Chapter Text
Every morning when Rin opened his eyes, the same thought crossed his mind.
How he wished a car would hit him, quick and merciless, leaving no time to feel anything at all.
But reality was crueler. Each day began the same way with him lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as though it had all the answers he lacked. His limbs felt heavy, pinned down by exhaustion he couldn’t explain. Even rolling over was a battle, and the simple act of breathing felt like another obligation.
It was the first day of their two–week break after Japan’s U-20 match against Blue Lock. A victory that was supposed to feel like glory. The media called it history. His teammates celebrated. But Rin lay there, unmoved. Triumph had no place in his body.
The curtains were drawn, yet a thin line of morning light cut across the room, brushing over the mess of his desk where an unopened water bottle, training schedules shoved aside, his cleats abandoned where he had kicked them off the night before. A space that should have reflected discipline now looked like the room of someone who had stopped caring.
He turned his head, eyes landing on his phone by the bed. The screen was black. No new messages. He hadn’t expected any, not really. Still, some stubborn part of him had hoped.
How could he feel satisfied when the only person he had ever trusted, believed in, and desperately sought acknowledgment from refused to even glance his way?
Maybe Sae had been right on that snowy day. Maybe Rin truly didn’t matter anymore.
Worthless.
Defective.
A waste.
He pressed his palms over his eyes, as if he could shut out the thoughts with enough force. But they only echoed louder.
Rin lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, though his vision blurred and unfocused. His body wasn’t tired—he had slept far too long—but the thought of moving felt unbearable. Training, eating, brushing his teeth—what was the point? Nothing mattered.
Even the game, the only thing that had ever given his life direction, now felt like sand slipping through his fingers. Wins were supposed to feel like fire in his chest, a reminder that he was closing in on his brother. Instead, they felt like nothing. Empty applause, headlines he didn’t care to read, a hollow echo inside his skull.
Maybe it was always like this, and he had been too obsessed with chasing Sae to notice.
The thought cut deeper than he expected. Because deep down, he had always known. His brother never truly loved him—not the way Rin wanted. To Sae, he had been practice, a partner to sharpen his blades against. A stepping stone. A tool.
And the moment Rin stopped being useful, Sae discarded him.
The snowy day replayed in his head, sharp as glass. The way Sae’s words fell so easily, like they meant nothing. “I don’t need you anymore.”
Rin’s chest tightened. He pressed the heel of his palm against his sternum as if he could stop the ache.
Maybe Sae had never needed him at all.
The realization settled heavy inside him, a weight he couldn’t shake off. Hopelessness bled into everything. The food he couldn’t taste. The routines he couldn’t follow. The people around him he couldn’t stand. Even when teammates laughed or celebrated, he felt nothing. Not joy. Not anger. Just distance.
Every road led back to Sae. Every memory. Every thought. He wanted it to stop—wanted silence, peace, anything. But no matter how hard he tried to bury it, the truth clawed at him.
His brother was gone. And Rin was nothing without him.
Rin finally pushed himself up, every muscle aching with a heaviness that had nothing to do with his body. He decided to get some food—not because he was hungry, but because going without would only make him weaker.
He felt like dying, but he had no plan to actually do it. Not yet. Maybe one day. Maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t even notice when it happened. Not like anyone would care. Not Sae. Not even his parents.
His chest tightened at the thought.
He had so few memories of them—his mother’s hand on his head, his father’s rare smile. Fleeting moments that barely seemed real now. Most of the time, they weren’t there at all. Busy. Traveling. Always working. Always gone.
What hurt wasn’t just their absence, but the truth buried underneath it because at the end of the day, he still wanted to be treated like a son. More than a body to feed. More than another responsibility they could throw money at. He wanted warmth, care, and proof that he belonged to them.
But it was too late. Nothing could thaw the cold distance that had settled between them. He had given up the moment Sae left for Spain. That was when the house fell silent, when their parents drifted further away, when he was left to grow on his own.
Back then, at least, he had believed Sae would still be there for him. That no matter how far his brother went, Rin wasn’t completely alone.
Now… he had no one.
The smell of coffee lingered faintly as Rin stepped into the living room. His brother was there.
He sat on the couch like he owned the air around him—calm, unreadable, scrolling through his phone with the same detached expression he wore on the pitch. It was strange, almost surreal, seeing him here again after so long.
Like nothing had changed. Like years hadn’t passed.
For a second, Rin’s chest betrayed him. A flicker of something, hope, slipped in. Maybe Sae would look up. Maybe he would say something, even just a cold ‘good morning.’ Maybe, for once, Rin wouldn’t feel like a stranger in his own house.
But Sae never lifted his gaze. Not a glance. Not a word.
