❝ i'm trash. ❞

citta-affiliated roleplay blog for matsuno ichimatsu of osomatsu-san. veteran citizen | district beta | joined 1/24

[nekosmatsu-blog]

Ichimatsu was not in the mood for this today.

The last few weeks for him, to say the least, were uneventful, more or less. Not that he’d wished for anything else; frankly, he’d preferred it that way. People left him alone, he left them alone. Osocub and ESP Kitty were enough of a handful on their own, quite frankly— so when he hears of a triangle trying to stir up shit, the first thing he thinks is, holy fuck, please don’t do anything crazy like turn the tiger cub into some kind of unholy abomination.

But that’s exactly what happens.

He’s out with Osocub because why not, trying to ignore the weird shit going on around him and reconsidering his life choices when suddenly, from his place on Ichimatsu’s shoulder, Osocub starts to tremble. At first Ichimatsu thinks he’s sick, picking him up from his shoulder and holding the cub in his arms in an attempt to assess what was the problem when suddenly he just— changed.

And it wasn’t a pretty transformation either. It was like someone was on some 3D modeling program and had jabbed at the cub with the cursor, tugging and pushing it at all the wrong places, copy and pasting the most random of parts wherever and however until it mushroomed into a creature about the size of a semi-truck that only now faintly resembles a tiger cub. Some part of Ichimatsu would’ve found it hilarious if it weren’t so fucking terrifying.

Now Ichimatsu sits on the amalgamation in a daze, staring up at the sky and thinking, it was a bad fucking idea to go outside today.

@matsuuno

[nekosmatsu-blog]

when you haven’t fucking done anything on any of your muses in more than a month

okay, wow, i had this a long time coming. anyway, i guess-- things have consumed my life? for the time being? but now i’d honestly love to get back to the role of things...!

(though not after another hiatus. fucking welp.)

for now i’ll be dropping-- well, pretty much anything, and in the meanwhile i want to get the required posts in before i put myself on another necessary hiatus due to-- family things, muse things, college app things... so perhaps? like for a starter? uncapped, though i will be selective. hmu with a message if you want anything specific!

[cittageddon-blog]

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WEIRDMAGEDDON /wird məˈɡedn/

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Keep reading

[nagomineeto]

    “I’m… not just talking about right now.” In regards to the last part anyway. Of course he has reservations. He still remembers every word, so clearly. No wonder all them became trash, with an oldest rotten to the core like you. It… was true, wasn’t it? Not that he’d thought about it much before. Not that he’d admitted to thinking about it much before, anyway. But that probably wasn’t the conversation to be had right now, so he shoves the subject under the metaphorical rug with a “Nevermind,” and leaves it at that. 

    But that’s not what Ichimatsu had in mind, of course. Of course he still wanted to know. And he couldn’t not say anything. But what would he say?

    “I just got into a little bar fight is all. You should see the other guy. Ahaha-”

    He laughs, scratches his nose. Even in violet, he’s still so plainly Osomatsu, still putting up the carefree front as always, no matter what it takes. Even if the lie was obvious. Even if he couldn’t keep it up for more than a few seconds under his brother’s dark stare.

    “No, that’s not completely right…” His shoulders slump, eyes averted away once again. Why couldn’t he just look Ichimatsu in the eye? “But I guess I probably deserved it, for going and picking a fight like that…”

[nekosmatsu-blog]

His reluctance is unnerving, the way his expression seems crumbled, at the edges, the way his words are unsure, tentative, so much unlike the brash and bold red his speech would usually be: perhaps insensitive and too loud at times but still, wholly, completely and utterly Osomatsu— and it feels as if Ichimatsu were to simply touch him, some part of him would break.

(Ichimatsu is concerned. His brother’s smile is force, and he almost wants to reach out, tug it back down, pull it away as he wonders— what’s going on?

What happened?)

A barfight? Ichimatsu narrows his eyes, keeping his expression unreadable as he watches his brother (pitifully, pathetically) attempt to laugh it off. Something stirs in his stomach, but Ichimatsu shoves it down; he knows he’ll give in eventually, and so he simply waits, instead, until Osomatsu speaks again.

This time, he tries to ignore the way his brother avoids his eyes (and it’s coming again— so much unlike him, so much different, and there’s a unsettling dissonance to it all, making his head just a tad but light and his fingers twitch) as he picks and pulls from his older brother’s words, eyes wandering and trailing up to quietly follow the cracks in the ceiling as he attempts to pull it all together.

“A fight,” he echoes, then drops his head again and searches his brother’s own eyes. He knows he’s not lying, not completely, not really, the the omission of something— something important, Ichimatsu knows, something vital, is unnerving, filling him with a sense of dread. Some part of him feels it’s more than a scuffle, and it feels that he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t push, afraid of what he will find if he continues to dig.

The other part continues, anyway. He’s come this far, anyway, he was here, anyway— and he feels that this is something Osomatsu should speak of. Whatever it is, anyway. “What the hell did you do?”

[oujimatsu-blog]

｢💖｣— Twin telepathy. Apparently that was something that existed between siblings born on the same date. A kind of mystical power that allowed them to communicate with each other without words, to know what the other thought, felt, what they wanted. Well, nobody had ever talked about sextuplet telepathy though. His heart raced by the time he had realized that his arms were wrapped around his brother, holding him close, whispering sweet words into his ear as if he had gone on autopilot. Nothing made much sense anymore, and without anybody holding him back in order to help releasing the built-up tension inside of him, he felt cold and unsafe. If Ichimatsu pushed him away, he’d have nobody to cling to, nobody to cheer him up, because this was his fault and his failure. His brothers wouldn’t have been dragged into this mess if it wasn’t for him. They wouldn’t have yelled at him, wouldn’t have been upset if he hadn’t tried to justify the unforgivable. For the first time in forever, he felt alone, like the world had abandoned him, and for good reasons too. 

Tears began to stream down his brother’s face, and each gentle sob, suppressed and held back, felt like another deep stab into his heart, because this was his responsibility. His fourth brother, the tough one, the distant one, the sadist, the unpredictable, the unbreakable sat in his arms sobbing, crying out his hurt and it stung. Todomatsu knew he wasn’t good at a lot of things. He was decent at most, but comforting was something he was clearly and without a doubt horrible at. Thinking about his own feelings in a situation like this? Thinking about the culprit, the executor, the mastermind behind the game before his crying sibling? No, he wasn’t like that, was he? He supported him right now. He had come all this way just to see him, just because he was worried. He didn’t abandon him. He sure as hell wasn’t clinging to him now, making the poorest attempt at comforting in order to redeem himself, to make himself feel better. He did care. He cared. God, he cared so much. 

