You can hide behind me

Failures

A/N look out for put together words like thisRightHere. My phone does that sometimes. Call it out and I will fix it. Thanks!

Fuyumis PoV

Touya is hiding something. In fact, all three of the boys are. I'm not an idiot. Natsou might be an efficient liar but even he has his tells. He clips his vowels a bit and talks a bit too fast. And touyas just a nervous wreck. Shoto just grins a lot and giggles. I don't know how mom hasn't noticed this. But she hasn't.

So that leaves me to uncover it. Do I want to though? Every time I try to do this sort of thing I make things much MUCH worse it seems.

Like when I decided Touya was too sad and sought adult help. I told mother and father at the sane time. Touya came to breakfast the next morning with a fake smile plastered to his face and very real bandages all over. Those were not from training,  I knew that much.

I decide to figure it out but not tell our parents unless I have to.

Now who do I get it from? Natsou won't spill of course. I'm not even sure Shoto is fully in on whatever this is much less aware of the full situation. My best bet is probably Touya.

As usual he's locked up in his room. It's not even actually locked right now. 11:00  to 14:00 when fathers not home is free time for him. But he still rarely comes out. When he does,  it usually doesn't end well for anyone. Like how he burnt Shotos clothes yesterday. It's a miracle no-one was hurt.

"Big bro? Touya can I come in?" I knock softly and call gently through the door. No answer,  so I slowly open it. You know, Like a snoop.

Touya is doing a wall sit against the far wall, holding a sparkler I'm his hand. It's going off in a beautiful haze, lightning the dim room in a rainbow hue. A pike of burnt sticks suggests he's been here a while, along with the sweat on his forehead.

"Oh. You're here." He says bluntly,  extinguishing the flame with two fingers using his free hand effortlessly. J wince ag the thought of touching the flame.

"I knocked...." I murmur. He simply nods and stands up. He motions for me to sit on his bed and I do. He sits beside me.

"It's been a while. What's up?" He asks. I assume he means its been a while since I was in his room, and he's right. Over a year at least. It's still more or less the same. The mostly barren walls are scattered with the occasional burn scorch and there are a few #2 hero posters our father approved for him. It does not go unnoticed that they are all burnt more than the walls could ever be.

The window has been reinforced with iron bars on both sides and behind the burnt patches of wall I can see mesh metal wiring as well. Once the doors locked,  there's no way out.

The bed sheets are patterned with an orange and red flame, with a deep navy pillow and underside to the blanket. The curtains are uneven because the left has about a foot part off of it, but otherwise they look normal enough. Plain black. A simple dresser with 3 drawers is beside his sliding closet door, cracked open to reveal a dozen identical track jackets.

No, it really hasn't changed much. But it feels so.... angry. I don't blame him.

"Yeah,  sorry I haven't been in here a while. Mom and dad are always saying you need space so I guessI give it to you. But I was wondering how you're feeling?" I try not to sound too guilty. I feel guilty. I am guilty.

Of course I've known he's needed help. We all have. And he carries the biggest burden.  But for some reason,  I never have the guts to stand up for him, to help him, to be there when I'm needed. I'm.... afraid. And I hate it. I'm only 11, he's only 14, we're only kids! How can we do this?