Knives to Sharpen Baby Teeth

Amane wonders how his life could have spiraled to this point.

He's always been a good kid. For the most part. Got decent grades, had a level head on his shoulders. Enough to earn the standard “Amane is a joy to teach” speech from his teachers at parent conferences.

A good student. A good friend. A good older brother.

He’d had a good knife in his hands too, when he’d carried out the deed. A nice polished one with a red handle that he’d snatched in haste before promptly depositing it in his kid brother’s sternum. As one does. Amane couldn’t quite recall his reasoning behind the act, but then again he supposes murderous intent isn’t rare in a sibling relationship. At least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s easier to process that way. It certainly wasn’t the first time the urge to kill has crossed his mind, but typically those instances involved something stupid, like a fight over the last piece of the birthday cake or a wrestle for the good pair of sneakers. They usually didn’t involve a knife. Or a corpse. Or a police interrogation.

But this time was different.

This time he’s wiping his sweaty palms onto his school slacks he never changed out of, trying to steady his breathing and still his trembling hands.

Think positively , is what he wants to tell himself. It isn’t all that bad. Sure, he was kind of a murderer now, and sure, he was probably going to be sent away to prison for life or be executed, and sure, he was now the only twin still left standing of the two of them, and sure, he-

“Amaneeeeeeeeee. Look.”

Damn it.

He doesn’t want to look.

He doesn’t want to look, but he does. Up to the boy wearing his face- spare the huge, skin-splitting grin- that sits precariously positioned on the adjacent chair.

“What now?” Amane groans. It’s been like this for the past three hours, and he’s wondering when this is going to end. Not the police interrogation- he knows that’s going to be much longer- but the whole “hallucinating your dead brother” thing.

Tsukasa lifts up one of the donuts that had been so graciously left on the corner by a receptionist that took pity on him. Amane really wishes that she’d have been an exorcist, or even better, an executioner that could put him out of his misery.

“Look,” his little brother says again, holding the pastry up to his chest in comparison with the fresh gaping hole he’s sporting, “you made me a donut.”

A donut.

Amane bites his tongue as he snatches away the sweet and returns it to its box. His first instinct is to snap at him, as he always does — er, always did? But his thoughts have tangled themselves into a tight black knot behind his temples, and yelling is the last thing he needs for an oncoming migraine.

“Quit playing around,” is what he manages to hiss before returning his head back to the soothing cold of the metal table. It’s been a really long day, and all he wants to do now is sleep. Curl up in his fraying blue blanket and drift off counting sheep or stars or legs on a bug crawling up his wall that had most definitely escaped from one of his brother’s boxes. At best, he’d wake up tomorrow and be an only child. And at worst............

Well.

Perhaps he was already at worst.

“Amaneeeeee,” Tsukasa pouts, and Amane concludes he’s starting to hate hearing his own name, “I want to go home, it’s boring here. Hey, can we go home?”

“No, not until they let us leave,” he mumbles, and even then, Amane isn’t sure. Their house is probably crawling with officers and police tape by now, and though realistically he knows they won’t really be looking hard enough to find anything, the thought sits about as well as that leftover soba that’d sat out on the counter overnight. Perhaps it’s some misplaced sense of guilt. Perhaps it’s just the fear of getting caught. Perhaps it really was the soba still sitting like a rock in his stomach. It wouldn’t be the first mistake that came back to haunt him.

“Hmmm....” Tsukasa mumbles, and Amane feels him press against his back. Which may have been sweet, even comforting if his brother didn’t weigh enough to crush his ribs. And didn’t smell. Tsukasa never smelled great persay, usually a mix of sweat and sand and whatever candy he’d gotten stuck in his hair. But now Amane notices he’s starting to smell a bit more like mud, like a nosebleed congealed behind his nostrils. More....

Um. Well, dead.

And it’s certainly doing little to help his restless stomach.

“You know, we wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t died so easily,” Amane snaps, because there’s really been too many hours in this day, and his ears are starting to buzz. “And would you please get off ?”

“I wasn’t trying to die,” his little brother retorts. And even though he can’t see him, Amane can picture that stupid grin stuck from eye to eye. “I guess you’re just really good with knives Amane! Hey, how many times did you stab me after the fifth one? I kinda blacked out at that point.”

“Tsukasa would you take something seriously for once in your life?”

Tsukasa giggles. Just a bit. Amane finally feels the weight lift off his back, and he rises up only to be met by the usual pair of amber eyes floating upside down an inch from his face.

It’s a little weird, seeing the wall straight through his twin’s head, but it’s certainly not the weirdest thing to happen that day.

“No can do Amane! ‘Cause I don’t have a life!”

And Tsukasa laughs. Laughs so hard at his own joke he knocks himself out of the air and back onto the table, kicking his feet like a child. Laughs enough to send blood spurting out of the hole in his chest and dribbling past his lips, which he doesn’t realize for a good straight minute of making a royal mess. As usual. The words “clean” and “Tsukasa” have never gone very well together. When he finally does notice, he wipes his chin on his untucked shirt and looks even more like a murder scene than he already does.

Quite in character, Amane must agree.

He does his best to disregard his late twin as he heaves the biggest sigh he can muster, reaching for a donut. The only plain one. The only one he wants. Tsukasa has started on some other tangent, but Amane had stopped listening long ago. Maybe if he ignores him he’ll go away. Disappear. Slip back into the recesses of whatever center in his brain had fried itself, conjuring up such an ironic image of the body he’d buried not half a day prior. There’s even still dirt under his nails, he notices begrudgingly. And blood, but well, there seems to be blood everywhere nowadays.

“Oh by the way,” Tsukasa chirps, finally stopping to catch an unnecessary breath, “I licked that one. I hope you don’t mind.”

And if Tsukasa wasn’t already dead, Amane’s sure he’d have killed him again.

Step 1: Grieve(?)

Okay, so maybe he takes it suspiciously well.

But Amane isn’t really sure there’s any other possible way he could take it. It’s not like he’s done the whole dead sibling thing before, and a trip to the library to research “how to get away with killing your little brother” seems twenty leagues past the realm of possibility. The unwavering eyes of his classmates were enough to pluck his nerves. He really didn’t need some government agent added to that.

And maybe, maybe Amane would have cried, or at least felt bad about the whole situation, if his own flub wasn’t sitting in the windowsill chewing on one of his erasers. One of his good erasers. The kind that cost ¥300 a piece out of his monthly allowance.

Hm. Maybe he could ask for a raise on that now.

Amane waits until he’s certain no one is watching before snatching the eraser from Tsukasa’s cold, clammy hands.

“Quit messing around,” he hisses, careful to keep his voice hidden behind the hum of the air conditioner. He’s already been labeled as “the grieving kid” by his peers, and he really doesn’t need “the weird kid who talks to himself” added onto that. Even though Amane’s pretty sure he’s been the weird kid for quite some time now. That was only the natural title for a twin.

“This sucks,” Tsukasa whines, making a point to flop dramatically across his desk. There’s a weird squishing sound as the wound in his chest hits the Japanese history textbook, but Amane’s stomached much worse over his career of being an older brother. “I didn’t think I’d have to go to school when I died.”

“Why don’t you go somewhere else then? Like home? Or the afterlife?”

“Oh Amane,” Tsukasa giggles, “you’re so funny.” But Amane doesn’t see the joke. He’s too busy trying to smooth over the teeth marks left in the pink rubber, which takes him a full minute of doing so to realize just how disgusting it is. Though it pains him, his only option is to cram it into his pocket for the trash bin later.

Funny he says.

Amane sure isn’t laughing.

“Amane-kun?”

Both of their heads lift at the name, much to Amane’s irritation, but the scrunch of his nose is smoothed in an instant by the gentle gaze of his classmate. The classmate. You know, the one he spends every Valentine’s making chocolates for and the one he spends most nights dreaming of — except recently. He hasn’t been doing much dreaming or sleeping, given his brother needs neither of those now.

“....Yashiro-san.”

Even her name sounds sweet.

“I um,” she begins, fidgeting a bit. He watches as her perfectly manicured hands bunch into her skirt in repeated motions. Slowly. Tight as the knot working its way into her lips. “I-I just.....wanted you to know that…………well I’m here for you. If you need anything.”

It’s just those simple words that make something twist in his chest.

Because god, she just looks so cute standing there all worried about him — hair twisted in a loose braid and occultish brooch twisted just to two o’clock. Something straight out of one of his dreams or mid-class fantasies. Something he nearly gets lost in once more until he feels his brother’s arms around his shoulders.

He catches the forming grimace between his teeth.

Damn, Tsukasa’s really was starting to smell bad.

“Thanks...Yashiro-san,” is all Amane can manage. He wants to say more, wants to smooth out that tight little knot she’s twisted her glitter glossed lips into, but finds the words have fallen back down his throat. But it seems enough. Thankfully it’s enough. Yashiro gives a soft smile, a nod, and returns to the seat just in front of him as she always does. And Amane is left basking in the chance encounter with the girl he’s had a crush on since first year. Begrudgingly so.

She even smelled like strawberries...

“Someone has a cru~ush.”

The playful purr snaps his attention back to the ghost seated on his desk, feet pulled up crisscross and grin as wide as a cat’s.

“Shut up,” Amane growls, but it comes out less of a threat and more of a dissonant crack, “and get off my desk.”

“Aww, but I like sitting here. Look, you can even see Nene-chan through my chest,” Tsukasa chirps, prodding at his injury with a pale, gaunt finger. Rather disgustingly, he has to admit.

Amane ignores the do-it-yourself viewfinder and instead swats away his brother like a bug, each swipe through the translucent figure eliciting a series of giggles about being ticklish. Which really does little to quell Amane’s annoyance, but at least Tsukasa does finally move back to his perch on the windowsill. It’s not much better, but it’s somewhat of an improvement. At least enough space to give him breathing room unclouded with ectoplasm and corpse dirt.

You know. The usual things.

It’s only after he’s readjusted the horrible state of his notes that he realizes Tsuchigomori-sensei is talking, and Amane attempts to reign his mind back into the state of reality. Something that feels rather strange after spending four days now with his own personal slice of the afterlife.

He’d call it hell, but he’s pretty sure it’d be much hotter.

The lecture has droned into something close to german by now, so Amane allows himself to drift to the mint dyed strands streaking Yashiro’s braid ahead of him. Sans Tsukasa framing his view. For once.

I’m here for you. If you need anything.

If he needed anything.

Hm.

Amane can’t help but wonder if she could do anything about ghosts.

It’s after school when he finally catches her. Alone. For the first time in what feels like a month. Because somehow he managed to ditch his little brother who’d been clinging to him like a sweaty t-shirt. It was hard enough to pay attention normally without the cold breath of nonsense tickling his ear.

At least when he was alive they’d been in different classes, but Amane has quickly learned that the in-between fails to yield to typical societal norms.

And there she stands at the school gate like some sort of fairy queen or grecian beauty. Braided hair slouched into a knot just above the struggling hairband. Skull brooch twisted even further to 3 o’clock. Round ankles spilling out of her worn loafers and mascara smudged into avant-garde stripes in the creases of her eyes.

It makes his heart stutter in his chest. How did a high school girl make him even more nervous than murder?

“Yashiro-san.”

She jumps a bit at his call, quickly wiping her eyes in a gesture that leads him to believe she may have been crying. Not that he’s a stranger to her doing so. There were certainly a lot of things to cry about that came with the stress of being fifteen.

