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“Hey, Gen.” fingers nudged between her ribs, right where she was most squeamish.
“Come on,” a gravelly voice clicks, poking her in the sides again. “We gotta get up for school.”
Soft, warm, and delicate covers are cruelly taken away from her, releasing the warmth of the blanket and letting the chilly morning air kiss her skin with crisp lips.
“Mm,” Genya whimpers. Squeezing her eyes shut and gracefully rolling on her side. The ten year old shuffles her legs up and hugs them to her chest, thin wiry arms locking the limbs into place. “I don’t wan’ get up.”
Sanemi sighs, tossing down the blanket in a crumple. He sits then at the edge of her shabby twin bed, his sudden weight causes her to jump slightly as the springs scrunch and pop. But the girl steadfastly keeps her eyes shut.
“Nobody wants to get up on a Monday.” Not even Sanemi, but that didn’t mean work could be skipped because he simply didn’t want to. “But we have to.”
“Nooo.”
“Yesss,” Sanemi mimics her pitch and tone, usually. It made Genya pop up, flashing her kitten claws and teeth. But she remains still, more like a fawn pretending it wasn’t there to hide from the hunting dogs.
“If you get up I’ll take you to get some melon bread after school.” The teenager offers, his tone relaxed and casual. Genya hated money being spent on her. But she did love melon bread… or anything with the word “melon” in it.
A few moments pass, before a lone violet eye pops open. He smothers a smile at her cute scrutinizing gaze. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Genya grumbles underneath her breath, wiggling into the comforter. Sanemi watches her, bemused. It seemed as if she were physically fighting the softness of the covers and its call to sleep, alas. Genya must win, because she sits up in all her glory — curly hair up in a craze. Sticking at many odd directions, some that seem quite literally impossible.
The lines of pillows are red and bright against her paler skin, and he even sees crusted drool on the corner of her lip.
Lazily, she rubs at her eye. Looking at Sanemi with something he can’t decide is the anger of a thousand suns or the devious glint in her eyes she gains when she wants him to read her a bedtime story. Even if she claimed she was “getting too old for that, Nemi.”
“I hate Mondays.”
Sanemi pats her bird's nest she calls hair. “I know.”
—
Nemi leaves her to go finish getting himself ready as Genya finally rolls out of bed. Her soft hello kitty pants cover her heels and toes, but the bare pads of her feet meet the chilly wood floor. Sending a shiver down her spine.
Genya yawns, flashing abnormally sharp canines to no one but herself. Nemi was already dressed in the white shirt, yellow patterned blazer, and beige slacks of the high-school part of Kimetsu. So the bathroom was free for the taking thankfully — Genya trots over to her small dresser, where her black uniform shirts and skirts rested.
“Ah—!” She hisses after taking a step. A sharp pain shoots up her back. Causing that sharp tooth to bite into the bottom of her lip.
The pain lasts as long as a needle draws blood, and aches as intensely as the bleeding wound once the sharp and sterile thing is removed.
“That was weird.” Genya mutters to herself. Trying to recall if she did anything to hurt herself as of late — she and Nemi wrestled sometimes. But not as of late. Not when exams were right around the corner and he had his gaze fixated on those scholarships.
Grabbing her uniform. Genya skids to the bathroom, her finger flicks on the warm yellow light to reveal the still-steamed mirrors, there are tiny drawings in the corners. Still evident from her siblings and self; even Nemi sometimes drew on them. Although, he always thumbed a small pinwheel.
Sitting her clothes on the counter, Genya shifts her weight, aiming for the small black stool to pick up and place down in front of the faucet. Mama said that she would get a growth spurt like Nemi one day — but for right now, she was on the smaller side for her age.
Genya steps on it and quickly turns the water to a cool setting, she cups her hands and lets it fall into her palms as if it were a river stream. It dribbles and spills from the outside rim of the circular position, and she leans her head over the sink. Splashing the cold water on her sleep-puffy face.
She repeats this a few times, squeezing her eyes shut against the cool water to prevent it from getting in her sensitive eyes. She then feels blindly for the handles to the faucet, once turning the water off. She then searches for a towel to pat her face dry.
“Eugh.” Genya grumbles, shaking her head to remove the slightest excess of water from her chin and the edge of her hair. Deeming herself sufficiently dry between this and that.
The cool water kissing her face did wonders to wake her up, but Genya still felt… off. She was a heavy sleeper and always has been, but Genya still doesn’t feel very awake. Her body feels sluggish, and that sharp pain in her belly has reduced, but felt achey.
Genya peeks at herself in the now clear mirror; she slept in late so at this rate there wasn’t enough time to take a shower. She turns to the top right drawer where all their hair products are laid, the twins’ princess and prince hair combs, Mama’s blue brush. Nemi’s small and thin hair comb he never used. And her own brush, purple with a faded watermelon sticker on the back.
