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Jyushimatsu had scraped his knee again.
If a curious bystander were to ask any witnesses at the scene what happened they would attest that it was nothing major, really. Certainly not worth all the howling. But it’s what kids do, they’d laugh. When you’re that age every injury is worthy of ceremony and fuss. What led to the incident in question involved him and Ichimatsu, hot on the heels of some absurd task Iyami had bestowed upon them. They trawled the town for evidence, quite literally leaving no stone amidst the fresh and dewy grass unturned. Following an afternoon spent beneath the sweltering summer sunshine their limbs grew comfortably sweaty so a break was in order. They earned it, a prospect which the glittering rays seemed to support. But just as Jyushimatsu sprinted towards the drinks machine he tripped over one of the stones, spectacularly, and went soaring in a cartoonish whirl of limbs.
As Jyushimatsu’s older brother, others would have to admit that Ichimatsu handled the affair flawlessly. He took no time in rushing towards him, arm propping the patient up. Matsuyo had been there to greet them at the moment of their valiant homecoming, having reserved the largest quantity of freshly sliced pears for her brave little boys. They ate with gusto while she cooed and dabbed at the scrape with disinfectant. Later, the remaining troops reported back to base in their designated pairs, but it wasn’t long until boy of the hour Jyushimatsu puffed with pride and began to regale his tale. All the while Ichimatsu nodded along enthusiastically, chiming in when required. He flushed with happiness, beaming with visible gaps in his teeth.
Osomatsu may have been the red of their group, the real centre of their sentai team, but it was Ichimatsu who was Jyushimatsu’s older brother. The one member of their merry Matsuno band who held that right above all with the pair born mere seconds apart. And Jyushimatsu was his younger brother. Nothing would change that for they were irreversibly tied. When they went to sleep, nestled alongside each other, Ichimatsu renewed his vows to protect him under the twinkling stars. No matter what came their way.
As long as they had each other, they had nothing to fear.
And the world would forever remain a place full of beauty and splendour.
x x x
The world is a shitty place.
Or so Ichimatsu would think, cursing whenever his bare feet slid into a fresh pile of crap that some feckless pet owner couldn’t be bothered cleaning up (which happened more often than allowed in their neighbourhood, really).
Whenever Osomatsu stole his cigarettes and lied about it, genuinely believing that it could be smoothed over with an amicable pat on the shoulder and a cheeky grin.
Whenever the tabby which had taken to lurking in the alley between their home and the café next door snubbed the food in his expectant hand, back arched in defiance.
Whenever Todomatsu bid his time in returning an insignificant snipe, later receiving the full brunt in a viciously passive-aggressive rigmarole.
Whenever the bags of dried sardines he strategically hid around the home, ready to feed a feline friend at a moment’s notice felt suspiciously lighter.
Whenever Choromatsu tore into him over some imagined wrongdoing, believing that he held the high moral ground despite being just as much of an out and out scumbag.
Whenever he saw a group of evidently close-knit friends sitting together, body language revealing how at ease they felt in each other's presence.
Whenever Karamatsu offered support and painfully kind words despite him, all of them being too far gone for that.
Whenever he saw a couple sitting in shared bliss, nervously fumbling with coy words while the world gently encouraged them.
Whenever Jyushimatsu smiled at him.
x x x
There may have been a time when Ichimatsu believed that the world held an infinite number of possibilities, extending as far as six irreversibly intertwined strands could go. Great voyages which would take the Matsuno sextuplets beyond the confines of their imaginations awaited, all sketched out in the most vivid technicolour hues. As long as they were together the world seemed full of hope, the sun eternally glittering in the clear blue sky. But as the years passed the strands had frayed, the colours faded. What remained was a deep and lingering malaise.
With the days long and empty they had little means of occupying themselves. At some point during their drawn out kidulthood the unforeseen detour led to drinking too much and too often, spending money which wasn’t theirs. By indulging in petty displays of hedonism they were able to conveniently forget their lack of direction, opting for instant gratification instead of diligently working towards some respectable goal. It was one of the many perks of being scum, Ichimatsu supposed. No one living life on the straight and narrow could possibly begin to appreciate the giddy rush that came with a win at the slots. The surging adrenaline when a favoured horse drew closer towards the finish line. Do or die in a high stakes card game. Anything vaguely self-destructive held its own inherent appeal if the mood so took them. As long as it was enough to offset the ennui seeping within their marrow and the ache of dissatisfaction pervading their meagre twenty-something existence.