“Amane-kun,” she returns, smiling just faint enough to shoot arrows through his heart. Quite literally. There’s a weird pang that’s stuck itself between his ribs for the past few days, and Amane isn’t sure if it’s indigestion, a pulled muscle, or his organs finally deciding to take their leave from the mortal world. Probably the third option. He’d already found a single gray hair just above his ear last month, and he’s sure those melon bread only lunches were beginning to catch up with him.

“I um,” he begins, clearing his throat when his voice begins to wobble with nerves and dreaded adolescence, “you know how.....you said I could ask if I needed anything?”

She nods. Slowly.

“W-well, I know you’re kinda into occult stuff...and........um.............”

Damnit. Why was this so hard? He does his best to focus on her brooch, but the idea fails miserably as he realizes what it falls between.

“I was just. I was wondering if you knew anything about getting rid of ghosts.”

.....There’s a pause.

A chirp of cicadas.

A silence that swells so large it threatens to over him whole and crush him like a grape. Or a mosquito. Or a sternum with a knife through it.

Okay, maybe not the last one.

He finally sees her shoulders relax out of the corner of his vision.

“Amane-kun, have you been having bad dreams?”

The suggestion catches him off guard, and he blinks owlishly. Then nods.

Right.

Bad dreams.

Because ghosts weren’t real.

“Something like that.”

At least it sounded better than “I’m having hallucinations about my little brother, also I may have killed him.” But then again, anything really sounded better than that.

“Hm,” she wonders aloud, tapping her chin, “well usually ghosts have unfinished business right? Maybe it’s something like that?”

And Amane shrugs, because really what else can he do? “Unfinished business” sounded great in theory, but there was little he could imagine his brother actually sticking around for. Unless it was just his goal to drive him crazy, then Amane is pretty sure he’s succeeding on that front.

He doesn’t even realize just how close Yashiro has come until her arms wrap around him, gentle but firm and with enough spontaneity to make him yelp like a cat. But not out of distaste. In actuality, his heart is hammering in his throat, making it rather hard to breathe between his nerves and his compressed lungs. And not to mention the overwhelming strawberry scent that clings behind her ears. Or the skull pendant now jabbing him in the sternum like a blade. That one kinda hurts, but he doesn’t really mind as it sits squished between her–

No! Stop thinking about that!

“I’m glad you felt you could talk to me, Amane-kun,” Yashiro coos, just gentle enough to send his head spiraling into a post-crush-run-in hangover he’s certain he’ll have fully developed by the time he gets home.

“Y-yeah,” he begins, but he can’t even hear his voice behind his own heartbeat. He hoped that she couldn’t see his ears — yet another curse of being the only kid in his class who hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. “Of course, Yashiro-san.”

What he wouldn’t do to stand in this moment forever.

That is, until Amane feels an extra pair of arms join around his backside. A rather cold pair, accompanied by a frozen puff of breath on his neck and a sharp jut of shoulders into his back.

“Aw,” the familiar voice purrs, “hugs for Amane.”

And not even Yashiro’s well-endowed figure can salvage the moment.

Amane is, reluctantly, the first to pull away, but Tsukasa fails to let go as he sits clinging to his back like a koala bear. Amane does his best to ignore him as he lowers his head.

“A-anyways, you should be heading home right?”

Man, does it hurt to say that.

“Oh.......” she blinks, taking her own step back, “I guess you’re right. I’ll......see you tomorrow, Amane-kun.”

And with a nod, a smile, a twist of her perfectly messy hair around those delicate and dainty fingers, she makes her way from the courtyard and across the street. Leaving him alone, or at least, as alone as Amane can get nowadays.

He waits until she’s turned the corner before peeling his brother off like a sticker.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Amane snaps, but Tsukasa has devolved into a round of raspy, choking giggles.

“Amane you’re so funny. You got sooooooo red! You weren’t thinking about–”

“No! Shut up!” he snaps, but that’s enough to confirm his twin’s suspicions and send him laughing even harder. Which makes Amane blush harder. Which bubbles this urge just beneath his knuckles that he feels a lot of times being the older sibling, and the thought comes to mind of just how easily his hands would fit around his throat.

But he’s already tried that. The knife worked much better.

Amane slowly attempts to reign in his annoyance, heaving in a warm breath of summer air and closing his eyes to the hum of July. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t think about the fact that his dead twin has been following him around for nearly the past week, that not even the afterlife can free him of that. It’s okay. It’s fine. Everything will be fine.

Then, he lifts his head.

“Tsukasa.”

That manages to grab his twin’s attention and dissipate the laughter.

“Why are you here?” Amane begins, “I mean– what will it take? For you to pass on?”

The question sounds all too simple once it leaves his lips.

And Tsukasa blinks. Tilts his head. Presses a finger to his bottom lip in thought for a slow, agonizing moment before his face cracks into a grin of sharp, snarling teeth. It peels back even further as suddenly his hands are holding Amane’s face, cold and pale and smelling pretty downright awful.

Like “squirrel that crawled in the vent and died when the AC went out” awful.

Like, really awful.

Amane can still see the dirt cakes under his broken fingernails and tries not to gag at the squish of his own round cheeks he had yet to grow out of.

“I just want to see that look on Amane’s face again!” Tsukasa beams, snickering between each word. “The kind when you fiiiiiiiiiinally stop holding back.”

When he stops holding back.

When he stops....holding back.......

When he stops.....

“What...what’s that supposed to mean?” Amane asks, but it comes out sounding more like he’s speaking through a bad microphone. He feels the phrase around in his mind for a moment, attempting to decipher some strange, abstract meaning behind it, before shaking his head back to the reality at hand.

It probably didn’t mean anything. This was Tsukasa, after all.

And with a wide-eyed blink, Amane swats away his brother’s hands and does his best to rub away the chill and grim still sticking to his face. He didn’t have time for puzzles right now.

“Aaaaaaaaaanyways,” his brother continues, pulling his feet up in a crisscross several feet off the ground, “it’s a lot more fun hanging out with you Amane.”

Ah, there it was.

“Lucky me,” Amane grumbles under his breath.

“And look on the bright side! You won’t have people mixing us up anymore, even if you do wear the wrong name tag.”

“What does that–”

The argument dies in his throat the instant the words finally twist themselves between the cogs in his head.

“.......The wrong what?”

Tsukasa’s eyes flick downwards, squished by his smile that threatens to swallow his face whole. Not unlike a cat, if the cat had been stabbed through the chest, buried in the woods with a crappy splintering shovel, somehow crawled its way out of said grave to follow its murderer, and somehow still had the facial muscles to smile like that. And Amane slowly follows his gaze, down to his own (characteristically hole-less) chest and over to the pocket over his left breast. Where a metallic nameplate sits clipped in place, rimmed with a rusted crimson.

His heart drops to his stomach as he reads the lettering.

High School 1-B

Yugi, Tsukasa

Oh no.

Oh hell no.

Step 2: Panic

If the average person had zero experiences burying a corpse, then Amane would statistically fall in the outliers category for his lifetime. Even more so for the past week, now finding this will now be the second time he’s stuck burying his brother’s body.

If he’d known this would be a recurring incident, he wouldn’t have buried it so deep in the first place.

And of course, Amane’s certain it’s Tsukasa’s fault. His little brother always had a habit of taking his things or using his belongings without asking, ranging anywhere from clothes to school books to now, apparently, nametags. Hell, Tsukasa even borrowed his school locker, stuffing it full of his own trinkets with the half-hearted excuse of “getting them mixed up.” Amane had a feeling that wasn’t true, but it never was enough of an issue to press further.

So instead, Amane takes to practicing every swear he’s ever learned as he digs, because he’s about waist-deep in dirt, speckled in mosquito bites, and raw in the hands from the splintering shaft of the shovel. All three facts which he’ll definitely regret tomorrow, but the ache in his arms is making it difficult to think of anything except the goal still lying just beneath his shoes — those too filled with dirt, of course.

And all the while, Tsukasa sits perched on a nearby stump, picking at the loose, bloodied threads of his sliced school shirt like a child counting bugs.

Ugh, he hopes no bugs have gotten into the bag.

“Amane,” Tsukasa calls, finally seeming to notice the death glares he’s been receiving for the past half hour, “are you sure you don’t want me to help? I can help, I like digging.”

Amane knew that one well. Tsukasa liked digging so much that there was a permanent coat of dirt on his side of their bedroom and a thick layer of mud beneath his jagged nails at all times. And it unfortunately dawns on him that he’s beginning to look a lot like his brother in this instance. You know, sans hole in the chest. At least he had the right face for the look.

“No, I’ve got it,” Amane grumbles, because it’s much too late now for anything useful. And it’s just as he replies that his shovel strikes something firm, something crinkly. Something that shifts under the tip and nearly throws him off balance, but he catches himself from the wobble.

A garbage bag.

Bingo.

“Didja find it?” Tsukasa chirps, rising from his seat.

Amane shoves the garden tool aside before kneeling down next to the bag. “Yeah, I found it. You uh. Probably don’t want to look.”

It’s more of a demand than a suggestion, but Tsukasa doesn’t budge from his perch, peering into the hole below. Which really doesn’t help the knot in his stomach, because both of them have seen Tsukasa’s dead body one too many times for comfort.

Damn, what a weird sentence that was.

So Amane elects to keep his viewing party at a minimum and undoes the tie. The smell hits him almost immediately, even worse than Tsukasa sitting on his desk in class, even worse than that weird concoction they’d made one summer out of tomato paste and chicken noodle soup that had sat in their fridge for two months untouched. It’s enough to send his stomach lurching up to his throat, but Amane has regretfully become a lot more used to bad scents over the past week of living in the threshold of hell.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he reaches his arm inside. Feels the familiar bump of school buttons. Tries not to gag as his hand hits something soft and sticky. Ghosts his fingers over to what he thinks is a breast pocket and feels the cold sting of metal, but much larger than he expected.

He slowly pulls the object out, only to find the chill attached to a blade.

That blade.

Still dull as it was when he grabbed it from the drawer and still coated in a thick layer of chipping crimson.

Tsukasa whistles a bit, irritatingly, as he turns it over in his hand.

“You left that in there?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“I dunno, take it?” he shrugs, and Amane finally looks up to see him floating upside down. Taking things oh-so-seriously. Great. Just what he needed. “I mean, it’s probably not a great idea to leave it with my body right?”

His body. The way he puts it makes him shudder a bit, despite the heat still clinging to the air. But more than anything, he finds it irksome. Because Tsukasa should be in that bag with the rest of him, not watching his older brother do all the work and giving him shitty advice he should have told him back when he first buried the damn thing — but instead he’d been too preoccupied with his incessant “Amane look! I can touch my lungs now!”

As usual.

It’s a bit frustrating that this kind of thing is becoming the new normal.

“Yeah,” Amane sighs, putting the knife aside, “you’re probably right.”

Also as usual.

He takes a deep breath before shoving his hand back in, this time plucking the name tag from the tattered school shirt in one swift motion without managing to stick his fingers into anything questionable. Despite that, the tag is still coated in something..........tacky, but he doesn’t think too hard on it as he wipes it on his pant leg.

High School 1-A

Yugi, Amane

Perfect. Even if it might be carrying a few diseases now.

“Okay,” Amane huffs as he drops the correct tag back into the bag and seals it, “let’s get out of here.”

“Aw Amane, not even gonna give me a proper burial?” Tsukasa chuckles, righting himself onto his feet.

“You keep it up and you’re going in the bag too.”