She runs the bristles underneath the cool water before bringing the face to her hair, dreading the battle to come with knots and curls.
It drags through her hair, catching on knots that tug at her sensitive scalp. Genya stifles a whimper, if only she hadn’t felt so tired last night she could have braided it! She knew better than to not. But her eyes had been so heavy, and her body too.
After a few bits, a boyish face pops around the corner. “You’re still combing your hair?”
Genya sniffs, practically ripping the comb down her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Hmm.” The skin between his eyebrows pinches. “Well you won’t get it done at this rate; sit on the edge of the tub. I’ll comb it for you.”
Usually, Genya loved when Nemi combed her hair. He was always so gentle! Making sure to not apply so much pressure and separating the hair by numbered sections. She kicked her feet and babbled about her day as Nemi listened quietly, focused on not hurting her tender scalp.
Now. His words pelt against her skin like little rocks. Leaving welts on her sensitive emotions.
“Okay.” Genya mumbles, hanging her head and hopping off the stool to throw her legs instead over the white porcelain edge. Sanemi grabs the comb from her hand and squats, too tall to properly work through the usually silk-like locks while standing.
Her hair untangles much faster when someone isn’t vigorously ripping through it, creating thicker and harsher knots. There’s no conversation between the two siblings, just the sound of hair running through bristles and the sound of each other's breathing.
Genya’s teeth grit against each other. Sanemi quietly orders her to lean her head back or tip it down depending on what knot he was working on, but sitting down made her tummy hurt again. Throes of ice-like pain shooting tendrils up her spine and even her legs, worse and more consistent than before.
Genya sucks in a sharp breath when Nemi accidentally catches on a knot, at the same time. Another spike of pain lashes across her lower body.
“Oh, sorry baby.” Nemi apologizes, making sure to be extra gentle. Genya shakes her head, lips scrunched shut.
Genya can’t explain that it’s not the scalp that hurts. Not when her lower body lingers and throbs.
Finally, the bristles stop weaving through her hair and Sanemi turns, grabbing a spritz bottle and opening the drawer again to grab her curl cream that protected the fine ringlets and locked them into place.
“Change real quick and then we’ll finish your hair.” He sets the items down on the edge of the tub, balancing them so they don’t slip and fall into the tub.
He leaves the bathroom without another word, shutting it with a soft click
Genya sucks in a deep breath before swinging her legs back over. Whimpering when the pain shocks her system that she nearly sees white. It hurt so bad! And she wanted to tell Nemi but- she didn’t want to be a bother either.
So, she undoes her clothes and redresses, slipping on her skirt and pulling her shirt over her head. Before opening the door, Nemi leans against the wall in front of the door, lazily tapping on his phone with an expression that said “Obie was talking about the nice pink haired lady again.”
“All dressed?”
“Cept my tights.”
“That’s fine,” Sanemi stuffs his phone into his pocket with a final text to Obanai to tell him to stop waxing poetry about cherry blossoms and cats in his messages. “Sit on the tub again.”
She grumbles, but listens dutifully. Sanemi sprays the mist over her hair and it lands coolly against the back of her neck — before he pops the bottle a few times against the wall, knocking the cream down to the exit before he pours some in his palms. Lathering his hands before running them through her scalp and spreading the cream evenly.
“Turn around, flip your hair over.”
She does, and then he scrunches her hair up, making sure to hold for a couple seconds; before letting them drop, Sanemi repeats this motion for a few minutes.
He pulls out the diffuser, and Genya’s neck starts to ache from being held in this position. They don’t have the time for the old cheap diffuser, so air drying it will be today.
Finally, they’re done and she breathes a sigh of relief. That ebbing pain her stomach has seemed to halt, leaving her feeling tired.
“Come eat some breakfast, I’ll put your tights by your shoes.”
Genya follows behind him, switching off the light wordlessly. Now that she wasn’t sitting like that on the tub anymore her lower tummy didn’t hurt so much anymore, but her steps were uncomfortable, making it harder to take full strides and trot happily behind her Nemi. Instead, she shuffled; in taking a small breath with each scuffle.
“Did mama take the twins to daycare already?” Genya blinks, realizing for the first time this morning that the house was empty other than her and her big brother. Sanemi throws a glance over his shoulder, looking at her almost curiously. “Yeah, you woke up late, remember? She came to kiss you goodbye though.”
Genya drops her gaze, trying to remember if Mama had snuck into her room. Even in her deep sleep she usually felt soft lips on her forehead! Genya always tried to wake up and wish her Mama a good day, cause Mama always brushed her hair back and whispered “have a good day my love.” But Genya was just always so sleepy…
“She made onigiri last night for us after you went to sleep. I ate mine already but yours is still in the fridge.” Sanemi’s voice cuts through her thoughts. She looks up at him, her balled up tights in his hands and the crease to his eyebrow that made her flush. Nemi was looking at her weird.
