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Genya Shinazugawa was his name. He was part of a sharpshooting organization, and even competed in tournaments.
He didn’t have many friends anymore. Actually, it was way fewer than the number he used to have back in school. Somewhere along the way, he stopped trying to keep everyone close and just held onto the few people who really mattered to him. The ones who didn’t mind his temper and the ones who knew how to sit beside him in silence without it being awkward. Anyone else slowly drifted away, and Genya didn’t really mind it. Keeping people around felt tiring.
After graduating from that damn school, the same place Sanemi (his older brother) worked at, Genya felt a strange sense of relief. For the first time, he could leave. He could go somewhere else, live somewhere else, start over somewhere else. He loved his brother. He really did. But living with him had become… hard. The yelling, the harsh words, the constant pressure… It just, it all weighed on him more than he could ever admit.
Genya told himself he’d only go back if Sanemi changed. If he could be the big brother he remembered. The one from before everything went wrong. Before their family was torn apart. Before grief turned love into coldness and anger.
Now, in the present, Genya was just tired, so tired.
He kept thinking about the past: when all his siblings were still alive, when their beautiful mother was still alive, when Sanemi still treated him like a brother instead of a burden, when “home” actually felt like home. Sometimes he wished he could just go back, even if only for a moment.
He wanted to hug Sanemi again. To feel safe in his arms. To let all the stress melt away like it used to.
He was exhausted.
He just wanted to go home.
~ ~ ~
Sanemi Shinazugawa was a math teacher at Kimetsu Academy. He was strict, loud, and known for running his classroom like a battlefield.
Students either respected him or feared him, sometimes both. He was good at his job, though. Too good, some would say. He pushed his students hard because he believed the world wouldn’t be kind enough to do it for them.
To him, that belief applied to Genya too.
Sanemi never thought he was intentionally hurting his little brother. In his mind, he was preparing Genya for reality. Life after school was brutal. Being an adult was brutal. People wouldn’t always be there to help him, and Sanemi wouldn’t always be around to fix everything. So he raised his voice. He was harsh. He expected Genya to toughen up, to stand on his own two feet.
Because that’s the only way he knew how to.
However, when Genya graduated and left (really left, not just running away like most ‘kids’ do), Sanemi realized he had pushed too hard.
Genya went no contact. No calls. No messages. No visits.
At first, Sanemi tried to look for him. He asked around, checked old contacts, even considered showing up at places he thought Genya might be. But eventually, he stopped. A part of him believed this was his punishment, his karma for not being a good brother when Genya needed it most.
He should have coddled him.
He should have hugged him more, listened more, yelled less.
Genya was the last of his siblings, the last piece of what used to be their family, and Sanemi had treated him like a soldier instead of a brother who was grieving just as much as he was.
Now, every empty chair in his classroom and every quiet afternoon at home reminded him of what he lost. Not just his family, but Genya’s trust. His little brother, he lost his baby brother.
And that was something no equation could ever fix.
~ ~ ~
Years later, Sanemi found himself driving on a highway bridge for a teacher’s meeting.
“I swear to fucking God, why is the meeting place THIS far away? Why aren’t we meeting in our fuckass town, instead it’s in the next town over?!” Sanemi groaned as he continued to complain to no one in particular (since he’s the only one in the car).
The traffic on the road was a parking lot of steel and frustration. Sanemi Shinazugawa gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, the rhythmic thump of his fingers against the leather the only outlet for his mounting irritation. He was supposed to be in the meeting in twenty minutes, TWENTY MINUTES. At this rate, he'd be lucky to make it by nightfall. The bridge stretched out before him, a concrete artery suspended over the dark water, connecting this anonymous suburb to the bustling heart of the metropolis. He'd never been to this part of the city before. Up until now, for Sanemi, it was just a route on a map, a necessary evil to get to a job.
His gaze drifted, restless, over the other trapped drivers. Then, a figure standing on the bridge railing caught his eyes.
Just a silhouette against the bruised twilight sky. Too still. The posture was all wrong, leaning forward just a little too much, like a tree bowing to a wind no one else could feel.
Sanemi's breath hitched. Something about the line of the shoulders, the shape of the head… it was familiar. It was achingly, gut-wrenchingly familiar.
‘No fucking way. Yeah, there’s no way…’
He shook his head in a sharp and jerky motion. It had been years. Nearly a decade. He'd driven that thought, that face, that memory so far out of his life it might as well have been on another continent. It was just a trick of the light, a phantom conjured by stress and the long, monotonous hours on the road. He forced himself to look away, focusing on the brake lights of the car in front of him, a sea of angry red.
But his eyes betrayed him. He flicked his focus back to the figure.
Just then, a car a few lanes behind him, impatient with the standstill, flashed its high beams. The brilliant white light cut through the night, sweeping across the highway and illuminating the figure for a split and horrifying minute.
It wasn't a phantom. It wasn't a trick.
It was Genya.