Rin stood frozen, a plate in his hands he barely remembered carrying from the kitchen. His throat tightened, the hope inside him shriveling into something pathetic. How stupid was he? To expect anything different? To still want Sae’s attention when every sign screamed he would never get it?
He lowered his eyes and moved past, each step heavy, each breath shallow. The silence between them was suffocating, filled with everything Rin wanted to say and everything Sae would never answer.
Even here, under the same roof, they might as well have been worlds apart.
And Rin hated himself for still wishing otherwise.
Rin stayed in the kitchen, settling at the table with the plate he had thrown together. A few bites in, and he already regretted it.
He chewed mechanically, forcing the food down without tasting it. His body registered texture, but no flavor, no satisfaction. Just fuel. He stared at the half-empty plate, disgust rising in his throat.
An athlete. That’s what he was supposed to be. Someone who treated his body like a weapon, sharpened it with precision. Meals should have been carefully planned, balanced, made to strengthen him. Instead, he was hunched over whatever scraps he had thrown together, eating like it didn’t matter.
And maybe it didn’t.
The sight in front of him made his chest clench with guilt. A reminder that he couldn’t even manage the basics. Couldn’t prepare a proper meal. Couldn’t maintain discipline. Another reason he was useless. Another failure added to the pile.
He set his fork down, staring at his reflection in the dull surface of his glass. His eyes looked tired, older than his age, dark crescents shadowing the green. He looked pathetic.
The word lodged in his throat like a stone. Pathetic for sitting here, for eating without purpose, for still breathing when everything felt pointless. He wanted to tell himself he was stronger than this—that discipline alone could carry him through—but even that felt like a lie.
Rin dropped his gaze back to the plate, the food blurring until it was just color and shape. He forced another bite into his mouth, jaw tight. The guilt didn’t fade. If anything, it spread—down his chest, into his stomach, coiling until he wanted to be sick.
He told himself to swallow anyway.
Because what else was there to do?
Rin finished his meal slowly, every bite feeling heavier than the last. When the plate was empty, he forced himself to stand, to carry it to the sink. Leaving it there would only confirm what he already believed about himself—that he was useless.
He couldn’t allow that. Not another failure.
The water ran cold over his hands as he scrubbed, each motion mechanical. The dish slipped once, clattering against the sink, and his jaw tightened. Even cleaning, even something this simple, he managed to fumble. He set the plate aside, stacked neatly, as though order could mask the chaos in his chest. Then, as he reached for the towel, something caught his eye.
On the counter, tucked against the wooden block, a kitchen knife gleamed faintly under the light. His mother’s. He remembered her using it once, maybe twice, in those rare evenings she actually cooked.
His chest constricted. The thought came faster than he expected. Not new—never new—but sharper now. Louder.
He had always dismissed it before. Thoughts like that were for the weak. People who couldn’t handle reality. People who gave up without trying. Pointless, useless, cowardly. He had told himself that countless times.
But now… living felt more unbearable than the thought of ending it. This hell, this endless emptiness—it was worse than anything. And staring at the knife, Rin saw a different perspective.
It wasn’t weakness. Not entirely. Maybe it was release. A silence he couldn’t find anywhere else.
The idea was so strangely appealing that his hand moved on its own. Fingers curled around the handle, pulling it from the block. He raised it, the blade catching the light, and took a long, steady look.
His reflection warped in the steel—green eyes dulled, skin pale, lips pressed thin. He barely recognized himself.
And for a moment, he wondered what it would feel like to finally stop.
Rin lowered his gaze to his arm. Pale. Untouched. Clean.
He didn’t know where the feeling came from—this sudden urge clawing at him—but it pulsed stronger than hesitation. He told himself it wasn’t what it looked like. He wasn’t trying to end anything. He just wanted to prove a point. To himself. To the silence pressing down on him.
Just once. Just a line.
His hand tightened around the knife as he pressed the blade against his skin. A sharp sting bloomed instantly, the edge biting through. He drew a shallow line, watched as the skin parted and red welled up, running down his arm in a thin trail.
It hurt. More than he expected. But in that pain, something shifted. His chest, heavy for days, felt lighter for a fraction of a second. The ache in his mind dulled, replaced by the sting in his flesh.
Physical. Real. Something he could point to. Something he could control.
He exhaled, shaky, as the blood slipped down to his wrist. It was pathetic, he thought—resorting to this, becoming exactly what he used to despise. Weak. But at the same time, the pain quieted the storm in his head. For a fleeting moment, it was easier to breathe.
And Rin hated himself for it.
Rin rinsed the knife under cold water, scrubbing until every trace of red vanished. He dried it carefully, set it back in its place, and wiped the counter clean as if nothing had happened.
But his arm, he left as it was.
The line stung with every movement, and he let it. The pain was grounding, almost welcome. A reminder that he was still here, still capable of feeling something—even if it wasn’t the kind of feeling he wanted.