“Uhm.” Genya slides her hands behind her back. Nervously threading her fingers together. “I’m not… hungry.”
“Not hungry?” Sanemi echoes. He plops her tights on the kitchen counter before turning over to their small white fridge. It has dents from when Daddy was alive and it was slightly baked yellow from the sun peeking through the blinds.
He pulls out two onigiri, without having to ask Genya knew they were stuffed with salmon and veggies. Her favorite.
“Even if you’re not hungry you should still eat. It’ll be a while before it’s lunch time.” Sits them down on the table, pulling out a chair for her to sit on. His fingers drum on it expectantly, but Genya remains standing, rooted to the floor.
“But…” Genya whines, making sure to warble her bottom lip and blink her eyes. “Nemi, I'm really not hungry. I promise! Pinkie promise!” For emphasis, she raises her arm, wiggling her pinkie in the air.
“I would rather you eat something now.” Sanemi sighs. In the tone that reeks of annoyance — and there it is again, that sharp needle feeling poking her. But Genya thought of it, the spiced rice, the salmon, the scent of mayo and the nori. She could smell it already, and it made her throat dry — and her tummy do a weird swoop.
But he sticks his pinkie out, letting Genya for the first time in her day, giddily grab it with her own as they did a small shake. “But you better eat all of this at lunch, okay. No nap in place of food.”
“I pinkie promise!” She nods eagerly.
Her brother levels her one more intense stare, before their pinkies drop and he begins to ball up the onigiri. Rewrapping it delicately and handing it off to her. Genya takes it, but holds her breath so she doesn’t have to taste the smell.
Once she holds it, Sanemi then says promptly:. “Go get your backpack and put it in there.” Then more annoyed: “At least it’ll be better than the slop they feed us at school.”
“Mhm!” Genya nods eagerly, still holding her breath.
Only when she’s out of sight to scamper back to her room and grab her bag, does Genya lift the onigiri above her head and take a deep breath.
“Blegh.” She sticks out her tongue.
—
“Hey man.” Obanai greeted, sliding into his desk and plopping his bag down by the feet of it.
“Hey,” Sanemi grumbled back, his voice chipped. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but. Obanai already had a funny suspicion that something was off.
He observed his friend, his right leg bounced absentmindedly, and his left arm was propped up on the desk. Housing his rounded chin and petulant frown, the other hand rested on the desk. But, was flicked insistently with a small ink pen between his index and middle finger, in another two flicks- ah there it is, it’s now been thrown to the floor.
Obanai’s discolored eyes watch, expecting Sanemi to curse underneath his breath and pick it up.
But he doesn’t, his violet eyes are far away and most definitely not in the classroom with an A/C that pumped so relentlessly it was a wonder it hadn’t caught on fire by now.
The teen sighs, bending down instead and picking up the pencil. He jabs the eraser into Sanemi’s bicep.
“Hey,” he pokes once, twice. No reaction. “I said hey.” he turns the pen over, jabbing Sanemi’s skin with the pointed end hard enough to not break skin but leave a bruise instead. His friend jumps - snapped out of whatever stupor he had been in previously.
Obanai smothers something like a shit eating grin or relieved smile. He's not sure which, when Sanemi turns his infamous raging glare on the serpentine boy.
“Ow! What the fuck was that for?!” His voice is too sharp, too loud. The calm teacher who has yet to start his lesson turns and sends the two boys a harsh glare while their fellow classmates snicker. But Sanemi only rolls his eyes, rubbing at the sore spot on his arm.
“Cause you’re in lalaland,” discolored eyes roll. “And you’re annoying when you’re pouty.”
“Wha- I’m not pouty!” Sanemi snaps, incredulous. Obanai only shrugs half-assed and definitely non-believing.
“Sure whatever you say, anyway what’s the problem?”
Sanemi’s features become pensive as he rubs at his sore spot, Obanai waits, blinking and patient.
”Genya was just actin’ weird.”
”Ah,” Obanai feels stupid now; that should have been his immediate realization upon sitting across a grouchy Sanemi: but of course, why didn’t I think of that?
“What’s wrong with her?”
”She was just acting… weird,” Sanemi shrugs, confused on how to really explain her unusual but not bad behavior, he lets his arm fall loose and rest on the uncomfortable desk. “Woke up late, didn’t want to eat breakfast and couldn’t even do her own hair this morning?” His voice raises in pitch with his confusion, sending incredulous glances to Obanai, as if asking for justification in Genya’s weird behavior.
“Sounds like she’s just having an off day.” He settles back into his chair, shrugging. The lesson would be starting soon and he was beginning to wish he would have gone and pissed rather than played Therapist Iguro. “We all have them.”