“Ooo sounds fun! I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be buried alive. Or...dead. I guess.” He snickers at his own joke, but Amane rolls his eyes. “Besides! I think it’d be fun to try out other methods! Stabbing was alright, but I think we can get more creative.”

Amane clicks his teeth, pulling himself from the pit and taking up his shovel once more. Tsukasa is still prattling on, but Amane isn’t listening. Because his twin isn’t stopping any time soon, and it’ll probably be even longer before he says something useful.

And all Amane can think is how he should have chosen strangulation over stabbing.

Maybe then he wouldn’t talk so much.

It sits in his bag heavy as rocks.

Heavier than rocks. Heavier than those weights from gym class that always resulted in bruised knees and sore arms. Heavier than that pair of pants he’d had to carry around after he’d ripped them during a chemistry lecture. At least Yashiro had been absent that day. He’s pretty sure he would have been as dead as Tsukasa — who was currently drawing little monsters in the condensation of the window — had she known of such an incident. A 14-year-old boy’s heart was only so strong.

And certainly not stronger than a knife.

He’d tested that one himself.

“Amane look!” Tsukasa chirps, nudging him from his daydream, “it’s us!”

“Us” consisted of a pair of crudely drawn dinosaurs, both beaming their way through what he could only assume to be the school. Tsukasa — he knew it was Tsukasa because of the characteristic bat wings he always added — took the lead in the destruction. And Amane followed close behind, wearing an old school cap they had from a Halloween costume and – wait, was that a toilet? Wait, WAS THAT A KNIFE?!

His hand swipes through the image in one quick smack.

It’s even enough to stun even his immovable baby brother, who blinks wide-eyed before melting into a pout. “Aw Amane, what’d you do that for?”

“Quit messing around!” Amane hisses, lowering his head, “What if someone saw?!”

“Well–”

“Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want!”

Tsukasa bites his cheek at this. Stirs in his thoughts before floating from the windowsill and settling on his desk.

And in one swift motion, he shoves the chemistry textbook to the floor, watching as it lands with a harsh CRACK!

Of course, that draws the gazes of each and every one of his classmates, shaving a good five years off his lifespan in the process. Which sends Amane covering his face in shame and trying not to break out in a cold sweat. He can only pray he was meant to live past twenty.

Amane gathers his book, quickly, trying his best to keep his head low to hide the blush brandishing his face an ugly sunburnt red. And all the while Tsukasa’s swinging his legs over the side and grins so big it might split his face in two. Certainly could if he tried hard enough, given the paper-thin stretch of his skin. Kind of reminds him of that bad skeleton makeup they’d attempted for Halloween once – the same Halloween Amane'd nearly ended up with ink poisoning because their product of choice was a black sharpie.

But that’s beside the point.

Tsukasa’s smile grows even wider when Amane refuses to meet his gaze. “Why are you so nervous Amane? Afraid of getting caught?”

Damn him.

Was that really even a question? As if he hadn’t spent the past week with his gaze constantly pinned behind him, his ears pricked for every creaking board or passing car in the night, his mind filmed by the unending stream of questions of whether or not he tied the bag closed, or if he’d gotten all the blood out of the carpet, or oh god, did he turn in Tsukasa’s or his own homework–

And then there was the worst possibility. That by some off chance he did get away with it all, only for his grand prize to be an obnoxious blob of ectoplasm stuck to his side for the remaining 50 years of his life.

A lose-lose situation.

Amane grits his teeth and pulls his nose into the bend of his book, away from the prying eyes of his peers and the razor-sharp grin hanging above his desk. Which probably shouldn’t be as normal as it is, but he’s not sure even a school psychologist could help with that. What he really needs is some holy water. Or a priest. Or a lobotomy.

Maybe all three.

“That’s not going to happen,” he snaps just under a whisper. And that makes Tsukasa grin even more. Wider. Sharper. Teeth honed just as carefully as the cracked ribs poking out of his chest. He kinda reminds Amane of something out of a b-movie horror film, except the blood doesn’t smell like the homemade syrupy kind from Halloween and the entire visual is a lot more irritating than frightening.

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Tsukasa purrs, for once soft enough to match his own tone.

And Amane knows that he will. Oh, he certainly will.

Perhaps his little brother liked being stabbed just a bit too much.

So all of that was why Amane’s unloading the contents of his duffle bag into the school incinerator. All the time wishing he brought a mask, or a can of air freshener, or a rational thought that yielded better decision-making skills.

But instead, he’s stuck with a shirt stained in some very questionable fluid, a box of matches that got left out in the rain, and a little brother seated atop the monument to all his sins and chattering a mile a minute.

“Hey Amane,” he bubbles, swinging his legs, “do you think I could burn? I want to know what it’s like to be burned. Do you think it’s faster than being stabbed? Oh, and drowned too, I think that’d be fun!”

“Tsukasa–”

“Or strangled! Strangling would be neat too. What do you think Amane?”

I think I’ll be trying all three if you don’t keep quiet , is what he really wants to say. But instead, Amane simply shakes his head and chucks the final sock into the box. Which kinda sucks in all honesty, because this is the second uniform he’s lost this month, and his ratio of wears to wash days was steadily increasing. Any more and he’d be forced to dip into Tsukasa’s closet, complete with pant pockets stitched shut with dried bubble gum, threadbare knee patches from the innumerable tumbles and tears, and shirts tainted a sickly off-white.

And Amane knew better than to go into Tsukasa’s closet.

His little brother continues his chatter until he realizes Amane has grown quiet and follows suit. Because there’s only one thing left in that bag, something heavy and sharp. Something that he pulls from its polyester sheath with an agonizing slowness that crawls up his limbs and settles into his palm with a weight much too familiar for comfort. It would be shining, he thinks, should the sky not be clouded in impending doom and the surface in dried, crusted carmine.

Tsukasa breaks the moment with a hum, disapproving.

“Wow Amane, you really picked the shittiest possible knife.”

“Fuck off,” he snaps, which makes Tsukasa giggle. Which makes Amane grit his teeth. Which only exacerbates the itch between his fingers to return that blade back to its homemade scabbard in his brother’s chest.

But he doesn’t. He won’t. He made that mistake once already.

“What are you gonna do with it?” his little brother asks, thrumming his snow-pale fingers on the top of the incinerator.

“Hm........”

He flips it over in his hand, running his gaze along the worn red handle. “I’m not sure. It won’t burn, so I guess–”

“Oop, someone’s coming.”

And it’s just three short words that send him cliff diving into pure unadulterated panic — frantically cramming the weapon back into the bag and shoving it around the corner. All while Tsukasa watches with his same useless grin as always.

“Amane-kun?”

Talk about heart-stopping.

Amane’s quite certain his heart does skip a couple of vital beats at the voice, and spirals even further into arrhythmia when he finds the person attached to it. The person with long fair hair twisted into a haphazard bun, a run down her tights from knee to ankle to give his already wavering constitution a run for its money, and sparkly pink lip gloss to top it all off. And all at once the blood seems to drain from his face and into every other extremity of his body as she drags the black trash bag closer.

“Y-Yashiro-san,” he stutters, harmonized by the snickering of his brother, “good afternoon– ah, let me take that.”

He’s quick to snatch the plastic from those delicate fingers, because it’s all he can do to stop his gaze from tumbling to her other enticing features and sending his mind barreling down a mudslide of depravity. And of course, Tsukasa recognizes this. He’s snickering and giggling like a possessed doll from a horror movie, but thankfully Amane’s gotten pretty good about tuning him out. He’s had to. He’s pretty sure he’d have gone insane by now, if he wasn’t already.

And the whole time Yashiro watches him with those sweet ruby eyes, threatening to melt him where he stands.

“What are you doing out here Amane-kun?” she begins, “You aren’t on trash duty this week.”

It’s a simple enough question, and yet it still manages to make him sweat. Or rather, sweat more than usual. He’s been sweating pretty much constantly for the past week, and he’s not sure if it’s a medical condition or circumstantial. Maybe both. He should probably see a doctor.

“I-I was....” he trails, giving one last glance into the depths of the incinerator. His ruined uniform grins back at him, along with Tsukasa, who had apparently taken the momentary distraction to crawl inside. His little brother gets out a quick “Amane, look-” before Amane slams the door. Flips the switch. Hopes that maybe his biggest mistake will burn with the rest of the trash – a wish that only lasts a few seconds before Tsukasa pops his head out the top of the machine. Of course.

Well, a boy could dream.

“It was from the library,” Amane finally answers, “for Tsuchigomori-sensei.”

“Oh,” is all she responds with, soft and understanding and full of so many dangerous implications. Like that “oh” when Amane had realized Tsukasa wasn’t breathing. Like that “oh” when he’d looked up and found his little brother outside of his body. Like that “oh” when he realized he wasn’t getting out of this one easily.

It lingers there between them — that one little word — up until the moment he realizes the conversation sits limply in his grimy, bloodstained palms, and Amane opens his mouth to shake it back to life.

“Yashiro-san.”

They both pause at the name, because it’s not Amane who says it. No, he’s still left fumbling with the moment of intimacy with the girl of his dreams next to the roaring trash fire – and failing, of course, as the discussion has long since burned away into the smell of charred paper and decaying flesh. The latter scent courtesy of Tsukasa, who’s taken the opportunity to climb on his shoulders.

The voice instead comes from the last person Amane wants to see on any given day. The one he’s deemed his mortal enemy (at least, after Yashiro had gotten over the last one) and the accursed holder of his friend’s affection. The one Amane knew had asked Yashiro to help out after school, only to dump his responsibilities on her to get home quicker – and unfortunately for himself, Yashiro was all too happy to oblige.

That one.

“Oh, Fuji-kun, I’ll be right there,” she chirps, just sweet enough to make his stomach churn, before turning back to him. “I’ll see you later, Amane-kun.”

And with that, Amane’s left standing in the cold of July. Alone. Watching the bob of her sloppy bun and the hint of her stocking band peeking out beneath the hem of her skirt, pricked by the cold of his brother’s hands as he hugs him like a plastic suit, feeling rather sick to his stomach and empty to his chest. Hollow. A lot like that corpse he’d handled twice in the past week.

He really shouldn’t feel like this, but.....

It takes him a moment to settle back down into his own body. And once he does, he realizes Tsukasa’s been talking this entire time. Not that Tsukasa ever stopped talking, and of course, not that Tsukasa ever said anything important. But still, it takes a few owlishly vacant blinks before his brother slows his rambling enough to notice Amane’s distraction.

And once he does, a sharp-toothed grin splits the pallor of his face.

“Somebody’s love sick~”

Any other time Amane would have probably smacked him for that.

But after that — after seeing him again — Amane does feel kind of sick. But in a gross, spoiled-milk or undercooked meat induced sort of way, rather than the lightness he usually feels around one Nene Yashiro. A feeling that leaves his tongue coated in bile and his arms even heavier than usual as he slings his bag, knife included, over his shoulder.

So Amane quietly collects himself and heads for the road.

And for once, Tsukasa is silent on their way home.

Amane thinks he is, at least. Maybe his ears are just ringing too loudly to hear. Maybe it’s just starting to get dark earlier as his vision starts to cloud once he reaches the front gate. Maybe gravity has just decided to forgo its laws as he finds himself tipping sideways in the process of removing his shoes, hitting the ground with a thump loud enough to knock his ears clean momentarily.

And maybe he’s just hallucinating it — much like he hopes he’s been doing all the way back to his time at the police station — when he hears the clear cut voice of his brother, just inches from his ear, right before he slips away into unconsciousness.