When he finally headed back to his room, he kept his sleeve tugged low, his arm angled close to his body. Sae was still in the living room, still glued to his phone, still not sparing him a single glance. Rin slipped past without a sound.
He told himself it didn’t matter. That Sae wouldn’t notice even if he tried. That he wouldn’t care even if he did.
But deep down, Rin knew the truth. He hid the wound not because Sae cared—but because he couldn’t bear to give him another reason to look down on him. Another weakness to add to the list. Another advantage Sae could hold over him.
So he kept it secret.
He didn’t need Sae to remind him how pathetic he was. Rin was perfectly capable of doing that on his own.
Back in his room, Rin shut the door behind him and sank onto the bed. The silence was thick, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside his window. He leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling until the sting in his arm dragged his attention down again.
The cut had already stained through the fabric of his sleeve. He pulled it back, exposing the thin line of red, now drying in uneven streaks. The sight made his chest tighten—not from fear, but from something harder to name.
It wasn’t deep. It wouldn’t kill him. He hadn’t wanted it to. But still, the idea of leaving it untreated scraped at his mind. Infection. Fever. Weakness. He couldn’t afford that. He already hated himself enough.
So he got up. His movements were sluggish, but deliberate, as he gathered what little supplies he had.Ttissues, a small bottle of antiseptic from a drawer, a roll of tape. He sat on the edge of the bed and worked in silence, cleaning the wound with trembling hands. The antiseptic burned, sharp and biting, but he didn’t flinch. He deserved it. Maybe even welcomed it.
Once the line was cleaned, he covered it with a strip of gauze, careful to wrap it tightly. Not perfect, but enough to keep it hidden. Enough to keep anyone from asking questions.
He sat there for a long time afterward, staring at his bandaged arm resting on his lap. The thoughts came back, circling like vultures—pathetic, weak, worthless. But at least for now, they were quieter than before.
And Rin hated that the only thing keeping them at bay was the wound he swore he would never make.
Night crept in slowly, though Rin hardly noticed when day slipped away.
His curtains were still drawn, his room unchanged, and yet the darkness pressed heavier than usual.
He lay on his bed, one arm over his eyes, the other throbbing faintly beneath the bandage. Sleep didn’t come. It never did when he needed it.
His mind kept circling, a restless loop he couldn’t break. The match. The headlines. His teammates laughing. None of it mattered. It was all noise. What cut through, again and again, was the silence from Sae. The way he hadn’t looked at him. The way he hadn’t spoken a single word.
How pathetic was it, to want something as small as a greeting? To still crave attention from someone who made it perfectly clear he didn’t care? Rin curled his hand into the sheets, his jaw tight. He told himself he should stop. That hoping was useless. But the thought wouldn’t die.
The minutes dragged. Every time he closed his eyes, the quiet grew louder. The bandage itched against his skin, a constant reminder of what he had done. Part of him felt disgust—at the weakness, at crossing the line he swore he never would. Another part felt relief. Because at least now, he knew pain could be controlled.
The clock blinked red from his desk shows 2:47 a.m. He hadn’t slept. He doubted he would. His chest felt heavy, his body restless. Even exhaustion betrayed him.
He turned onto his side, staring at the wall. The thoughts didn’t stop. Worthless. Weak. Alone. Unlovable. They repeated like a chant, seeping into every corner of his mind until he felt like he might suffocate.
Sleep wouldn’t come. Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not ever.
And as Rin lay there in the dark, he wondered if this was what the rest of his life would feel like.
At some point, exhaustion won. Rin didn’t remember when his eyes finally closed, only that the thoughts blurred into nothing and the ache in his chest dulled enough to let him sink under. But the rest was fragile. Shallow. He woke before dawn, the room still swallowed in shadows. His phone glared back at him from the desk: 4:11 a.m.
Too early. Far too early. Yet his body refused to drift back into sleep.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. His chest felt heavy, as though someone had placed a weight on it overnight. The kind of heaviness that had nothing to do with fatigue and everything to do with simply existing.
He shut his eyes again, willing himself to sink back into unconsciousness. Nothing. His mind had already begun its loop, dragging him back through yesterday’s thoughts. The kitchen. The knife. Sae’s silence. His parents’ absence.
Hopelessness crept in with the same patience as the dawn light sneaking past the curtains. He pressed a hand over his face, groaning quietly into the darkness. He wanted to rest, just a little longer, but his body wouldn’t obey.
Minutes stretched. Then an hour. Still awake. Still restless.
By the time the first pale hints of morning brushed against his wall, Rin knew he wouldn’t sleep again.
He sat up slowly, elbows braced on his knees, head hanging low. His bandaged arm throbbed faintly. Another reminder. Another failure. Another day beginning before he was ready to face it.
And he wondered—if this was what waking up would always feel like, what was even the point?