His fingers curled into the greasy hair of his sibling, his nose burying into it in an attempt to completely erase the distance between them. There was no one in this world he was closer with, nobody who lived and breathed and looked and thought just like him. Just his family, his brothers. The people he could always come back to, who would dry his tears, cheer him up, who knew him better than he did, even. They had each other’s backs.  He clung to his brother, trying not to hurt him as he brushed his fingers over his back, taking in another shaky breath.  They had each other, yes. Unlike him. Unlike Joshua. Who carried this burden all by himself. It wasn’t wrong to be there for him too, right? Even if he did this. Even if his brother was shot, blinded and cried because of him. Even so, Todomatsu still… Regardless, he was still– “Ichimatsu-niisan…”, his voice was gentle, yet breathy. Shaky. Unstable as he tried to keep it together for him. For them both.

“I’m here for you.” Carefully, he began to shift underneath his brother, moved until he pulled his legs on the bed, curling himself around his sibling fully. He, too, needed the comfort, the closeness, the security having a brother brought. He wrapped around his torso, squeezing him close. “I-I know it’s not much, b-but… I’m here.” Be here for me too.

[nekosmatsu-blog]

Today, the world shakes on shifting foundations, cracked at its core, broken at its pillars. Outside, the world smoulders with fire, old shattered windows and toppled buildings, and inside there is also a flame, of a different nature yet still broken the same; it burns, claws at his heart, his chest, all his insides, with terror and fear and pain and everything in between.

Nothing will ever be the same, Ichimatsu knows, deep in his heart. What comes next— he doesn’t know. He doubts anyone knows. Yet— there is one unshakeable truth to this, it seems; right here, right now.

Ichimatsu and Todomatsu are brothers.

Bound by a calendar date, and perhaps by blood, but even more so by the years and years they’ve lived together, side by side, with all the others, forging a bond over years of matching sets of clothes, a giant futon and countless more. Meals. Baths. Moments in time, at home, or somewhere else, absolutely countless in number yet still infinite in worth. To him. To the both of them.

They are brothers. That was simply truth. A fact.

And nothing will ever change that.

Todomatsu is the youngest, the baby, the slyest. With words sharper than his own, Ichimatsu cannot say that he’s never felt a jealousy, a kind of detest, not too much unlike the one he felt for another brother but wholly different at its core. But it’s moments like these where the covers are flung from his metaphorical eyelids, for even the briefest of moments, where his eyesight is clearest as his gaze is the darkest, where his heart is bound tight yet still flung wide open.

Todomatsu is his brother, and nothing will ever change that. They’ll fight, yes. They’ll argue, yes. Those facts were unchangeable— they were still Ichimatsu and Todomatsu, that fact is unchangeable. But so is the fact that they are brothers, siblings, bound together by a trust, a love, a relationship unexplainable by all words yet still perfectly defined in this moment, curled against each other, tears mixing, hearts torn open and barriers all crumbling down.

Ichimatsu is crying. He weeps, openly— has never felt himself so open, so exposed, ever before— the fear lingers, still, as he knows, but never has he felt so free, so refreshed. After being wound so tight, bound by words and hatred and fear, he wants to bask in this moment, this almost sort of cleansing. Trial by fire or ice, they say: or by tears, even, snapping words crumbling and fraying, broken down to simplicity— a promise. I’m here, his brother says— it’s not much, he says, but I’m here.

It’s not much? Perhaps that was the biggest lie to ever pass Todomatsu’s lips.

Ichimatsu hiccups, wipes furiously at his face with a grimy sleeve— doubts that either of them would exactly mind, right there, right then. His breath comes in stutters, in jagged breaks he can’t seem to control— but he manages to say one thing, past it all—

“T— thank you, Todomatsu.”

He hopes that the message comes across. Prays, even, as he pulls him into his chest.

“Thank you.”

I’m here.

[oujimatsu-blog]

｢💖｣— With his face buried in his palms, his fingers brushing off each tear as they kept rolling down his cheeks, he didn’t notice the shift in his brother’s attitude until he finally spoke up again. His voice was unlike the barrage of hard, loud accusations that had rained down on him only moments ago, his words unsure, as if his brother wasn’t even addressing him. His head rose, eyes red and swollen, and they widened in surprise at the sight of his sibling mirroring his own misery. It was hard, almost unbelievably so, to see him like this. In fact, he had trouble remembering a moment in time in which Ichimatsu had cried out of… out of what? Sadness? He couldn’t really tell. The other was visibly shaken, though it was unclear to him what exactly had caused this, what he had done to make him crack like this. 

“I-Ichimatsu-niisan…” The name felt like a huge brick in his throat, uncomfortably stuck, and making it hard to swallow. He didn’t know how to react or what to do, his teeth digging into his lip as he tried to keep himself from shaking, from losing the last remaining bit of self-control he had left. It was when his fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt, and he forced himself to take another, closer look at his brother’s suffering that it occurred to him that he was hurt. No, surely he had realized it before, but it became so much more apparent, so painfully obvious how much his actions and words had shaken the fourth brother. How upset he was. How alone he must have felt. 

But what was he supposed to do about it, considering he was the cause of it? And if it wasn’t him, then at the very least he was defending the person behind it, the person who had contributed to his sibling’s current state. He had felt guilty before, but he simply felt unbearably sick by then. This wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for him. “I-I’m sorry…” He wasn’t sure what exactly he was apologizing for, except everything. Todomatsu didn’t even know why he blurted his words out like this, why it felt like the only thing to keep his demons from choking him completely in that moment. Surely, they didn’t even mean anything to his brother. Not like this, not in his current state.  He had no idea. He couldn’t read him anymore, or himself, or what happened next.

“Y-you’re right”, was what followed, his words muffled beneath his occasional sobs, though he tried to suppress them. “If it wasn’t for me, Joshua wouldn’t even know about you. He wouldn’t have chosen you. S-so if you want to hate me…” But no, he didn’t want to be hated. That was the opposite of what he wished for, though he could no longer blame him for doing so. He could only cling to a tiny bit of hope that perhaps he wanted to forgive him. Perhaps he cared about him still. “I-if you want to hate me, then go ahead.”

What had his brothers done all the time, whenever he had been upset? Was he supposed to do return that favour now, that tiny bit of comfort that used to mean the world to him? He didn’t have a younger sibling, he had no idea how to take care of one. He was good at leeching off of them, like the useless baby he had always been. But he couldn’t possibly expect any comfort from his brother now. Not if he was like this. 

