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Michikatsu was never a fan of thunderstorms. He enjoyed a light rain every now and then, enjoyed the feeling of cool pearls cascading down his exercise-warmed skin. Thunderstorms were the harsher, less pleasant cousin that forced Michikatsu away from the training grounds and any sort of productivity.
He sighed as he listened to the low, peeling rumbles, his arms crossed upon the shoji window with his chin resting on top. The brief flashes of blinding lightning no longer served to entertain him, instead they only reminded him of his current predicament: boredom.
Michikatsu was a boy who was easily bored. He was always very active, having to be with his incredibly tight schedule and harsh training for a seven year old. Sitting around doing nothing made him fidgety, as he wasn’t used to staying still. It was days like these he disliked most, where the weather trapped him indoors with nothing but the bustling of maids and servants to listen to.
He sighed, tapping against the paper and wood walls with his palms in a thoughtless rhythm. His arms were hanging out in the cool wind, droplets of rain landing on his face and icy air blanketing his upper body. He watched the cool gray sky, shivering slightly from the cold. If anyone saw him he’d likely be scolded for risking getting sick, but Michikatsu didn’t feel like moving elsewhere to pass the time. Unless…
Michikatsu slid the window closed and began walking with a destination in mind. If there was anybody who could relieve him of his restlessness, it was his odd little brother, Yoriichi.
Yoriichi and Michikatsu were very different compared to each other, despite being twins. Their appearances were identical aside from clothing and hairstyles, and of course, the birthmark that cursed Yoriichi with a less fortunate childhood.
Their personalities however, were polar opposites; Yoriichi was very quiet and withdrawn, and Michikatsu was more lively and involved. Michikatsu quickly grew tired of waiting, while Yoriichi was fine being stuck inside his tiny three tatami mat room nearly all day.
As much as he pitied his situation as the family’s black sheep, Michikatsu often found Yoriichi at the center of his curiosity.
Because Yoriichi, in all his seven years of age, never once talked nor showed emotion to his brother, or anyone for that matter. His face was emotionally equivalent to a blank canvas, not even the slightest twitch of his lips or the creasing of eyebrows ever crossed it. The only noticeable childish thing about him was whenever Michikatsu witnessed Yoriichi running across the courtyard to cling to his mother.
This strange behavior made the many adults around them, with the exception of their mother, to believe Yoriichi was deaf. Michikatsu knew this to be untrue, however, as Yoriichi understood and responded to his words in his own silent ways whenever they spent time with each other. But that wasn’t enough, because no matter how well Yoriichi understood, he never responded verbally nor gave Michikatsu any emotional expression that he had the slightest care of what he was saying. It was frustrating, but also intriguing.
This fascination with his twin, along with a mixture of pity and brotherly affection, was what made Michikatsu seek him out so consistently, despite being scolded and even hit by his father for doing so.
And here he was again, breaking his father’s rule of no contact.
Michikatsu held his hakama pants above his ankles as he snuck around the part of the estate he wasn’t allowed in. No one else seemed to be around, so any sound the boy made would echo through the silence, despite the constant, pounding rain. The lighting cast long, twisting shadows across the hallways, and Michikatsu shivered slightly. The dim light from the afternoon sun being covered by the clouds, and the very few candles being lit around the hallways only added to the eerie atmosphere.
Michikatsu was thankful when he reached the small niche away from all the other rooms that belonged to Yoriichi. He let go of his pants and reached out to slide the door open when-
A particularly loud crash of thunder roared outside, and Michikatsu barely heard the whimper that followed, coming from inside the room; Yoriichi’s room.
Michikatsu blinked, then yanked open the door, heart racing. Was that sound from Yoriichi? Was he hurt somehow? He gasped lightly at the sudden shock of temperature. Yoriichi’s room was cold. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, before landing on the empty futon in the middle of the room where his brother was supposed to be. And after a moment, he caught sight of the small, shivering figure huddled in the corner, pressed so tightly against the walls Michikatsu didn’t notice it at first.
