Chapter Text
Sae was not on his bed.
The words hit Rin harder than any hammer ever could. His breath stopped in his throat, the world narrowing down to the empty white sheets before him. It had been an unexpected report, but seeing it with his own eyes made the fear claw up his chest until it nearly choked him.
Hatori’s voice was clipped, commanding, already snapping orders to the men. “Spread out—search every floor. Do not miss a single corner.”
The Kaizen men scattered instantly, their footsteps echoing down the sterile halls. Rin’s instinct was to run with them, but before he could even step forward, Hatori’s hand caught his shoulder in a firm grip.
“You’re staying here.”
“I—what? No!” Rin’s voice cracked, desperate. “I have to—”
“You’ll only slow them down in your condition,” Hatori cut him off, her tone sharp, though his eyes softened at the edges. “If Sae is out there, the last thing he needs is worrying about you too.”
Rin bit back his protest, throat burning, but the warning in his voice left no room for argument. He hated it. Hated feeling useless when his brother was out there—injured, maybe in danger. But Hatori wasn’t wrong. His casted arm and the dull ache in his body wouldn’t let him forget how powerless he was.
Still, when they stepped into Sae’s room together, Rin’s stomach dropped all over again. The bed was neatly made, as if no one had ever been lying there at all. No signs of struggle. No blood. No clue. Just absence.
And absence was worse than anything.
Minutes crawled like hours. Thirty of them passed in agony, and still the men returned one by one, each shaking their head with empty hands and apologetic eyes.
Rin’s nails dug into his palms. “He’s just… gone…”
“No,” Hatori said firmly, though his jaw was tense. “Not gone. We’ll find him.”
That was when he turned to the screens. The hospital’s security room was cramped, filled with the low hum of machines. Hatori leaned over the technician, eyes locked on the monitors.
“Pull up every camera feed from the last two hours.”
Rin hovered behind him, his heart pounding louder with every second.
And then the footage began to play.
The footage flickered to life. At first, there was only the stillness of Sae’s room. The quiet drip of the IV bag, the slow rhythm of the heart monitor. Nothing out of place.
Then Rin’s breath caught in his chest.
On the grainy black-and-white screen, his brother moved.
He was pushing himself up from the hospital bed, the sheets falling away from his bruised, bandaged body. The sight alone made Rin’s stomach twist. His head was wrapped, his face marked with shadows of cuts and swelling, and his ankle was heavily bound. By all logic, by everything Rin had heard from Hatori, Sae wasn’t supposed to even stand, much less—
He was walking.
Step after step, steady, unshaken. No limp. No hesitation. No sign of pain.
Rin’s eyes widened, his mouth parting, but no words came. His brother looked… normal. Normal in the way that was wrong.
But it wasn’t just that.
The posture.
Sae wasn’t standing tall like he always did. He was slightly hunched, his shoulders curved forward, as though weighed down by something Rin couldn’t see. His hands hung at his sides, loose and careless. Rin’s mind scrambled for an explanation—maybe the stab wound, maybe the lingering pain from surgery. But something about the way Sae moved made his skin crawl.
The camera followed as Sae reached the door and stepped into the hallway.
And there, the chill deepened.
Nurses walked past him. A doctor hurried by with a clipboard. Orderlies pushed a cart down the hall. None of them looked his way. None of them stopped.
Not a single person reacted to the bloodied, bandaged young man walking straight past them.
It was as if Sae didn’t exist.
Rin’s hand pressed hard against his cast, fingers trembling. His voice came out small, cracking in the silence.
“…Why can’t they see him?”
The footage dragged on, every frame stretching Rin’s nerves thin. Sae kept walking down the corridor, unnoticed by anyone, until he stopped. There, at the far end of the hall, a woman was seated on a bench. Her shoulders shook with each sob, her hands pressed over her face.
Rin blinked hard, convinced his eyes were tricking him—until Sae moved closer.
And then, before Rin could process it, his brother leaned down and pulled the woman into an embrace.
“What—” Rin’s voice broke out loud, his hand gripping the table in disbelief.
Sae, who hated strangers. Sae, who never touched anyone without reason. Sae… hugging a crying woman?
It was unthinkable. It was wrong.
On the screen, the woman froze, startled. Then her hands shoved at him, and she tore herself free, bolting down the hall with panicked speed.
Sae didn’t chase. He just stood there, silent, unmoving.
Seconds passed. Too long. Too still.
Then his knees buckled. His body dropped to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.
The feed cut at that exact moment, a frozen frame of his crumpled form burned into the monitor before it blinked to black.
Rin’s blood went cold.
Hatori was the first to move. “Find him. Now!” he barked, his cough tone sharp enough to send the Kaizen men rushing out without hesitation.
Rin could only sit there, trembling, the image of Sae’s impossible embrace and sudden collapse looping in his mind.
