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When Junjie woke up that morning, there was a big lump attached to his side, and his little brother lay curled up against him, fully asleep. He squinted in confusion at the five year old boy, who had stolen his pillow at some point in the night, and was hugging it tightly to his chest. Next to the bed lay and the dark, glossy abacus that Lahan always carried with him, sent all the way from the Western Capital, a gift from Uncle Lakan, who seemed to have overlooked that Lahan still was a little kid small for his age and couldn't so easily use an abacus meant for an adult. But it was always with him nonetheless, near him if not in his grasp.
"Hey," Junjie grumbled, rubbing Lahan's hair and tilting his head back so, when Lahan squinted sleep-filled eyes at him, their gazes met. "You had a nightmare or something?" Slowly, Lahan blinked, and he seemed to scrutinize Junjie, while Junjie reflected that if Lahan had had a nightmare, then it would make sense for him to come to Junjie. It had happened before, and he'd been just as scolded for interrupting their mother's beauty sleep as Junjie was. (Actually, more, because Lahan had commented that sleep wouldn't improve her numbers and they all knew that Lahan saw numbers as beauty, no matter how many times mother screeched at him to stop being so weird to the little boy's utter confusion.) She didn't allow them to interrupt their father's sleep, and grandfather wasn't even an option in the first place. He'd just say that he'd beat the fear out of them– so Junjie had made sure to teach Lahan to never ask grandfather for comfort, no matter what. "Mmmh..." Lahan just made a sound, too tired to actually answer, and he swatted away Junjie's hands to burrow back in the blankets. This time, he didn't just steal his pillow, but his blankets, too. Junjie sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and climbed across Lahan, out of the bed. "Just don't stay there too long," he told his brother, who made a noise of acknowledgement, muffled from the blankets that coccooned him.
Headed for the washroom, Junjie noticed that he was getting strange looks from the servants that he passed, but he ignored it. Since Junjie slept so soundly and still, he might have weird crease marks on his face from sleeping directly on the mattress, or something.
But then he ran into his mother, and she stopped in her tracks, gaze fixed on him in silence, even as he greeted her politely and properly. She had turned strangely pale, her eyes wide and the fan in her hand drooping from her mouth.
"Junjie," she said, her voice a quiver. "What did you do?"
The question confused him, and he frowned in confusion and petulance. "I haven't done anything, Mother," he said, and even as he said it, she started to shake her head.
"We can't let you be seen like this. Why would you do this? You irresponsible child!" She didn't lunge at him, but her voice said that she certainly wanted to. "And to deny it!? Look at yourself!" she demanded, and she shouted for a mirror; Junjie felt all the more confused– until the polished bronze mirror was held up in front of him, and he saw himself blink back, image as warped as it should be, but his hair...
"What happened to my hair?!" he shouted in shock, hands flying up to grasp at it. It used to reach past his shoulders, but now it was short. Very, very short. And sure, maybe he should have noticed earlier, but his own sleepiness and the disruption of his brother had distracted him until that moment.
His brother....
"Lahan!" he shouted, spinning on his heel, and moments later, he heard a chipper little, "Yes, Brother?" from his elbow. His little brother stood there, still in his sleepwear and with his precious abacus in his grasp, looking up at Junjie and their mother. His gaze was alert, as though he hadn't just been groggy with sleep in Junjie's bed. "I didn't oversleep, I got up the exact second I intended to." The assurance wasn't as comforting as he probably thought it was.
"Lahan..." their mother said, her voice slow yet sharp. Junjie froze at the tone, knowing the anger it held. Lahan, however, didn't seem to understand why she was angry. Junjie thought, I shouldn't have let her know before I warned Lahan about it. "Did you cut your brother's hair off?"
Innocent as could be, Lahan nodded. "Yes, I did. It was really crooked, Mother. Now it's really, perfectly straight, though!" He seemed proud of himself, and even presented the offending weapon he had used to do the deed. A pair of scissors, perhaps pilfered from the maids, or from a sewing kit somewhere, or perhaps from the vacant chambers that used to belong to their granduncle Loumen. Whatever the case, Lahan didn't understand why Mother suddenly snatched his wrist, and squeezed it tightly until he dropped the scissors.
"Straight?!" she shouted, and Junjie could see the servants nearby stand very still, not wanting Lady La's ire turned on them in any way next, no matter how small. "He's practically bald! He can't be seen like this! He can't go to court or even step outside the manor! His appearance is a shame to our name!"