The weight pressed too hard against his chest, and it broke.
Rin didn’t even notice when the first tear slipped down his cheek. He wasn’t thinking of anything in particular—no sharp memory, no cutting word. The tears just came, soundless, steady. He pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, but they kept spilling, soaking into his pillow.
His throat burned, tight with something he couldn’t name.
A low breath shuddered out of him, and for once he didn’t fight it. He didn’t push it back, didn’t try to make sense of it. He let the tears run, hot and uncontrollable, sliding down until the pillow dampened beneath his cheek.
There was no sobbing, no shaking. Just a quiet, continuous stream—like his body was wringing itself dry of something he hadn’t realized was there.
Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Eventually, the tears slowed, leaving his face sticky, his head heavy. The ache inside him didn’t vanish, but it felt muted, dulled, as though the crying had siphoned off a fraction of the pressure.
His chest rose and fell with deep, uneven breaths. His eyes stung, swollen, but he stared blankly at the ceiling through the blur. He didn’t even know why it had started. He only knew he felt drained, hollowed out, like an emptied vessel.
And in the silence after, all that remained was the faint pulse of pain in his arm, and the endless heaviness waiting for him to pick it back up.
The house was still when Rin finally pushed himself out of bed. His body felt heavy, the kind of heaviness that came after crying too much, but his mind buzzed in the same restless static. Staying upstairs made it worse, so he dragged himself down to the kitchen.
He didn’t expect anyone to be there. But as he stepped into the doorway, he froze.
Sae was already at the counter, casually pouring water into a glass. The morning light from the window caught on his profile, calm, composed, as if the world around him didn’t touch him at all.
Rin’s chest tightened. For a second, the faint hope from the night before flickered again—maybe Sae would turn, notice him, say something. Anything.
But Sae didn’t even glance his way. He took a sip of water, set the glass down, and leaned against the counter like Rin wasn’t there.
Rin’s hand curled against his side, hiding the faint sting in his arm. He stayed rooted to the spot, feeling like a ghost in his own home. It was stupid, he knew, to expect something different. To hope. He told himself that over and over, but the quiet rejection cut sharper than he wanted to admit.
He moved past Sae without a word, heading for the fridge. Each step felt like forcing himself through water. He grabbed whatever he could just to look busy, to keep from standing there like a fool waiting for his brother to acknowledge him.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
Rin bit the inside of his cheek, telling himself not to care. Not to expect. And yet, a voice deep inside whispered how pathetic he was—for still wanting Sae to look at him at all.
He had just tugged the fridge door open when Sae’s voice cut through the silence, low and flat.
“You look like shit.”
Rin’s hand stiffened on the handle. Before he could process the sting of the words, Sae added, “Finally decided to do something useful? Improve yourself instead of being lazy?”
The words hit harder than he expected. For a second—just a second—he’d thought maybe Sae would notice the dark circles under his eyes, or the way his shoulders sagged, and ask if he was okay. Stupid. He should’ve known better.
His chest tightened, hot pressure building behind his eyes. He forced himself lower, crouching in front of the fridge, pretending to dig through the shelves. The cool air brushed his face as he bit down on the urge to sob.
Not here. Not in front of Sae.
Tears slipped free anyway, falling soundlessly as he shielded himself behind the open fridge door. His fingers gripped the shelf, knuckles pale, as if holding on could keep him from crumbling. He hated it—this weakness, this pathetic reaction.
He swallowed hard, trying to choke it back, but the harder he fought, the heavier the ache in his throat grew. He couldn’t let Sae see. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Sae didn’t stop. “What’s the point of being on Blue Lock if you waste your time like this? Do you even realize how many people would kill for your spot? And you—” his tone dipped into something sharp, “you act like it’s nothing. Like you don’t care. If you keep being like this, you’ll end up exactly how I said you would. Useless.”
The word rang in Rin’s skull, louder and louder, until everything around him felt unreal—like the air was thin, like he wasn’t really standing there at all. His chest tightened as though he was watching himself crouch in front of the fridge from somewhere far away.
He knew Sae wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t even raising his voice.
But Rin’s mind twisted every word, every syllable, into proof of what he already believed, that he was worthless, that Sae didn’t see him as a brother—just a tool, a disappointment.
A shaky breath escaped him as his vision blurred. He ducked lower, pretending to look for something, letting the fridge door hide his face. His hands trembled against the shelf. He couldn’t let Sae see.
Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop.
But the tears slipped down anyway, silent and hot, leaving him hollow.
The cold air from the fridge seeped into Rin’s skin, but it did nothing to cool the heat in his chest. His vision swam, blurring the rows of containers and bottles into vague shapes.
Behind him, Sae’s voice came again, patient but cutting, “What, ignoring me now?” A pause, then sharper, “Maybe start with stop being a brat. This phase of yours isn’t worth anything.”