His little brother. His baby brother, with that stupid, mohawk hair and the broad set to his shoulders he'd probably gotten from their good-for-nothing father. But he noticed that the hair went to his shoulder, it was messy like it hadn't been brushed for over a year. He looked older, worn down, but it was him. He was looking down into the dark water below, his body was leaning, like he was preparing to jump.
Sanemi's heart stopped. Then it exploded, hammering against his ribs with a force that stole his breath. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded his veins. It wasn't the clean, sharp fear of a fight; it was a messy, suffocating terror that clawed at his throat.
"Genya," he whispered, the name a foreign prayer on his lips.
He slammed his palm against the horn. The blare was useless, swallowed by the horns of the other angry drivers. He looked around wildly. The traffic was dead. No one was moving. An ambulance wouldn't get through this. A police car would be stuck just like him.
He saw Genya shift his weight, one foot lifting slightly, testing his balance.
That was it. That was the breaking point.
Sanemi didn't think. He threw the gearshift into park with a violent crunch, not giving a damn about the transmission. He fumbled with his seatbelt, his hands shaking so badly he could barely get the buckle to release. He shoved his door open, not caring that he nearly took it off on a passing motorcyclist who was weaving through the stalled cars.
"Hey! Asshole!" the rider yelled, but Sanemi was already out.
He sprinted. He dodged between bumpers, his shoes almost slipping on the asphalt. He vaulted over the low median separating the lanes, ignoring the blare of a horn as a car finally inched forward. He was a man possessed, his entire being focused on that single, fragile figure on the railing.
"GENYA!"
The name was torn from his lungs, a raw, desperate scream that cut through the noise of the bridge. The figure flinched, his head whipping around. His eyes, wide and shocked, found Sanemi's across the short distance.
For a moment, there was only recognition. A flicker of something so lost and broken it made Sanemi's chest ache. Then, Genya's face crumpled, not in relief, but in a kind of horrified despair.
"Don't," Sanemi panted, closing the last few feet. He slowed as he approached, hands held up, palms out, like he was approaching a wounded animal. "Don't you fucking dare."
"Aniki?" Genya's voice was hoarse. It was barely a whisper but still loud enough for Sanemi to hear. "What… what are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same fucking question," Sanemi shot back, his voice trembling with a fury that was entirely fear. He was close now, close enough to see the tear tracks on his brother's cheeks, and the dull hopelessness in his eyes. ‘What happened to my little brother…?’ Sanemi thought to himself with worry in his eyes.
"Get down from there. Now."
Genya just shook his head, his gaze drifting back to the water below.
"Why… why are you here? You… you shouldn’t have. you shouldn't have come." He stuttered out, clearly afraid of the drop but willing to fall.
"Where the hell else would I be?" Sanemi's voice cracked. He took another step forward. He could feel his heart in his throat.
"Genya. Look at me. Please look at me, damn it."
Slowly, Genya turned his head. His eyes were hollowed out, empty in a way Sanemi had never seen before, not even on the worst of days after their family died.
"I'm so tired, Nii-san," he whispered, and the old honorific, unused for years, struck Sanemi like a physical blow.
Sanemi closed the remaining distance, his hand shooting out to wrap around Genya. His grip was desperate. He could feel the tremor running through his brother's body and the coldness of his skin.
"I don't care," Sanemi said. His voice was low and fierce as he pulled up his brother with all his strength. "I don't care if you're tired. I don't care if you're angry. I don't care if you hate me. You get down from this fucking bridge. You hear me? You get down right now."
He pulled, and Genya, after a moment of resistance, finally let go. He went limp as let his older brother haul him back over the railing and onto the solid ground of the walkway, where they both collapsed in a heap on the concrete. Sanemi held on, refusing to let go, his face buried in his brother's shoulder as he saw the traffic on the bridge finally, slowly, began to move.
The bridge just became a mess of headlights and horns blaring everywhere. Sanemi was on a mission, practically dragging his brother back to his car. Genya was like dead weight, totally limp but not passed out, just gone. His eyes were half-open but seeing nothing, completely wiped out from that short walk back.
Sanemi's hands were shaking like crazy as he fumbled with the passenger door. He basically stuffed Genya inside, moving with this frantic care he didn't even know he had. He buckled him in, his knuckles brushing against Genya's rough coat. When he finally got a good look at him in the dim light, it hit him like a punch to the gut.
The kid from his memories with that still-round face was now all sharp angles and hollowed out. Dark circles under his eyes, dried tear tracks on pale cheeks. The man infront of him right now didn’t look like his brother, it looked like some stranger wearing his brother's skin. A cold dread settled in Sanemi's stomach. 'What the hell happened to him?' He asked himself again.
He heard a loud horn from behind. The cars infront of him were starting to move so he had to let go of his brother. Before he closed the passenger door, he caressed Genya’s cheek, wiping his tears and pat his head.
When he got to the driver’s seat, he slammed his door shut. The stupid meeting, whatever things they had to talk about in that stupid teacher meeting— all that crap evaporated into nothing. Nothing mattered more than his brother sitting there, looking so helpless.
He needed his older brother right now.