Silently, he stood up, his body moving against his better judgement, his heartbeat pounding inside if his ears turning him numb to all protests. Perhaps he was acting on autopilot, and perhaps part of him didn’t care about the possible consequences. A much bigger part of him felt fear, though. Because if he fucked this up again, then… He sat down next to his sibling, barely leaving any sort of distance between them. Usually, he found himself on the receiving end of this. Usually, he was the one everybody whispered sweet words of comfort to, until his sobs died down.

Without another warning, his arms curled around his brother, wrapping around his torso, and slowly pulling him in. It felt weird, doing it like this. Doing this with Ichimatsu, out of all people. Perhaps he shouldn’t have gone through with it after all. Still, it was comforting to having him next to him, to feel him so close.  “I-it’s fine, Ichimatsu-niisan” A hand brushed through his messy hair, his fingers digging into some of his dark curls.  “You will be okay.”

[nekosmatsu-blog]

He is glad, that he cannot see, though in some ways he wishes it was, instead, the other way around. He can’t bear to see his brother’s reaction, whatever it may be; at this point he doesn’t know what could happen, is afraid of what will happen. And he doesn’t want to let him see; let Todomatsu see his own tears, his own tight face, the way he’s tensing, the way he’s red, the way he’s glancing down at his hands, like he’s unsure of what to do with them, the way his words feel, right now.

God. He won’t blame him, if his younger brother stormed out on him a teary, sobbing mess, right now. Ichimatsu probably deserves it, even, probably; can’t find it in him to tease him for such a move, though, but that was perhaps for the best. He wouldn’t blame him, if he did; at least if it happened, he’d have the room to himself.

But then Todomatsu speaks, and it’s completely unexpected, and he can’t help it when his head jerks up, eyes wide, perhaps tinged with a bit of red.

What?

The table’ve turned, and Ichimatsu would’ve almost laughed at the irony of it all if it weren’t for the fact that it made him so uncomfortable. Nothing make sense anymore. Todomatsu, admitting that Ichimatsu was right? Todomatsu, confessing with an apology?

(Todomatsu, telling Ichimatsu that he was allowed to hate him?)

“I— I don’t…” he shakes his head, like he’s trying to grasp for the words he can’t seem to form. His hands clench and unclench, and he rubs at the insides of his palms. “Todomatsu, I— I don’t… I’m not…”

And he’s looking at his hands, now, only because he’s terrified of looking up, of letting his brother see him. He’s fraying at the edges, words jumbled and terrified, and he’s wondering— why is this so hard? Who is it so hard to say, no, I don’t hate you? Why can’t he seem to bring himself say it— is it because he’s just too selfish to admit it?

Disgusting, he thinks. Here he is, throwing all this hate on the little, baby brother, blaming him for being selfish when he wasn’t being any better.

This is a mess. He knows that. Perhaps it hasn’t ended up like it did before, the first time, all those months ago, but that doesn’t mean it can’t. Doesn’t mean that it was still possible, and as much as he says he hates him, says he doesn’t want him here, says he thinks he’s stooped so low, the dial’s headed south, the burner’s died down; he’s exhausted. Tired. He doesn’t know if he can take any more, can let this disaster of a conversation drag any further.

He’s almost considering leaving. Can’t bring himself to tell Todomatsu to, and he’s figuring that he’s lived here, long enough, that he can handle it; just so as long as he leaves, as this ends, it doesn’t matter. And he almost does— shifts his hand to his side, about to heave himself up to his feet—

And then Todomatsu settles himself next to him, touches him, brings him into a hug, and suddenly Ichimatsu’s heart just stops.

It’s like the world’s gone mad, flipped over sideways, turned inside out and thrust itself into the heavens— and in a way, perhaps more literally than he’d like to admit, it has. But here? Now? His little facet of it, where things usually made sense, where things were supposed to be the way they always were, where he and Todomatsu would fight and fight, never able to craft the words they really, truly meant, where he was the elder brother and Todomatsu was the youngest brother, where Todomatsu would be the one crying, would be the one to need comfort, a hug— not this. Not this— whatever this is.

He tenses, tightly, body wound taut and eyes stretched wide. He can’t— he can’t. Can’t react, can’t say anything, can’t bring himself to even move, to even properly think.

What is this? (What is this?) Wasn’t this different? Wasn’t this off? Wasn’t this wrong? Wasn’t this twisted and turned over because he was older, and he was younger, and it was supposed to be the other way around— because Todomatsu isn’t supposed to do this, isn’t supposed to be the one to comfort, isn’t supposed to the the rock, even if Ichimatsu always failed miserably to fill that spot?

It wasn’t Todomatsu’s responsibility to do this, wasn’t his place to help him— didn’t they know that? Didn’t he know that? That this was so, so wrong?

Ichimatsu is fine. Angry, maybe, upet, maybe, but fine. He doesn’t need— he doesn’t want—

(and not from him.)

When he tries to breath, it’s like he pulling a dull saw through a log— it drags, it jerks, it never completely pulls through, snagging hard and tight at his lungs, his throat, his teeth, his tongue. His face is wet and hot and red, but he can’t think about that now— because he’s can’t break. Not here, not now.

(He doesn’t need this. Not from him.)

He’s not going to give him the damn satisfaction of giving in to this stupid hug, these attempts at gentle words. He’s not going to cry, not going to let his younger brother get to him, not going to show this just because of a cuddle, not going to trust him with even this one moment because he can’t— he can’t—

And it’s like his body’s acting on its own, releasing a single, choked sob.

And that’s when he decides to surrender, gives in, and releases everything else.

It’s relieving. To let it out, to break the dams, to take away the barriers that’ve been holding him back all this time, cracking thin at the edges, broken at the core. To let it happen, to not hold back, to allow a moment of weakness, a second of trust, because he doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend, because it’s all just too much and too hard and he just doesn’t know if he can, anymore.

Some part of him weakly protests, desperate, terrified. He doesn’t show this. He’s never shown this. Why should now be any different, just because he’s hugged him, just because he’s apologized? Why should it change now, just because he’s telling him everything’s alright, that he’ll be fine?

He doesn’t understand. Not what Todomatsu’s doing, comforting him with hugs and these gentle words; not what he’s doing, trying to hold back tears as they come and come and come. Can’t bring himself to try, not now.

But all he can do now is turn, bury his face in his brother’s shoulder, and let it all out.

He’s going to be embarrassed, he knows. Will one day fiercely deny it, violently renounce it, refuse that the moment even happened. One day he’ll probably threaten his younger brother to do the same, terrified that such a moment of weakness can ever be exposed.