Rin’s breath hitched. A phase.
So that was all Sae thought of him. Not pain. Not exhaustion. Not the nights spent choking on his own thoughts, or the mornings he couldn’t find the strength to move. Just a brat throwing a tantrum. Just a younger brother acting out.
And it hurt, because Rin wanted to believe him. Maybe he was just overdramatic. Maybe he was too emotional, too sensitive, too weak. Maybe if he were stronger—less pathetic—this wouldn’t crush him the way it did.
The tears wouldn’t stop. They slid down his cheeks, falling soundlessly as he clenched his jaw to keep quiet. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The words were there, burning in his throat, but they wouldn’t come out. So he stayed crouched behind the fridge door, hidden in the hum of its motor, crying silently while his brother stood only a few feet away, not seeing him at all.
Rin stayed there, hidden, counting each second and wishing Sae would just walk out of the kitchen. If he left, Rin could pull himself together. If he left, Rin wouldn’t have to keep pretending.
But Sae’s voice broke the silence again, clipped and matter-of-fact. “Are you done? I need to put this back in the fridge.”
Rin’s heart lurched into his throat. Panic shot through him—if he turned, Sae would see his face, see the tears, the redness in his eyes. He couldn’t. He couldn’t let that happen.
“I’ll put it for you,” he blurted, his voice spilling out faster than he realized. Too quick, too sharp at the edges. Fear threaded through the words, shame tangled right after. The sound of his own voice startled him. He hadn’t meant to speak, hadn’t planned to, and now the kitchen felt unbearably small.
For a moment, there was only the hum of the fridge and his uneven breathing. Rin’s fingers tightened around the door, nails biting into the plastic. He didn’t dare look up.
Suddenly footsteps approached. Sae didn’t wait for Rin’s answer; he moved toward the fridge, clearly intent on putting the item back himself.
Rin’s stomach twisted. Panic surged, and he dropped his gaze, fixing his eyes on the floor. His bangs fell forward, hiding his face, while both fists clenched tightly on his knees. If he stayed small enough, quiet enough, maybe Sae wouldn’t notice the trembling in his shoulders.
But the sting in his eyes wouldn’t stop. The tears kept threatening to spill even as he willed them back.
His brother was right behind him—so close Rin could almost feel the brush of his presence. And yet all he wanted was to disappear into the floor. What am I doing? The thought stabbed at him. I’m pathetic. I’m crying like a kid, hiding like a coward… and for what? Do I actually want him to notice?
The question hollowed him out. He didn’t know if he wanted Sae to see or if he was terrified of it. Maybe both. Maybe that was the worst part.
Behind him, the fridge door shifted as Sae reached past. Rin pressed his lips together, swallowing down another sob, his fists tightening until they ached.
Then the silence cracked.
A sob slipped out before Rin could choke it back, muffled against his clenched fist.
His stomach dropped. Too much. Too many tears had already soaked into his skin, hot trails dripping down onto his hand where his fist pressed tight against his knee. He squeezed harder, like he could crush the sound before it escaped again.
But it was useless. The harder he tried to hold it in, the faster the tears fell, slipping between his knuckles, leaving him trembling in shame.
Right there, with Sae behind him, close enough to hear.
Rin’s chest heaved once, sharp and uneven, as panic clawed at his throat. No, no, no—stop. Don’t let him hear. Don’t let him see.
But the sob had already escaped. The proof of his weakness was out in the open.
“Rin?”
Sae’s voice cut through the air—confused, uncertain.
The sound was too much. Another sob tore free from Rin’s chest, louder this time, shattering the fragile wall he’d tried to build. His body trembled, and he pressed his fists harder into his knees, desperate to hold himself together, but it was useless. The dam had broken.
Shame burned hotter than the tears. He wanted to vanish, to dissolve into the floor. Anything would be better than sitting here, crying like a child with his brother standing over him.
Why didn’t I stay in my room? The thought echoed like a curse. I should’ve locked the door, kept it all inside. Better yet—I should’ve just ended it. In the tub, maybe. Quiet. Drown, sink, and disappear. At least then I wouldn’t be here—pathetic, humiliating, exposed.
His sobs came faster, harsh and uneven. He couldn’t stop them anymore. Every breath hurt, every sound made the shame sharper. His brother’s presence only made the weight heavier, crushing him from the inside out.
Rin’s hands shot up to his face, palms pressing hard against his burning eyes. He curled in on himself, shoulders shaking as the sobs racked through him.
“I’m sorry…” The words cracked out of him, broken and small. His voice wavered, muffled by his hands, but the guilt in it was sharp enough to sting.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, again and again between gasps for air, as if apologizing could erase the sound of his sobbing, could erase the fact that Sae was witnessing him fall apart.
