Chapter Text
The hardest part was over.
That being, of course, Sunny’s long overdue confession to his friends about how Mari had actually died.
It had been difficult, to get to that point. He’d needed to seek out the many cracks in the imagined world he’d created, to weave together every loose thread. He’d needed to confront his own past, to force himself to remember what he’d done. And then he’d had to force himself to tell the others.
But that was done, now.
He’d already told them everything.
He’d told them about the growing tension between the two dark-haired siblings.
About the blisters that had once lined his hands.
About how he’d finally snapped, how his violin had followed suit.
How Mari had followed suit.
How Basil couldn’t make sense of the situation, blaming it on Something that didn’t exist.
How, in one terrified instant, the blonde-haired boy did all he could to save the one who he cared for most.
How Sunny had been too numb to resist.
How, for the next four years, he retreated into himself, repressing what he’d done and living amid colorful delusions.
How he was sorry
and how he knew being sorry would never be enough.
He’d already done it, already faced his friends’ scorn, their disbelief. He’d already spoken to Basil, telling him the lie was over at last and that maybe, just maybe, everything really would be okay.
Because the worst of it was behind them now.
It was time to heal.
It was time to rest.
Sunny closed his remaining eye and drifted off to sleep.
It was a pleasant sleep, the first dreamless one he’d had in the last four years.
No more running. No more hiding. No more WHITE SPACE.
Just a merciful blackness covering him from head to toe like an old blanket he thought he’d outgrown.
He reveled in it for a while, relishing in the luxury he hadn’t quite realized he’d lost.
But he still had to wake up eventually; of course he did. No matter what happened, the days of blocking out the world with his bed were over.
After what felt like forever, Sunny opened his eyes at last.
...
Then he promptly shut them, because, well, this couldn’t be right. No, it was just a fatigue-induced hallucination, a shard of memory pulled to the forefront of his mind by a buzzing painkiller.
It’d be gone the next time he opened his eyes.
...
It was not gone the next time he opened his eyes.
Why wasn’t it going away?
He shut his eyes tightly, focusing on the internal hum of his thoughts, on the subtle beating of his heart.
When I open my eyes, I will be in the hospital, Sunny told himself, taking a long, relaxing breath. I will be in the hospital and not in my bed in my room. When I open my eyes, I will wake up.
Sunny opened his eyes.
. . .
He frowned.
Whether it made sense or not, he was most certainly back in his own room. The room that, the last time he’d been there, was near picked bare, its contents stuffed into the myriad of cardboard boxes that littered the house he’d seen so much of these last four years. This no longer seemed to be the case, however; there was that chair he’d sat in for so many hours playing that digital card game, there was that well-used cork board covered in calendars and reminders and photos, there was that rickety old clothes rack by the door.
Sunny was also distinctly aware of his ability to once again see out of his right eye. Quite clearly, in fact.
Was this another dream? Another strange vision like the one he’d had after his fight with Basil? It didn’t... feel like it. Everything had been bathed in a nostalgic golden hue then, but there was nothing of that sort now. Everything seemed... mundane. Normal.
Putting all this together, his mind began to feverishly construct the narrative of what, then, must be going on. He had been out for some time, enough that his eye had fully healed. Truth be told, he hadn’t exactly thought it would, so he supposed that was a pleasant surprise of some sort. The fact he was in his own room, and all his things had been unpacked, likely meant that the house sale had fallen through during his unconsciousness and his mother had been forced to stay in town after all. Now, why had he been in his bed? Well, he obviously must’ve been close to recovery, close enough that the hospital had allowed his dear mother to take her baby back home. He could see it so clearly: his mother’s face, creased with practiced worry, as she asked the hospital if they could please let her darling son out so that when he wakes at last it will be in a place he loves.
It was a good story, all things considered, and Sunny was fairly proud of it.
He might’ve even believed it, too, if not for Mari’s bed.
Sunny felt a lump rise in his throat as he stared at the other bed’s purple sheets. They were lying there so innocently, like they weren’t breaking a thousand unspoken rules.
Rule one: Dead people did not have designated beds.
...But who says the bed had been for Mari? Maybe someone else had been using it to... keep an eye on him. Yes, yes, that made sense, he thought, nodding a bit too eagerly. It had been his mother, probably. She’d been instructed by the hospital to watch him carefully, to notify them if anything that seemed bad happened. And of course she’d want to be there for her poor, injured son, so sleeping nearby certainly made sense. Her own bed was far too big to move, so she’d made do with an old one that no longer saw use.