But now he allows it. Tentatively releases his grip, trickles out his trust. Gingerly offers it to his brother, because he can no longer hold it, not here, not now.

For now, instead, he offers his brother a gesture of trust.

[oujimatsu-blog]

｢💖｣— The fact that he had anticipated his brother’s response to turn out like this didn’t make receiving it any easier. His aggressive, repulsed tone was nothing the youngest sibling wasn’t familiar with - Ichimatsu had a tendency to give off the impression that he didn’t care, and when he did then in all the wrong ways. The one brother who never failed to look past his facades, who never stopped calling him out for his acts and lies, and perhaps that was the reason they had such a hard time getting along, because it was taxing, exhausting to have someone in his family he’d never be able to fully outwit. 

Granted, the same could be said for all of his siblings to some extend. Just that they usually had enough tact, enough sympathy and enough courtesy to just let him be. Never Ichimatsu though, and perhaps he simply hated his useless masquerade as much as Todomatsu disliked his. Perhaps they would have less trouble getting along if they just were honest for once, that was what he believed. But in that moment he had been honest, more genuine than ever before, and yet this honesty was met with backlash, with rage, disappointment and hurt. He got it. He was a terrible human being. Stop rubbing it in, please. 

More and more ugly words rained down on him, and while part of him had already decided to accept it all for his purpose, he was suffering, nearing tears with every single accusation he had to deal with. It was at this moment that another voice raised from the back of his mind, and in his gross self-pity he wondered if he really did deserve that. Why he was the only person in this world who apparently agreed with him that this was the right decision. That for once he had to choose someone else over his brothers, and yet here he was, miserable and sad and choking on his guilt.

“Do you really think that, Ichimatsu-niisan?” He struggled, trying his best to keep his voice even, despite being sure that his brother would figure out how close he was to tearing up anyway. Nothing to do about that now. If he wanted to twist the knife a little bit more, who was he to stop him anyway? “Do you honestly believe that I’d have forgiven him if he had done this just to hurt you? Really, Ichimatsu-niisan?! Is that what you think of me?” His voice cracked, his pitch raising while he tried to swallow his chokes, biting his lips and muffling a couple of sobs behind his palm. 

“Cruel… that’s so mean.” It was only then that he noticed the tears rolling down his cheeks. He felt so sick.

“You really think I care about you this little? I’m your brother too, you know?” It hammered at the back of his mind, their only sanctuary, their brotherhood. Regardless of what happened, in the end they were still a family. No matter what, they always came back together, as their brother’s arms were their only shelter from a world this cruel. Surely, they couldn’t simply abandon him because of this. Surely they knew that deep down, they meant everything to him, that he needed them as much as they did. Surely he hadn’t ruined something this fundamental, their trust and love and care, by rejecting them over and over and over again. They knew he didn’t mean it, right? They knew all these words about how much he hated them and wanted them gone were all talk. About how shitty they were, how useless, how he’d sell them for a dollar each. And surely they didn’t mean it when they called him a dried-up monster. Because with even one of them missing, they weren’t complete. There was no way they’d cut off his roots and throw him out because of something like this. 

[nekosmatsu-blog]

Who are Todomatsu and Ichimatsu?

Of all the brothers, Ichimatsu’s sure, he’s the one the youngest has always disliked the most. They’ve never gotten along; they’ve had the sharpest tongues, the cruelest words, both of them.

Todomatsu is a liar—

the false words, the cover up stories, the crafted ideas to become something better, something more, to throw away who he was as if he could throw it away, as if he could really become something better and something more when Ichimatsu knows he couldn’t, instead of admitting and coming to terms with how garbage he is, how garbage they all are

— (And so is he.)

How often have they fought? Traded words of apparent hate, pitted their words against each other? Ichimatsu can’t remember. It’s been too much, too many; they all meld together, their memories a hazy mass, crafted of witty words and insults both knew the other really didn’t mean. Not completely. Not entirely. A game, they almost treated it like. They never really meant it.

(But is this a game?)

He expects retribution. More words, more knives, another stab from that sharp, sharp tongue. This is what they’ve always done, this game of tossing back and forth, of tossed insults and sly remarks. He’s defending this Composer, after all. Why would now be any different?

He expects guilt. He wants it, even— to make sure that Todomatsu gets the point. Understands that this was all him, this was all he, that what he was doing here was wrong and disgusting and that he should feel bad for what he’s doing because it was just— just wrong.

What he doesn’t expect— (or does he? if he wanted guilt, what else should he have expected?)— are the tears.

Todomatsu is crying.

“Do I—?” and despite everything— despite everything— he finds himself turning at the first choke— the first sob, and he feels his own heart skip a beat, his own throat seize up until he feels like he can’t breath.

Does he? Does he really blame him for this? Does he really not consider Todomatsu as one of them— here when he’s ostracized him, calling him out, here where Todomatsu is choosing someone who’s hurt them all instead of the family who’s been by him for all these years?

(What does he think?)

Something pounds at his insides, and his anger bubbles over, like a boiling pot; it crawls to the top, clawing, rolling with a sort of rage— but it’s something else. Something different. Like someone’s turned the dial, perhaps plucked something in, and he’s left wheezing, breathless, puzzled and disoriented.

How fucking old are they? some part of him seeths. What is Ichimatsu— some sort of babysitter, having to care for his stupid baby brother? The one who’d always cry? Was he some sort of— sort of parent, having to look out for some idiot who— who— (it doesn’t fucking matter)— like they’re ten, again? Like they’re children, again, kids, again, idiots who didn’t know anything better, and nothing was really real, nothing was really important (not like this, not like here, not like today) and— and here Ichimatsu is, the goddamn bully, about to be chastised for making his crybaby baby brother cry?

This isn’t his goddamn fault, he tells himself. Ichimatsu’s the one hurting here— right? Todomatsu was in the wrong. Ichimatsu was in the right. Todomatsu had gone off and defended the asshole, like the hypocrite he was— like the hypocrite he is.

(Todomatsu is a liar.)

Wasn’t he simply getting what was coming to him? Because— here Ichimatsu is, broken, hurt, blinded— and here Todomatsu is, before him like he was some sort of mighty protector, as if these words would actually do anything to placate the pain and this mess, not understanding anything Ichimatsu was going through because he’s apparently friends with the person who started this all.

(It’s a necessity.)

They aren’t little. They aren’t ten again, they aren’t back home again, and they certainly aren’t kids again.

It isn’t his responsibility to take care of his younger brother. Aren’t they all adults now? Aren’t they all independent now? Why would he have to take care of him, when he’s supposed to stand up all on his own, all by himself? When they’re too old, when they’re not supposed to cry, anymore?

