The house is settling around him, quiet and watchful. Shuusuke picks dying flowers off his favourite Selenicereus, heedless of the spines that prick spots of blood from his fingertips, and listens to the night sounds. He can hear the wind in the trees outside, his mother's door closing downstairs, Yuuta turning over in bed on the other side of the wall.
Innocence is easy enough in daylight, but it's hard to hide in darkness. Shuusuke pinches off another papery flower, absently apologising to the cactus as his mind runs unceasingly through the day. Lessons he could have slept through without dropping a mark; the shock on a new substitute's face when he answered every question correctly; Tezuka's disapproval when he let Inui win their practice set just to skew the data a little; the happy surprise of finding Yuuta home for the weekend turning icier with every scowl thrown his way.
Every action has a hundred thousand consequences. Shuusuke sits in darkness, watching possibilities unfolding in his mind, touched off by endlessly diverging trains of thought, and shivers. In the dark, it's harder to hide from himself; harder to ignore everything that he knows he is capable of. A parade of angry, hateful, broken faces flits before his eyes, asking questions to which Shuusuke has no answers. How far will he go, for friendship, for love, for the too-fleeting spark of a moment's entertainment? How far can he go?
He's halfway out of the door before he really registers it, the cactus lying forgotten in a spill of sandy soil on his desk. It's a familiar pattern. Yuuta's door slides open as soundlessly as ever, and Shuusuke can tell by the too-even murmur of his breathing that he's not asleep. Still, he hesitates until Yuuta rolls over irritably and demands to know what's going on.
"Five minutes?" Shuusuke slides the door smoothly shut behind him and takes a deep breath, watching Yuuta's face in the yellow streetlight that filters through the window.
"Aniki �" Yuuta sounds exasperated, and Shuusuke closes his eyes. It really is too late for this, and Yuuta needs his sleep�
"Please, Yuuta."
"All right, all right," Yuuta grumbles, the bed creaking as he shoves himself upright, green pyjamas monochrome in the dimness. Shuusuke exhales on a shudder and crawls onto the bed on hands and knees, finding his way by blind instinct into his brother's embrace.
Yuuta's arms around him are strong and protective, and he doesn't mention the desperate way Shuusuke's hands are clutching his back. Shuusuke buries his face in Yuuta's shoulder, breathing raggedly, and lets himself be held � be safe. Slowly, as his breathing calms, he allows himself to let go of it all � all the tumult of thought and calculation and biting self-knowledge � until there is nothing left but the warmth of Yuuta's body surrounding his and he no longer has to think at all.
It's long past five minutes � it always is � when Shuusuke sighs peacefully and pulls away, sliding easily off the bed. "Sleep well, Yuuta," is all he says as he pads silently out of the room. It's enough.
"Hmph," Yuuta mutters in the disgruntled tone of voice that is more telling than the flushing of his skin, and Shuusuke smiles as he slides the door shut. In the morning, neither of them will mention the pile of dead flowers on Shuusuke's desk or the pinprick smears of blood on the back of Yuuta's pyjama top.