Yes, this was exactly what had happened. He was sure of it now, so sure that he felt silly about ever having doubt.
Or maybe one of his friends had been using it, friends who had perhaps decided after everything that they had forgiven him. He pictured Aubrey lying on the other bed, watching him rest. Her face, usually so full of vibrance and joy, was overcome with a subdued anxiety. Her long black hair—no, wait, it was pink now—was frizzy and unkempt, a testament to how much she’d been worried about her friend.
She leaned over, whispering softly.
“Sunny... Please wake up, I-”
Sunny snapped himself out of what he knew were mere delusions. He’d had more than enough of daydreaming for a while. It was time to live in reality.
He looked around the room again, running through the story in his mind, and felt satisfied. Everything made sense to him now. He rather liked it when things made sense, he thought.
His mind in a slightly lighter headspace, he opened the door and exited his room. What he saw confirmed his suspicions—the boxes were all gone, the old photos and tacky glass vases were back to lining the walls... yup, it definitely seemed like he and his mom weren’t moving anytime soon.
He suppressed his mixed feelings about this and entered the bathroom.
Sunny had rather grown to dislike mirrors over the last four years. At best, they reflected a face he did not wish to see, and at worst...
No, he told himself sternly, trying and failing to block out the images of all the things that had once tormented him. That’s over now.
As if to prove it to himself, he gave himself a long, hard look in the reflective glass.
Sunny certainly thought he looked healthier than the boy that had stared back at him in the hospital. He was less thin and had more color about him, which was good, probably. He softly traced a finger around his right eye, feeling the warm, smooth skin. Not even a trace of scar tissue. That was... lucky, he supposed. It still seemed a little surprising to him that it had all healed so perfectly. He must’ve misjudged how badly Basil had actually hit him in that moment, but he could believe that.
After all, it wasn’t like either of them had been thinking too clearly.
Maybe he could ask his only friend about it when he saw him. Yes, that would go over well. Hey Basil, when you attacked me with your garden shears, did you REALLY only just nick my eye, or has medicine progressed more than I thought while I was gone?
He watched the corners of his mouth twitch upward slightly at the absurdity of the idea before turning his attention to his outfit. Rather than the radiant, blinding hospital gown, he instead found himself wearing... pink bunny pajamas.
...Huh.
Ridiculous as that was, they were cute, he grudgingly admitted. Even if they looked like something pulled straight from a twelve-year old Aubrey’s wardrobe.
Ignoring the pang in his heart from remembering that name, he gave the bunnies one last glance before turning around and leaving the room. For the first time in... some time, he actually felt truly hungry. He carefully (very carefully) climbed down the stairs, hoping that his mother had actually stocked up on food while he was gone.
...Yup, the living room was back to normal, too. Couch, TV, fake plants, all of it was back in order. Sunny couldn’t help but notice just how nicely everything had been put in place. It was anything but a rush job, that much was clear.
He also couldn’t help but notice the newly-reinstated family portrait.
Sunny stared at it, mind uncomprehending.
Why had his mother taken it out of storage...?
His eyes focused on his father’s smiling face.
On M̵̢̖̼̝̞̗͒̔̐̈́̔͑̀a̵̬̼̣͐́̔̇̑̕ŗ̶̝̖̹͇̺̻͋͐̏͆̈́͝í̸̫̹͖̔’s.
The world slowed around him.
Darkness crept into the corners of his vision.
His lungs fought to breathe.
“It’s not as scary as you think.”
The familiar words ignited something in him, something primal.
Sunny screwed his eyes shut... and CALMED DOWN.
. . .
Maybe... maybe his mother was finally trying to move forward. To make peace with the past.
And if she could do it... then he would, too.
Pointedly refusing to look at the portrait (just because he wanted to move forward didn’t mean it wasn’t going to take time), he surveyed the rest of the room again, giving it a closer look. The house really felt... lived in. The TV remote was slightly askew atop its designated stool, an actual hat adorned the door’s coat rack, and a few books were haphazardly strewn on the couch. Someone was definitely living here.
He wondered if it was just a temporary arrangement. If his mom had only been staying in the house so much because of his condition, and now that he’d recovered, she’d spirit herself off to wherever her workplace even was, reduced to nothing more than the odd voicemail here and there. That was the way it had been for so long now, after all.
Or maybe his mother had actually been around a fair amount these last four years, and it was only recently that she’d started to drift away? It was hard to tell. His memories of what had actually happened outside of his room during that whole period of time were fuzzy, unreliable, and few and far between.
