a guide on how to NOT be a good brother- by Atsumu Miya

⋆｡˚ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8❀

Upon no answer, I place my hand on the doorknob, twisting it slowly, and open the door, hearing the, oh so familiar, creaks as the door opens all the way, leaving the whole room open in eyesight with just the moon shining through the window like it was trying to break in.

At that moment I was scared, and to be completely honest, I don't know why. There was nothing scary about sitting down and talking to my own brother. Right?

For a few seconds, nothing processed in my mind when I took a peak into the center of the room. I was completely frozen in fear, the only sounds being my parents talking downstairs and the door smacking against the plain walls.

There he was. Hanging desperately from the ceiling, the thin rope looked so perfectly clean with not a single mark on it, but you could tell it was on its last limbs. I barely even mutter out a single word.

O-osa..." I feel tears start trickling down my now pale face and I eagerly struggle to keep my dinner in my stomach as I try to say his name. The name that I used to shout and call a crybaby whenever we got into the pettiest of arguments, the name that used to bring me complete joy whenever I said it when I was younger, the name of my brother.

My now hanging, lifeless brother.

I feel as if time has completely stopped, I can't hear my parents talking anymore, it's all gone quiet. My feet are nailed to the floor, just like the rope is nailed to the ceiling, that is until it finally gives in, releasing its grip on the nail holding it in place. Almost like I can feel Osamu's hands releasing from mine, as his now grey body falls on the floor, his head almost hitting the stool that was just centimetres away from his dangling legs just moments before. My body is in a world of its own, my mind begging me to move just an inch to grab his hands and tell him it will be ok, that he would survive, that I could see his cold and empty eyes look at me just once more. But there's nothing, his chest isn't rising and falling like he's breathing and his eyes are shut tight, like they've been glued down.

I think the part that hurts the most was that there was not a single sign of regret or struggle on his emotionally broken hands, the hands that were laying open flat out on the floor.

I made a promise, and I broke it.

I don't even get a second chance to change anything. He's gone. And I'll never get him back.