His chest heaved, the tears spilling too fast to stop, his hands trembling where they clutched his face. He couldn’t bear to look at his brother. Couldn’t stand the thought of seeing disgust or disappointment written there.
All he could do was apologize—over and over—as if existing, as if crying, as if being this weak was something unforgivable.
The kitchen filled with the sound of Rin’s ragged sobs, spilling into the quiet like something too raw to belong in their home. Sae didn’t speak. He didn’t move. The silence on his end only made Rin’s shame coil tighter, wrapping around his chest until it hurt to breathe.
Then—just as suddenly as it started—Rin stopped.
No more sobs. No sound at all. His hands dropped slowly from his face, leaving the skin blotched and wet, but his expression hidden beneath his bangs. His breathing steadied into shallow pulls, forced and mechanical.
Without a word, he pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt unsteady, but he made himself move, closing the fridge door with a dull thud that echoed too loudly in the quiet room.
“Rin—” Sae started, but Rin didn’t let him finish.
He walked past, brushing by without so much as a glance. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, his jaw clenched tight. Every part of him screamed to disappear, to cut himself off from that moment, from Sae’s gaze, from his own humiliation.
And so he ignored him. Completely.
As if Sae hadn’t spoken at all.
Rin’s steps quickened. The only thought in his head was room—just get back to my room. If he could close the door, shut Sae out, maybe he could erase this shame clawing inside his chest.
But before he reached the stairs, fingers closed around his wrist.
Rin froze. His body jerked with the sudden stop, but his mind… it was somewhere else. Empty.
He stared at the floor, at the faint shadow of their figures cast by the morning light, but it didn’t feel real. The warmth of Sae’s hand on his skin felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. The kitchen, the silence, even his own body—everything slipped further and further away.
He didn’t pull back. Didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. He just stood there, hollow, his wrist caught, while his thoughts floated in the static hum of nothingness.
The silence stretched, heavy and strange. Rin’s arm hung limply in Sae’s grip, his body stiff but his eyes distant, unfocused.
Sae frowned. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Rin to just… stop.
“…What are you doing?” His voice was low, flat, but there was an edge of unease under it. “You’re acting weird.”
Rin didn’t respond. His gaze stayed fixed on nothing, his lips pressed tight.
Sae’s fingers tightened around his wrist before he realized it. “Rin.” He said the name more firmly this time, as if that alone would snap him out of it.
Still nothing.
Sae clicked his tongue, exhaling through his nose. “If this is your way of throwing a fit, it’s pathetic,” he muttered. But the words came out heavier than his usual bite—like he was testing something, unsure, caught between irritation and… worry.
He leaned a fraction closer, his eyes searching Rin’s downcast face. “Hey. Look at me.”
But Rin couldn’t. His chest felt like it was caving in, and yet at the same time he was floating somewhere far away, watching it happen from outside himself. Empty. Untouchable.
The words landed like glass shattering inside Rin’s chest.
He blinked, and the haze cracked. His eyes burned, fresh tears rising faster than he could fight them back. His lips trembled, his throat tightening as the silence threatened to choke him.
Another tear slid down his cheek, then another, until his vision blurred completely. He tried to tilt his head away, hiding behind his bangs, but the sound betrayed him—a shaky, uneven breath that broke into a sob.
The emptiness vanished, replaced by the same raw ache as before. The shame of it burned through him, heavier than ever. He hated himself for crying again, for proving Sae right, for being exactly what Sae saw him as weak, pathetic, a brat.
Rin squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on his lip until he tasted blood, but the tears wouldn’t stop. His chest heaved, his wrist still caught in Sae’s grip, and all he wanted was to vanish.
Sae’s eyes widened a fraction. He hadn’t expected that—not from Rin. Not like this.
“Tch…” He clicked his tongue, shifting uncomfortably. “Crying? Really? Over this?” The words were sharp, automatic, but his grip on Rin’s wrist loosened slightly, the pressure easing.
Rin ducked his head lower, trying to hide, but the sobs only grew harsher. He wanted to yank free, to run, but his body felt too heavy, too trapped.
Sae hesitated. He wasn’t good at this—never had been. He knew how to cut someone down, not how to hold them up. And yet, seeing Rin crumble in front of him scraped at something deep, something he couldn’t quite ignore.
“…You’re not making any sense,” Sae muttered, his tone softer now, though still awkward, halting. “What are you even sorry for?”
He shifted, almost as if to let go, but his hand lingered, not quite ready to release Rin either.
No answer. Rin’s tears slowed, then stopped altogether. He didn’t look at Sae, didn’t even flinch at his grip. His eyes were empty, unfocused, as if whatever fight he had left had drained out completely.
The silence stretched, heavy. Sae felt it in his chest, pressing in a way he didn’t like.