Was he... angry at her, he wondered? For abandoning him when he was at his lowest, for not bothering to even make sure he had proper food or working appliances to store and prepare it?
No, he realized. No, because he couldn’t blame her, could he? It wasn’t like he remotely deserved that much. Not from her, and not from anybody.
His stomach rumbled.
Well, hopefully there’s something available this time, at least, he thought idly. Because I’m going to eat the plants at this rate.
He marched himself into the kitchen, head held high.
Okay, if there wasn’t any food in here, things were going to get mess—oh, a note.
He picked up the scrap of paper lying on the counter, reading the words scrawled in his mother’s loopy script.
Hey Sunny, it's Mommy.
How are you doing? Are you feeling any better?
The family’s out shopping, but we should be back soon!
Don’t be afraid to help yourself to something in the fridge in the meantime.
Feel better soon, honey! Mommy loves you!
Sunny frowned. First he’d had to put up with her calling herself “Mommy”, but now she was “the family”, too? Something about that didn’t strike him as healthy. Maybe his mom wasn’t as mentally sound as he’d thought.
Not that he was one to talk, but. He was trying his best.
He gingerly opened the fridge, not sure what to expect.
Oh.
Food.
Nice.
Now, what to ea-
Knock knock knock
Sunny froze.
He knew that sound.
Bad things came from it.
For a few moments, he was rooted to the spot, his mind filled with disfigured, disturbing images, with gaping mouths and hollow eyes and
NO.
Those days were over.
. . .
It was beginning to scare him, how easily he seemed to spiral. It was beginning to scare him how all it took was one small thing to set him off for his thoughts to rear up sharply and drag him into the abyss. He supposed it made enough sense. He hadn’t quite been lucid, this lucid, for a long, long time. He’d probably need to get help of some kind; therapy, medication, whatever else they prescribed for the old “World-Ending Guilt And Hallucinations From An Unspeakable, Irreversible Action-itis”.
Knock knock knock
...But there he went again, losing himself in his train of thought instead of paying attention to the world around him.
He shuffled out of the kitchen, over to the house’s front door. The door that, for four long years, he’d ignored more times than he could count.
Knock knock knock
“Sunny?” a voice called. “Sorry to bother you, honey, but it looks like Mommy locked herself out of the house again. Would you be a dear and let us in?”
Sunny winced at her usage of “us”. It was his fault, after all. All the stress and worry and bills and broken family that had gotten to her head at last... it never would’ve gotten this bad if not for him. Heck, it never would’ve even started if not for him.
Yet another reminder that all he ever did was hurt those who tried to love him.
Yet another reminder that he should just d
He shook his head, frowning. No, no, he wasn't allowed to think things like that anymore. Not after his talk with Basil in the hospital.
And, well, his mother probably wasn’t a lost cause, right? When she brought him to therapy (which, surely, she would... right?), he could tell them all about her strange, unusual habits. Maybe they could fix her, too.
Knock knock knock
But that would come later. Right now, he had a door to answer.
He twisted the lock and pulled it open.
“Sunny! ” his mother greeted him warmly, pulling him into a strong embrace. For a moment, she said nothing, holding him tightly. “Oh, it’s so good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?”
The dark-haired boy considered this.
How was he feeling?
In what sense?
Physically, he was better, sure. His eye had healed, he seemed much less pale and thin (maybe he’d been on an IV or something?), and he was actually starting to feel regular amounts of hunger, like a normal person. (Though he was anything but a normal person.)
Emotionally and mentally, well...
He’d only just remembered that Mari hadn’t gone away to college.
That she was gone because she was dead.
That she was dead not because she’d killed herself, but because he, in a fit of stupid, worthless rage, had done that for her.
Mari, who he’d loved so much. Mari, who’d loved him so much.
Dead by his own hands.
And then, without even having the chance for it all to settle, he’d forced himself to confront the only people left in the entire world that could ever truly care about him and tell them what he, too, had just learned, permanently closing the door to rekindling those old friendships forever.
So... he wasn’t feeling the best, at the moment. But what else was there to do? Waste away the rest of his life in that hollow bed? Let himself finally slip away? That wouldn’t do, not at all. Especially after his talk and subsequent promise with Basil. At the very least, he’d have to keep holding on, if not just for the blonde boy’s sake.
People always said that things had to get worse before they got better. And it... it would get better. He had to believe that. He had to believe that.
“Feeling... better,” he finally replied after a too-long pause.