This isn’t his goddamn fault. He did nothing wrong. He’s not the bad guy here.

(But— but why—?)

Something pounds at his insides— (what is this? What is this?)— and Ichimatsu doesn’t realize that he’s been breathing hard until he suddenly chokes, doubling over in a fit of coughing and burning throat, clenching chest, heaving lungs. Hot tears of his own line the thins at the edge of his eyes like acid, and— he’s shaking. (Why is he shaking?) Ichimatsu swallows, loudly, and clears his throat, turning his face away.

“It’s— it’s not my responsibility,” he says, finally, quietly, his voice barely anything more than a wheezy breath. (What is he saying?) “You… you did this. You… you…”

You?

Ichimatsu’s words fall, collapse into a jumble of throaty wheezes and dry, heavy breaths. His voice falters, and his head falls.

What is this?

[oujimatsu-blog]

｢💖｣— The way his brother navigated himself through his apartment, carefully moving from Point A to B, fumbling with shaky fingers was a sight that caused his heart to sink, and while he had already sat down on a chair next to the other’s bed, the idea of his brother potentially losing his balance and falling made him want to get up and assist him. Except he didn’t, because he read the mood, and he wasn’t sure how Ichimatsu would react to him coming close, let alone touch and help him.  Empathizing how useless he was on his own, how the so-called doll of darkness moved carefully and frightened, like a kitten with a broken leg. Swallowing for a second, he shut his eyes and looked away, his fingers curling into fists in his lap as he waited for his brother to sit down. 

“I just thought you might have wanted to know that it’s temporarly. You’ll get your eyesight back, I promise.” Not that he had any way to influence any of this. Not like his only choice was to put his faith into Joshua’s words, too.  He sighed. “And no, I didn’t expect you to forgive him. I just wanted to let you know he didn’t want to do this either. In fact, he feels more miserable about the whole thing than all of us together.”

Another pause followed, a pause he very much needed if he wanted to stay steady and calm during this conversation. It was draining, to see his brother so beaten up, so tired and too weak to fight back. How he himself was sitting between two seats, trying to convey despite nobody asking him to. Suddenly this entire talk felt so meaningless, as if he was wasting his breath on this because forgiveness and sympathy was the last thing on his brother’s mind, he could tell. Regardless, there was no other place he’d have rather been in that moment. It didn’t sit right with him to leave his sibling all to himself in his depressing state. Perhaps it was about time to change the topic.

“I haven’t spoken to Choromatsu-niisan yet, but I’m sorry about whatever you had to go through. It was a cruel experience for all of us but…” He could tell he was running his mouth again. Why was he here anyway? To defend Joshua, or to look after his sibling? “There was a purpose to it. I don’t really get it myself but I know there was a reason for everything that happened to us. He isn’t the kind of person to torture people just for the sake of that.”

[nekosmatsu-blog]

This isn’t about his eyesight, anymore. Maybe it was, in some ways, in most ways, but Ichimatsu feels them digging at something more. Something bitter and older lying underneath, and some part of him feels that they need to stop. Stop, before they cross a line, before they— before he— says something he’ll regret. Before they repeat that day, again.

But another part of him, inflamed and impassioned, burns with anger. He’s disgusted. (He feels betrayed.) He’s sickened. (He feels lied to.) Why go through the effort of talking to him about this ass? (Doesn’t he care?) Why is he so calm about all of this? (Doesn’t he care?) His words are lame, limp; they sour at the edges, weary, nothing like the sharpness, the wit, the curved truths and crafted lies he’d always felt the mildest bit of jealousy for— his own tongue was sharp, but never that sharp, could never get back with anything better.

But now they’re uncomfortable, edged with an almost sense of uneasiness, and Ichimatsu would’ve wondered, if he weren’t so angry. Gritting his teeth, he turns his face away; mostly out of habit, because they both know what use that would do for him.

“So what? Do you want me to give your friend a fucking pity party for murdering us all? For putting us through this shit? ‘There’s a reason for everything that happened to us’ … I thought you were a better liar than this.”

He spits the words out bitterly, angrily. He’s not holding back-- and some small part of him tells him that, perhaps, this could be too much, but he doesn’t care anymore.

Ichimatsu knows full well what he’s doing. Perhaps he’s never said this, never commented much, but— he was a better reader than what he gave himself credit to. Than what he let his brothers give him. Because even if he can’t see— see his younger brother’s reactions, his twitches, his expressions— he can sense his uneasiness. Hear his reluctance. Feel his guilt. And he latches on to that— clings onto it, almost inhuman, snagging it with claws and bearing down on it merciless with his words.

(Because, Ichimatsu feels, he deserves to feel guilty. Deserves to feel this pain. Because Ichimatsu was suffering, Choromatsu was suffering, his brothers were suffering, and this— this sorry excuse for a younger brother, who actually had the nerve to accuse him of not caring about his brothers, now has the damn audacity to defend the very person who did all of this to them.)

“So if you’re telling me you don’t want me to forgive me, then why the fuck are you doing this?” He narrows his eyes in his brother’s direction. “I don’t get it. Are you trying to defend him? Trying to direct my anger at that asshole onto yourself? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Ichimatsu says, scoffing, moistening his lips with a tilt of his head away. “Imagine that. Matsuno Todomatsu trying to fucking protect the bastard who broke us all… tch.”

It’s a mix of a laugh, of a scoff, of a choke. He sounds nearly strangled, bitter and angry and disgusted, but the detest in his voice is utterly unmistakable. (Even if he doesn’t see it, he knows how hard every word twists sharper and sharper into his younger brother’s chest.) “I didn’t think even you were capable of stooping that low.”

[yookikiku]

I based this off the conversation with Gon and Killua “In my next life, I want to be me, and meet you again!” 

But I think Jyuushimatsu would love everyone too much to really single anyone out!

[oujimatsu-blog]

｢💖｣— He was listening, staying silent and paying close attention to every single one of his brother’s words, as if the anger was directed at him, as if he was the one responsible for his pitiful state. Of course, he was just the conveyer of news. Preparing the other for what was still to come, and bracing him for the greater, the longer explanation his housemate would eventually have in store for him. He knew that it wasn’t his place to interfere, he didn’t need to protect Joshua from this, especially when he insisted to be the one to clear things up, to apologize, to take the responsibility rightfully, since it was his. “…Yes. We’ve been friends for the past months. He’s important to me.”

