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He’s always been a light sleeper.
In a family that sleeps like the dead – (and you’d have to, with six kids growing up in one room, you’d have to sleep like the dead in order to get any semblance of rest) – the fourth brother has never managed to sleep through anything more than soft snoring.
Ichimatsu has always had his spot at the end of the bed. He likes that, he likes being curled up at the end, because that way he has room to stretch out half his body and it’s a quick and easy way to get to the bathroom if he ever wakes up needing to go.
He glances at the clock -- 2:30 AM. Not too bad. He could probably get back to sleep pretty easy, if he wanted to. But right now he didn't feel like it. He turns his head to glance at his brothers, all lined up and sleeping peacefully.
Ichimatsu, Karamatsu, Todomatsu, Osomatsu, Choromatsu, Jyushimatsu.
Their sleeping order has been the same ever since they started sharing one futon, rather than have six small ones.
Osomatsu has always been in the middle – that was a no brainer. The reason they used one futon in the first place was so Osomatsu could keep track of them. Ever since an afternoon, a long time ago – something had changed in the oldest brother, though Ichimatsu didn’t understand it until they were almost out of high school. Osomatsu felt the need to keep a headcount to make sure that everyone was safe and secured in their sleeping places. No one out of bed, no one out of sight – that’s what calmed Osomatsu down in the middle of the night when he woke up from nightmares of a long-locked away robber and a sharp knife pressed to his throat. All the younger brothers share a mutual understanding of it, of their brother needing to have them all accounted for, so there hadn’t been any objections.
Todomatsu and Choromatsu flank each of Osomatsu’s sides. Todomatsu was the youngest, so of course he would want to sleep next to the oldest – as miniscule the age difference is, it’s something that they’ve been set on ever since they were small, and it counted for something – at least in their heads it did. Choromatsu had always been Osomatu’s right hand man, the companion that he’s had through thick and thin – the one who was always chosen first for misadventures.
(Ichimatsu actually isn’t bitter about that – he knows that being second in command would be too exhausting for a garbage guy like himself. Choromatu’s really the only one who would be fit for a position like that anyway. )
After Todomatsu is Karamatsu. Karamatsu had actually picked his position on the futon last – which was just like Karamatsu. Always putting himself last. What a tool. Always wanting to satisfy or make the others happy, even if it’s at a great cost to him. What a jerk. What – what an ass .
(at least he doesn’t squirm around too much.)
Next to Choromatsu, on the other end, was…
Jyushimatsu.
Ah.
The back of Ichimatsu’s mind switches on, and he remembers why he’s such a light sleeper in the first place.
Slowly, Ichimatsu lifts himself from the blankets, shifting slowly and carefully before worming down the line, eventually winding up on the other side of Jyushimatsu. Choromatsu’s soft snoring on the other side was disregarded, and instead, Ichimatsu’s half lidded eyes studied his little brother.
(even though the fact that he was older by just a little bit didn’t really matter, Ichimatsu took pride in being a big brother)
Jyushimatsu is crying.
It’s so cliché. In the quiet of the night, one of them has a nightmare in their sleep – the happy one, the one that doesn’t really seem like he has a lot of problems. Osomatsu has his issues with keeping his brothers together as much as he can. Choromatsu has his anxiety over finding jobs and moving forward. Todomatsu has his image issues, trying to break out of the mold of six same faces. Karamatsu has -- whatever Karamatsu has, he knows there’s a whole boatload of issues there that the second oldest brother tries to make them pretend don’t exist, and Ichimatsu is Ichimatsu. While they all are fairly extroverted with their problems, Jyushimatsu has been quiet with his.
It’s always been quiet – ever since they were children, Jyushimatsu has been harder to read. He’s always been harder to understand, to – to talk to, about some things.
About problems.
About Jyushimatsu’s problems.
Jyushimatsu somehow has it set in his thick skull that he has to be the happy one. He has to be the one who is supposed to be grounded, where his brothers can be a mess – Jyushimatsu thinks he has to be the reliable one. The one with a smile. The one who grins and grins even as his ribs crack and his stomach aches and he’s thrown through a paper door. Even as the love of his life leaves him in the pouring rain. Even as his shitty brothers lay sleeping next to him.
It pisses Ichimatsu off.
It’s stupid. It boils Ichimatsu’s blood. He hates that Jyushimatsu feels the need to react in certain ways, to forgive and forgive and forgive -- but that’s not the problem at hand.
There aren’t many times that Jyushimatsu has let anyone see him cry since they were around ten or eleven. And during high school, Jyushimatsu stopped crying in front of everyone altogether. It’s a little frustrating – Jyushimatsu is the baby. Just as much as Todomatsu is, if not more so – Jyushimatsu is almost pure. Like untouched snow. Like the first spring rain in the early morning hours, before the sun is even up.
He doesn’t like the fact that Jyushimatsu feels like he has to hide it. It’s an ongoing problem – on the backburner of their minds for most of the sextuplets, unfortunately. They’re grown men, they have a lot of things that they have to do – watching out for the subtle differences in Jyushimatsu’s behavior isn’t exactly their top priority.