Sanemi cut across three lanes of traffic, horns blaring at him. He didn’t give a damn. He drove like a maniac, eyes flicking between th road and Genya, like he might disappear if he looked away too long.
He parked in the hotel’s parking lot where he booked a room.
The hotel was just some generic high-rise, but that vacancy sign was like a beacon. He got Genya out from the passenger’s seat and carried him into the lobby. He slapped his credit card down.
"Prepare a room. Anything. Now."
Usually, this process would take a somewhat long time but sensing the urgency of the situation, the hotel receptionists immediately went to work and as soon as they put the keycard down on the desk, Sanemi snatched it and was just running.
The elevator ride was just a blur. And the room was just a box: bed, window, and that sterile cleaning smell. But Sanemi couldn’t care less as he gently laid Genya down on the bed. He took off his (and Genya’s) shoes, feeling awkward as hell. Just stood there looking down at him, the silence broken only by Genya's shallow breathing.
He slowly lowered himself onto bed. He hesitantly reached out, fingers hovering before gently brushing away a tear that had fallen. His Genya’s skin was so cold that it worried him even more.
“You can’t die on me, Genya…” Sanemi whispered as he continued to brush his little brother’s hair with his fingers.
Then Sanemi got comfortable and stretched out beside him. He pulled the covers on Genya and slipped under it himself. He curled around his brother, arm draped over his chest like he could hold him together. He buried his face in Genya's hair, breathing in that familiar-yet-strange scent.
"Genya," he whispered, as his voice cracked. "I'm sorry." He started as he continued to brush Genya’s hair. "I'm so sorry. Sorry I was such a bastard. Sorry I wasn't there. I should have been there. I should have... I should have been your brother."
The apologies just poured out, raw and unfiltered - for every harsh word, every slammed door, every year of silence. Whispered promises he didn't know if he could keep. Held on tight, like he could somehow pour all his strength into his brother's broken body and make him whole again.
He kept apologizing and eventually fell asleep, with tears falling from his eyes.
Hours later, Genya blinked his eyes open as the world slowly came into focus. The first thing he registered was warmth— a heavy but solid weight wrapped around him. It took his sleep-fogged brain a moment to realize it was an arm. His older brother’s arm. His Nemi’s arm. He was curled around Genya, his face buried in Genya's hair, breathing deeply and evenly in sleep.
A genuine smile spread across Genya's face. It wasn't a sad smile or a tired one, but one of pure and simple contentment. He shifted slightly, just enough to snuggle closer, and draped his own arm over Sanemi's, hugging him back. The steady rhythm of Sanemi's heartbeat against his back was the most reassuring sound he'd heard in a decade. With a soft sigh, Genya let his eyes drift shut again, sinking back into sleep, feeling safe for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
The next morning, the silence in the hotel room was different. It wasn't heavy or suffocating like Sanemi had expected. Instead, it was soft. The room was filled with the morning light filtering through the blinds. After dressing up, the two went to the hotel restaurant. They ate without talking, but they caught the other looking once in a while.
Back in the room, the awkwardness returned. They sat on opposite beds, the space between them charged with years of unspoken words. Finally, Sanemi broke the silence, his voice rough but it sounded like he was ready to break down again (even when he doesn’t have the right to do so because he’s the one who hurt his brother, not the other way around).
"Gen... I..." He cleared his throat as he looked anywhere but at his brother. "I'm sorry. For everything. For what I‘ve said and done, for not being there for you when you were also clearly grieving, and for being... me. I was an asshole. A selfish and angry bastard who thought he knew best."
He finally looked up, his eyes raw with an emotion Genya hadn't seen since they were kids. Since the time Sanemi made him promise to protect their siblings and mother from that good-for-nothing father.
"I didn’t even… I even gave up trying to find you all these years because I told myself you'd be better off without me. That you'd hate me but you'd be safe from me. I see now how stupid that was. You just wanted your brother, your family. And I’m so sorry I could only see it now. I see you, and I just... I'm so sorry."
Genya just watched him, a small and knowing smile playing on his lips. When Sanemi finished, he didn't look angry or hurt. He just looked... accepting.
"That's all I needed from you, Nemi," he said softly, his voice gentle. "A proper apology." He paused, then added, "Even though I've already forgiven you years ago."
Sanemi's brow furrowed in confusion, "But... how and why? After what I did?"
"I knew why you did it," Genya explained simply. "Even though you were rather harsh with your ways, I knew you mean well. I mean you are the nicest brother in the world."
The words hit Sanemi like a physical blow. His vision blurred, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep the tears at bay. He shot up from his bed and crossed the small space in two strides, collapsing onto Genya’s side and pulling him into a fierce but desperate hug. He buried his face in his brother's shoulder as his body trembled slightly, trying to keep it together. Genya just hugged him back as he pat him awkwardly, like he was the older brother for once, letting Sanemi soak his shirt with silent tears he refused to let fall.
“Brother, I’m tired.”
“Then, you can rest on me, Gen. I’ll always be here for you.”
“Thank you… Nemi.”