charismatsu

i. Karamatsu. How he came to loathe his charismatic older brother. From the painful way he dressed to the nonsensical poetry that seemed to exit his mouth constantly with little rhyme or reason. There was little to be said about their relationship, Ichimatsu hardly bothered with the second to eldest Matsuno sextuplet and with good reason of his own. He was kind, caring, considerate— quite possibly the best among their idle band of good-for-nothing NEETs. And yet he was just so painful it was almost sickening. How he came to be such a way in adulthood, he hardly knew. They were all so similar as children. They all acted the same, dressed the same and even did practically everything together as one whole group of synonymous troublemakers. Neighbours and friends alike could hardly tell them apart. Hell, they couldn't even tell each other apart sometimes. But, as time went on, they individuality blossomed in desperate attempt to relinquish themselves from their lack of mutual identity. Sure, it was cute to be sextuplets as children but now the demands of adulthood knocked on their doorstep like the inevitable fate of death itself. As they've grown, more eyes followed them in curiosity as if they were the spectacular oddity of a freak show circus act.

ii. Even now some confused the brothers with each other, which was a special pet peeve that only the sextuplets had had to endure— especially when Ichimatsu was confused for his oh so painful brother. He hated him and his entire being; and yet he envied his star studded confidence. There was many things Ichimatsu hated about Karamatsu, indeed, it was no secret. But if only Ichimatsu could shove his older brother to the wall, slap that hellish smirk away from his disgustingly smug face and tell him the truth. Or, more so, get him to tell the truth. Because behind those unbearably painful sunglasses, Ichimatsu knew the truth to it all. He knew the pain, the guilt, the concern, the tears fuelled by neglect and rejection by his peers and family. Fucking idiot. He hated it.

iii. And yet. Here he was walking in the bitter cold of the rain, fingers gone numb like an icicle skimming the surface of a fickle rooftop. He clutched to the feeble plastic bag in his hand utilised with cat food, dried sardine snacks and toys for his feline companions. They were strays like him who had much to tell between tales of abandonment, neglect and loneliness. Of course, Ichimatsu wasn't their owner as he couldn't afford to care for a cat bound legally to a contract and a certificate that had the awful stench of dull pride. But he felt as if he was responsible for the care of these feeble and ill advised kitties. He wandered into an alleyway that was just right by his house and knelt down to the cats that lay resting in the darkness, waiting for him. “Hm...” He mused softly as a dull yet genuine smile pecked his lips, relieving his barren look.