His mother didn’t seem bothered by it. She smiled, releasing him from the hug. “That’s great! I don’t see any signs of fever, so I think you’re good to go.”
...Fever?
No, no, that made sense. He’d completely over-exerted himself in the three days he’d actually left his house, running all over town and getting into fights and jumping into lakes. Of course his malnourished, tired body would get sick. Of course it would.
“How’s Basil?” he asked. From what he’d been able to tell, the other boy had fared much better in their little skirmish. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of anything sharp, so he doubted he’d come away from it with anything worse than some nasty scrapes and bruises. Considering he’d healed so well, Basil was probably fine, too, but he still wanted to make sure.
His mother raised an eyebrow. “I knew you two were close, but this is something else... You might want to be careful, or else a certain someone might get jealous~” She laughed at this, patting him on the shoulder. “I haven’t seen him yet today, but I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll be happy to know you’re feeling better!”
Sunny relaxed a little. Basil was okay. That was good. Maybe he’d visit him later, hang out a little bit. He didn’t exactly fancy cooping himself up in his house every day again, especially if he no longer had a colorful dreamworld to occupy his time.
Though, now that he thought about it... if he really was staying in Faraway after all, he was likely going to run into his former friends quite a bit. That was going to be a problem, wasn’t it?
At least him and Basil had parted on good enough terms. So it wasn’t like he’d be completely alone in all of this. And besides, he felt he was done running away from his problems. It might honestly be better to just get it over with, to find out where he stood with everyone.
As if it wasn’t obvious
He paused, his mind finally registering the other part of what his mother had said.
Wait, what? Who would get jeal-
“Alright, enough catching up, you two. A little help here?”
Sunny’s blood froze in his veins.
That voice.
HIS voice.
It... no.
This was wrong.
So, so, so wrong.
---
After falling for what felt like hours, he found himself standing in a dark, black forest. A shadowy figure stood in front of him, its attention focused on felling the tree before it.
He silently crept towards the figure, hardly daring to breathe.
“Stay away...” it croaked, not bothering to turn around. “You are not my son...”
---
His mom sighed. “Of course, dear!" she called back, adding a quick "silly me” under her breath for good measure. She ruffled her son’s hair fondly before stepping aside. “You don’t have to help if you’re not feeling up to it, honey. I’ll be right back.”
Sunny barely registered her words, his full attention focused on his father the man standing in their driveway.
What was he doing here?
Mr. Suzuki The man, quite unbothered by his son’s Sunny’s quiet tumult, was busy unloading several shopping bags from the back of their car. His wife Ms. Suzuki had rushed over to help him, grabbing a few herself and setting them down on the sidewalk.
Sunny watched the two of them in silence, hardly processing what he was seeing.
Had... had his father that man reconciled with his mother while he was unconscious? The possibility was foreign to him; nowhere, not even in his wildest dreams, had he ever considered such an outcome.
Ohgodhe’scomingthisway-
Sunny flinched as his father the man stopped in front of the doorway, giving him a strange look. “Hey, I’m real glad to see you too, kiddo,” he said, chuckling a little, “but I can’t exactly get these groceries through the door if you’re standing in it.”
Sunny blinked, then numbly shuffled back into the house.
“Atta boy,” his father Dad the man chortled as he walked past him, shopping bags in tow. After a moment, he added, “You still seem a little out of it, son. Think you need a bit more time in bed?”
Oh, he could use a lifetime in bed right now. Though that sentiment wasn’t exactly unfamiliar to him.
“I... maybe,” he somehow managed to choke out. “Don’t know.”
His father Dad I ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶e̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ The man nodded understandingly. “It might be a good idea,” he suggested. “After all, that was one nasty fever you were dealing with...”
He left his son Sunny to ponder this as he sauntered into the kitchen.
. . .
Desperate to avoid thinking about the father man-shaped elephant in the other room, Sunny instead busied himself with the smaller details.
Why is my supposed fever what everyone’s so worried about? he couldn't help but wonder. Instead of, you know, the part where I got stabbed with garden shears several times? And nearly lost an eye?
Maybe all those injuries really had been part of the hallucinations. Maybe him and Basil had hardly gotten hurt at all.
The pain had certainly felt real, though.
...
Sunny sighed in frustration.
Okay, this wasn’t working. Try as he might, he simply couldn’t distract himself from the fact that his father the man who’d once considered himself his father was... back. Back, as if nothing had happened. Back, as if he’d never left at all.