“Rin.” His voice dropped lower, almost a warning—but it came out more like a plea. He tugged his brother’s wrist gently, trying to stir a reaction. Nothing.
A frown pulled at his face. Rin always snapped back, always bit when cornered. But this—this stillness, this hollow look—it unsettled him more than the sobbing had.
“Oi.” His throat tightened. “Don’t… don’t just shut down like that.” The words tumbled out harsher than he intended, but underneath was something raw, almost afraid.
Still, Rin didn’t move, didn’t resist, didn’t meet his gaze. It was like holding onto a shadow that wanted to disappear. Sae let out a sharp breath, dragging Rin along with a firmer grip. His little brother’s feet moved, but only because he pulled them, not because Rin chose to.
He brought him into the living room and pressed him down onto the couch. Rin sat where he was placed, shoulders slack, hands loose on his knees, gaze fixed on nothing. He looked less like a person and more like an empty shell, breathing but not there.
Sae stood over him, arms crossed at first, then uncrossed just as quickly when it felt too defensive. He crouched down instead, trying to catch Rin’s eyes—but the younger’s bangs and vacant stare gave him nothing.
“Sit properly,” Sae muttered, as if the problem were posture. His voice was gruff, but it wavered in a way he didn’t like. “You’re… you’re not a corpse.”
No reaction.
Sae’s jaw tightened. He wanted to snap, to throw something blunt and sharp that would drag Rin back—but for once, the words didn’t come easy.
“Rin,” he tried again, softer this time. He reached out, hesitated, then set a hand on Rin’s shoulder. The contact was solid, grounding, but Sae couldn’t tell if it reached him at all.
Sae’s hand stayed on Rin’s shoulder longer than he intended.
The silence pressed in heavy, each second stretching too far.
Finally, he gave his brother a small shake—gentle at first, then sharper when Rin still didn’t flinch.
“Don’t just sit there like this,” Sae muttered, frustration edging into fear. He grabbed Rin’s arm to pull him upright. But as his fingers slid down, his grip tightened automatically. Something under the fabric of Rin’s sleeve caught against his palm—raised, uneven.
His eyes narrowed.
He pushed the cuff back without asking.
And there it was. Thin lines, some faded into pale scars, others fresher, angrier. They cut across Rin’s skin like confessions he’d never spoken aloud.
For a moment, Sae forgot how to breathe. The living room, the couch, the silence—everything shrank to the inside of Rin’s arm.
“...Rin,” Sae said, and this time his voice broke with something rawer than confusion.
Rin still wouldn’t look at him.
Sae froze, sleeve still bunched in his hand. His mouth opened, then closed, no words forming. The sight of those lines dug into him in ways he didn’t expect. His throat worked, but all that came out was a thin, almost whispered, “…why.”
It wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t even demanding. Just one word, bare and fragile, like he was afraid of shattering the silence too hard.
Rin’s shoulders hunched further in, his head bowed so low his bangs hid his face entirely. He didn’t answer, didn’t even twitch.
Sae let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His hand lingered at Rin’s sleeve, hovering like he wanted to cover the wounds, to protect them—or maybe to erase what he was seeing. But he couldn’t bring himself to touch again.
“Rin…” His voice faltered, softer than it had been in years. He swallowed, eyes darting away for a second as though even looking at his brother’s arm was unbearable. “You…” He stopped himself before saying something too sharp. He didn’t know how to be gentle, but right now, anything else felt wrong.
The quiet between them grew thick, almost suffocating, until Sae finally said, barely audible, “You don’t have to do this.”
Rin’s lips trembled before any sound escaped, his whole body shaking under the weight he’d been holding back. Then, in a cracked whisper, he broke—
“…Nii-chan…”
His throat tightened, but the words spilled anyway, unsteady, each one more desperate than the last. “Do you think it’d be better if I’m gone?”
Sae blinked, breath stuttering in his chest.
“I’m sorry for being a burden.” Rin’s fists clenched in his lap, nails digging into his palms. “I’m sorry for bothering you.” His voice pitched higher, hoarse with sobs. “I’m sorry for not reaching your expectations.”
The words tumbled out too fast, as if once he started, he couldn’t stop himself.
And then came the last hitch, so soft it was almost swallowed by the air between them. “…I’m sorry for being born.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Rin pressed both hands over his mouth like he could shove the confession back inside, but his shoulders heaved, his body betraying him with silent sobs.
Sae sat frozen, the apology echoing in his skull like a wound he couldn’t touch.
For a second, Sae couldn’t move. Rin’s words lodged in his chest like glass shards, sharp and impossible to swallow. His throat tightened, his eyes stung—but he blinked hard, fighting back the heat before it could spill. He wouldn’t cry. He never cried.