When they finally brought Sae back, Rin didn’t breathe until he saw his brother laid onto the hospital bed again. His face was pale, still bruised and bandaged, but he was there—breathing.
Alive.
Hatori had ordered Rin moved into the same room for easier monitoring. Now two beds stood side by side, the steady beeping of machines filling the silence between them.
Rin stared across at Sae, his mind caught in a loop of the footage. His brother’s body moving through the corridor like nothing was wrong. His posture—wrong, unnatural. The hug. The collapse.
He hadn’t imagined it. He knew what he’d seen.
The doctors, however, had offered only vague words—trauma response, lingering stress, possible medication side effects. Maybe even a concussion.
It all sounded like noise to Rin. Nothing explained the way Sae had walked like he wasn’t injured at all. Nothing explained that unfamiliar figure he’d seen in his brother’s body.
He dug his fingers into the blanket, teeth pressing together until his jaw ached.
Maybe… maybe it was nothing. Maybe the doctors were right, and the only answer was time. The best answer—the only answer—was to wait. Wait for Sae to wake up.
A soft knock on the door barely registered in Rin’s ears before it opened.
Hatori stepped inside. He wasn’t empty-handed. In his grip was a tray of food, plain and careful, steam rising faintly from the bowl. He set it on the table beside Rin’s bed with a muted clink, almost deliberate in the way he avoided startling him.
Rin frowned. “…Why are you bringing it?” His voice was hoarse, edged with confusion. He leaned forward a little, staring at the tray. “Where’s the nurse?”
Hatori pulled the chair closer and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “For safety. Until things settle, I don’t want anyone else in this room that doesn’t need to be here.” His tone was calm, but final. “To avoid anything happening again. The outside’s still a mess, your grandfather’s handling it.” He gave Rin a quick look, sharp and weighing, before softening with a quiet reassurance. “Rest assured, Rin. You’re not alone. I’m here.”
The words didn’t land like comfort. They were heavy, and Rin pressed his lips together before glancing back at the tray.
“…You’re really not letting anyone else in.”
“Correct.”
He huffed, low and frustrated, but didn’t argue further. Instead, his gaze slid sideways, to the bed beside his.
For a moment, he wished he hadn’t looked.
Sae looked—normal. Peaceful, even.
His chest rose and fell steadily, lashes casting shadows against his cheeks. But Rin’s eyes snagged on the truth underneath the illusion. The bulky pillow propping up his right ankle, the tight white bandages wrapped around it. The gauze circling his head. The stiff way the hospital gown didn’t quite settle against his stomach, hinting at more bandaging beneath. Bruises covered the skin left bare—deep purple, ugly blotches across his arms, his cheek, even along his collarbone.
His throat clenched. He turned back quickly, glaring at the tray as if it were the cause of the nausea clawing up his chest. His stomach twisted, bile burning the back of his tongue.
Hatori caught the flicker in his expression but said nothing, only nudged the tray closer with two fingers. “Eat,” he ordered quietly, not unkind.
Rin swallowed. His hand hovered for a second before he forced it down, lifting the spoon. He scooped up a bite, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed. It tasted like nothing—like cardboard and ash. But he made himself swallow. Another spoonful followed. Then another.
The silence between them thickened, broken only by the faint clatter of metal against porcelain and the steady rhythm of Sae’s breathing beside him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rin saw his uncle nod once, satisfied.
Rin clenched the spoon tighter. He didn’t feel satisfied. Not even close.
When night came, the lights dimmed to a dull glow, leaving only the rhythmic beeping of machines and the soft hum of air conditioning to fill the room. Hatori had pulled a couch into the far corner and stretched out on it, one arm draped across his chest, his breathing slow and steady. Guard duty even in sleep.
Rin should’ve felt safe.
He should’ve been able to close his eyes and drift off, but the anxiety crawling under his skin refused to let him. His chest felt tight, every breath uneven. He lay on his side, restless, staring at the bandages wrapped around his left arm. The cast was heavy, awkward, and whenever he shifted, the weight reminded him of everything—the hammer, the sickening crack, the scream that tore from his throat.
Earlier, he’d dragged himself to the bathroom, thinking maybe washing his face would help. Instead, he’d made the mistake of looking into the mirror.
The reflection staring back wasn’t the same Itoshi Rin from three days ago.
Bruises marred the sharp lines of his face, faint green and purple blooming along his jaw. Worse was the mark on his neck, dark and ugly, and the memory of where it came from slammed into him. He grimaced. His stomach lurched.
Moments later he was bent over the sink, gagging, until bitter acid burned his throat. He didn’t dare look back into the mirror after that.
Now, back in bed, his body screamed for rest, but his mind wouldn’t let him.
His arm throbbed with every heartbeat, the cast making even the smallest movements awkward. He shifted again, the sheets rustling, frustration simmering under his skin. He hated feeling weak, hated how heavy everything was—his body, his thoughts, the silence of the room.
