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According to Mari, Sunny was born first. Shrieking at his first breath of air, his fists hitting any surface he touched. Neither Mari nor their parents could hold him without him fidgeting restlessly. From the very start, he had wanted to escape from any human interaction, to rest in his bed away from the rush of doctors and nurses coming in and out of the hospital room.
Omori had been different. Silent and curled; he had barely twitched when the soles of his feet and palms were prodded, to the point where the doctors had been concerned if he would survive the night. Just as quickly as he came, they took Omori away to the NICU.
With Sunny cuddled in her arms and their parents' arms resting around her shoulders, Mari had sobbed until she thought she couldn't produce anymore tears.
"I always wanted a brother," she told Sunny and Omori when they were in elementary school and still learning about the world, a soft smile resting on her lips. "And it was a dream come true that I had two."
In what seemed to be a miracle, Omori had lasted a night, then three nights. A few months had passed before Omori was deemed healthy enough to be released back home with them.
Now, at twelve years old, Sunny knows Omori can survive anything. He's always been resilient, like a tree's roots holding sturdy in the midst of a storm.
Sunny wishes he could say the same for himself.
Rain pelts down the night sky, slamming against the windows. Their family, or what's left of it, all stand at the bottom of the stairs, their parents on one side and them on the other. Skin strikes against Omori's cheek, and Sunny flinches.
It’s way past the start time of the recital. The police who’d crowded their house are long gone while their friends disappeared with their own families and in the midst of it all, Omori is still. Ugly purple blooming on pale skin, Omori stands tall, unwavering as always, while the side of his face is turned away from their parents.
Sunny's taller than Omori, yet he curls behind Omori like a child. He's supposed to be older, protecting Omori from what life throws their way, but time and time again Omori manages to do so first. Shielding him, striking any obstacles or people in Sunny's way with the precision of a blade, even if he didn't ask for it in the first place.
Sunny's pathetic. Useless more than he already is.
His doubts only deepen when he sees Omori swallow thickly, hair sticking to his forehead, not as unaffected as he always appears. Sunny’s chest rattles in pain.
Sunny peers over Omori's shoulder and his black tank top to their father's face molded with anger. His outreached hand is a scalded red while their mother quivers by his side, her usually kind mouth pulled tight.
Sunny's gaze darts to the floor. Thunder booms, and Mari's crumpled form flashes in his sight. Her white dress is seeped with blood, her hair scattered on the floor. Her neck is twisted at an angle that is wrong, wrong, wrong—
A shoulder slams against Sunny's, harsh and intentional. Sunny frantically blinks the image away, trying to focus on the present moment.
“I know you did something, you demon,” their dad hisses, pointing at them. Sunny doesn't know who he's pointing to, just that it's directed to him all the same. He knows it is. "Mari wouldn't do something like this. She is...was excited for the recital! Even if she planned this, she would have left a note or something..."
Having regained his composure, Omori's mouth flattens. Annoyed. Sunny’s throat thickens as something hot gathers in his eyes, blurring his parents into black and pink smudges.
Mari had found a song that they could perform together. Piano, violin, and cello in a beautiful, slow melody. It had taken her months to find the trio piece, had taken them all months to practice for this night. It's all thanks to Sunny that—
Weakly, their mom speaks up. "Honey..."
"Your mother may not believe it, but I do. All you've done so far is wreak havoc, Omori. Sending classmates to the hospital, broken bones and mauled skin, for I haven't got a clue on the damn reason. Then we come, cleaning up your messes, ridding those kids of any words against you, stuffing their families and the school district with compensation like clockwork.”
You're an animal, Sunny hears. Insatiable for violence. You’re not my son, slithers in after.
"What's done is done," Omori says, smooth and steady. Unbothered, like their father's insults slip off his shoulder like water. Sunny thinks they're like arrows instead, piercing his body with every scathing word. "Mari would want us to move on."
Their father scoffs. "We've let this go for too long. I've been complacent for too long, and Mari took the fall for it."
Lighting crackles, like it agrees. Their father turns around and thuds upstairs. Soon their father is dashing back down, duffle bag in hand and a raincoat over his shoulder, as he snatches his keys from the key holder and slips on his shoes. The front door slams behind him.
Through the window, Sunny watches the car drive off and sucks in a shaky breath when their mother begins to wail. Omori is warm by his side, but Sunny can't look over at him. He’ll crumble if he does.
Sunny can only watch the consequences of his own actions.