“I guess,” Sanemi sours, conceding but not wanting to. “But I swear, if any asshole kid has been pickin on her- I will punch a middle schooler.”
Obanai chuckles, clapping Sanemi on his shoulder, “I know you would, but if anything? It just sounds like she might be getting sick.”
Frowning, Sanemi is cut off by the teacher's voice starting their lesson.
—
“Genya-Chan...” a pink eyed girl with her hair neatly done in a bow that matched her eyes cocks her head, watched with a perplexed concern as her friend, and fellow student. Huddles in her chair, obviously not paying attention to the lesson whatsoever.
“Are you okay?” She asks for the umpteenth time, long black brows furrowing. Genya’s breath seems to be labored, but in spite of it - or the other many times Nezuko had done the one thing she wasn’t supposed to (or, one of the two things she wasn’t supposed to: speak in class, or cheat. Big brother Tanjirou had threatened to hold her upside down if she ever did such a thing!) quiet her voice and roll her tongue underneath a wispy breath.
But, unlike all the other times. Where Genya smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, or when she nodded. But it was too shaky to be confident, the girl, her friend but not quite her friend just yet, moaned.
“M’cold.”
“Cold…?” Nezuko questions, her pink-eyed gaze drifting down Genya’s body. Her black hair that was usually shiny seemed to look greasy, not in a “one too many days without a shower” way but in a “it’s been a hot summer's day, and I’ve been outside a lot” way.
Nezuko’s eyes drift to the window, where small spits of snow blow. And then back to Genya-Chan, with her pale skin flushed. Exceptionally so on her forehead.
She groans again, clutching at her abdomen with both bony arms.
“But you look… really warm. Genya-Chan.” Nezuko begins to feel somewhat frightened now, was her friend coming down with an illness? They had recently had an assembly on disease and how it’s spread after the whole school had a breakout of the flu. She didn’t want to get sick, but she didn’t want Genya-Chan to be sick either!
“Maybe you should tell the teacher, and go to the nurses office.” Prompts the girl, but Genya’s pinkish skin seems to turn a boiling red. And soon, that’s when Nezuko realizes she’s trembling.
“Or- maybe I- could tell her?” Her breath is above a whisper now, breaking when it should be punctuated. Her gaze snaps to the teacher, whose soft blue eyes are now flitting to them too. Akiyama-Sensei had always been so nice and pretty with her white hair and red makeup, Nezuko is sure that she’d be happy to help.
“No!” Genya’s voice shrieks. Violet eyes spilling open and subsequently dripping with tears, they are wild and slightly crazed but at most, Nezuko realized when she was a little older and a little wiser: fear.
“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Sniffles Genya, feeling the heat of many swiveling gazes on her. Akiyama-Sensei is confused too, “Shinazugawa?”
“I just need to go to the bathroom!” Her voice clamber’s in pitch, and spills out of her desk in an ungraceful heap of limbs and fabric. And then she’s out- running on her short legs because Genya was a little too small for her age. And in about two years she’d be cursed with growth spurts and the soreness of developing breasts, and the boys would notice the short girl wasn’t so short and thin anymore. But for now, their heads only swivel in confusion or snicker in mean amusement.
“Ms Shinazugawa!” Cries the teacher, footsteps following Genya out the door until she remembers she has a whole classroom of little children to attend to. Biting her lip, indecisive on what to do.
Nezuko looks at where Genya had been sitting only a moment ago, and gasps. “Akiyama-Sensei! Look!” She points insistently.
The teacher whirls on her red flats, pale eyes bulging at the seat. And Nezuko hears a certain word that makes her gasp and cover her mouth. Because papa only used that dirty word when the oven broke again, or when Takeo had stubbed his toe and then gotten a big lecture from mama and papa.
“Oh, fuck me.” Akiyama-Sensei says, staring down at a smear of blood on the desk chair.
—
Sanemi sighs. For possibly the hundredth time. And Obanai wants to kick him in the asshole for it.
“Dude,” he grits his teeth. “She’s fine.”
“How the fuck do you know?” Sanemi grunts, and then sighs. Expanding his chest wide and then letting his shoulders sag inwards. It reminds Obanai of that emo kid Tomioka Giyuu. And Obanai fucking hated that guy. “Do you have magic seeing eyes on her?”
“Do you?” Obanai shot back, tone just as mean as Sanemi’s.
Tensions crackle between the two - when Obanai sighs, and then curses himself for it. Fucking Shinazugawa’s and their nature to rub off on him, “look I gotta take a leak. I can pass by Genya’s class on the way if you’re so concerned, she should be in history. Right?”
“…pretty sure.” And that was a fucking lie, Sanemi wasn’t pretty sure. He knew it, he knew it because he had Genya’s whole class scheduled memorized. And he knew Obanai knew that too, so he ignored the asshole quirk of an eyebrow.