Regardless of his fee, he didn’t understand why this was so hard to admit. Perhaps part of him felt bad, felt guilty for calling the person who had murdered half of his family an acquaintance. That he should have dropped him like a hot potato, or perhaps at least hurt him, or killed him. That he deserved to pay for this, and that since he knew him best out of everybody in his family, it was up to him to avenge them, to make sure he’d never even think about touching any of them ever again.

“The scientists ordered him to host a game, because that is what he used to do in his world before he was sent here. It’s complicated, I’m sure he can explain it much better than me.” Another pause followed, together with a sigh. “I just wanted to tell you that your fee will be returned to you in a week. So don’t worry about it.”

[nekosmatsu-blog]

“He’s important to me,” Todomatsu says, and if it were another time, another place, Ichimatsu would’ve found it in him to tease. But here, now, he feels nothing, only the pit of disgust and anger gorge even deeper into his stomach, into his chest.

(He feels betrayed. Lied to. Yes— he’s heard of Joshua, a little in passing, but not this part. Not where he’s some sort of god, capable of toying with their lives, and it’s only now, bruised and beaten and blind, Ichimatsu hears of it.)

“What do you want me to do?” Ichimatsu turns away, his arms unraveling and his palms moving out; by his luck, he catches what he’s looking for: his bed. He feels around, quickly, smoothing out the sheets before lowering himself down, slowly, deliberately, to a sitting position, before he lowers his head and hands. He begins playing with his fingers, though he sees absolutely nothing, his gaze fixed on an unseen point just a little above his hands. “Thank you for telling me? Is it that all you came here for? To say that I’d get this— this fee back— my sight back— and that’s it? Just forgetting how I was forced to fight these-- these things with Choromatsu-niisan freaking out, how I’ve been blinded and couldn’t do anything?”

His voice begins to break in the slightest, and he shuts himself up before he can say any more, lowering his hands and head, going silent. Frankly, he feels almost offended that losing his ability to fucking see was called a fee— like he gave it up deliberately. As if he wanted it. As if this was just some petty game, not something with his life on the line— and that a vital sense was called something so minor— so irrelevant— so insignificant— as a ‘fee’.

Who cares about the stupid scientists? This Joshua still did it at the end eventually, didn’t he? Ichimatsu isn’t here to have some fucking pity party for the ass who started it all, this person who is apparently important to his younger brother.

(Besides, Ichimatsu wonders faintly, quietly.

If he was important to Todomatsu, then why was he killed, too? Why was he forced to participate with the rest of them?)

“...well, thanks, then,” Ichimatsu says, dryly, instead. He narrows his eyes, until they’re almost shut. “I’m glad you told me.”

Of course he doesn’t mean it.

[oujimatsu-blog]

｢💖｣— “He didn’t tell me more than that you too participated.” He blurted out his words faster than he meant to, as if trying to defend this all, trying to justify any of the terrible things that happened to them. Already, he felt like he was tripping, falling and tumbling into a direction he didn’t want this conversation to head into. There was a certain kind of unrest in his brother’s voice as soon as the Composer was mentioned, and if he didn’t know his identity, surely he’d be able to sympathize with the feisty hatred tainting his sibling’s words. Four of them had been killed. Five, but right now, he wasn’t aware of the existence of his second oldest brother, as part of his fee’s effect. Four out of the Matsuno quintuplets dead, reduced to the pathetic, unreal state most of them found themself in right now. He didn’t dare blaming him for the obvious hatred boiling inside of his chest, though that didn’t make it any easier for his ears to receive it. 

His hands clutches his sleeves, arms hugging himself with his eyes glued onto his brother, the dull emptiness of his glance causing his muscles to tense, a cold shiver running down his spine. For what kind of purpose did he feel the need to go to such extends with them? As much as he knew his housemate wasn’t the person ultimately to blame for this, he couldn’t help but feel it was cruel. A single hand moved forward, halting right in front of his brother’s eyes, who didn’t blink, didn’t show any signs of reaction. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, and perhaps the only thing he was thankful for was the fact that Ichimatsu didn’t see him whitening, didn’t see his grief.  “He said four of us were forced to partake in his game. H-he–” His words were stuck in his throat like rocks, despite each carefully calculated phrase lingering on the tip of his tongue. Accepting the truth was one thing, but saying it out loud was another.

“He killed us, then took something precious from each one and forced us to play his game.” Another pause, another short breath in order to keep himself together.  “His name is Joshua. We’re close friends.”

[nekosmatsu-blog]

Ichimatsu narrows his eyes— can’t help but scoff, and his hands pull out from his sweater, crossing before him, offended, irritated, protectively.  “That’s convenient,” he finds himself muttering, finding that old sharp spark of his sneaking back. “Leaving out the part with what happened to us. With us getting hurt. He probably doesn’t even care.” And you probably don’t, either, Ichimatsu wants to add, bitterly, but the words catch at the back of his teeth before they could escape— and perhaps for the better.

(Of course he cares, Ichimatsu knows; he’s here, after all. But he feels betrayed. That Todomatsu knew this— knew him— and he didn’t even know. That he’s here— probably even passed, he figured— trying to help him, who knows, and Ichimatsu’s hurt and broken and blind and had not even the slightest idea.)

Tsukuyomi tells him when he gets emotional— even in the short time she’s stayed taking care of him, she already knows, has already noticed— his eyes wander, crawling around everywhere, and he doesn’t know if he wants to let his brother see, or to hide them away, keep him from seeing him even more pathetic. Instead he closes his eyes, bites at his tongue, trying to calm himself down as his brother attempts to explain.

Four of them, Todomatsu says. One more than he’s known— meaning that four of the five of them that he remembers were forced into this— this hellish act of a game, and Ichimatsu feels even angrier. And— “Joshua”. The name’s a little familiar; taps the lightest of bells of familiarity in his mind, but it bangs at his heart, his lungs, and he tucks it away. Joshua. He’ll care to remember that for later.

“You say that he’s killed us,” Ichimatsu begins, slowly— and he’s rocking on his feet, swaying, trying to process it all, “that he— did this. Put us through this. Forced us into this hell, did this to us and— you call him a friend? A close friend? Am I hearing that right?”

[oujimatsu-blog]

｢💖｣— It took a moment until the door creaked open, the sound of objects falling over on the other side unnerving him more than he would have expected. And when he finally got to see his older brother’s face, it caused his heart to sink, seeing how much he struggles, and how hesitant every single one of his moves was. He had no idea about his fee. He knew that, just like most of his brothers, he had participated in Joshua’s game and lost, but nobody had told him what heavy price he had to pay for this failed attempt. When his arm was touched, it was only for a second, his brother retreating like a cornered animal, his legs shaky and god, he knew it was only a matter of time before he fell over, if he didn’t yet. Bruises decorating his brother’s face and arms was nothing all too unfamiliar to him, but the mood hanging in the air screamed dangerous and unpredictable to him.