“Amane?”

Amane’s in bed for the next three days.

At least, that’s what the calendar says when he finally is well enough to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. But it feels like much longer as he lays huddled beneath his blanket, skirting around the concept of consciousness, lost in some feverish haze and the heavy exhaustion pushing down on his lungs. Or maybe it’s just Tsukasa. He finds his brother sitting on his chest a few times, still talking away as he usually did and smelling like wet roadkill.

Which is to say, not good.

Well, he supposes this is karma. Amane had somewhat expected his body to just give out on him after running on pure adrenaline, about thirty total minutes of sleep, and a handful of jelly beans for the past six days straight. Not to mention whatever viruses he brought home from his late night escapade with his brother’s corpse. He’ll just blame Tsukasa for this one. As he always does. Even though Tsukasa never gets in trouble for anything, being the baby.

But well, he supposes he kind of deserves it too.

Once Amane finds Tsukasa playing with his godzilla figures (something he’d definitely kill him for again, if he had the strength to sit up). Another time, he thinks he sees Yashiro sitting at the edge of his bed, rubbing his forehead with a damp cloth and cooing words that don’t reach his ears. He concludes that one must have been a dream, as he’s certain the outfit she’s wearing reaches the gutters of his mind much too easily for all the bad karma he’s accumulated lately. But most of the time, it’s just Tsukasa sitting on his bed, picking at that hole in his chest and pulling out the occasional maggot or beetle. Disgustingly, he might add. But hopefully fake for the most part. He’s pretty sure insects can’t feed off of ghosts.

And the rest of the time, he’s asleep, dreaming about that knife still stashed tightly amongst his gym clothes and science club paraphernalia. Imagining new places he can stuff it into. Sharpening it to the point where it cuts just by looks alone. Plagued by the feeling of it in his hands as he pulled it from that grimy garbage bag he should have done a better job of burying.

And of course, most of all, lamenting the fact that he didn’t buy more bleach.

Step 3: Cleaning Up Your Mistakes (and Other Uses for Bleach)

He should have bought more bleach.

That’s the only thought that picks at his brain as he stares down the scene in front of him. All the while Tsukasa sits atop the toilet, whistling away and letting out an oh-so-helpful “wow Amane, you really made a mess of this one.”

Of course, this time had been an accident. A crime of passion. A blind mistake in where he shoved his knife, or some similar argument he hoped would stand up in court.

No, he wasn’t going to court. Get it together.

It’d gone something like this.

The previous three days had blended into some sticky, feverish fog for the most part, and Amane felt like shit. Still did, but at least today he’d been able to stand on his own two feet without immediately face planting back into bed. He’d even made it all the way to the kitchen, managed to cut up an apple and choke it down without vomiting before the doorbell rang. But that had been the final straw it seemed, the last nail in the coffin – because as soon as he’d seen those dreaded green eyes, as soon as he’d heard that casual voice asking “it’s Yugi-kun, isn’t it? I’ve got your makeup work,” something in him had snapped. Sparked. Popped like those shaken soda cans Tsukasa used to hand out to neighborhood kids. Something that just gave him enough rationale to pull his classmate inside before he’d carried out the deed, the whole time Tsukasa watching and cheering as if he were attending a wrestling match. It wasn’t much of a fight however. Fuji stopped flailing after the third jab.

And sure, Amane’s used to seeing red when it comes to Yashiro’s crushes, but this time it’s a lot more literal. This time it’s splattered up the bathtub walls and leaking into the grout, smelling of sharp copper and all around shaping up to be a pain in the ass to clean. And all he has to deal with this giant, glaring issue is a bottle of lemon-scented bleach cleaner, an old scrub brush, and a handsaw he managed to snatch from the next-door neighbor’s shed. And Tsukasa, who, as usual, isn’t being very helpful as he prods at the body like a cat with a dead bird.

“Hey, it kinda looks like he’s doing yoga like this,” his little brother jokes, nudging at the leg twisted up towards the corpse’s neck. He then takes the opportunity to try it out himself, which comes along with a few determined grunts and a serenade of cracking tendons and bones. Something that Amane thinks should probably be disgusting to him had he not spent the last two weeks living with a similar nauseating soundtrack.

And besides, he didn’t have time to get grossed out by his little brother when there were bigger problems at hand. Much bigger problems. Much heavier problems. It’d only taken a few thwacks for Amane to realize that Fuji weighed a lot more than his twin brother had, and wasn’t going to be a quick drag and dump out to the woods.

The briefest thought crosses his mind as to how he managed to keep his hands clean before this month. But only for a second, because he’s a lot more preoccupied with how he’s going to make this situation more..........ehem. Manageable .

That’s where the saw comes in.

He just prays that Yako-san won’t be wanting it back.

Tsukasa seems to sense his momentary hesitance — which, in actuality, is more due to the fact that the room is tilted a solid forty-five degrees on a fever than anything else — and gives the toilet a tap with his heel.

“Don’t worry Amane,” he chirps, “I’ll be right here if you start feeling sick.”

Gee thanks , is what he wants to say, but instead he keeps his tongue tucked tightly behind his teeth. Even though it’s pretty much useless, as one could never completely disconnect from Tsukasa.

“But maaaybe next time you could try something cleaner.....like strangling! Oh, or drain cleaner! I’ve always wanted to try that.”

“Tsukasa, could you be quiet for five minutes?” Amane snaps, ringing his hands around the wooden handle and in doing so filling his palms with splinters. He attempts to wipe away the surface layer on his pajama pants, but in doing so only succeeds in staining the originally white rocket ships a deeper shade of crimson. Great. Just great. He liked this pair too.

His little brother follows up with a pantomime of locking his lips and dumping the key in the trash. Which means that Amane has exactly 300 seconds to handle the classmate-shaped elephant in the room dumped limply into the bathtub, 10 of which he’s already wasted attempting to dispel the oncoming headache.

Oh well. It’s fine. He can manage. He thinks.

Amane sets the bleach aside and takes up his tool of choice. Gets to work. Goes for the legs. Those are always easier.

And he does manage. At first. For all of about 20 seconds that is, as his resolve is snapped nearly as easily as Fuji’s left knee and he’s sent scrambling over to the toilet as that apple makes its resurgence. Luckily, the toilet’s nearby. Unluckily, Tsukasa’s still sitting atop the tank, giggling to himself with that disgusting rattle of a hollow chest.

“Aw,” his little brother purrs, “looks like he doesn’t have a leg to stand on anymore, huh Amane?”

Then he laughs, as he always does, because Tsukasa’s always been one to laugh at his own jokes. Even though Amane never really found them funny. Call it another perk of being the older brother.

He finally manages to choke back his dry heaves and pulls his gaze up to the identical one above. Well, at one point it was at least. Nowadays his brother’s eyes look more gray in color, like the rest of him, and sunken in quality that reminded him of donut holes. Just more dead. More gross.

And with a few solid blinks to rid his vision of its feverish haze, he opens his mouth.

“Tsukasa.”

“Hm?”

“Shut up.”

Tsukasa grins wide. Too wide. Wide enough to tear his face in two. “Or what?” he giggles, leaning just a nose away so his older brother can smell the rot on his breath.

Amane shoves him away before he has the chance to be sick again, hauling himself to his feet. And as he picks up the saw again, he can’t help but think how he should indulge his twin’s curiosity about the taste of drain cleaner. Perhaps he could get some at the store later.

And bleach. Right.

He’s going to need a lot more bleach.

Yashiro had a habit of telling everyone her business, and Amane was always first on her list. He was the first to know when she passed her exams, first to know when White Inferno had died, first to know when she made it on the board of the gardening club. So of course, he was also the first to when she had a crush on a boy.

And the first time Yashiro asked a boy out, Amane had cried.

He’d always been a bit ashamed to admit it.

But that fateful day, he’d stomped his way home, locked himself in the bathroom for a solid three hours, and just let everything crumble. Because maybe it was just the weight of everything crashing down at once, but the realization of his feelings not being reciprocated.......well.

Let’s just say it hurt a lot more than expected.

It hadn’t lasted long though. Amane only had as much time to mourn as it took for Tsukasa to pick the bathroom lock, which then led to the following three hours being caught in a loop of insisting that he most definitely had not been crying, said in between bloodshot eyes and stuffy nostrils. But he'd gotten over it. It wasn’t like he was going to cut off his best friend after she liked someone other than him right?

And besides, he was much too busy being angry once he heard the full story the next day. Hearing those things he’d said. Skipping class to let Yashiro cry on his shoulder behind the basketball courts.

Amane had always been a good kid. Honest. But that didn’t stop him from wedging razor blades into the hinges of that asshole’s locker, dumping eye drops into his water bottle. It’d at least been funny listening to him puke his guts out in the nurse’s office. Tsukasa thought so too, even though he’d originally wanted to use bleach. And maybe they should have. They’d have gotten an even bigger laugh out of a prank like that.

But even after all of that, Amane still hated the guy. As he does with all of Yashiro’s male interests, but he’d learned to live with it. For the most part.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to worry about her fawning over some upperclassman like a starstruck fan on the day he returns to school, because all of her attention is on him.

No Daisuke-kun or whatever his name was, no Fuji-kun, no K-pop idol or otome distraction.

Just Amane, who she comes running to meet as soon as he enters the classroom, squeezing him tight and asking if he’s feeling better. He doesn’t even try to hide his elation over the fact that she was worried about him, that she made him (just him!) a bento for lunch, that she’s wearing her hair in pigtails for god’s sake . That had to mean something , right?

And it’s with this giddy high, mixed with a questionable amount of leftover adrenaline and cold medicine, that Amane has the courage to ask her to walk with him.

Not that they didn’t do it often enough, but this time was different. This time she’d specifically agreed to it. This time he didn’t have Tsukasa to interrupt, or Aoi and that glasses kid, or Fuji-kun (whose absence seemed to have gone unnoticed for the most part). This time-

“Amane’s got it baaaaaaad~”

Ah. Right. Never mind, he still had Tsukasa.

Amane is forcefully dragged back from his pleasant mood as he tilts his head up to his little brother – perched on the school’s iron fencing much like a tightrope walker, but looking a lot less like he knows what he’s doing and a lot more like he’s teetering on impending disaster.

“Tsukasa, get down from there. You’re gonna fall.”

And as if on cue, Tsukasa jerks his head up to give him some snappy “I’ll be fine” and tips. Sways just far enough to the side to topple down to the earth below, hitting the sidewalk with a loud enough crack that would probably be concerning had he not been.....well. You know.

Already dead.

But that doesn’t seem to deter him, as his little brother is already rolling to his feet a second later.

“So.” Tsukasa takes a moment to snap a few things back into place. “Are you gonna ask her out?”

“WHAT?!” Amane chokes. It comes out much louder and about two octaves higher than intended, and he’s quick to reel back his tone after realizing he’s pretty much yelling at thin air. Just another perk of having a ghost twin. So barely above a whisper, he hisses back, “Don’t joke about those things!”

“So you are going to ask her out-”

“No! I-I mean- We’re just walking home together!”

“Hm..............”

Tsukasa rocks back on his heels with a hum, and Amane’s guard is instantly up. Because when Tsukasa hums, he’s thinking, and when Tsukasa gets thinking, the consequences are never on the good side. So he watches as his little brother wanders over to the fence idly, scuffing his toes even though they fail to reach the ground anymore.

“You could at least ask her to the dance, since I don’t think she’d want to go with me like this.”