He turned his head toward the bed beside him. Sae was still there, unmoving, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. That should’ve calmed him, but it only made Rin ache more. His brother looked fragile in ways Rin had never seen before, wrapped in layers of white bandages like some kind of warning.
Rin pressed his uninjured hand against his eyes, trying to block everything out. Sleep wouldn’t come. Not easily.
But soon he would.
And he didn’t remember when exhaustion finally dragged him under. One second he was staring at the pale glow of the ceiling, the next he found himself caught in a dream.
Sae was there. Not lying in the bed beside him, not broken or bandaged, but standing at his bedside. Whole. Watching.
For a moment Rin almost believed it was real. His brother’s expression was calm, a faint smile on his lips—the kind of smile Sae rarely gave, the kind Rin had always treasured in secret. He tried to call out, to reach for him, but when his mouth opened no sound came. His throat moved, his chest strained, yet nothing.
Helpless, he could only look back.
Sae didn’t move closer. He didn’t speak either. He just kept that small, almost otherworldly smile. Rin’s chest tightened. He wanted to cry, to scream, to grab hold of his brother before he vanished. Instead, his eyelids grew heavy, and in the dream, he let them fall shut.
After that, there was nothing. No images, no memories. Just darkness.
When Rin woke again, it wasn’t the gentle warmth of his dream but the blinding glare of morning light forcing its way through the blinds. He squinted, blinking rapidly, and then heard it—raised voices.
Back-and-forth, sharp and clipped. Bickering. Arguing.
Seriously? First thing in the morning?
Rin groaned softly and pushed himself up a little, casted arm heavy against his lap. His body ached from the simple motion, but curiosity prickled stronger than the pain. Who the hell was making such a racket this early, and why here of all places?
The haze of Rin’s dream hadn’t even fully lifted when the voices reached him.
“I said I’m fine, damn it!” Sae’s voice, sharp and irritable. “I don’t need to stay here another day—”
“You’re not fine,” Hatori cut in, unbothered by Sae’s tone. “You just came out of surgery, your ankle’s useless, your head is wrapped up like a festival rice ball, and you can’t even walk without nearly tipping over.”
“I can walk.”
“You stumbled trying to get to the bathroom.”
“That was because of the IV stand!” Sae shot back, his voice rising. “And I’m not using that stupid chair, either.”
“It’s called a wheelchair. Normal people use it when they can’t stand.”
“I’m not normal, then!”
Rin, still half buried in the pillow, groaned. His head pounded with every sharp exchange. The bickering carried on, relentless—Sae griping about being treated like an invalid, Hatori calmly swatting away each excuse like an annoyed parent.
Finally, Rin sat up, his patience gone. “Shut up!” His voice cracked with irritation. “Both of you!”
The room went quiet.
Rin glared at them, hair messy, eyes heavy with exhaustion, casted arm clumsy as he tried to push the blanket aside. “It’s the first thing I hear in the morning and it’s you two yelling like kids. Nii-chan, stop acting like a brat. And you, Uncle, stop encouraging him.”
Hatori raised a brow, arms folded. Sae blinked at Rin, caught off guard for once.
“…Brat?” Sae muttered, a faint twitch at his lip.
“Yes. Brat.” Rin flopped back against the pillow with a huff. “I’m trying to recover here, not listen to your stupid arguments.”
Silence didn’t last long.
“Tch,” Sae scoffed, leaning back against the pillows with his arms crossed like a sulky teenager. “You sound like Grandpa when you nag. Maybe you should join Hatori on babysitting duty.”
Rin rubbed his temple with his good hand, exhaling slow. He’d expected irritation, maybe even anger, but what he felt instead was… pity. His brother was scowling like a child denied candy, and Rin remembered the doctor’s warning about possible post-concussion side effects: mood swings, irritability, disorientation.
Great. Just great.
“Nii-chan,” Rin said, his voice steady, almost too calm for someone usually quick to snap, “you’re acting like a spoiled kid. You think I don’t see it? It’s the concussion. The doctor warned us. So go ahead—complain all you want. I’ll forgive it. For now.”
Sae’s glare faltered, the comeback on his lips dying before it left.
Hatori, who had been watching with his arms folded, gave a quiet chuckle. “Seems your little brother’s the mature one today.”
Rin turned his head toward the ceiling, his throat tight but his words steady. “I’m only being kind because he’s sick. Don’t think it’s permanent.”
That earned him a scoff from Sae, who rolled his eyes and muttered, “Whatever.” But the edge in his tone had dulled, and Rin could almost imagine the faintest flicker of embarrassment under his brother’s sulky facade.
For once, it felt like the roles had reversed—Rin the caretaker, Sae the fragile one pretending not to be.
The room settled into a brittle silence after Rin’s words. Sae shifted, arms still folded, his jaw working like he wanted to fire back but couldn’t find the words. He stayed stubbornly turned away, lips pressed tight.
Then, without warning, a small, broken sound slipped out.