Limits of what would be considered ‘decent’ were bypassed with ease, pride a paltry entry fee which they were all too willing to pay. If nothing else, such activities served as much needed reminders of their fundamental failings as human beings; their list of inadequacies too long to list. But each time they kicked the slot machine in frustration, each time a raw throat called out in support of their horse, each time they slammed their fist down on a spread of cards was proof of their existence. Proof that they were able to at least dredge up enthusiasm for something. Joy, however cheap and fleeting it was, was an emotion which they were able to still feel. Normal people may turn their nose up at what they would consider to be the highlight of their depraved days but in Ichimatsu’s case, it was at the very least more socially acceptable than the other thing which brought light into his gloomy world. And for that reason alone he would cling to it and let it define him. If he were to be called scum, then so be it.
During one of the brothers’ many ill-fated excursions, a change mixed with the evening’s earlier rainfall lay heavy in the air rendering thoughts sluggish and emotions exposed. Jyushimatsu had taken off after a girl, a sweet thing with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. A girl whose goofy smile had the potential to rival his. A girl who smiled for him and him alone. Following his departure from Chibita’s stand the remaining five were momentarily stunned, yet able to quickly – perhaps a little too quickly - get back into the swing of things. All superficial small talk, saying a lot of words but not a single one of them really meaning anything. Following Osomatsu’s suspiciously timed quip about having no money Chibita scoffed and turned his back on them, but given the night’s theme it wasn’t long until obscene banter flowed between the oldest and youngest about some tits out idol’s latest gravure spread. As the designated idol boy Choromatsu clumsily interjected whenever they got something about her wrong which inevitably led to “Cherrymatsu” jeering. Karamatsu might not as well have been there for the weight he added to the poor excuse for a conversation. The deeper their discussion the more heated and obnoxious they grew, slamming on poor Chibita’s stand and sending cheap beer spilling much to his barely concealed chagrin. Ichimatsu was the only one who couldn’t muster up the energy to take part in the festivities. Quite honestly he could hardly lift his head from the grimy table his eyes were affixed to, grimacing at the stickiness from the spilled beer and soggy coasters.
Ah, here it comes.
The familiar enervation which pervaded his life quietly simmered. Just where had Osomatsu’s earlier insistence that none of them chase after Jyushimatsu, a most rare showing of consideration, vanished to…? It probably got swept up in the idol’s cleavage, he snorted. So much for having their younger brother’s best intentions in mind. Any one of them could have easily slipped away under the guise of taking a piss or something, and at the stage Osomatsu was currently at he certainly wouldn’t have picked up on the deserter’s true intentions. Then again, none of them would have left. Could have, for it was one for all and all for one. Despite carving out an identity for themselves they were tied to each other with six same faces and six same sets of clothes as six terribly ill-timed creatures born to the world’s unluckiest parents. Sextuplets were rare and the very prospect gave rise to fear, complications inevitable. There was a reason why there weren't many of them and the Matsuno siblings served as a living and breathing example. Well, at least a breathing example.
It was odd for something so momentous to take place without the rest of them present and it was also, in a way, a violation of their unspoken brotherly code. One going out of their way to do something on their own without five sets of watchful eyes and extrasensory limbs was out of the question. It called for punishment, to be dragged down to earth. They were scum and each and every one of them would do well to never forget that for a single second of their doomed existence. Yet here was Jyushimatsu, being subjected to something very much beyond their control and going out of his way to get hurt. But Ichimatsu had no means of vocalizing this fear, elusive yet all-powering. He knew based on previous experience that if he were to somehow muster up his courage it would not emerge as the valiant words he so wished to speak, but as a borderline incoherent stream of word vomit. Mind screaming and voice out of sync. So it was better to keep silent. He chewed his thumbnail, already bitten down to the quick. Jyushimatsu may have been crying again yet none of them would be there to witness it or help him. As the enervation turned to fear with the progressively intense emotions threatening to engulf him, Ichimatsu privately considered that even if the others didn’t seem to care, he alone would not stand for it. And so he felt the world spinning away from him, a disembodied Matsu struggling to reconcile childhood heroics with crass banter. Gap-toothed grins with cries of unfathomable anguish. Two similarly formed hands clasped then torn apart, one replaced by a daintier hand.