He almost sounds......sad? Disappointed? There’s something so uncharacteristic about it that it takes him a minute to even register the words. So Amane blinks. Once. Twice. A slow flutter of his eyelashes as if drifting off into sleep. Lets his statement finally settle into understanding as he curls his lips into a response.

“....What?”

“I said, you could at least ask her to the dance. You wouldn’t want Nene-chan to go alone right? Or even better, with one of her new boy toys~”

But that’s not the part he’s stuck on. That’s not the part that burrows its way into his ears and grinds against his skull, rubbing friction into an impending headache that no ibuprofen could cure. That throwaway comment, that implication -

“You asked her to the dance? ”

It’s formulated like a question, but snaps out more of a threat. It is a threat. It’s enough to make every muscle in his body tense, for his teeth to grind and grit together, for his nails to clench into his palms until he can feel that familiar stickiness on his fingertips and taste copper on the air. All the while Tsukasa just stands there, face pulling itself back into that sharp-toothed grin that he unfortunately knows too well.

All it takes is five words. Just five. In that same carefree, singsong tune as always, yet grated and whistled through the hollow tear of his chest.

Just five words to make Amane’s blood boil.

“So what if I did?”

And that’s enough.

Because at once, Amane feels something snap , and he’s rushing forward. Grasping for any attack method — which ends up being his moon dangler pen from his pocket — and lunging with the same fury he’d felt two weeks ago when he’d found the perfect knife to fit into his hands.

“I’m gonna-”

“Amane-kun!”

It only takes the one word to yank him back from the brink.

From his one hand drops the moon pen, and from the other Tsukasa’s soiled shirt as he takes a step back into the realm of rationale. Yashiro’s rushing towards him with a big grin on her face — sending his heart into a spasm — and it’s almost enough to drown out the giggling of his little brother behind him. Almost. The way he’s laughing, Amane can’t help but feel he’d have liked being stabbed again.

“Yashiro,” he greets, folding his emotion back into a pleasant smile, “are you ready to go?”

“Ah,” she begins as she finally reaches him. Her hair has twisted itself into delicate spirals in the wind, and the smudge of her eyeliner makes the animal in his chest flutter faster. Even from there he could practically smell her strawberry perfume-

“About that......”

And it’s as if the floor drops out from under him.

“I’m going to have to stay a bit later,” she explains softly, “I have to file some paperwork for the gardening club, and-”

“I....I can wait for you,” Amane’s quick to interject, but comes out weak compared to his growing, inevitable disappointment. He feels small. Well, smaller.

But Yashiro waves her hands in a mock defense. “Ah, no it’s okay! Daisuke-kun said he’d walk me home after, so you can head home......I really wouldn’t want to keep you.........”

Daisuke-kun.....

Daisuke..................

She’s still speaking, but his thoughts trail away. Wander off into deeper recesses. Dangerous ones. Because Amane...knows that name.............he knows...........................

“Daisuke-kun?”

Yashiro pauses her rambling. “Hm?”

“You mean like....... that Daisuke-kun?”

That one. The one that Yashiro had spent the beginning of middle school fawning over. The one that Amane had assisted in putting together her confession gifts for. The one who’d sent her crying to him and Tsukasa, where the two of them had spent the better part of an evening attempting to comfort her.

That Daisuke.

Huh.

Pity he was still alive.

Amane can faintly hear something about “oh, he’s much better now” and “he’s actually on the student council,” but the rest is lost to deaf ears, only mustering the focus to answer with soft hums and nods. He’s zoned out so much that he doesn’t even notice Tsukasa leaning on his shoulder until a puff of cold air hits his ear, and even then, he can’t quite see him. But Amane knows he’s smiling. Tsukasa’s always smiling.

“Oh, but don’t worry!” she chirps as she takes his hand, enough to pull him back from the cloud of his mind, “we can walk home together tomorrow!” And then, after a moment of silence as he continues to stare blankly, she adds, “I-is that okay?”

Amane blinks slowly, but returns her smile. “Yeah, can do.”

“Great! I’ll.........I’ll see you tomorrow then, Amane-kun.”

And without another word, he’s watching her rush off back to the school, leaving him standing in the long shadows of July with only the company of himself and his dead twin brother. The latter of whom is making a point of his presence as he drapes his arms over Amane's shoulders. Giggling, as usual. It seemed to be constant nowadays.

“You know, I still think we should have used bleach,” Tsukasa purrs as he flexes his fingers. Amane can feel the vibration of those exposed ribs against his back, but rather than disgust him as it usually did, it only makes something spark. Something kindle. Something grow with a vitriolic snarl inside of him, dripping through his veins all the way to his still bloodied fingernails.

Now it’s Amane’s turn to hum, as he does so with a pivot of his heel back towards the gate. But he doesn’t open it. Not yet.

“Maybe,” he answers, mainly to his little brother but also to himself, “but I think there are better alternatives.”

Besides, bleach was better for cleanup.

The first two times were accidents.

Those were easy. Those he could feign ignorance and whip up some tears for a jury. Those he could say he hadn’t meant to stab them, it’d just been a heat of the moment thing, an argument gone wrong, a flash of metal and fear. He hadn’t meant to kill Tsukasa, but the knife just went through his sternum so easily. He hadn’t meant to kill Fuji-kun either, but it wasn’t Amane’s fault he decided to come inside in the first place. And besides, it was Amane who had to endure those nauseating gurgles after he’d hit him in the throat on accident, who spent three hours bleaching the bathroom clean with just a tiny scrub brush, who forwent studying just to dig a grave for his classmate’s fragmented pieces. And well, wasn’t that punishment enough? Wasn’t it?!

It sounds convincing enough.

But the third time’s a bit more difficult to write off.

Okay, so he’ll admit, it looks pretty bad.

But to his defense, Amane hadn’t quite been thinking straight after he’d been reminded of that guy. He hadn’t quite been clear in the head when he’d waited behind the gym just to follow the two of them home. When he continued after that bastard until they were just out of earshot from the rest of the world, when he’d rushed up behind him before there was even a moment to recognize what was happening, when he’d buried his knife into his back, his chest again and again and again until the both of their pressed pastel uniforms were decorated in crimson pulp.

Alright, so maybe Amane overdid that one just a bit.

But Daisuke was still intact — for the most part — and that was more than he could say for Fuji, or even his little brother, the latter of whom was balancing his way upon the rickety backyard fence. Much like a cat, except larger. Less graceful. And definitely not as cute.

And for sure not helping as Amane attempts to load the limp corpse of his friend’s old crush into his neighbor’s wheelbarrow. He’s not sure that Yako-san is going to get this one back, but then again he doesn’t think she’ll even notice its absence. Her garden looks like it hasn’t been touched for years — overgrown and eccentric as she is — and Amane had always wondered if she even did any gardening in the first place.

It wasn’t just the garden about her that was strange though. There’d always been something about her that he’d never quite understood. Most of their interactions were limited to verbal threats when him and his brother strayed too far across the property lines or an almost-attack via scissors after Tsukasa had referred to her Misaki-san (a reaction which Amane didn’t quite get, because he was certain that was the name she shared with her late husband). Not to mention that one time Amane was certain he saw Tsuchigomori-sensei on her porch one night, only to stumble out in the early hours missing his lab coat, belt, and what appeared to be most of his sanity.

Hm. He tried not to think about the implications of that memory too long.

But needless to say, she was a strange woman. And considering she hadn’t seemed to notice the missing saw or shovel, he hoped she wouldn’t notice the wheelbarrow either.

Because at the rate Daisuke was leaking unnamed substances, she’s definitely not getting it back as clean as it left.

Amane just wishes the guy didn’t smell so bad.

“Whelp,” Tsukasa shrugs, floating over as his twin struggles to fit all four limbs into the cart, “at least it worked quicker than bleach. Hey, maybe if you just move him like-”

His ice-cold hand hits Amane’s arm, which sends him jumping away. Which snatches his hands away from the only handle keeping the cart upright. Which sets off the catastrophic rube goldberg machine as the wheelbarrow tips off balance and unceremoniously dumps the corpse onto the ground with a mushy thud.

Great.

“Oopsies,” Tsukasa offers, which does fuck-all for the situation at hand. Amane shoots him the most threatening stare he can muster before sighing, wiping his hands on his pants, trudging around the side to yank the cart back onto its wheels.

“Quit messing around, I told you to keep watch.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m keeping it,” his little brother answers, climbing his way back onto the fence. Amane takes the momentarily lull in conversation to hook his arms under Daisuke’s legs as he attempts to cram him back into the wheelbarrow. God, if he only had a bigger wheelbarrow. And some upper arm strength. And a few inches to his height.

Okay, so maybe he needed several things.

But he’s not going to get any of those, because Tsukasa’s still finding ways to suck on the discussion. “I’m just saying, but maybe you could have chosen a better place to kill him.”

Amane can’t help but snort. “ Sorry I didn’t think every aspect of this through.”

“It’s okay,” his twin chimes, soaring completely over the heavy coat of sarcasm. “I mean, if worse comes to worst you can always just bury him here.”

“I’m not gonna bury him in the neighbor’s yard! ”

“Why not? It worked fine for Misaki-san.”

It’s the nonchalant tone in which he says it that skips completely past Amane until he begins to backpedal to the actual words a moment later. He looks up to his little brother, staring towards the house, and follows his gaze. Over to what looks like the mounded remains of a raised flower bed, decorated in daylilies and coral bells. Notes the tiny wooden stake poking out from the ground. Blinks twice, swallows back those implications and returns his attention to the issue at hand, suppresses a shiver as he picks up a limp arm.

“Don’t joke about those kinds of things,” Amane snaps weakly.

“Who’s joking?”

“Keep watch!”

Tsukasa responds with something, but he’s not listening anymore. He’s too busy quickening his pace and attempting to cut back on the necessary time he spends in this garden. Amane’s sure he’s already spent enough time in that toolshed to last a lifetime.

Well. At least one thing was certain.

He, unfortunately, had yet another thing in common with his neighbor.

Amane’s not sure what he expects when he arrives to school the next day. Maybe a cheerful greeting, a tight hug. He could use it after the long evening before. His arms are still sore from the weight of the wheelbarrow, and sleep hadn’t come until around 4 am – if whatever fitful unconsciousness he’d slipped into with Tsukasa sitting on his chest could be called sleep.

But he certainly doesn’t expect the silence weighing upon the classroom the second he enters. So heavy, that even Tsukasa stops his incessant chattering, seemingly feeling the same spotlight gazes despite no one truly seeing him. And sure, Amane might be a few minutes late, might look a little deader, but usually his peers are kind enough to overlook his tardiness.

And then there’s Yashiro.

Yashiro, who stands by his desk, face flushed red and eyes to match. Who forces out a wobbly smile and a weak “Amane-kun” before she turns back to Aoi’s comforting shoulder. Who was supposed to walk home with him today (she’d even promised), but Amane has a feeling that isn’t going to happen anymore.

“What’s wrong.....?” Amane asks, but it comes out barely above a whisper. The ache in his arms has grown cold now and crept up to his neck, which he reaches up to rub before realizing it’s just his little brother leaning on him. Tsukasa doesn’t budge. Not that he expects him to.

It’s that glasses kid, Akane, who answers him. Which, in all honesty, is probably the weirdest part about the whole situation, because Amane’s certain the guy’s always hated him. He certainly hadn’t been pleasant after that time Amane walked in on Aoi changing. Even though it was an accident. He swore.

“Yugi-kun,” Akane begins, then stops. Takes a moment to adjust his glasses, smooth his shirt, clear his throat. “Well.....”