Instead of answering his question, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him while he felt his stomach clenching up, a feeling of sickness overcoming him because his brother’s eyes didn’t follow him. In fact, ever since his arrival, he hadn’t raised his head to look at him once, hadn’t turned when he moved past him or stopped him otherwise. It made him wonder if the brief contact between them had been intentional at all or not. “I-I…”, he couldn’t possibly lose his nerves now, not yet. If anything, perhaps he should have been proud of himself for deciding to look after him and make sure he was okay. 

“I wanted to see how you’re doing. You’ve been part of the Reaper’s Game too, right? I spoke to the mastermind behind it, and he told me about you.”

[nekosmatsu-blog]

He doesn’t even know Todomatsu’s in the room until he hears the click of the door shutting behind him, and blankly Ichimatsu turns towards the sound, eyes blinking blindly as he listens to his brother enter, not bothering to turn.

(Some of him is terrified to, hoping his brother won’t see.)

Does he even know? He doubts he does— and that’s a good thing, some part of him tells him. He doesn’t need to know. But another part of him is terrified, terrified that he’ll find out (and it knows— he’ll find out, eventually) and fear claws desperately at his heart, and now he doesn’t have the strength to try and clench it down— and so instead he channels it into his fists, into his hands, into his fingers that claw at his palms: and he shoves them protectively into his pockets, all too aware of how he looks.

The bruises are nothing new, both of them know too well, but this time they’re different— and Ichimatsu wonders just how much his younger brother knows. Not of the darkness, but what happened when it’d first arrived.

He knows people were there, wherever it was, that deadly, empty echo of their city. Knows he and Choromatsu weren’t the only ones who participated, in that game, the one that took his brother’s courage and his eyesight, forcing them to work together for— who knows what, as if whatever was taken away from them wasn’t deemed worthy enough to at least assist them in battling life threatening monsters that hurt both of them.

(And Ichimatsu couldn’t even do anything.)

Was Todomatsu a part of that nightmare? He can’t see him, hasn’t heard him speak, so he doesn’t know. Not that’d it matter. He could care less about his younger brother right now— all he’s concerned with, frankly, is what he has to say, and this time he doesn’t care for an apology, or compensation, or anything like that: all he wants is to be alone. To shoo him away, once he got whatever he wanted to say out.

He doesn’t want him here.

(At least— that’s what he thinks. At first, anyway.)

Some part of him is desperate. Tsukuyomi knows, Choromatsu knows, whoever did this to him knows, but he doesn’t want anyone else to know— let alone Todomatsu. This isn’t something he’d just— share with him. Confide to him. It’s like a weakness, a secret identity, some part of him he wants (needs) to keep his own, and sharing it would be a gesture of trust— and Ichimatsu’s never trusted him.

(And why should he, now?)

Better if he didn’t, better if he doesn’t, Ichimatsu figures, because even when he was able to see him he felt helpless and weak and pathetic enough, but now without his sight to even warn him— to even show him, show him anything— he feels utterly defenseless. He still has his tongue, still has his ears— he isn’t muted, isn’t deafened, but that doesn’t mean that, in some ways, it feels as if he is.

He keeps his head lowered, his eyes in the general direction of where he knows his feet are; perhaps Todomatsu’s noticed something, by now, but it’s not the time to dwell, on that. When Todomatsu speaks up, again— a stutter, unsure, and the deja vu pounds again— Ichimatsu can’t help but turn, slightly, towards the voice; he’d been off, just by a little, and it’s only now he knows where Todomatsu is, just a little before him to his left.

If Todomatsu is going to stutter, Ichimatsu thinks, the way he always does whenever he’s here, then why bother? And he’s even about to shoo him away— perhaps a little earlier than expected but, well, he can’t help it— when his next words stop him right in his tracks.

“The ‘Reaper’s Game’?” Ichimatsu echoes, and despite himself he finds himself almost wanting to laugh. “So that’s what it’s called, then…”

His head lifts to face his younger brother, and for the moment he can’t bring himself to care that now Todomatsu’ll see his blank eyes, his dead stare, the lights cut off in the back of his pupils; he almost wants him to see it, as for the first time he feels the mildest bit of fear give to a flicker of anger. The mastermind. The person behind this— Choromatsu’s sudden dependency, his lost of sight. Todomatsu speaks of him casually, as if— as if Ichimatsu wasn’t hurt, because of him, as if Ichimatsu wasn’t blind, couldn’t see, because of him, as if that was all just nothing, to him.

(One half of him is aware that Todomatsu is perhaps trying to keep his composure, that he’s aware of this, but— does he really care, right now?)

“This mastermind,” Ichimatsu says, and he’s almost surprised at how calm he’s managed to make himself sound. “You spoke to him, and he told you about me…? Tch. Well, did he tell you about this? About what he did to Choromatsu-niisan?”

[oujimatsu-blog]

｢💖｣— Now, this was one of the conversations he had been the most nervous about. Not just because his conversation partner was a general pest to talk to, and god, he had a tendency to exhaust the youngest so much, but because he had no idea what he was supposed to expect to find behind that door.  He had knocked, then rang the bell a second later. According to his housemate, his ears were still functioning, so he’d only have to wait patiently until the other found his way toward the door. Perhaps he had already found some assistance too. Or, and that was what he assumed, he was stubbornly starving himself to death all alone in his room.

“Ichimatsu-niisan, can you open up?” He tried to reach him through the door, despite his better judgement. Surely, hearing his voice was the last thing his brother wanted right now. “I brought food for your cats.”

@nekosmatsu

[nekosmatsu-blog]

Tsukuyomi is out, for the afternoon; it is a necessity, he tells himself— is what he had told her, even, as if, somehow, that would convince him that it was true. 

It is a necessity, he’d said, because they can’t spend being pent up like this. She can’t spend being pent up like this. Besides; they needed supplies. Groceries. He’d had the habit of going only once a month, of stretching himself dry and thin till he was stretched too taut and he’d be forced out of the house into the sticky sun and even more sticky crowds to grab more perishable necessities, but with everything that’s been happening— he’s ever dryer, and even thinner, and even if it’s only been three weeks he (she) finds his pantry and his fridge bare.

She’s reluctant, every bit as he feels but will never say, but he convinces her it’s for the best; one afternoon isn’t going to kill him. So she goes (it’s a necessity, it’s a necessity), leaves him behind, and the words tremble old on his lips even long after he’s said them.