Rin froze. Hatori’s brow furrowed.
At first, Rin thought he’d imagined it—until Sae’s shoulders trembled, and the next sound was unmistakable. A muffled, shaky breath that cracked halfway through.
“…Nii-chan?” Rin whispered.
Sae tried to hide it, lifting a hand to his face, but it was too late. Tears welled and spilled, trailing down his cheeks. The ever-stoic Sae, the one who never showed weakness, sat there silently crying.
Rin’s eyes went wide. He felt his chest tighten in shock, because this wasn’t the bratty irritation anymore—this was raw, uncontrollable. Even Hatori, who’d stood through countless tense family moments, looked stunned. He blinked, as if unable to reconcile the sight before him.
Neither of them had ever seen Sae like this.
Rin’s throat tightened at the sight. He’d never—not once—seen his brother like this. Sae crying was… impossible. And yet here he was, shoulders shaking, tears dripping through his fingers as if he couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to.
Something in Rin cracked. Carefully, awkwardly, he pushed himself up from the bed despite the weight of the cast. He reached out, hesitant, his arm hovering before he finally wrapped it around Sae’s shoulder.
The angle was clumsy and weak, but it was the best he could manage.
“I don’t… wanna hurt you,” Rin muttered, frowning at how useless he felt. His chest ached in a way his bruises didn’t explain.
Sae didn’t resist. He stayed hunched, hiding behind his hand. His voice came broken, low, “I’m glad you’re okay… Rin.”
Rin blinked, stunned again.
“I don’t know what—” Sae’s breath hitched, and he pressed his palm tighter against his face, as if ashamed. “—if anything happened to you…”
The unfinished sentence hung heavy in the room.
Rin’s grip on his brother tightened just a little, careful but firm, grounding them both.
He tightened his hold ever so slightly, his chest tightening with each quiet sob he felt against him. For once, Sae wasn’t the strong one, and Rin didn’t know how to process it. His eyes flicked up and met Hatori’s across the room. The older man studied them for a long second before giving the faintest nod. Without a word, he stood and slipped out, closing the door gently behind him.
The room fell into silence, except for Sae’s shaky breathing. Rin didn’t say anything, just waited, holding on, letting time pass until the trembling eased.
Finally, Sae shifted, dragging his hand away from his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks blotched, and his voice cracked as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Rin blinked, a hard lump forming in his throat. Sorry? His niichan—who had given up so much, who always carried more than anyone else—why was he apologizing? It was ridiculous. It was wrong.
He shook his head firmly, unable to hold it back. Sae wasn’t the one who should apologize. Sae had sacrificed everything for him. What could he possibly be sorry for?
His mind emptied for a moment, his chest tightening. Stunned—how could he not be? Sae was a mess, hurt worse than him, bandaged and bruised, unable to even walk on his own. Yet his worry wasn’t for himself. It was for Rin.
Something in him twisted at the thought. He should’ve been the one worrying, not Sae. And still, here his brother was, crying over him. It felt… unreal. And strangely, it touched Rin in a way he didn’t want to admit out loud.
He let out a quiet breath, glancing at the trembling figure beside him. Sae looked so small like this, nothing like the unshakable brother he knew.
“Idiot…” Rin thought, though the word held no malice.
His cast ached as he shifted closer, but he didn’t care. He managed to tighten his arm around Sae’s shoulder, not enough to hurt him, but enough to let his brother know he wasn’t alone.
Rin frowned lessen, but his voice was rougher than he intended. “Idiot… what are you even apologizing for?”
Sae hiccuped again, shoulders shaking as he tried to form the words. “If I had been a better big brother—if I’d known what was on your mind from the start—maybe you wouldn’t have avoided me. Maybe we could’ve talked and none of this… none of it would’ve happened.”
Rin stared at him, stunned by the raw guilt in Sae’s voice. For a moment, his chest ached so badly it was hard to breathe. But then he shook his head again, more firmly this time. No… He knew himself too well.
“Maybe,” Rin muttered, though his tone was flat, almost dismissive. “But let’s be real. I’m stubborn as hell, and you know it. Even if you guessed everything, I’d still have run away.” His lips twisted in a bitter half-smile. “Because I’m just that dramatic.”
Rin let out a shaky breath, eyes narrowing as if forcing his brother to listen.
“None of this is your fault, Nii-chan. Stop saying that.” His casted hand twitched like he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. “It was me. I’m the one who avoided you, I’m the one who shut you out. I decided to run. That was all me, not you.”
He swallowed, his throat tight. “So don’t—don’t sit there acting like you could’ve fixed it if you just tried harder. You already did more than enough.”
Sae finally lifted his head, the wet shimmer in his eyes softening into something steadier.
For the first time since waking up in this place, he smiled—not his usual cocky smirk, but a tired, genuine one. “...Thanks, Rin.”