Yoriichi was unrecognizable from his normal, perfectly composed self. He had buried his face into his knees and was rocking on his heels with a detached sort of motion. He was hugging himself with his arms, his awfully tight grip apparent with how his knuckles were white. Another flash of lightning and a crash of thunder, and Yoriichi’s entire body jolted. Michikatsu was startled into action.
He quickly closed the door and walked over to kneel by his twin’s side, “Yoriichi?” He called, equal parts concerned and curious.
Yoriichi flinched and raised his eyes, which were glassy and unfocused- Michikatsu found with worry- and stared in a daze.
“Um…” Michikatsu continued when Yoriichi didn’t answer, “are you… alright?” He placed a tentative hand on Yoriichi’s knee. Another flash of lightning followed by loud thunder, and Yoriichi recoiled, a terrified sob escaping him.
Yoriichi, who he previously thought was emotionless, was crying now, Michikatsu realized, and he panicked. Not knowing what else to do in this unforeseen situation, Michikatsu wrapped his arms around Yoriichi’s curled up frame, pulling him close and resting his cheek upon his head. “It’s okay, It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s just a storm, nothing to be afraid of…”
Yoriichi shook worryingly hard in Michikatsu’s arms, his crying now silent. He gripped the front of his brother’s haori almost painfully hard as another violent crack of thunder shook the room.
Michikatsu felt anxiousness bubbling up inside him. He had always wanted to see Yoriichi express something to him other than vacant staring, but… not like this. The terror his little brother was emitting was unnerving Michikatsu, to say the least. He had never seen so much fear from anyone, let alone his expressionless twin.
He began rubbing small circles on his brother’s back in an effort to calm him. “It’s okay Yoriichi, I’m here,” he whispered, and hugged him even tighter.
Yoriichi twitched, then uncurled slightly to tightly reciprocate the embrace, his fingers digging into the back of Michikatsu’s thick clothing, as if afraid he would disappear. He cried silently into the crook of his brother’s neck, the shaking in his limbs briefly jumped up a notch every time the thunderstorm screamed outside.
Michikatsu continued his best efforts to comfort him, rocking back and forth in a rhythm he hoped was calming. He brushed the side of Yoriichi’s face and his arm flinched away in shock. Yoriichi’s skin felt like ice to the touch. He reached out towards the futon for the blanket, which was no hard task thanks to the sheer diminutive size of the room.
He dragged the blanket and carefully wrapped himself and his twin into a warm, tight bundle. “There we go!” He chirped, “not so bad now, is it? Yoriichi?” Yoriichi’s body seized up with another crash of thunder, but relaxed slightly as the warmth of his brother and the blanket seeped into his freezing bones. The flow of tears slowly came to a stop as he focused only on the grounding feeling of Michikatsu’s warm body and hands.
The two boys stayed like that for a long time, Yoriichi’s terror being slowly beaten down to something more manageable by Michikatu’s soothing rocking. Occasionally, Michikatsu would mutter assurances and words of comfort, to fill the heavy silence in between the thunder.
Many minutes crawled past as the storm, at some point, began to slow. The pauses between lightning and thunder grew larger, though the wind and rain never died down, and Yoriichi’s grip never loosened.
When Yoriichi could fully open his eyes to the dark room, Michikatsu slackened and pulled away slightly to study his brother’s face.
“Are you okay?” He asked when he was certain Yoriichi was calm enough to understand.
In typical Yoriichi fashion, Yoriichi stared at his brother with a flat, vaguely nervous expression before nodding. Michikatsu frowned at the bland response, but his gaze softened when he noticed the redness around yoriichi’s eyes, noticeable even in the dim lighting.
“Do you… want me to stay for the day?”
Michikatsu got his answer in the form of Yoriichi jumping and pressing back into Michikatu’s chest at the warning sound of faint rumbling. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
He leaned back to fully encompass his brother, and let himself wonder what to think about this.