Osomatsu chose to make a fine show about having no money for the second time once the conversation fell into an almost painful lull, vaguely commenting on their idol’s curves for the sake of it, distracted. The fifth’s absence grew more pronounced so to divert their attention from the obvious he chose to replay the show. For real this time, apparently. It was a charade at this point: he knew it, they all knew it, Chibita knew it, the strays lurking and mewling for leftovers probably knew it better than any of them did. But amazingly, for approximately the millionth time it worked, and so they unsteadily took off with Chibita halfheartedly yelling after them. Icihimatsu wondered why they even bothered anymore.
Once the siblings made it into town they finally paused, each in various stages of disarray heaving and trying to catch their breath. Ichimatsu suffering from the worst of it, head and lungs on the verge of exploding. He further cursed the alcohol playing havoc with his decision-making centres yet found himself unable to stop it. He was never good with alcohol and never seemed to get any better with it; sudden fits of violence or being carried home regular occurrences which he would never dare admit. Tonight then, perhaps it was inevitable that he would stretch his arm out to yank Osomatsu back, given what had been playing on his mind. His “pretty sure I dropped 500 yen back at Chibita’s” tumbled out in an unintelligible stream which left the man cursing at himself. He specifically called Osomatsu in order not to draw the others' attention but if he had to repeat himself, he would do just that. For such a minuscule amount no doubt they would laugh, but being the cheapskate that the eldest Matsuno sibling was he nodded sagely as Ichimatsu knew he would. Osomatsu would do just about anything for money (besides work for it), so he knew the value of 500 yen all too well. Perhaps fortune would smile upon him the next time he took a trip to the pachinko parlour.
“Man, you’re such a klutz. What if that 500 yen was our lucky ticket, huh?” Osomatsu slyly grinned and arched his thumb behind his shoulder. “Go on then, you’ll catch up with us later, yeah?”. Ichimatsu offered a curt nod in response, the three stooges bickering over something or other and thankfully not paying attention. Since Osomatsu had miraculously been able to hear him, he had avoided drawing their attention. So far, so good. With a careless wave from Osomatsu, Ichimatsu sauntered back in the direction they came but once he made sure that they were out of sight he took a deep breath, straightened his back a little, and quickened his pace as he took a sharp left to the station.
The moon hung high as Ichimatsu traversed down an increasingly narrow path; little more than a cold overseer on a night so still, it was as if the world had forgotten to breathe. Not a blade of grass moved, nor did the wind stir. Sinister shadows from the trees lining the riverbank stretched out with all living objects seemingly having receded into the darkness. What did that make him, then? This human-shaped creature damp with perspiration, weighed down by everything and nothing. In the most technical sense he would certainly be considered ‘alive’ yet he would be the first to slam his fist down onto the table, rise up and disagree. Exhibit A to Z, zero to infinity ladies and gentlemen of the jury: a profound defilement of everything that would be considered right in this world, masked by a veneer of carefully measured familial affection. The verdict he so rightfully deserved? Not a bright future lying in store for scum like him who didn’t have the right to call himself human, that’s for fucking sure. He deserved nothing but absolute annihilation. Ruination.
The only companion Ichimatsu had on this hellish voyage was the hum radiating from an interminable stream of street lights, a noise he otherwise would not have taken into account had anything else stirred. It felt eerily artificial compared to the absence of nature’s nocturnal soundings and it disturbed him greatly. Not only that, but he was starting to regret wearing his hoodie although he couldn’t exactly fling it onto the bank despite it deepening an already present discomfort with every step. While idly debating at some point his body made the decision for him with rivulets of sweat trickling down seemingly every part that it could. Ichimatsu cursed and yanked it off, dropping it near a bench and frantically swatting at his forehead despite knowing that wasn’t even where the worst of it had pooled.