“What?” Amane repeats, this time a bit more impatiently.

“They....they found your brother,” he finishes, finally meeting his eyes. “Or well, his body, at least.”

.....Oh.

Oh.

Oh is the only thing that comes to mind as Amane begins to feel the blood drain from his face and hears Tsukasa let out a curious, mocking coo. He takes a single step back, only to find his legs have disappeared beneath him. Hits the ground with what must be a pretty significant thud, but doesn’t feel a thing. There’s people standing over him he thinks, but he only sees hands. No faces. No eyes.

No eyes except one pair to match his own, grinning down in the same silent laugh as always.

There are two thoughts that come to mind before he loses awareness to the world above.

Number one, that he’d certainly like to wring his little brother’s throat right now. Not for anything in particular. Just because he’s sure he deserves it.

And number two.

That he’s screwed. Really screwed.

For real this time.

Fucking hell.

Step 4: Accepting Your Fate *Disclaimer: Not Recommended

It’s Monday when Amane wakes up and realizes he’s completely and utterly fucked. Much in the same way that most Mondays start.

Because somehow his life has soured, rotted, completely spiraled over the past seventy-two hours to an even lower point than he ever thought it could go way back when he was just getting interrogated at the police station.

And honestly.....it’s kind of irritating.

It doesn’t take long for the police to find Fuji. Or at least, what’s left of him. They hadn’t identified him last he heard, but Amane knows it’s only a matter of time. It’s also only a matter of time before they find Daisuke too, because, in retrospect, he probably didn’t space out those shallow graves as much as he should have. And then it wouldn’t be long before they found the wheelbarrow, or the shovel, or the saw. He still had the knife thankfully, but the rest....

Well.

It wasn’t going to be an easy fight going out.

And in all honesty, Amane wasn’t much of a fighter. The school bullies back in middle school knew that, which was why he’d spent most days sweating under bandages and bruises. But he wasn’t necessarily one to lose fights either. He let them take their swings, their shoves, their spats. It was fine. He could take it. He saved the counter for later in the form of rat poisoning in their bentos or spiders in their gym bags. And after a dozen trips to the nurse’s office and once to the ER, they seemed to get the message. Of course, Tsukasa thought it was still funny to fill their desks with tacks from time to time, and it wasn’t like Amane disagreed.

So Amane intends to win this fight too before it even starts.

Take matters into his own hands.

Go out with a bang, or hopefully something less forceful.

And he only has a limited amount of time.

Tsukasa’s funeral passes with about the same amount of fanfare with which he died, which is to say, not much. Amane’s grateful that most seem to chock up his silence to shock even if it’s the exact opposite. He’s long since gotten over it. The shock of the incident had only really lasted for a full thirty seconds or so before he’d been subjected to his late brother’s torment from the afterlife, and then it had nosedived into full-on exasperation. Which was pretty much normal for any scenario involving Tsukasa. But he was good during the funeral. For the most part. He did almost destroy his own urn at one point, but that was actually one of his twin’s smaller misdemeanors in the grand scheme of things.

So when he returns home, treks up to what should be a quiet, somber room he once shared with his brother, he starts thinking. Planning. Plotting.

Because realistically, he only has a little bit of time to pull everything off. Only so long before the excuse of grief wears off, and only a handful more days before his sanity is completely depleted by the incessant ghostly chatter.

Look, Amane knows he’s not getting out of this one. He’s not stupid, and he’d lost hope a long time ago. It’s either go to jail for the next fifty years and suffer the unending questions of his little brother (who has made it vividly clear he doesn’t plan on going anywhere), or go to hell, where he can pray that there’s some semblance of rest in flaming brimstone.

And that’s a no brainer.

He’ll choose the latter any day.

Amane just prays whatever god is up above will overlook Tsukasa’s favorite pastime of smushing the spiders in their backyard.

But if that god is going to be merciful on his brother, it seems they won’t be on Amane himself.

His week goes something like this.

On Monday night, Amane does the first thing he can think of. Goes to the medicine cabinet in their parents’ bathroom. Grabs the first pill he can reach in the darkness. Downs as many he can before he starts feeling sick, wanders back to bed, and forces his eyes shut as Tsukasa sits atop him, praying that it’ll be the last time he sees that sickly pale face grinning down at him like a cat from the shadows.

Tsukasa manages to find him in his dreams however, and is still waiting there when he finally awakens in the morning, only to learn the thing he managed to overdose on was vitamin C.

Of course.

What luck.

So Tuesday he tries a more hands-on approach. It takes a bit more effort to snatch the clothesline from the neighbor’s garden, but the rolling pin from the home ec room comes easy. And after rigging it to the elevator (and dismissing all of Tsukasa’s questions about the “game” they're playing), he fastens the wire around his neck and presses the up button.

And to the tune of the same comedy his life seems to be rolling through, he only gets about a millimeter off the ground before the wire snaps under his weight.

Amane tries again later that day, this time with a rope he procures from his usual choice place of weaponry. But he finds about ten minutes in (with Tsukasa, of course, sitting on his shoulders) that he can’t for the life of him figure out how to tie a noose, even between the internet and an old boy scouts manual his brother had snatched off one of their classmates. And besides, even if he could, the only thing he could possibly hang it from is the ceiling fan, which Tsukasa (yet again) had so graciously pulled out of the drywall with a “swing” a few months ago. So that idea goes back in the shed just as quickly as it came.

By Wednesday he’s getting a bit frustrated with the matter, so he decides to clear his head by laying in the street outside. Tsukasa lays on top of him, smelling much like the roadkill Amane soon hopes to join, but he’s quiet for the most part. So Amane sits silently, waiting for the cars of parents to come rushing to pick up their children and completely miss his, admittedly, quite conspicuous form laying in the street and grant him a swift ticket to the other side.

He doesn’t receive such kindness.

Because what he thinks is his saving grace turns out to just be Yako-san, who, unfortunately , does see him. She makes that fact violently clear by swearing him out of the road from her window, swerving into her driveway, and then continuing the tirade once she gets out of the car. Which is about the expected reaction to any encounter with her. Amane’s used to it. He’s gotten good at tuning things out having spent fifteen years with his own clone.

And suddenly it’s Thursday.

And Amane, frustratingly, is still very much alive.

So it’s Thursday that he stands on the roof, threading his fingers through the fencing that is definitely going to be a pain in the ass to climb. Much like all his other attempts. The universe seems to have it out for him out of spite, and Amane can’t help but agree that he probably deserves it.

Oh well. This time would be different. This time was a one way trip to the afterlife, which he’s certain even hell would be better than his current state of affairs. Living with the looming ghost of his brother and a triple murder charge wasn’t exactly his idea of weekend fun. He’ll choose hell. Hell definitely sounded nicer.

And it couldn’t come soon enough as Tsukasa leans against his back, pressing his cold, rotting skin into the nape of his neck. Amane tries not to shiver. Tries not to gag. Tsukasa’s really, really starting to smell bad.

“Wow, that quiiiiiite a drop,” his little brother notes with a whistle. He steps past his disappointingly alive counterpart and straight through the fencing, peering down to the courtyard below. “Everyone looks like ants from up here!”

“Tsukasa, be careful,” is the only thing Amane can find the energy to say, even though it’s a rather pointless statement. It wasn’t like some drop from four stories up was going to kill him again. His little brother is a lot like a cockroach in that sense, or a squirrel, or a cat. Probably a cat. He did have a habit of biting.

“I wonder if it’d hurt,” he continues, toeing the ledge, “do you think it’d hurt if you fell?”

And much to Amane’s horror, he watches his little brother swing a leg out across the open sky.

“Tsukasa don’t- ”

“Amane-kun?”

Whatever stupid decision was about to unfold is quickly reeled back in as the two of them turn their attention to the voice. That voice. The one he knows all too well, connected to the girl standing just a few feet away, hands folded into the bunches of her skirt and hair tied up with a black ribbon as some sort of mourning symbol. Yashiro looks as if she hasn’t slept much over the past couple of days, but Amane will admit, he probably looks the same.

At least he doesn’t look as bad as Tsukasa, but he’s getting there.

Amane offers a mild greeting as she wanders over next to him. It’s more than obvious that there’s something weighing on her mind, but she doesn’t offer to elaborate. Doesn’t give more than a twitch of her lips as she threads her fingers through the fencing, looking down to the courtyard. It’s completely out of character for her, but he supposes it’s understandable. Yashiro probably liked Tsukasa more than he himself did.

“How.....are you doing?” she asks after a long enough moment. Just long enough for Tsukasa to step back through the metal and climb his way onto his twin’s shoulders, his chosen place of seating arrangements. Amane does his best to ignore him. It’s no wonder his back aches nowadays.

“I’m fine,” he answers, as if he were anywhere close to the word.

“.....Do you miss him?”

It’s innocent. Barely a question itself. And yet somehow more loaded than anything anyone’s ever asked.

So Amane gives a shrug, sighs through thick exhaustion.

“Yeah,” is the only thing that feels like a correct response.

It’s a lie, but Amane’s a good liar. It’s hard to miss someone who keeps you up all hours of the night, making a point to touch each and every one of your things and prattling on with an infinite supply of dead jokes – literally and figuratively. So many jokes. Amane’s shocked his little brother hasn’t run out by now.

And Tsukasa even laughs at his admission as if it were a joke too, pressing his grimy palms against his Amane’s cheeks and purring “aw, you miss me Amane?” Amane shoots up a glare in an attempt to silence him, but that only makes his twin snicker harder.

But thankfully Yashiro doesn’t seem to notice as she turns to him, taking up his hands in her own. Her hands are always soft, delicate, neatly manicured. Meanwhile Amane’s are large, calloused, and probably coated with corpse dirt diseases he didn’t manage to scrub off. He can still feel it under his nails. He probably should have worn gardening gloves.

“Amane-kun, let’s do something nice tomorrow,” she smiles, “I...I have a key to the front gate, we can come up here and stargaze like we used to..........you know.....i-if you want.”

...........If he wants.

If he wants.

Was that even a question?

Stargazing. With Nene Yashiro. Watching her dainty little finger curl around that telescope and her hair drape curtains across her face. Listening to her chatter on about her day, laughing at all his bad jokes, leaning her head against his shoulder when she gets tired....ah, maybe she’d wear that one lacy top too............

Amane snaps out of his daze before he can start drooling, dropped back into his present hell of shaky legs and sweaty hands. Yashiro’s watching him curiously, awaiting her response, and Tsukasa....well. Tsukasa’s attempting to climb on his head now, and failing quite miserably. As normal.

“Yes,” Amane finally responds, returning the squeeze of her hands, “yes I’d like that very much.”

It’s just that simple response that’s enough to make her beam, and he’s certain he goes momentarily blind. Like looking at the sun. Or an angel. Or Tsukasa’s computer screen, which he never used without max brightness.

Amane’s apparently deaf too apparently, because her lips are still moving, but he doesn’t hear a word she says. All he can make out is an “I’ll see you tomorrow,” before she’s off, hurrying back to the roof access door and allowing him just the slightest peek of the bands of her stockings. Ah, they have cats on them. How cute.

Maybe he’s luckier than he thinks.

And it takes a full minute for his hearing to zone back into the present, as Tsukasa’s voice fades in much like a train – that is, suddenly and obnoxiously loud.

“She really asked you on a date! A date! Wow Amane, I didn’t think you had it in you,” he laughs, nudging at his older brother’s ribs, “Guess it helps that all the competition is out of the way.”