Rin blinked, then scowled like his brother had just flipped the script on him. “No, idiot. I should be the one thanking you.” His words tumbled out, sharper than he meant, but his voice wavered underneath. “For taking the bat, for worrying about me, for sacrificing yourself so I could run... and for literally taking a knife meant for me.” His throat tightened as he forced the last part out. “I couldn’t have asked for a better Nii-chan.”
The heaviness in the air broke when Rin tried to smirk, though his eyes still burned. “At least I can brag my big brother survived being stabbed. That’s... pretty badass, you know?”
It earned a short laugh from Sae, but it ended in a sharp wince, his hand flying to his side. Rin flinched, guilt flashing, but Sae shook his head quickly, still smiling despite the pain.
Rin’s chest tightened again, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “...I’m sorry too.” His voice was low, almost muttered, but in the quiet room it was clear. He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “For all the crap I said before. About not needing you, about wanting you gone. I didn’t mean any of it.”
Sae looked at him for a long moment, then gave a small snort, shaking his head. “Idiot.”
Rin blinked, almost indignant, until Sae leaned back against the pillows, his lips quirking faintly. “I know. You could never get rid of me.”
Heat rushed up Rin’s neck again, but this time it wasn’t from guilt—it was the kind of warmth that reminded him of their childhood futons, of promises whispered in the dark. He turned his face away, hiding the faint grin tugging at his lips.
Sae broke the silence first, his voice still a little hoarse. “How’s your arm?”
Rin cleared his throat, eager to shift the focus. “How’s my arm? Annoying as hell. Doctor said I’ll be stuck like this for three months, minimum. Guess I’ll be a left-side handicap for a while.” He lifted the cast slightly, then let it fall with a dull thud.
Sae gave him a side glance. “Three months? You’ll survive. It might even teach you patience.”
Narrowed his eyes. “Patience isn’t my problem. People who annoy me are.”
The corner of Sae’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t take the bait. Rin hesitated for a beat before forcing the question out. “What about you? Your condition?”
At once, Sae’s gaze slid away. He stared at the ceiling, at the blanket, anywhere but Rin. That silence was heavier than any answer, and Rin felt a cold pit grow in his stomach. For a while he had been too scared to ask, too scared to hear the truth. His brother was alive, yes, but… what about the rest? Could Sae recover? Could he walk, run, play again?
“...Nii-chan,” Rin muttered, almost afraid of his own voice. “You’ll be okay, right? You’ll still be able to…” He couldn’t finish. His throat locked around the words, but the meaning was clear.
Sae finally let out a slow breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if forcing himself to stay composed.
“The doctor said my ankle isn’t broken. Just sprained. But it’s severe. Since I kept pushing it more and more back then… it’ll probably take three, maybe four months to heal.”
Rin stayed quiet, heart pounding harder with each word.
“My concussion’s mild,” Sae continued, voice flat. “Could last days… or weeks. Depends.” His hand twitched against the blanket, but he didn’t look at Rin. “The stab wound… about three weeks, if I behave. Luckily it didn’t hit any organs.”
He gave a humorless huff, almost a laugh, then let his gaze finally lower. “Other than that? Just normal bruises here and there. Nothing special.”
Rin bit his lip, eyes stinging. Nothing special, he said—yet every word sounded heavier than the last.
Sae’s expression dulled as he finished, “And they forbid me from walking for the first three weeks.”
The way he said it—blunt, lifeless—made Rin’s chest ache.
Rin blinked, finally breaking the silence. “...Is that what you and Uncle were arguing about earlier? You don’t want to use the wheelchair.”
Sae’s jaw tensed, irritation flashing across his bruised face—but it didn’t last long this time. He let out a sharp breath through his nose, shoulders sinking. “Yeah.” His tone was clipped, but steadier than before. “As much as I hate it... it’s better for quicker recovery.”
He grimaced, almost embarrassed to admit it, and turned his head away.
For once, Rin didn’t tease or push. He just nodded, quietly relieved that his brother finally chose logic over pride—even if it still stung to see him like this.
Rin studied him for a moment, catching the way Sae’s hands tightened over the blanket, how his pride was at war with reason. It hurt to see his brother like that, struggling with something so simple yet so heavy.
“...It sucks, doesn’t it?” Rin said softly. Sae turned to glare, ready for mockery, but Rin’s expression was calm—gentle, even. “But it’s not the end of the world. You’ll recover. And this time…” Rin leaned forward despite the weight of his cast, his voice steady. “I won’t leave you alone. We’ll get through this together. Both of us.”
Sae froze, the words catching him off guard. He didn’t respond right away, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. His eyes flickered toward Rin—searching, maybe even vulnerable.
Rin gave the smallest smile, one that almost hurt from how awkward it felt. “So don’t worry. I won’t ditch you this time.”
For a long moment, Sae just stared at him, quiet. Rin wondered if maybe he had said too much, if maybe Sae would brush it off like he always did. But then, slowly, Sae reached out his hand.