The path to the station stretched on for eternity with Ichimatsu long since having lost track of what time it was, let alone how long he was taking. He could have been walking for hours. Half jogging for minutes. Crawling for days. Suffering for years. On a night like this time became an elusive construct, serving as yet another obstructor on his journey. A sharp intake of breath and his sides hurt more than ever, serving as a very real and painful reminder of his sedentary lifestyle. He still hadn't recovered from the earlier escape from Chibita's, he thought, swallowing thick and muggy air. Despite his increasingly ragged breath and thighs full of lead he nonetheless kept moving and would until he reached the one thing that mattered. The only thing that ever did and ever would.
Ichimatsu didn’t know when he had reached the station, but once he did he didn’t have to spend long looking for it, the station empty save for a lone figure at the furthest edge of the platform. As he hurried closer he noticed that his younger brother was slumped over, staring into space with a vacant smile. A puppet left dangling. Without a noise in an equally silent station steeped in an almost solemn atmosphere, Jyushimatsu remained just as still. Ichimatsu’s heart chilled, the pain coursing through his body no longer registering due to the buzzing of his thoughts. Seeing the usually energetic figure in front of him be reduced to stillness itself had an indescribable effect. The sweat oozing from what felt like every pore on his body froze and an unpleasant crawling sensation settled in the pit of his stomach. Ichimatsu couldn’t remember the last time he had visited the station but there was an urgency in leaving, not to allow Jyushimatsu be swallowed up by whatever was present that fearsome eve. He would not let him go somewhere beyond his reach, not if he could help it.
But. Hadn’t he already? He in fact had ventured to a place beyond the reach of his trembling hand, with Ichimatsu no longer there to save him, be the hero. Fallen for someone that wasn’t-
Stop it. Don’t you fucking dare. Not now. Not ever.
Ichimatsu could feel his lips quivering and hear his voice cracking as he pleaded for Jyushimatsu to come home. If it were any other brother he would have played the tough guy but here. Oh, here. He couldn’t. Never before had he felt such genuine fear, not even during his numerous near scrapes with disaster throughout his mischievous younger years. Everything paled in comparison leaving only a blinding white which emptied his mind of everything that wasn’t absolutely necessary in bringing his younger brother home. This sensation was the kind which drove one to desperation and on a night like this, Ichimatsu had long since reached his limits.
Once Jyushimatsu finally met Ichimatsu's distraught gaze he nodded, as if on autopilot. Ichimatsu hesitated for the briefest of moments before grabbing onto his suit sleeve, dragging his brother back down the platform and towards the entrance. Not once did Jyushimatsu's smile falter.
As was the case with making his way there Ichimatsu had no idea how they returned, much less how he managed to find his discarded hoodie reeking of stale sweat amidst the darkness. Yet they walked home in silence, sleeve still held onto, the shadows still warping and merging. As if the older brother was afraid that he would lose the younger if he were to let go for even a second. As if they were once again children. As if they never stopped being children.
For someone like Ichimatsu, his habitual reticence often proved to be a blessing in disguise. His brothers would leave him be if he happened to be ruminating in some darkened corner of the house yet Jyushimatsu would invade his space and haul him out of there without missing a beat. Likewise, the pair spent many tranquil evenings with neither saying a word to the other. Their comfortable silence said it all, which suited both fine as neither were ever particularly skilled when it came to expressing themselves. But now Ichimatsu found himself desperate to say something. Anything. Even if his vocabulary rapidly expanded beyond its limited capacity, for the first time he felt that there were no words which would make things right and undo all the pain. He never wanted to see Jyushimatsu cry like that again, trembling under the weight of emotions that he was all too familiar with.
Jyushimatsu's silence lingered, and so Ichimatsu never did say anything. Just gripped onto his sleeve a little tighter, in the vain hope that it would somehow make everything alright again. That he would be able to transmit everything his heart screamed.
The hero had encountered his first real failure.
And the world was still a shitty place.