The same father who’d read him stories in all sorts of silly voices. The same father whose rare hugs had felt even warmer than Mari’s. The same father who’d labored tirelessly on that hot summer day to build the treehouse he knew his son would love.
The same father he’d seen hacking down a once-favorite tree, his expression so twisted it scarred him to his core.
How was he supposed to feel?
Sunny shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. This was all just too much to deal with at once. He needed some time alone, time to process everything.
He hurriedly excused himself, backing out of the living room...
...and almost tripped over something small and furry.
He looked down.
His heart stopped.
“Meow,” Mewo said calmly.
Sunny wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. Of course. Of course Mewo would suddenly be back as well. Because why would anything just be normal for once? Too much to ask for, clearly.
He was a bit ashamed to admit it, but he hadn’t actually been sure what had happened to the small cat in the carnage that followed his actions. If his dad had taken her when he left, or his mom had sold her to someone else. If she’d simply up and left someday, roaming around town as nothing more than yet another stray. All he’d known was that one day she was there, and the next she was not.
And yet, here she was.
He stared down at the black cat, watching her tilt her head curiously at him, as though she were waiting for something to happen.
“I... I missed you, girl,” he whispered, reaching over and stroking her lovingly behind the ears. Mewo let out a soft purr, leaning into his touch the way she’d always done.
I missed this so much.
It was all so ridiculous, he reflected, running his hands through the cat’s silky fur. They were staying in Faraway after all, that man—no, his father—had suddenly come back, Mewo was here...
For a moment, Sunny could almost pretend nothing had ever happened. That he and that stupid recital hadn’t destroyed everyone’s lives in one terrible, rage-filled mistake.
If only Mari was still here.
If only he hadn’t-
“Dad! I’m back!” an achingly familiar voice called from the other room.
nn
no
nononononononononononononononononono
“I finished dropping off the stuff the Rodriguezes asked for, and- Oh, Sunny, you’re out of bed!”
this
wasn’t
right
sunny felt every cell in his body shrivel up and die. every molecule that made up his being was on fire and they wouldn’t stop burning and smoke was everywhere and he was choking and he couldn’t breathe and
“Sunny?! Oh my God!”
the world faded to noise. nothing but millions of tons of water dragging him down deep under the earth where broken things went to lie
“MOM! DAD! S-something’s wrong!”
grotesque, broken creatures everywhere he looked, he did this, there was no escape
“What happened?!”
they were getting closer, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide
“I-I don’t know! He suddenly just-”
“Sun...ny,” one gurgled. he panicked, he screamed, his lungs fought to b r e a t h e
“SUNNY!”
Sunny jerked sharply back to reality, his breathing heavy and ragged. Three faces peered down at him, a mix of fear, bewilderment, and worry adorning each.
“Sunny, dear, is everything alright?” his mother asked, kneeling by his side.
“M̵̢̖̼̝̞̗͒̔̐̈́̔͑̀a̵̬̼̣͐́̔̇̑̕ŗ̶̝̖̹͇̺̻͋͐̏͆̈́͝í̸̫̹͖̔ says you just... fainted?” his father added, his brow creased with concern.
But Sunny couldn’t look away from his sister M̶a̶r̶i̶ the creature standing beside him. He couldn’t look away from the body hanging from the tree, from the single glaring eye he never should’ve looked back to s
NO.
He couldn’t lose himself again. He couldn’t let himself slip away.
He screwed his eyes shut... and forced himself to FOCUS.
He FOCUSED
on his shallow breathing
on the slow rise and fall of his chest
on the rhythmic beating of his heart.
Nothing else existed outside of this moment.
Nothing else mattered but maintaining control.
Breathe in
. . .
and breathe out.
Breathe in
. . .
and breathe out.
Everything
was going
to be okay.
At long last, he finally felt himself begin to CALM DOWN...
...and flung himself at his bewildered sibling.
“M-Mari,” he sobbed, clinging to her tightly. “I... I’m s-so... sorry...”
Mari frowned, but began to slowly stroke his hair all the same. “For what?” she asked, her voice laced with confusion. “Scaring us? It’s fine; just don’t overwork yourself. You should really get some more re-”
Sunny shook his head violently. “No,” he said firmly, cutting her off. “For... the recital.”
Silence.
Oppressive, heavy, unforgiving.
“I... don’t understand,” Mari said finally, her voice empty of conviction. “Sunny, that was four years ago. Do you really think I still hold that against you?”