“Then it’s settled, I’ll go take a piss and you can stop panicking.”
“Not panicking.”
“Yeah sure whatever,” Obanai rolls his eyes and then raises his hand, abruptly stopping the teacher who now looks just as annoyed as Obanai felt. “Can I go to the bathroom?”
“I don’t know,” asks Tsugikuni-Sensei in that stupid dry voice. “Can you?”
Obanai grits his teeth. Can you carve that disgusting mark off your face? You wannabe kiss band member-
“May I use the bathroom?”
“Yes,” Tsugikuni-Sensei nods, now seemingly satisfied with his one sided power play. “Take a hall pass.”
He gratefully stands up from his uncomfortable chair, knees popping with the action and then stomps over and takes the hall pass. A little band with the details of moons on it. And snaps it around his wrist, mustering a dirty glare to Tsugikuni-Sensei and then, something much softer to Sanemi who watches him out of the corner of his eye, adamant but intense.
“Man I just wanna piss.” Obanai mumbles, petulant.
—
Genya sobbed.
She couldn’t help it, and she didn’t want to. But she sobbed, thick, droplets of tears spilling down her cherubic and rosy cheeks.
“Okay, okay just b-breathe,” her chest hitched ironically on the word breathe. She needed to look, but looking was scary. And Genya could hardly see through the thick globs of tears.
“Breathe, breathe.” She sternly reminded herself, she was a big girl now! Big enough to make dinner for mama and her siblings before they got home. And big enough to be left home to look after her siblings while Mama worked the late shift and Nemi had recently started his big boy job working for Ubugashiki-San at his nice auto body shop. Nemi didn’t know a lot about cars, but he was a fast learner and an even harder worker and lately, the smell of oil and grease had become comforting.
Genya sniffles. Right, she was a big girl now and big girls didn’t cry.
Taking one, final deep breath. Genya wipes her tears with the heel of her palm, they’d be red and puffy in a couple hours and she could already feel the sting of raw skin.
Nervously, violet eyes begin to slide downwards, initially they lock onto the pale white walls in front of her that held slight stains from crude drawings and spots of bare skin where the paint was flaking off from years of erosion. The wall against her back was cool, and it made her feel cooler. Even though the cold tile from where she had sunk to the floor stung her like her skin was on fire.
Her gaze trails to her shoes, scuffed at the toe where she had tripped. And Genya’s heart threatens to catapult itself from her throat, Mama had worked extra hard for brand new school uniform shoes, no matter how much Genya had insisted her old ones that were about a size and a half too small were fine and could be amended. She had been learning after all-! Quick with a needle and thread and pair of scissors.
And then it trails to her bare legs because she had been stupid and ended up never putting on her tights. Claiming that today the texture felt gross against her skin, the sheer fabric rubbed oddly against the prickle of the hair on her legs and it shot an uncomfortable shiver up her spine. Nemi had looked at her oddly for that too, and Genya had hidden her face. Brushing away the threat of sensitive tears.
Now, as the inkling of red smeared on her inner thighs. Genya wishes she had worn the fucking tights and hopes Nemi doesn’t mind the usage of a swear word.
Her tears come back with a vengeance. Blurring her gaze once again until the world is soft and smushed and most importantly, wet. But even in spite of the blur. Genya can still make out the blob of red and black where her skirt ended and her bloody flesh began.
She hiccups, and then groans. Feeling as her skin seems to blister and freeze at the same time. She just wanted to go home, wishing she hadn’t gotten out of bed this morning. And just slept it all away. But she hadn’t and now Genya was here, alone, bleeding and scared.
And to make matters worse she’s bleeding from… there, and it makes Genya squirm, shuffling her thighs together and making her abnormally red skin turn redder.
Another sob wracks her fragile body. And she squirms, choking on a groan and a sob when a throbbing sensation beats against her lower belly. What was she supposed to do? And every time she moves - tightened or loosened her lower belly. She could feel more blood trickle out and down, it made her shiver against the sludge-like feeling.
Another sharp pinch, a roll in her stomach. Genya’s head falls forward as she clutches helplessly at the feeling of fabric.
Wildly. Her mind turns, was she dying? Is this the end? Shinazugawa Genya, aged eleven, dead. On the bathroom floor having never lived to eat another delicious watermelon?
Another fierce wave of tears. She really fucking wanted watermelon.
A gut wrenching (and in a literal sense too, each sob that makes her shudder felt like a wrench twisting her insides) sob, another uncomfortable dollop of blood pouring and smearing against her thighs. She wanted it to stop, she wanted to go home- she wanted-
“Nemi!” Genya gasps. The sharpness of it reverberated in the dingy bathroom with stains and chipped paint. She needed to get to her Nemi, he’d know what to do. Genya is sure of it. More sure than anything else.