His fingers landed on Rin’s head, ruffling his messy hair in the same old way he always had since they were kids. It wasn’t rough, not teasing either—just warm, steady, and full of a kind of wordless affection Rin almost forgot he craved.
“Idiot,” Sae muttered, his voice low and hoarse. But there was no bite in it, only a shaky exhale that almost sounded like relief. Rin didn’t push his hand away this time. He let it stay, leaning into the touch ever so slightly, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t put into words.
The next few days blurred by, and before Rin knew it, they were back at their grandfather’s estate.
His grandpa had insisted it was safer there, where eyes and guards could surround them at all times. Rin didn’t even argue—part of him was just too drained, and another part quietly admitted he felt better knowing someone was always close.
Their parents eventually found out. The phone call had been nothing short of a disaster.
Their mother burst into tears the moment she saw their faces on the screen. “My babies! Look at you two—you’re bruised, bandaged—you could’ve died!”
“Mom—” Rin tried, only to be cut off by Sae’s, “We’re fine, really. Don’t cry.” But that only made her cry harder.
Their father was in the background, attempting to soothe her while trying not to look just as shaken. “It’ll be alright. They’re safe now,” he kept repeating, though his voice cracked once or twice.
Hatori leaned into view, bowing slightly toward the screen, apologizing in that calm way of his, even though none of it had been his fault. “Please rest assured, I’ll make sure nothing like this ever happens again.”
“Uncle, stop apologizing!” Rin hissed, but Hatori only smiled faintly.
The chaos didn’t stop there. Both Sae and Rin had to add their voices, swearing they were fine, begging their mom to stop worrying. That only led to her nagging them about their recklessness, scolding them one second and crying again the next. And then came the bombshell, their parents announced they were cutting their honeymoon short.
“No! There’s no need!” both brothers said in unison, horrified.
“Yes, there is!” their mom snapped through her tears. “Do you think I can enjoy myself knowing my sons were—were—” she broke off into sobs again.
It was pointless to argue. Their mom’s stubborn streak was legendary, and Rin had to bite his tongue when Sae glanced at him knowingly, because they both knew where Rin got his own attitude from.
So that was that. Their parents were coming home.
The whole thing had been chaos—messy, emotional, overwhelming—but Rin supposed that was what it meant to be part of a family like theirs. And this time, as exhausting as it was, he didn’t mind.
“That was a mess,” Rin muttered, flopping back against the futon in their shared room that night. The air was quieter now, finally free of their mother’s crying and their father’s strained reassurances echoing through the video call.
“Yeah,” Sae agreed, though his voice was flat, almost distracted.
Rin rolled onto his side, staring at his brother’s profile in the dim light. The chaos of the day lingered in his head—the call, the nagging, the crying—but something else pressed heavier on him, something he’d been holding back since the hospital.
He hesitated before blurting it out. “Nii-chan? Do you… remember? The first time you woke up in the hospital and walked out? You—” Rin faltered, the memory vivid in his mind, “—you hugged some random woman in the hallway.”
Silence.
Sae didn’t look at him. His eyes seemed locked on something distant, unfocused, as if Rin’s words had pulled him into a place far away from the room they were in. He wasn’t ignoring Rin exactly, but his gaze was glassy, unreadable.
“...Nii-chan?” Rin pressed, softer this time, unsettled by the sudden stillness.
But Sae didn’t answer.
At last Sae stirred, blinking as if dragging himself back into the room. “...What are you talking about?” His tone was hoarse, unfocused, like he genuinely didn’t understand.
Rin frowned, sitting up a little. “I said—you walked out of your room, hugged some random crying woman, and then collapsed. We even saw it on the cameras.”
Sae’s brows knit together, confusion etched all over his bruised face. He shook his head slowly. “...I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice was quiet but firm, a dull finality in it.
Rin studied him for a long moment, unsure if he was hiding something or if it really was the concussion muddling his memory. In the end, he sighed, deciding not to push. Maybe it really was just the head trauma.
“...You know,” Rin started again, shifting the conversation before the silence grew too heavy.
Rin bit his lip, almost blurting out the question that had been bothering him—how Sae even knew about the passcode and the back door that night. But something in his gut warned him not to. It might dig up things his brother wasn’t ready to remember.
So instead, he leaned back against the pillow and muttered, “I’ve been having dreams sometimes… where I saw you. You didn’t do anything, though. Just stood there. Sometimes sat by my side and stared at me while I was sleeping.” He shuddered slightly. “Honestly, really creepy.”
His brother didn’t answer right away.
His gaze dropped, and for a second his expression sharpened, eyes narrowing just faintly. Then he exhaled, shoulders sinking. “...Just a dream. Maybe.”
And they fall into silence. Then Sae asked something weird, "how long have you been able to see... ghost or spirit, whatever you called?"