It was rare whenever he was physically affectionate with Yoriichi, or anyone really. Whenever he was, Yoriichi would cling to him like an octopus until Michikatsu would inevitably get fed up and push him off. He was annoyed whenever Yoriichi got clingy, the initial cuteness of it got old fast. Now though, he wouldn’t mind letting Yoriichi hold on to him until the storm faded away, perhaps for the entire day, even.
Out of the corner of his eye, Michikatsu noticed the slight glint of an object peeking out from under the poor-excuse-for-bedding of the futon. He untangled one of his arms from Yoriichi and the blanket and reached for it, pulling out something he hadn’t seen in months, and thought he would never see again.
A rough, tiny wooden flute not much larger than his palm lay in his hand. It was Michikatu’s flute, now Yoriichi’s; the one he handmade and gave to his younger twin.
“Why do you still have this?” Michikatsu asked, confused. Yoriichi removed his face from where it was squashed into Michikatu’s chest and stared at the flute in his brother’s hand. He met his eyes, mirroring his confusion. “The flute.” Michikatsu repeated, not really expecting an answer. “Why do you still have it?”
Yoriichi blinked, and there was a long pause before he whispered, “Because you made it.”
It took Michikatsu a moment to fully process the anomaly that had just occurred. Yoriichi, expressionless, mute, Yoriichi, had spoken to Michikatsu for the first time. Michikatsu was relieved he wasn’t eating or drinking at the moment, because he would have surely choked to death in shock. His astonishment at hearing Yoriichi’s voice for the first time in his life was soon replaced by joy and elation.
“So you can talk!” Michikatsu cheered, excitedly shifting so that Yoriichi couldn’t bury himself into his sternum again. Yoriichi’s voice, even while half-mumbled, was gentle and even, like a tranquil lake.
“Why don’t you speak more? Your voice sounds nice!” Say something else, anything else! His question was met with only an awkward stare. Then, Michikatsu fully processed what Yoriichi whispered.
“Wait, so you kept the flute because it was made by me?” A nod. Michikatsu’s brows furrowed. “That makes no sense. It’s just a piece of junk.”
Yoriichi stiffened and shook his head adamantly in firm denial.
“It’s not a piece of junk,” Yoriichi said, his voice no longer dampened by the howling wind.
“But it is,” Michikatsu rebutted. “It’s all rough and uneven. It can’t even play the right sounds!”
The Tsugikuni heir, for all his advanced education, never learned how to properly carve instruments. The poor flute he made was not only what his father would call “unsightly”, all of its notes were offkey. Wouldn’t Yoriichi want something more new and more skillfully crafted? Michikatsu would have; he was given expertly made and expensive toys often, as rewards for his hard work. He always grew bored of them within weeks, though. It was hard to understand how such an unremarkable flute had Yoriichi holding onto it for months.
Come to think of it, Yoriichi never got any toys, did he? Michikatsu thought he should give him some of his, since he never used them anymore.
“No,” Yoriichi denied, pulling Michikatsu back to the present. “It’s not junk. It’s special to me, aniue.”
“Special? How?” Michikatsu twisted the flute around in his hand, trying to see what Yoriichi saw in the rough cylinder of wood. Perhaps he should light up a lamp or candle to see it better, but he realized now he forgot to bring one.
A small, soft hand rested atop his, and gently pried the flute from it. Yoriichi held it with such tenderness as if it were a blessing from the heavens. His fingers trembled slightly as the wind howled vehemently, but he refused to drop it. “This flute is special because you gave it to me, aniue.” He did not smile, but the softness in his eyes was evident. Michikatsu didn't speak, for fear of interrupting him.
“This flute is precious, because it’s the first gift I have received, and because it’s from you,” Yoriichi explained.
It was the longest sentence Michikatsu had heard from him yet, but he still did not fully understand the depth of Yoriichi’s meaning. Did he like it so much because he never had any other gifts before?