Across from him, Rin laughed weakly through his sobs, a broken smile twisting on his face. “I should’ve stayed in my room… I’m sorry you had to see all of this.” His voice quivered, each syllable bleeding humiliation. He wiped at his wet cheeks with trembling hands, still smiling like it would make the apology easier to take. “I should go.”
He pushed himself to stand, legs unsteady, but before he could step away Sae’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist.
“Don’t.”
The word left Sae before he could think, rough and unsteady in a way Rin had never heard from him. His fingers tightened, refusing to let Rin slip away—not when his little brother had just said those things, not when Sae’s heart was still rattling in his chest from the shock of it.
Rin froze, his body going rigid under Sae’s touch. His eyes flicked down, unable to look up, tears still dripping silently. Shame and exhaustion weighed him down, and all he wanted was to disappear.
But Sae held him anyway, silent, his own pulse thundering in his ears.
The room was so quiet Rin could hear the tick of the clock from down the hall.
Sae’s grip on his wrist was firm, steady, refusing to let go. Rin stood there, staring down at the floor, his bangs hiding the tears that still slid freely down his cheeks. His body felt weightless and heavy all at once, like he could vanish if Sae blinked.
Silence pressed against his skull, deafening.
Rin’s chest ached with the urge to disappear, to curl into nothing. He was too tired to cry harder, too tired to fight. His brother’s hand burned against his skin, the only thing keeping him tethered.
Finally, Sae exhaled. It wasn’t steady. He hated that it wasn’t steady.
“...Don’t say that shit again.” His voice came out rough, cracking just at the edge. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to go on, though his words felt clumsy and wrong in his mouth. “You’re not—” He stopped, jaw tightening, searching for words that didn’t exist. His eyes stung again, and he blinked fast, refusing to let Rin see.
“You’re not a burden.” The words sounded blunt, inadequate, but they were all he had. His thumb shifted against Rin’s wrist, a rare flicker of gentleness he didn’t know how to show. “And I don’t—” another pause, his chest tightening, “—I don’t want you gone.”
Rin’s shoulders trembled.
He didn’t believe it—couldn’t believe it—but hearing it cracked something inside him all the same. His breath hitched, uneven, and more tears spilled, soundless this time.
Sae tightened his grip, anchoring him, as if afraid Rin would vanish if he let go.
Rin’s body shook, but not from relief. The words—You’re not a burden. I don’t want you gone.—they rattled in his chest, but his mind immediately twisted them. He doesn’t mean it. He’s just saying it because I broke down. Because I made a scene.
He bit down hard on his lip, trying to steady his breath, but more tears came anyway. Pathetic. Weak. Overdramatic. Sae’s voice felt like an echo in a dream, something unreal he couldn’t hold onto.
“I don’t… believe you,” Rin whispered hoarsely, his bangs clinging wet to his cheeks. His voice cracked on the last word, as if even saying it took the rest of his strength. He wanted to pull away, crawl back into the dark of his room, vanish before the shame swallowed him whole.
But Sae didn’t let him.
For the first time, his brother’s mask faltered completely. His usual sharp, detached composure was gone, replaced by something raw in his eyes—fear, confusion, maybe even desperation. He hated that his chest felt tight, hated the sting in his throat he couldn’t push down.
And then, without thinking, Sae pulled him forward. The motion was clumsy, stiff, but his arms wrapped around Rin anyway, holding him close.
Rin froze. His whole body went still, shocked by the contact. Sae never did this. Never.
The sob he had been trying to bury tore its way out of his chest. His fists bunched in Sae’s shirt, weak and trembling, as he cried into his brother’s shoulder.
Sae shut his eyes, jaw tight, trying to steady himself. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted quietly, words almost lost against Rin’s shaking frame. “But don’t you dare think you’re better off gone. Not to me.”
Rin’s breath hitched again, ragged and uneven. His mind screamed he doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t mean it, but his body betrayed him. The exhaustion, the emptiness, the ache that had lived in his chest for so long—it all broke through at once.
So he let himself fall.
His fists clenched tighter in Sae’s shirt, his forehead pressing into his brother’s shoulder as his sobs tore free. The sound was raw, broken, the kind that left his chest burning. Shame still gnawed at him, but the warmth of Sae’s arms around him was something he couldn’t refuse—not today.
He hated himself for it.
For needing this, for taking advantage of a moment that would probably vanish by later. A moment that might never come again. But he held on anyway, clinging to his brother like this fragile connection was the only thing keeping him from shattering completely.
Sae stayed still, arms firm around him, silent but steady. And for once, Rin didn’t push him away.
In the hollow of his chest, Rin still didn’t believe the words Sae had said. He couldn’t. Not after everything. But for now—for this single moment—he let himself pretend. He let himself take what he could, because maybe tomorrow it would all disappear.
And if this was all he ever got, he would hold onto it until it slipped through his fingers.