Sae’s question hung in the air, unexpected and oddly calm. The change of subject surprised Rin, but he let it slide—there was no point pretending he hadn’t noticed the way Sae’s gaze had gone distant again.
“As long as I can remember,” Rin said after a beat. His voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. “Why?”
Sae was still for a moment, then asked, “Do you think they live in the same space as us?”
Rin blinked. He’d read about things in horror movies, and he’d had his own experiences—half-glimpses, whispers at the edge of sight—but certainty wasn’t something he ever had. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I can see them every day. Doesn’t mean I understand them, though.”
Sae hummed, eyes unfocused, then followed the line of his own thought to something on the bedside table. The small green jade bracelet—one Sae had given him—caught his attention. For a second he simply looked at it, and there was a softness in his face Rin hadn’t seen in a long time.
“Are you still wearing that?” Sae asked, voice small.
Rin glanced over, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. His throat went dry. He wanted to shrug it off, to act like it was nothing, but the bracelet tugged at him in a way he couldn’t explain. “Yeah,” he said, quick and defensive. “I—yeah.”
He wouldn’t admit out loud that it felt like an anchor, that every time it brushed his wrist he thought of Sae standing at the bottom of the stairs, or of the promise they’d made when they were small.
He wouldn’t say he liked it more than he’d thought he would.
Sae watched him for a long beat, something unreadable moving across his features. Then he gave a small, almost-gruff exhale and turned his head to the ceiling, letting the silence settle between them—less heavy this time, held instead by something like understanding.
“If anything happened… Can you trust me?” Sae’s voice cut through the quiet, low but steady.
Rin froze, stunned by the sudden weight behind the words. He didn’t know why Sae was asking, didn’t even try to make sense of it—but the answer came to him without hesitation.
“Yes,” Rin said softly. He didn’t question his brother. He never really could.
For the first time that night, Sae’s lips curved into something faint, almost gentle. “I’m glad.”
The silence that followed wasn’t tense anymore. It was warm, like the unspoken things between them had finally settled.
“Goodnight, nii-chan,” Rin murmured.
“Goodnight,” Sae replied, eyes closing at last.
And with that, both brothers drifted into sleep, side by side, trust lingering like a quiet promise.
It had been three weeks since the incident.
Life at their grandfather’s house had settled into something quieter, safer. Their parents had come rushing back at first, only to return reluctantly to work once they were sure their sons were alive and healing.
But the mornings… the mornings were never peaceful.
Rin woke to a sharp sound—a gasp, rough and broken. His eyes snapped open just in time to see Sae lurch upright in bed, one hand clutching his chest, his breaths shallow and uneven. The room was dim, shadows stretched across the floor, and for a second Rin could’ve sworn his brother’s eyes looked… different. Glazed. Distant. Almost like he wasn’t really here.
Then Sae blinked, and the moment passed.
“Nightmare again?” Rin’s voice was quiet, careful.
Sae shook his head almost too quickly. “No. Just… nothing.” His voice was flat, clipped, as though denying it might make it go away.
Rin didn’t believe him, not really. He knew what nightmares felt like—he had them himself, sometimes so vivid he woke with tears in his eyes. Maybe Sae was the same, maybe worse. But if his brother wasn’t ready to share, Rin wouldn’t push.
So Rin shifted closer, cast heavy against the sheets, and nudged Sae’s arm. “It’s fine, you don’t have to say it. Just… I’m here, okay?”
Sae glanced down at him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he let out a long sigh. “Idiot… you’re the one who needs looking after.”
Rin smirked, half-teasing, half-serious. “We’ll just look after each other then.”
For a moment, silence filled the room. Sae finally nodded, his usual stubbornness softening into something real. “Yeah. We will.”
He leaned back against the pillow, heart a little lighter. Whatever haunted his brother, it could stay hidden for now. They had time. They had each other. That was enough.
And as the morning sun slipped through the window, Rin thought of one thing he was sure of was that they were safe. Still, as Rin drifted back toward sleep, he couldn’t shake the thought that his brother’s gasp hadn’t sounded like fear. It had sounded like someone being dragged back from somewhere far away.
And maybe… not alone.
However, no matter what came next, they had promised—neither of them would face it alone.
THE END
ADDITIONAL TIME:
The house was unusually loud for a place meant for recovery. Rin, with his left arm in a cast, sat stubbornly at the dining table, determined to pour himself a glass of water. “Got it… steady…” he muttered, gripping the jug awkwardly with his good hand. The stream missed the glass entirely and splashed across the table.
“Are you serious?” Sae deadpanned from the wheelchair across the room. “That’s your fifth try today.”
Rin scowled. “Shut up, it’s hard with one arm!”
“Then let me—” Sae tried wheeling himself closer, but the chair rolled too fast. He hit the table leg with a thunk and nearly toppled the water jug altogether.
Rin raised an eyebrow. “Wow. We’re so impressive together.”