“If that’s the case, I can get you a better one,” Michikatsu offered. “It doesn’t have to be a flute either! I can get you all kinds of toys and instruments, if you want.” Michikatsu grew eager at the idea of Yoriichi being able to play with a variety of things, but Yoriichi only shook his head again. “No, I like this one best,” He said simply, and tucked it into his pocket.
Yoriichi buried his face back into the blanket and his brother’s haori. Michikatsu absentmindedly stroked Yoriichi’s hair as he pondered why he would refuse his offer.
His fingers landed on a fraying thread near the neck of his maroon colored yukata. He tugged slightly and noticed how easily the thin fabric began to unravel with so little effort.
“What if I got you new clothes instead?” He asked. Yoriichi shook his head against Michikatsu’s thicker, well tailored clothing. “These ones are fine,” was all he said.
Michikatsu pouted, utterly confused. “You're so weird.” Yoriichi looked up; his features were gloomy.
“I-in a good way, of course!” Michikatsu fretted. He pulled him flush against his torso again, which Yoriichi made no effort to resist. “Cheer up Yoriichi, I think the storm’s almost over.” Michikatsu gazed up at the thin wooden ceiling boards, thinking that if Yoriichi didn’t want his clothes or toys, for whatever puzzling reason, he had to think of other ways to brighten his mood.
“Hey, how about as soon as this stupid storm is gone, I’ll show you how to fly a kite,” Michikatsu proposed, his head envisioning clear skies, the clouds and sunshine.
Yoriichi perked up, turning his head to meet his brother’s eyes with a look of genuine wonder. “Really?”
“Yeah!” Michikatsu exclaimed. “You’ve never flown one before, have you? I’ll teach you, I promise.” He tilted his cheek against Yoriichi’s forehead, relieved that his skin no longer felt like it was frozen over. “But!...” Yoriichi interjected, gripping the blanket. “You can get in trouble for taking me outside.”
Ah…right. Their father was strict with Yoriichi and Michikatsu not interacting, but even more so with Yoriichi staying put.
Oftentimes, whenever Yoriichi was found by their father or his ruthlessly loyal servants wandering too far past the boundaries of his small corner of the estate, he would be scolded and dragged forcefully back. Their father would shout that Yoriichi was not to ‘get in other people’s way’, even though he was always so silent and reserved he was practically a ghost among the crowd. Michikatsu remembered those moments with a hot sensation churning in his stomach.
“No! Who cares what father thinks!” Michikatsu snapped, surprising the both of them. He typically didn’t speak ill of his father like that.
“I’ll take you kite flying. I promised, after all.”
“But-”
“No.” Michikatsu interrupted. “I made up my mind. You do wanna fly kites, don’t you?” Yoriichi needed to get out of this stuffy room for once. If it were Michikatsu in his shoes, he would lose his mind.
“Yes,” Yoriichi conceded.
“Then it’s settled.” Michikatsu pitched over onto his back, bringing Yoriichi with him. He tugged at the blanket, fluffing it up near their heads as a makeshift pillow.
Yoriichi let out a soft sigh of contentment as he melted into the cocoon of fluffiness. “Thank you, aniue.” His serene voice was filled with gratitude and tenderness. Michikatsu turned away, suddenly embarrassed.
“Sure…It’s nothing.” He scratched at the hotness under his ears. Had he not looked away, he may have witnessed Yoriichi’s first smile to him too. He would have been awestruck by its brightness, and could compare it only to how the sun shined.
Yoriichi curled against his brother’s side, resting his head on his shoulder. The horror he went through earlier now only felt like a distant, muddled nightmare with Michikatsu next to him. He found himself being wrapped securely by those arms again, chasing away any remnants of doubts or unease he may have felt. Yoriichi felt his eyes begin to droop as a result. He tried his best to keep himself awake, but exhaustion after a panic was a powerful master, and now it was commanding that he rest.
“Go to sleep, if you’re tired,” Michikatsu said, sensing his brother’s weariness. “I’m here.”
For the first time, Yoriichi slept soundly through a storm.