gently running his fingers through the strands nearly identical to the ones on his own head. He can hear him shushing him quietly, and Jyushimatsu suddenly feels 15 again, in his mother’s arms after being knocked down and mocked in the hallway, none of his brothers around to save him. And he realizes—a bit belatedly, perhaps—that yeah, this is okay.
(it’s always been more than okay, hasn’t it?)