She kicks her leg in front of her, scrunching it up so that the pad of her shoe is flush with the floor. But that in itself is strong enough to send a wave of nausea smashing into her body. Strong enough to make bile crawl up her throat.
She slaps a hand over her mouth, chunky teeth biting into the meat of her palm when that isn’t enough. More tears spring to Genya’s eyes, and her complexion is now an odd paint palette of pure white and crimson, giving her a sickly allure.
Genya sniffs. Keeping her hand lodged firmly into her mouth, and pulls the other leg up.
She doesn’t know which is more disheartening, the blood between her legs or the one kissing her tongue.
Releasing her hand like a dog's wounded chew toy that leaked stuffing, Genya pants against the cool bathroom air that tasted like the stale air of sitting piss, now mixed grossly with the leftover taste of blood in her mouth.
“It’s gonna be like ripping a bandage off.” Genya thinks when it comes to standing up on two legs, but that doesn’t make her feel braver or any more excited.
It’s so much worse than ripping a bandage off, when Genya shoots to her two feet. She possibly sees white and is lucky enough to be able to balance herself on the large expanse of water-stained bathroom sinks.
Genya knows better than to spare a glance behind her shoulder where she had been previously sitting, but feeling a warm dribble slide down her leg. Morbid curiosity caught the cat's tail, and her tail- or legs, more accurately. Her knees go a bit slack where she had sat in the miniature pool of blood.
Hardening her stomach, Genya puts one step in front of her at a time.
-
Bouncing on his heels, Obanai played with the moon themed snap band, clicking it on his wrist and then undoing it. It was soothing, distracting, and he liked to hear it echo in the wide school hallway.
He hums, happily approaching the men’s bathroom that was, a bit, disgusting. Shared by teenagers and pubescent kids, but Obanai was just relieved to relieve himself, but not as relieved to return back to class.
But ah! Luckily he had a little distraction, gotta go check on Genya. Obanai thinks as he washes his hands.
“I’m sure she’s fine, really.” Sanemi is just being crazy overprotective as per usual. Although, begrudgingly Obanai couldn’t say it was always an unnecessary sort of overprotectiveness. Sure there was the typical feeling that came from being an older brother with a little sister, making sure she doesn’t get hurt, scare away little boys with sticky hands that picked their boogers (and more grossly, ate them) you know, the typical stuff.
And then there was a different overprotective attitude Sanemi held towards Genya. A messy one, perhaps if pushed too much. A dark one, there had been bullies, an abusive father, and the general dangers that came with poverty and many siblings. Genya was both exceptionally mature and immature, and Sanemi fed into both, with expectations of behavior and coddles.
He sighs, drying his hands with brown paper towels that were so thin they tore before they absorbed liquid. Great, now he was worrying about Genya, and by extension. Sanemi’s possible behavior.
Great, fine. He’ll just check on Genya, curse himself for being irrational. And then make fun of Sanemi for being irrational while being secretly glad that nothing has happened at all, perfect. It sounds perfect.
Well, the thing they don’t tell you about perfection is that it’s built on the backs of fools and on the foundation of flaws. It easily crumbles, and Obanai supposes that’s why the tarot card the tower is not only depicted as it is, but why it holds the symbolisms it does.
At the same time the little boys bathroom softly swings shut, the little girls room opens with a ferocity that later, Obanai would be thinking about in bed and be sneakily attacked by a giggling fit. Because how on earth could a girl as small and bony as Shinazugawa Genya practically kick it open like she was starring in fucking roadhouse?
But at the moment, all Obanai sees is the foundation of a tower crumbling. When Shinazugawa Genya steps out in front of him, cherubic face wet with snot and tears and her legs covered in something he really, really hopes isn’t blood.
Her violet eyes fail to recognize him for just a second, and Obanai fails to really understand what’s going on. Until tears cling to her black eyelashes (that were sometimes gray, in the light, in the way that it almost looked like they wanted to be white) like parasites. And she hiccups, chest bursting with a shrill fond nickname.
“Obie!”
And Obanai realizes that yeah, these fucking Shinazugawa’s and the love he unintentionally gave to them and the love they, in their rough handed way, gave back to him full force. It was ruining him, he’s pretty sure. As his skin crawls but he ignores it in favor of scooping Genya into his thin arms, because she needed help, and most importantly, she needed his help.
As he walks through the halls with a sobbing Genya he’s not really sure what to say, especially when Genya burrows her face into his shoulder, thin wiry arms hooked around his neck. He begins to feel the wetness of her tears leak through his white sure and he’s absolutely certain there’ll be snot smeared on his blazer. But it’s fine, it’s fine because it’s for her and by extension it’s for Sanemi.