Sometimes it’s hard to remember that their ball of sunshine can be overshadowed by clouds.
The sniffling is quiet – too quiet for Jyushimatsu to be crying while asleep. Ichimatsu kneels down, brushing the hair out of his brother’s eyes, out of his face – and whispers.
“Hey. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
And Jyushimatsu doesn’t try to cover up.
He opens his eyes and smiles, which makes Ichimatsu want to scream
Jyushimatsu doesn’t talk on his own when he’s like this. He can’t – Ichimatsu’s found that his throat freezes; that when his eyes water over, his body shakes so much that he can't physically speak. He can make small noises of affirmation, small grunts and small hiccups, but he can’t (won’t?) speak unless prompted. It’s been that way since they were all very young – having six boys meant that, inevitably, someone was left to deal with their problems alone.
(It should have been me , he’s thought to himself, I’d rather it have been me that had to deal with their shitty problems alone. Not this. Not Jyushimatsu.)
Regardless of his own feelings about this situation, Ichimatsu helps Jyushimatsu up, patting his hand comfortingly as they walk to the bathroom. Ichimatsu flicks on the light switch and sets Jyushimatsu down. He sits without protest, and Ichimatsu bends down to grab a washcloth, running it under the sink with cold water before wringing it out. Turning to his younger brother, Ichimatsu holds it up.
“Be careful, it’s cold.”
Jyuushimatsu nods enthusiastically, and when the washcloth is placed over his eyes, he flinches.
“Ah! Cold!”
“I told you,” Ichimatsu huffs in good humor, a sly smile on his face as he presses his hand against the cloth. “You need to get the puffiness down. You look almost as bad as I do.”
“Then that can’t be that bad!”
“Shut up, they’ll wake up if you’re so loud,” the older sextuplet huffed, pressing a little harder than necessary. “So what’s wrong?”
It’s not a question that Jyushimatsu can deflect. The sunshine brother pauses, before his wiggling arms fall down to his lap. He doesn’t remove the washcloth, and Ichimatsu almost wonders if he spoke too bluntly or too soon. Just as he’s about to apologise, Jyushimatsu’s mouth closes from its normal banana-smile into a thoughtful frown. It takes a few minutes, but Ichimatsu is patient. Eventually, Jyushimatsu opens his mouth again.
“I dreamt about her again,”
“Oh? You mean the girl from your King Sized Home Run?”
“Yeah! She was…mmh,” there’s a pause, in Jyushimatsu’s speaking, and he turns his head to the side a bit, hands on the washcloth to keep it in place. “She was there but I couldn’t see her. I knew it was her, though! I knew because no matter how much I ran, I couldn’t catch up,” he takes a deep breath, before falling silent. His fingers grip around the washcloth.
"Huh. I see. So you must have ran really hard, in your dream, right?"
Ichimatsu waits.
After a few seconds, the younger brother nods, head going up and down and up and down until Ichimatsu has to avert his eyes so he doesn’t get dizzy.
“Yeah!”
“Huh,” Ichimatsu hums in a non-committed tone of voice. “That must have been pretty sad, then.”
“Yeah! It was awful!”
“You must have woken up really sad, then.”
“Yeah! I woke up because I couldn’t breathe! So I started counting, but as I was counting, I started crying! Ha ha ha…”
Ah.
It clicked -- counting was Jyushimatsu's way of grounding himself.
So it wasn’t just a nightmare -- it was a panic attack.
Jyushimatsu has had panic attacks since as far as he can remember. Technically, at least half of the brothers have panic attacks ranging from every few weeks to only once in a blue moon. Jyushimatsu's attacks were sporadic, but Ichimatsu can’t be sure if they were sporadic or if the Matsuno brothers just didn’t pay enough attention. But they happened, and that’s all that really mattered.
Ichimatsu swallows before he reaches out to peel away the washcloth. Tears were pooling in Jyushimatsu’s eyes and dribbling down his cheeks now. Ichimatsu makes no comment, instead going to repeat the action of dampening the washcloth and placing it in Jyushimatsu’s hands. The younger brother swallows hard before he presses it against his face.
Ichimatsu gently climbs up on the counter with Jyushimatsu, their knees knocking together, and he reaches around to embrace his younger brother in a hug. His hands are clumsy, and clammy, but he knows how to rub circles into his brother’s back, and let Jyushimatsu press his face against his chest, regardless of whenever there was a damp washcloth in between them.
The others sleep, undisturbed. They don’t know – they don’t need to know. By morning, like always, things will turn out okay. Jyushimatsu will calm down, dry his tears, and Ichimatsu will lead him back to bed. Ichimatsu will tuck him in before crossing to the other side of the futon, slipping in and closing his eyes to be brought back to sleep for another few, precious hours.
Ichimatsu can't do much, but what he can do is take care of the alley cats and take care of his little brother.
This is the one thing that trash like him can manage.