That draws Amane’s attention to those dull, dead eyes. He makes a point not to match the same enthusiasm.

“You’re heartless,” Amane spits.

“Well that’s kiiiiiiiiinda your fault.”

Hm. Well.

Guess he can’t argue that one.

His little brother’s still talking as a thought crawls its way out of his mind. Maybe it’s just the euphoria of the moment still lingering that brings it to the surface. Or maybe it’s the fact that he knows he should have done it a long time ago.

But if Amane’s going to shoot his shot with fate this time, he needs to be prepared.

He needs to clean up.

He’s near robotic as he slips the backpack from his shoulder, unzipping it slowly and wrapping his hand with his sweatshirt before reaching into the shadows.

And once the shine of metal breaks through shadow, all chatter ceases.

“Ooo,” Tsukasa beams, pulling his knees up, “who are we going for next?”

Next.

That one word makes him wince a bit. Amane knows he’s probably made use of that blade much too often in the past month, but he’s tried to think of it as a bad habit more than anything. It helped him keep his dwindling sanity. It was just another thing to add to his list for fixing himself. Like not biting his nails. And buying appropriate amounts of bleach.

But he doesn’t linger on it too long as he holds the utensil out, far enough away to keep it from biting.

“No one,” Amane states, “you’re going to get rid of it.”

It sounds like a bad idea as soon as he says it.

And even Tsukasa seems to have his questions, because he tilts his head in curiosity. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Get rid of it and don’t tell me where it is.” Right. Out of sight, out of mind. He lets out a shaky breath. A smear of his free hand on his school slacks. “Then we’ll.....figure out the rest later.”

He just hopes it’s that easy.

And Tsukasa only stares for a long moment. Amane will admit, that lifeless gaze never fails to send shivers up his spine and remind him of those wax figures he’d seen in late-night television shows. He’d always had a bit of a fear of those, but it wasn’t like he encountered them on a day to day basis. Or really, ever. At least, until this month.

Then his little brother smiles with those teeth as sharp as knives. Reaches for the blade and curls his fingers tight. Just enough to draw some black, congealed mix of blood and other fluid from his palm, and just enough to send breakfast jumping back up Amane’s throat. He never blinks once in the whole minute stretched out to an hour.

Then, in one swift motion, he plucks it free.

Just like that. Just like nothing.

“Sure thing Amane,” he giggles, slipping his feet to solid ground. “I’ll make sure to hide it somewhere good.”

“Please do,” Amane sighs. It only takes a blink for both the knife and his twin to disappear, and with them both, hopefully his problems. Hopefully. A boy can dream.

Well, rather, at least one of his problems.

He’s sure he’s not getting rid of Tsukasa that easily.

Friday is a dream and a nightmare all wrapped up into one poorly taped, wrapped, and backordered package.

The good: Amane has his date with Yashiro this evening. The incriminating evidence is gone, and Tsukasa has been surprisingly quiet. Hell, he even managed to get more than an hour straight of sleep.

The bad: The police have been at his house most of the day, and they don’t seem to be letting up any time soon. He’d given all the answers he could back when Tsukasa first “went missing,” but the questions seem to have only increased exponentially since the funeral. At least he got the amusing sight of Yako-san chasing an officer off with a rake when he wandered too far onto her property. Hopefully the few items he’d stashed back in the shed would be safe.

But Amane doesn’t have time to think about that now as he stands at the school entry gate, wishing he brought a sweater to battle that nippy July night air. It probably wasn’t his brightest moment, showing up to a date in his school uniform, but then again he hadn’t quite been thinking straight when he’d left the house. Not today. Not this week. Not for quite a while actually. Maybe he should see a therapist. Or a hitman. Either one.

And with a rock on his heels, he glances back to his little brother, who’s crouched down in the dirt patch by the bushes. Tsukasa hadn’t said much for most of the day — or perhaps Amane just wasn’t listening — but Amane wouldn’t say he was necessarily ungrateful. It’d kept his headache at a minimum at least. It’d allowed him to actually think things through for once without the constant commentary running in the background.

But while the brief respite is nice, it was still pretty......weird. Because Tsukasa always had something to say. All the way back since the moment he could talk. And when he didn’t? Well then, that meant he was thinking.

And that had far more dangerous implications.

But Amane shrugs off any second thoughts once he sees her crossing the street.

Pink, perky dress hugging her waist. Flats worn and stretched around her significantly rounded ankles. Hair twirled up in two knots that remind him a bit of those old tv antennae and a bit of those cartoon renditions of green men from Mars.

And altogether just for him. Altogether perfect.

“Amane-kun,” she greets as she always does.

“.....Yashiro-san.”

He wants to say more.

But any compliments are swept from his breath in an instant as she embraces him. Tight. So tight he can feel his ribs pop beneath her squeeze as she presses every — and he means every — part of herself against him. And god is it nice.

Ah, right. He should probably hug her back.

It’s only once his arms return the favor that she pulls back just an inch to look him in the eye. Something she does quite nicely in flats, even if she was still a few centimeters taller than him. If only he could just hit his growth spurt already. Amane supposes this is what he gets for splitting genes with Tsukasa.

“I’m glad you came,” she murmurs, eyes pricked with a sadness he wishes he could reach up and wipe away.

“Yeah,” Amane responds softly, “me too.”

“I’m sure.....it’s been hard for you. You know.....” She laughs a little, but it’s laced with a sniffle that she’s quick to mask. “I guess it hasn’t quite hit me yet. I keep thinking Tsukasa-kun should be here with us, you know?”

And if on cue, Amane feels a cold chin perch upon his shoulder, inserting himself right in between the touching moment they should be sharing alone. As usual. But unlike usual when Amane leaves a long interval in between, Tsukasa stays quiet. Lips zipped shut. Not even breathing, which is typically quite obvious with his ice cold breath.

Amane pays him no mind.

“Yeah. I know.”

He wishes he meant those words.

So they stand there. Silently. Feeling the weight of the words passed between them as if guessing jelly beans in a jar. He’s sure Yashiro is thinking about all those times the three of them had spent together before his dear little brother had kicked the bucket straight into a knife. Amane on the other hand is thinking more about what flavor chapstick she might be wearing currently to make her lips so pink and shimmery. Maybe she’d let him taste it once they got past this whole mourning in silence thing. A guy could dream.

And Tsukasa?

He doesn’t want to guess what Tsukasa’s thinking about.

Amane finally manages to suggest they head inside, and Yashiro is much too happy to agree. He follows close behind as she unlocks the gate, then the front door, and the two of them wander to the lockers to exchange their slippers.

Ah, yeah. He’d forgotten about the lockers.

Because therein unfortunately lies another reminder of his twin squeezed in between the two of them.

When they’d been assigned them during first year, Amane had been overjoyed to find out he was just two away from Nene Yashiro of class 1-A. But the problem lied within the dreaded curse known as alphabetical order. Because as Amane Yugi with a capital A, Tsukasa was one step behind him. Meaning Tsukasa’s locker was only one away from Nene Yashiro’s of class 1-A. And between her and his brother was Lemon, but Lemon didn’t count, because Amane wasn’t even sure that he’d ever seen the guy use his locker over the course of three years.

But the point was, Tsukasa was between them. As he always was.

And Amane finds Yashiro’s eyes lingering just a moment too long on the now empty box before returning to her own and clicking it open.

“I hope we’ll be able to see some stuff with the clouds,” she redirects quickly. He watches as she peels off her flats, dropping them onto the bench with a crack and propping up her round, swollen ankles. Ah, those ankles. It’s enough to send his heart into a spasm, and enough to make him realize it’s much too early in the evening to be thinking the thoughts he currently has.

Amane snaps his head back to his own feet and begins undoing his laces.

“I think we should be able to see Andromeda and Aquarius, maybe Sagittarius too if the clouds start to move,” he explains, letting his mouth run in an attempt to keep his rogue thoughts at bay. “And the moon’s pretty low on the horizon tonight, so maybe in an hour or two we’ll be able to see it and Venus. I’m not sure about Mars though, because it might be too high up. But if we want to see Jupiter-”

A giggle draws him away from his tangent, and Amane looks over to Yashiro, who’s covering her face in an attempt to hide it.

“....What?”

“Ah, i-it’s nothing bad, really,” she dismisses, smiling, “it’s just........it’s nice to hear you talk about the things you love again, Amane-kun. I feel like you’ve been kinda distant since everything....you know...........”

Oh.

...........Oh.

Oh.

She’d.....really just said that.

She’d really just admitted to enjoying listening to him and sent his head into a spiral and his face heating like a convection oven.

Amane whips around back to his locker before she can see the redness of his face, gulps down a few shaky, shallow breaths in an attempt to reign in his runaway nerves. It’s okay. It’s okay. Breathe in, breathe out. Count backwards from ten. It’s okay. You’ll be fine.

...............

...Ah. Right.

This would probably be a good moment for......that.

For one of those secrets he’d kept tucked even deeper than he’d buried the knife in his brother. One of those admissions he never could bring up after she’d found herself another crush, because the last thing Amane would want to do was make a mess of her emotions and an even bigger mess of their friendship. One of those phrases he’d practiced in the bathroom mirror so many times that it felt scripted at this point. And maybe it is. Maybe that’s for the better.

Amane takes one final glance back at his brother, who’s picking at the hole in his chest like a grade school kid might pick at their scabs. Not that Tsukasa ever outgrew that habit. He had the scars to prove it.

Right. This was probably the most alone he would ever get in a million years.

..........Right.

He could do this.

Just one simple phrase.

Right.

It was easy.

Yashiro........I-

Amane swallows hard and opens his locker.

There’s a clang.

A loud one.

It cuts through the silence sharp and tasting of metal, snipping out any lingering conversation from the air with one swift motion.

From Yashiro, he catches a snap of her head and a sharp gasp.

From Tsukasa, he can see his mouth twisted into a surprised O, hissing out just under his breath a long, drawn out “oh....oopsies................”

And from Amane?

Just the usual.

Just pure, unadulterated horror.

The kind that sends his whole body plunging into subzero temperatures and his skeleton shriveling up and dying beneath his skin just like he’s been trying to do all week.

Because he knows that sound.

He knows that fucking sound way too well for comfort.

He doesn’t even need to look down to confirm it, because Yashiro does that herself.

“Is.........is that a knife?”

God fucking damnit.

The shock of the moment doesn’t even allow him to move before she’s picking it up, turning it over in those pretty little fingers as if it were just a simple piece of cutlery and not the monstrous weapon it’d become.

“It looks like.....a kitchen knife....” she muses aloud, “What’s it doing in your locker? Did........did someone put it in there, Amane-kun?”

Oh. If only it were so innocent.

He can’t find the words to speak as his tongue seems to have disintegrated away, leaving him fumbling with a million tries at an explanation. He really can’t find one. He can’t. How the fuck can he explain a fucking knife just falling out of his fucking locker?

He can’t. It’s all over. It’s all fucking over.

Yashiro’s still examining the blade when she continues. “We should...we should contact a teacher. Or the principal. Maybe they can look at security cameras and find out who put it there. Oh god, maybe it’s one of those bullies from first year. I thought they’d straightened out, but a knife is just unacceptable-”

“Yashiro.”

He’s a bit surprised at how level his voice comes out.

She looks to him, eyes glazed in that same innocence they always are and blinking as if he’s just her nice classmate who sits behind her. Not some sick bastard with a goddamn murder weapon in his shoe locker (not that he put it there in the first place, but what difference does it really make?).