A million things, I found her, she needs help, fuck off Tsugikuni-Sensei you’re an asshole. And more hesitantly, because he was a teenage boy and this was just a Thing for teenage boys no matter how many women he grew up around. She’s on her period and I don’t think she knows that.
It’s all drowned out by the sound of terrible sobs in his eardrums, and Obanai hadn’t really realized they neared the classroom door and somewhere along the way he dropped the stupid snap band. But he edges it open with his foot - unable to sit Genya down on her two feet even if he wanted to. She had glued herself to him like a damn koala.
But he kicks it open, heads turning sharply. Tsugikuni is ready to glare sharply for “taking too long” but his angered expression quickly drops, as he realizes the situation was a little more somber than "took too long".
Stepping inside, Sanemi’s constant irritated expression drops as he shoots to his feet. Eyes blown wide and confused, and scared.
Obanai grunts, readjusting Genya in his arms. He says the only thing he can really think of in the moment:
“You were right.”
—
“Well, Shinazugawa-Kun and Chan, and…” Tamayo spares a glance to the other teenager, who leaned against the wall with crossed arms and quirked a brow at her. “Iguro-Kun, I can say with certainty that your little sister isn’t dying, and I’m certainly glad that you didn’t contact medical services. She’s just started her menstrual cycle.”
Tamayo chirps it like it’s something awesome and beautiful.
“Menstrual cycle?” Sanemi echoes, and Obanai rolls his eyes. “She means a period, dipshit.”
“I know that!”
“Mkay.”
“I did-“
“You wanted to call an ambulance! I had to rip your phone away!”
“Oh shut up. Also give me that back actually-“
Tamayo shakes her head, rummaging in her cabinet for every girl's saving grace: aspirin.
Whilst the two boys argue, she pulls up a rolly chair and offers the girl a sympathetic smile, “hello Genya-Chan.”
“H-hi.” Genya mumbles back, sniffling. She was no longer crying and most assuredly had cried her tear ducts drier than the Saharan Desert. But she felt like doing it all over again now that the panic and subsequent adrenaline was setting in, and the pad felt weird and sometimes it ripped her skin if she moved.
“Genya-Chan, have you eaten today? These aspirins will help but they’ll help faster if you have some food in your tummy.”
She shakes her head no, burrowing her face in her knees. Sanemi, now victorious in having his phone returned to his pocket, cuts into the conversation. “She has onigiri in her backpack.”
Tamayo looks up to him then, “would you go get it?”
Sanemi’s expression flickers, a shadow of conflict on passing his features. Tamayo thought that he looked quite mannish for his age, and she thought that sadly. But in the moment he stares down at his little sister, clutching her shoulders nervously. She sees a little boy, and frowns.
“I’ll go get it,” Obanai waves. “It’ll be two seconds.”
“Thank you,” Sanemi says, earnestly. Tamayo feels like she’s almost intruding on something when discolored eyes soften, sweeping from the big brother to the little sister. “Of course.”
“Shinazugawa-Chan,” Tamayo grabs the attention of the little girl, but it’s Sanemi’s sharp gaze that she gets.
No matter, she simply clears her throat. “Has your mother ever talked to you about menstrual cycles?”
A couple beats of silence, before Genya shakes her head slowly. Still avoiding Tamayo’s gaze, “Mama is always busy, and when she isn’t she likes to sleep.”
Ah, that does not bode well for her mandated reporter senses. It must appear on her face as well because the elder brother cuts in, again. “But she’s a good mom, and she tries her hardest for us.”
“I never said she didn’t,” Tamayo disperses the tense air sagely. “I just wanted to know for her sake.”
Sanemi narrows his gaze on her for a moment, before they find their little sister fondly. Tamayo stands from her chair and walks over to a portion of the smallish nurses office. Opening a drawer she rummages through it and finds a pamphlet.
“Here,” she hands the pamphlet to Sanemi, who takes it and flips it over each way, examining it sharply without that teenage boyish insecurity over girls and their monthly bleeding sessions. “It will explain some of the basics of menstrual cycles but if her mother could find the time to explain it to her- I think that would be wise, if not. Have her come back to me and I’ll sit her down.”
Sex education would have prevented a lot of this, but Tamayo digresses.
Sanemi stuffs it into his back pocket, “thank you, I appreciate that.”
Tamayo smiles, pleased that he seems to at least not consider her some sort of CPS threat. Just as Obanai rounds the corner with a backpack in his hands.
“Ah, good!” The nurse chirps. “After some food you’ll be able to take the painkillers and then go home.”
“But,” Genya’s bottom lip pouts, staring at her older brother with an admittedly effective pair of puppy dog eyes. “Nemi I’m still not hungry.”
“But you gotta.” Sanemi taps her nose, voice a bit gruff. “And then you can go home.”
Genya stares down at her open palms, defeated.