From the kitchen doorway, Hatori pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should’ve just hired a nurse. Sit still, both of you.” He grabbed a towel and started cleaning, muttering under his breath, “Children. Actual children.”
OOO
Later that evening, the familiar ping of a video call rang out. Their mom’s face filled the screen, already teary-eyed.
“Let me see Sae’s ankle. Right now.”
Sae groaned but lifted his leg, the bandaged ankle propped on a pillow.
“Closer!” Mom demanded. “I can’t see if it’s swollen.”
“Mom, seriously—”
“And Rin! Tilt your head! I want to see that bruise by your eye.”
Rin reluctantly turned, cheeks burning. Their dad appeared in the background of the call, calmly sipping coffee while scrolling on his phone.
“You two look terrible,” Mom sniffled, “but still handsome. My poor babies.”
“End the call, please,” Sae muttered. Rin buried his face in his good hand.
OOO
The night descended into their usual argument.
“My cast is heavier than your entire body weight,” Rin complained, shaking his arm dramatically. “I’m suffering more.”
“Try being pushed around in a wheelchair,” Sae shot back. “You don’t know humiliation until Grandpa calls you a ‘lazy boy on wheels.’”
“At least you can move! I can’t even put on a shirt without help.”
“Oh please, I—”
“Enough,” Hatori cut in sharply. “Do you two not understand how close you came to dying? Be grateful instead of competing for the ‘who suffers more’ award.”
Both brothers went silent.
“…So I win, right?” Rin muttered a second later.
Sae groaned loudly.
OOO
When Hatori offered to cook dinner, he expected gratitude. Instead, Rin poked suspiciously at the rice.
“This doesn’t taste like Mom’s cooking.”
“Then don’t eat,” Hatori grumbled.
Sae, who had been silently eating, sighed. “…Honestly, it really doesn’t.”
“Not you too!” Hatori slammed his chopsticks down. “Do you know how hard it is to cook for you two picky brats?”
Rin and Sae exchanged a glance. Then Rin whispered, “Uncle’s more dramatic than I am.”
OOO
The next day, chaos returned in the form of ‘the itch.’
“Niichan, help me scratch under my cast,” Rin whined, holding his arm out.
“Where?” Sae asked, leaning closer.
“Here. No, lower. Not there—ugh, that’s the wrong spot!”
“I’m doing it!” Sae snapped, though a mischievous smirk tugged at his lips.
“You’re not even trying!”
“If you keep yelling, I’ll stop.”
“Fine. Then I’ll roll your wheelchair down the hall.”
“Try it, and I’ll run over your toes.”
Their bickering grew louder until Grandpa’s voice thundered from the other room, “Both of you, quiet down! The neighbors will think I adopted wild animals!”
Sae and Rin froze. Then Rin leaned in and whispered, “This is all your fault.”
Sae rolled his eyes, but for once, didn’t argue back.
OOO
By the end of the week, the household agreed on one thing: Two injured Itoshi brothers under one roof was not healing—it was chaos.
But at least it was the kind of chaos filled with bickering, laughter, and family warmth.
🌟 Extra Bonus
Sae stared at the calendar pinned above Grandpa’s desk. Red circles marked dates he knew all too well—his matches, his training schedule, his life carefully planned. Except now, thanks to his ankle and the doctor’s orders, the only thing he was scheduled for was bedrest and nagging.
“Three months,” Sae muttered darkly, tapping the calendar with his pen. “Three months of doing nothing while everyone else plays.”
From the couch, Rin shifted and raised an eyebrow. “You are injured. What did you expect? To sprint across Madrid in a wheelchair?”
Sae gave him a flat look. “I could if I wanted to.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
“…Okay, maybe not. But still.” He leaned back, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. “Do you know what this means, Rin? Football matches are happening without me. Without me!”
Rin rolled his eyes. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, nii-chan.”
“Yes, it does. I’m Itoshi Sae.”
Rin groaned into his pillow.
Later that night, when Hatori finally left the room, Sae turned to his brother. His tone was more serious now, though still tinted with his usual smugness.
“When I go back,” Sae began, “to Spain, to ReAl… you’re coming with me.”
Rin blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. You’re going to sit in the stadium and watch my match. From the front row. I’ll put your face on the big screen if I have to.”
Rin’s eyes widened. “Why… me?”
“Because I want you there,” Sae said simply, though he quickly added with a smirk, “and because you’ll look good on camera. My dramatic little brother. Maybe the fans will cry.”
Rin’s lips trembled between irritation and something softer. “…Nii-chan…”
“What? Don’t look at me like that. I’m being nice for once. Don’t ruin it.”
But Rin only smiled faintly, hiding his face in the blanket.
For once, Sae didn’t tease him further. He just sat back, satisfied. Even if he couldn’t play right now, the thought of seeing Rin in the stands someday gave him something to look forward to.
And one day, Rin will not just stand among the crowds.. but on the same field, side by side with him.