"But Mother," Lahan started to protest, and Junjie felt his stomach drop. Because of his obsession with numbers, Lahan just could not fathom why Mother was upset. He was so smart, but he was so oblivious. "His numbers are so much more improved with a straight haircut, why wouldn't you want to show that off?"
And he's done it.
Mother raised the hand with her fan, slapping it around Lahan's temple. He stood there, stunned into silence, head turned the way the strike had snapped it. He didn't cry, Junjie wasn't sure he’d ever seen that boy cry, but his confusion was so intense on his face. Her next words only increased the expression, like he couldn't understand what she even meant: "Why can't you just be normal?! I didn't give birth to you so you could be so much like that freak!"
She was breathing hard, and bruises were already blooming on Lahan's face and wrist. As her grip loosened, Mother exhausting herself in her fury, Junjie scooped his stunned little brother up into his arms, and bowed to her, promising to take Lahan to his room.
As he spun to hurry down the corridor back toward the place his and Lahan's rooms were at, he could hear Mother shout at the poor servants, ordering Lahan to be secured in his room, not allowed to see anyone and with a restricted, surely minimal to non-existent, diet, that his books be taken away so that he might think of his wrongdoings and repent.
Being locked in his room, being allowed little to no food, Lahan could survive, might not even really notice if he got into his numbers. His books, ledgers filled with rows and rows of those favourite things of his, were a different matter. And if she took those, she was surely taking his precious abacus, too. And he didn't even understand what he'd done wrong.
Junjie felt a little guilty. Yes, technically, Lahan had brought it on himself, but he was five. And Junjie was the one that let spill that Lahan had cut off his hair. So as he walked, rubbing the back of his confused brother who mumbled, into Junjie's collar, that he didn't get it, he said, "Lahan," drawing his brother's attention. "What you did was wrong, because you changed my hair without permission," he explained. "You can't change someone's body without them saying you can first. Even," he added, as he noticed Lahan was about to open his mouth to protest. "Even if the numbers would be nicer if you changed that thing. Other people's bodies are off limits, unless they allow you to do something." He looked firmly into his brother's eyes. "Do you understand?"
For a little while, Lahan was silent. He pursed his lips in thought, looking far more mature then his years, yet so childish at the same time. "But Mother and Grandfather do things to our bodies all the time without asking." He rubbed a hand against his bruised temple. "If Mother is saying that I can't do anything to you, then isn't she a hypocrite?" Junjie, barely sure what a hypocrite was, wondered where Lahan had learned such a big word. Lahan, seeing his confusion, started to explain, and it seemed like he simplified it a little bit too much, to Junjie. "It's like when you tell someone that they have to do a thing, like eat that thing they don't like, while not eating the things they themself don't like. Like Grandfather does."
Well. Simplified or not, Junjie got it. He nodded. "Yeah... Yes, but don't tell them that." Lahan wrinkled his little nose. "Because hypocrites don't like being called hypocrites?" Junjie nodded in agreement, and put Lahan down on the doorstep to his room. He crouched down, and ran a hand through Lahan's tousled hair. "Now. When Mother comes to see if you've repented, what'll you do?"
Lahan puffed up his cheeks, then sighed. "Tell her I'm sorry and that I won't do it again." Junjie patted him on the head. His brother was a really (really really) weird kid, he did a lot of things he shouldn't do in the name of beautiful numbers, but he wasn't a malicious kid. "Good. You know how she is about appearances and that stuff. So don't talk back to her, and don't give explanations, just apologize." He sighed, and he knew he sounded just like Lahan when he did. "That's the only thing she wants to hear."
The servants were coming to clear away Lahan's things, so Junjie pointed at the abacus he held. "Should I hold on to that, so she doesn't do anything to it?" Lahan screwed up his face, clearly displeased, clearly conflicted. "It won't be the same, but I'll toss you some rocks to count with when I have the opportunity. Keep a crack open in one of your windows when it's safe."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
Reluctantly, Lahan offered him the abacus, though he held on for a little longer, clicked some beads around on it, calculating something, before he released it to Junjie's protection.
He might not be all that smart, but Junjie was certain of his ability to toss rocks and not hit the windows. He'd easily be able to deliver some math rocks to his odd little brother.