She gags around a few bites of onigiri, but Tamayo is not evil and stops her when she deems it enough for the two aspirins with a glass of water. And gives her older brother a few food suggestions for sensitive tummies during her period.
“Okay, so we can go?” Asks Obanai, and Tamayo turns to him. Hands on her hips and her best teacher expression painted on her delicate face. “We?”
“Mhm,” he nods. She considers fighting him on it, but instead. Turns around and writes another slip. “Just this one time.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it.”
“I said sure!”
Tamayo withers him a stern look. “Get her home.”
“Don’t need to be told twice,” Sanemi grunts. Hauling his sister into his arms and briskly exiting the nurses office, Obanai follows quickly behind, his backpack hooked to his back, and each Shinazugawa’s backpack hooked on each arm.
“Hey! I’m not your concierge!”
“Yeah yeah whatever.”
“Won’t your aunt be mad you skipped school?” Sanemi asks on the chilly walk home, Obanai shrugs, trying to hide his shiver. Thinking about the mean bitch who inhabited his house since his mom died. “Probably, but I don’t care and I didn’t skip, I got a slip.” He holds up the pink paper smugly, and then drops his arm down when it begins to burn under the weight of Sanemi’s white bag. Jesus it was heavy, and Obanai wondered if Sanemi carried his weights in it as well as his books.
“Well, you can always stay over, I’ll loan you my clothes.” Sanemi shrugs, and Genya perks up, more lively with food and aspirins doing their jobs. “We’re gonna have a sleepover!?”
“Sure,” agrees Sanemi easily and without Obanai’s input, “I just don’t want you to use my toothbrush.”
“Oh? Don’t want my spit on your spit?”
“Gross! Don’t fucking say that.”
“We could be spit buddies.”
“I changed my mind, I’m kicking you out.”
“I’m not even there…?”
“I’m gonna invite you in and then physically kick you out.”
“Roadhouse.” Genya mumbles; sagely. And then turns to her older brother with sparkling eyes that he could never resist. “But please Nemi, could Obie stay the night? Please?”
“If he wants to.” Sanemi says cautiously, cocking his head to look at Obanai in that subtle way that wasn’t subtle at all, at least not to him. Maybe because their friendship had been accidental, a bump into each other turned into a shit talk session of that asshole track star Uzui, and then they just kinda… kept shit talking, about the students and then to the teachers, and then when they ran out of strangers they turned to those in their personal lives. Sanemi’s dad, Obanai’s aunt. The conversations got more personal and impersonal and before either knew it- they had been each other's best friends.
“I want to,” Obanai smiles with an uncharacteristic softness. Genya cheers, Sanemi smiles too.
—
Genya’s own two feet only hit the floor when they enter the apartment, and from there she’s quickly bundling off to her bedroom to gather fresh clothes, Nurse Tamayo had given her some spare gym clothes and taught her to use a pad (and a box of pads was being thrown around in her backpack, given to her freely by the nurse) but she still felt icky, no matter how many wet wipes she used to clean her inner thighs.
“You know where my clothes are.” Sanemi throws his bag haphazardly by the door and kicks off his shoes. “I’m gonna reheat some miso.”
“Want help?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head, “just go get changed, and also there’s an extra toothbrush for you in the bottom left cabinet. It’s still unopened, Ma got it for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Course.”
Soon the sound of showers and changing and the click and woosh of a gas oven being lit fills the sound of the apartment, Sanemi’s clothes are too big. But they smell nice and are clean and he’s glad to be out of the stuffy uniform, it’s not long until he hears the sound of the shower shutting off, a pause, and then feet quickly padding on the floor.
Genya peeks around the corner, a towel wrapped around her top but shorts hooked on her bottoms. Her skin still glistens with water but her hair, piled on top of her head, is dry. Obanai stares back at her, “want one of his shirts?”
“Please!”
“Mhm.” He nods, pulling out another one. It’s black with some yellow lettering, an American band named Metallica that Obanai has been forced to listen to on numerous occasions.
She takes it eagerly and slips back to the bathroom, evidently far happier than earlier.
He himself rounds back to the kitchen, where leftover miso has been reheated and poured into three bowls. “Gonna make her eat?”
“Have to,” Sanemi shrugs. “If I don’t she’ll just fall asleep.”
Sanemi had a weird relationship with Genya and sleep, Obanai hadn’t quite figured that one out, but it was in due time.
Speaking of the devil, Genya comes bundling into the living room. And Sanemi spares her a faux heated glare; “hey, that’s my shirt.”
“What about him!” She points to Obanai. But Sanemi smirks, “him? He’s a charity case, I gave him clothes for good karma.”
“Oh hardy hardy he’s so funny.”
“M’fucking hilarious,” Sanemi snorts, “now eat your soup.”
“Ugh.”