His room is once again quiet, when she’s gone. Stale and old; reminds him too much of the time right after his arrival, the sense of anxiety and raging loneliness rolling up his insides and knotting his stomach, because the room was too quiet, too clean. Now it is also too dark, too black, and he feels the fear pounding at the back of his thoughts again, the cores of his fingers beginning to tremble, and Ichimatsu crawls into bed in a (futile, he knows) attempt to make the time pass.

The voice of the youngest and his accompanying pounding rouses him from his slumber, and this time he decides not to bother with his eyes, the strangeness and the feeling of it being all wrong when he’s supposed to escape one void but simply returns to another (one he can’t escape but simply awakening), and so he hovers, there, with his eyes closed, some part of him pretending that none of this was real.

He doesn’t want him here. He doesn’t want to hear his voice, have him talk, have him try and converse, go off about who knows what. He doesn’t want to face him, his questions, his words, because for all Ichimatsu could say Todomatsu could always come back with something better. Because now he’s blind, now he’s even more helpless, and he’s not in the mood for the stupid youngest and his stupid words.

(Some part of him doubts that’s the case, knows they should’ve made up after everything that happened with their first fight, here, but— he can’t help it. The blindness stirs up too much, holds back too little.)

But he knows he doesn’t want to bother with him badgering at the door— better to get it over with— and, besides, he’s remembered that it’s the one thing he forgot to tell Tsukuyomi to buy, and so he breaks the illusion with a creaking open of his eyes to more darkness and a sigh, reluctantly pulling himself out of the sheets and to the strange world that was his floor.

It’s a wonder how things he thought he was used to can become so foreign. Tsukuyomi was there to help, usually, but he can get by enough on his own well enough— but he cringes at the clanging, the banging, and he knows Todomatsu outside can hear it all.

(Just to add more to this stupid pity party.)

He opens the door, reluctantly, just a crack— and he thinks the deja vu would’ve been stronger, if he’d been able to see. He keeps his blank gaze on the floor— or tries to, at least, compensating with his face lowered and tucked in. He doesn’t know if it’s dark, if his brother can see his face— he can’t even see his, which unnerves him.

“Todomatsu,” he manages to croak. He’s mildly surprised that he can still shrink back with how much he’s hiding already. He darts out his hand, blindly (ha, ha)— hopes to snag at air, ask his brother to drop it in because he doesn’t want to bother with this whole blind thing, but he miscalculates and hits his brother squarely on the arm.

He hisses a soft curse, and retreats even further, even farther. He’s frowning, his head’s even lowered, and he doesn’t know where his eyes are wandering, now. He coughs, and turns his head completely away. “What do you want?”

[lightmorphogeneticfield]

Don’t be alarmed, Hive City, if you walk by Sector 6 and hear the gentle giggling coming from the woods.. Did you see that? No, of course not, there’s no such thing as fairies. You must be losing your mind. If you hear soft voices and sing song tones, it would be best to stay away from District Mu.. at least, for now.

[[Hello hello hello my lovely muns! It’s been three years since I’ve done a mini event so I’m really excited. Last time I did one of these I had so much fun, so here we go again! I’m stoked, I’ve been planning this for months.

On July 25th, I (well, Light) will be hosting a Midsummer’s Night Dream themed summer ball which will take place in Sector 6, District Mu! The ball itself takes place on the 25th, but starters for the ball can be written from the 25th of July to the 1st of August, so the ball itself will have only been one night in Citta canon, but the event will be a week real time. It’ll be a semi formal to formal type deal and I’ll be contacting a couple people through out the month (IC) about things like food, drink, decor, etc.

So! Do me a favor and reblog this post! Just like the last ball I did, I’m going to be making invitations for everyone who does (Citta affiliated blogs only, obviously) which means your submit box needs to be open so your character can get theirs.

Use the tag #ca midsummer as easy access for starters, dash commentary, etc. so that it’s easier for people to follow. That’s the tag I’ll be using for updates or news about the event as well!

If anyone has any questions, please feel free to contact me about it! I’d love to answer them! IMs are open as well if you feel more comfortable contacting me that way. I hope people will enjoy doing this event as much as I’ve enjoyed planning it!]]

[nekosmatsu-blog]

ichimatsu means a lot to me and i'm so happy for how you write him, he's got just the right mix of traits and feels so Real, whether in serious situations or surreal ones

[meme][accepting!]

hecKLES…… you’re very welcome! one thing i try to keep constant is that ichi is completely and utterly human despite the traits a lot of the fandom always bloat to these insane proportions— i honestly really really love him as a person and i love to tap into those little hidden parts of him that he doesn’t show as much… but you’re very welcome! i’m glad you like how i write him!

anonymously tell me what you think of my character portrayal

[nekosmatsu-blog]

It’s hot outside.

Cats are better than dogs, Ichimatsu’s always said. Because they didn’t need to go outside as much, so Ichimatsu didn’t need to go outside as much. It was an arrangement he was always more than fine with.

But with the reaper’s game and everything after it, ESP Kitty can’t stand to be inside any longer— insists on the outside world, even— and Ichimatsu can’t refuse him. He’s lucky, then, that he’s familiar enough with the place to manage a half-decent stumble outside; even remembers to grab his older brother’s old sunglasses from all the way back with his arrival into this hellish place: something about protecting his eyes, or whatever. He doesn’t know.

But he’s not lucky enough to avoid him. His younger brother.

(How could he let him see him, like this?)

Something seizes up inside of him, panic flaring up in a heated, terrified blaze— his (Karamatsu’s) glasses jump, too, right off his face, clattering to the ground, and it takes all he is not to jump and bolt the other way. (Not like that’d help any, of course. He’d probably notice, run after him, and it would be so much more of a mess.)

He can’t stand to look up either, though; knows his little brother will see the glazed eyes, the unfocused gaze— knows that he’ll ask questions, too many of them, none of which he’ll be able to answer. Will want to answer.

(Though he suspects he’s only delaying the inevitable. Not that he cared much about that, either.)

He keeps his head bowed, face lowered and turned away, but his trembling is unmistakable. It’s like he’s trying his best to hold together, but even the lightest touch would make him fall apart into unfixable pieces. (Not like that’s happened before, but this is so, so much worse.) “Jyushimatsu,” he manages to breath out, shakily. “Y— you’re… you’re here.”

Please go away, he wants to say— to leave him alone, to turn his eyes the other way. Because how could he cave in on himself, let his emotions collapse in with a trembling, terrifying, magnificent heave, with his brother as witness? But he doesn’t— he can’t. And so he just stands there, face bowed and eyes glossy, prepared for whatever was going to come his way.