Lies. Sweet nothings. Empty words in a vain attempt at comfort. How could she not hold it against him?
“It’s okay that you decided you didn’t want to play in the end, that it was giving you too much stress,” Mari continued. “Sure, I was a little mad at you then, but it wasn’t long before I forgave you. Before I realized that I was letting what was supposed to be a fun hobby become something that made me push everyone away.”
...
What?
“I know you felt guilty about not using the violin after all,” his sister murmured, softly tracing her fingers along his back, “but they understood that it wasn’t something you’d even asked for, and they all agreed that how you felt, what you wanted, was more important. Remember?”
What?
Mari sighed, looking up at her parents. “I really don’t know what got into him,” she said. “I... guess the fever might’ve gotten to him more than we thought it would? Did he seem lucid earlier?”
“Don’t have fever,” Sunny mumbled, refusing to let go of his sister. “Never had fever. Why is everyone talking about fever?”
The Suzuki parents exchanged a concerned glance.
“Sunny...” his mother ventured, “you’ve... been in bed for the past week with a very, very bad case of fever. The doctors told us you might not remember much of it. What do you remember?”
What... did he remember?
He remembered...
...a fateful argument atop the stairs.
...an instant of pure, colossal rage.
...begging, pleading, screaming for his sister to wake up.
...a sea of static as he was offered a way to fix everything.
...the slam of a car door as his father walked out of his life forever.
...his mother sobbing on the couch, no one left to comfort her.
...four years of isolation, torment, delusion.
...Kel’s joy when he’d opened the door for that very first time.
...Aubrey’s rage at his sudden return.
...Basil’s grief at his impending departure.
...one last picnic in a graveyard with three friends he didn’t deserve.
...two troubled teens in a dark room, unable to handle the tangle of emotions they were forced to bear.
...wrenching himself out of his hospital bed, determined to set things right.
And yet...
His mother and father, hovering anxiously nearby. His beloved cat, curled contentedly at his feet. His wonderful sister, trying her best to calm him down.
It just didn’t make sense.
“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “What I remember.”
His mother nodded. “The doctors warned us this might happen,” she said quietly. “They warned us things might seem confusing for you when you woke up, that your memories might seem a bit jumbled. They said you might have... dreams. Were you dreaming about the recital, honey?”
. . .
Sunny closed his eyes and went very, very still.
Was he really supposed to believe that everything he’d gone through... was some kind of mutant fever dream?
After all that, after everything he’d been through, everything he’d tried so hard to fight for...
...“it was all a dream”?
No.
That wasn’t right; he knew that wasn’t right. Everything that had happened, he’d lived through it, he really had!
But he’d always been an imaginative boy, hadn’t he? Maybe the strong case of fever was enough for him to create dreams so vivid that
No.
He wouldn’t let himself believe that.
Wouldn’t he...?
“I-I...” he croaked, his voice cracking. “Fight with... Mari... p-pushed her down... the stairs...”
“Shhhh,” Mari whispered, pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s okay, little bro. I’m here, I’m here. It was just a dream.”
. . .
Was...
Was it really?
Had all that suffering... been for nothing?
Had he never truly suffered at all?
Sunny didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t want to think about anything except the primal urge to keep clinging tightly to his sister, wracking her body with his own sobs.
So he did.
Mari said nothing more, rubbing his back in that familiar circular motion she’d used so many times whenever he got this upset.
“I... think he might need some space,” she eventually told her parents, voice apologetic. “If that’s okay. I’ll call you if anything else happens.”
The elder Suzukis nodded. When it came to calming Sunny down, there was nobody in the world better at it than his older sister.
“Okay,” his father said quietly.
“If you need us, we’re here for you, sweetie,” his mother whispered.
Footsteps, then nothing.
Slowly, slowly, slowly, Sunny felt his breathing begin to stabilize, his heartbeat gradually shifting from a jackhammer to a dull drum in his ears. His arms slackened slightly. Tension evaporated from his legs. Thoughts started to trickle back into his head.
Mari finished rubbing his back with one last flourish. “You’ll be okay,” she said soothingly. “It’s not as scary as you think.”
When Mari was around, nothing ever did seem to be.
“How about this,” his sister proposed, carefully helping him back to his feet. “I make you breakfast. You eat the breakfast. You forget allll about this silly little fever and go back to being my regular, adorable, awesome little brother.” She gave him a warm smile, a smile bright enough to light up the farthest reaches of outer space.
A smile he’d missed so very much.
Mari tilted her head at him.
“How does that sound?”