And that’s what makes him the sickest.

What makes him feel like the absolute scum of the earth.

Not even the scent of his brother — who’s floated up next to him at this point and actually looking just the teensiest bit guilty for once in his life (er....afterlife?) — can compare to the churn of anxiety in his stomach currently.

Amane takes a slow breath in.

“Give me the knife, Yashiro.”

Just keep calm.

Keep calm.

It’d be okay.

Instead, she takes a step back, most definitely not giving him the knife.

“Amane-kun, what are you talking about? This is practically a threat! We need to report it to someone – ah, wait, I think I still have Tsuchigomori-sensei’s number from that field trip-”

“Yashiro, give me the knife. It’s not a big deal.”

It’s more firm this time. Less room for question. Yet for some reason, she only looks more confused.

“Amane-kun......” she trails, tilting her head. She looks a bit like a rabbit with her nose all scrunched up, and somehow that makes him feel even more like the predator he is. “What....what do you mean......of course it’s a big deal................”

Amane takes a long step forward, forcing her back into the shimmer of the moon through the hallway.

“Give it to me.” A hard swallow. A grit of his teeth. “I’m not playing around.”

“Neither....am I..............Amane-kun.....why are you acting so weird?”

“Give me the fucking knife Yashiro.”

And with that, he steps out of the shadows. And with that, she backs all the way up to the wall, bringing the blade up closer to her face in some intermingle of confusion and growing fear.

“Amane-kun, stop it,” she snaps, just barely a whisper, “you say this is no big deal and now you’re acting so serious about it, i-it’s....it’s.........”

Suspicious would be a good word. Horrible would be another.

But she doesn’t finish with either.

Instead, her eyes trail down to the blade in distraction.

“Is that...........blood......?”

Shit.

Amane stops in his tracks as she squints into the blade, watching her eyes twist from foggy uncertainty to wide, ruby marbles.

And it’s then, that her gaze trails up the knife.

Up to him.

Up past him, and slightly to the right, just over his shoulder and into the shadows behind.

Amane follows her stare as a single word catches in her throat before peaking its way out into the moonlight.

“...Tsu.........Tsukasa....kun...............?”

Oh.

Oh no no no.

Tsukasa glances between them with wide, innocent eyes as his feet settle to the ground. It’s all an act though, Amane’s sure. Tsukasa was never as guiltless as he looked.

And he’s proven right not even a second later, because Tsukasa’s expression suddenly twists into something more mischievous. Something more sinister. Something built of a grin from ear to ear, a sickly sheen of skin in long need of embalming, a projection of a boy that died two weeks prior at the hands of the one he loved the most.

That little fucker’s enjoying this, is the only thing Amane can think.

“Oh, hi Nene-chan,” Tsukasa finally responds through shredded lungs, “Long time no see, huh?”

He should have just kept his mouth shut.

Because that’s all it takes for Yashiro to scream.

Loud.

So loud it makes Amane wince, which gives her just enough time to execute what is arguably her most intelligent move of the evening.

Yashiro drops the knife. Slams the fire alarm on the wall behind her. Books it off into the darkness of the school.

Which leaves Amane standing there stunned in the entryway, drenched in the sound of sirens and sweat.

Well fuck.

That went about as worse as it could possibly go.

It takes him a minute to regain his senses, all the while Tsukasa stands next to him awkwardly twiddling his thumbs.

“What......” Amane breathes, attempting to process that response. It’s not like he can. Even if he tries. “W-what do I do now?”

His brain has turned to static, and he’s pretty sure he can feel it leaking out of his ears.

“You could....” Tsukasa offers, much too sheepishly for character, “you could go after her.....?”

Ah.

Right.

He supposes that’s the only thing he can do.

Amane snatches the blade from the ground before taking off.

And god is he sweating like a pig in a slaughterhouse.

“Yashiro!” Amane shouts in some pathetic attempt to appeal to her. He can see something darting around the corner up ahead, so he follows close behind. Feeling sick. Feeling cold. “Yashiro, wait! I-it’s not- I’m not going to hurt you!”

“Is that why you’ve been acting so weird?” Yashiro shouts from somewhere up ahead. “I thought- I thought you were mourning!”

He can hear footsteps in the stairwell.

“Yashiro, please, I promise it isn’t like that!”

“I mean,” Tsukasa butts in, “to be fair, it kind of is.”

“Tsukasa would you SHUT UP ?”

A door slams around the corner.

“And Daisuke-kun and Fuji-kun? Were they from you too?”

“Okay, first off those guys were jerks-” he begins, then backpedals, “I mean- no, well yes, but-”

“I-I should have known! I should have known something was off-”

Her voice cracks into a sob, and that’s the worst thing he’s heard all night.

“Yashiro, please just come out and I can explain everything-” Amane pushes open a door. The classroom sits empty.

“I mean,” Tsukasa hums behind him, “it probably isn’t helping that you’re carrying around a knife.”

“Oh my god Tsukasa would you SHUT THE FUCK UP ?!”

There’s a slam from the entryway below, and Amane’s heart drops into his stomach.

“Oo,” his twin purrs, “looks like the fire department is here.”

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

He needs to get out of here.

He doesn’t have time for this!

Amane takes off in the opposite direction.

And he’s running. Sprinting. Sweating. God he’s sweating so fucking much. He didn’t even know someone could sweat this much. He really might have a medical problem there.

And he’s just at the stairs when Tsukasa chirps “oop, they’re coming in that way too.”

So he makes a hard left.

Books it down the darkened school to the next branching hallway where he hears the returned serenade of boots coming down from the left. He cuts an unsuspecting right.

“I’m trapped,” Amane chokes out, the adrenaline the only thing keeping his emotions at bay as he slows to a dead end, “there’s no way out, I can’t-”

He’s trapped.

He’s fucking trapped.

This is how it all ends. Outside of the goddamn art room of all places. He always hated art.

Tsukasa taps his chin for a moment, before snapping his fingers with a smile. “A window!”

Right....

Right!

He could get out a window!

There......there was one in the bathroom.....he can drop onto the awning from there-

Amane takes off towards the sign at the end of the hall swinging above the door. His saving grace. His call to freedom! He doesn’t even care that it’s the girl’s bathroom that he slams his way into, because he’s too busy nearly crying at the sight of the window ahead.

He can get out. He’s going to make it! He’s not going to go to jail, or be executed, or be sent away to a life stuck with his little brother’s ghost for the rest of his days. Oh god what a life that would be.

But the thought’s no more. He’s going to make it. He’s going to-

“Oh, watch your lace-”

The warning comes too late as Amane feels his foot catch.

And suddenly, his world tilts on its axis. Literally.

There’s a momentary yelp.

A slosh of his stomach.

Two sickening cracks that he can only assign to his skull and then his spine.

The potent sound of fabric tearing.

And finally, black.

Just......black.

Step 5: Karmic Retribution

When he finally comes too, Amane isn’t quite sure where he is. All he can tell is that it’s dark.

Too dark.

Much too dark for six o’clock, and much too cold for July. The kind of cold that bites up from the hard floor beneath him, up through his spine like a sharp, snappy shiver, and finally out his extremities with a fuzziness like a caffeine overdose. He squeezes his eyes closed to nothingness, then opens them back to the exact same thing. Just darkness. Cold, hard darkness.

His first inclination is that he’s still sick.

That somehow, the last week and a half has really been the illness-induced dream it’s felt like. That, in actuality, he’s still laying in bed, drenched in fever and fatigue as he struggles to stay awake for more than a few minutes. He’ll admit, the whole string of events up until now have felt pretty unreal, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up in the morning with a bottle of tylenol and a glass of water on his nightstand. But that seems too easy. That seems much too good to be true, and Amane’s learned by now not to expect good things in his life.

The second thought he has is that he’s gone blind.

That idea doesn’t hold much weight once his vision begins to adjust, but for a second it’s the most likely scenario. That crack which must have been his head definitely sounded concussion-worthy, and it’d be just his luck to strike the right nerve and shut down his eyes completely. Yet another kick from the universe after he’s been down for quite some time.

Actually, that’d probably be for the best. At least he wouldn’t have to look at Tsukasa then.

But once his eyes come into focus, Amane realizes he’s staring at a grid.

Ceiling tiles.

School ceiling tiles.

........Ah.

Right. He’s still in the girl’s bathroom. A place where he probably shouldn’t be.

He should.....he should probably get out of here. Right.

Amane pushes himself up.

The motion is met with immediate regret as a sharp, shooting ache diffuses through every muscle in his body, leaving him wincing and groaning as he struggles to keep his balance. Oh yeah, he was definitely going to hurt tomorrow. His untied laces seem to snicker back at him as he pulls his feet underneath him, and he shoots them the most threatening glare he can muster towards an inanimate object.

Bastards. He should have just taken them off.

“You’re awake!”

Aw, shit.

The voice hits him nearly as hard as the body it came from does, and he struggles himself upright through the force of the tackle.

“Ow ow- HEY!” Amane flails, trying to find where his arms end and his brother’s begin. “Tsukasa get off me!”

“Oh Amane I was getting worried! I told you to watch out and you didn’t, even though I told you and oh I thought for sure that you were done for when you fell like that but not really because I know you’re better than that Amane I just know-”

“OFF!”

It’s one final shove that peels Tsukasa off like a sticker. Except less cute. More annoying. Definitely not one you’d want as a reward for a good grade. And the second he’s separate, Amane slaps a hand over his twin’s mouth to stop him from saying more. Because he knows Tsukasa wants to. Tsukasa always wants to.

It’s only then that he gets a good look at his twin, standing there beaming under his makeshift gag.

Skin gray as ash. Hole torn sternum to spine. Eyes wide and frantic yet glazed with that film characteristic of science class dissections.

Still very much dead.

So that part hadn’t been a dream.

Amane follows his survey of the scene straight through Tsukasa’s ghostly form. Through the window he can see the moon — crescent shaped — hung high on the horizon like a devious smile, and he takes note that the alarm has stopped its infernal screeching. His attention redirects to his twin once more.

“Tsukasa.”

“Mm,” he hums through his brother’s hands. Amane pulls them away only to reveal Tsukasa’s grinning like a rabid animal beneath. Touching. It’s a wonder he doesn’t bite.

Amane sighs as he rubs his eyes. “How long was I out?”

“Oh.......maybe about five hours?”

“F-five-” he sputters, choking on the word as he pops his lips like a fish. “W-where’s the fire department? The police?!”

“Oh, they left a while ago!”

“They left ?!”

“Sure did!” Tsukasa giggles. “Saw it with my own two eyes! Nene-chan too!”

“Ne.........”

Amane fumbles for words, only to find they’ve buzzed right out of his mouth and dumped straight onto the bathroom floor.

Yashiro....left? It.........it didn’t make any sense. Not one bit. Just going home like that. It couldn’t. Not after all of that, right? She couldn’t have just-

Amane halts his thoughts.

Because Tsukasa’s smiling at him.

And he’d say like always, because there really wasn’t a time that his twin wasn’t radiating manic joy, but this time is off. This time there’s something more sinister, more feral about it. A row of sharp, jagged fangs glinting back like needles, daggers, kitchen knives.

This time he looks just about to burst over how tickled he is with himself, and it makes Amane’s stomach twist.

But that sickening feeling suddenly migrates to his fists in that tingling, burning sensation to bury them into something.

Amane snatches his brother’s collar and drags him close enough to bite.

“What did you do?”

A sharp, shaky inhale. A tightening of his fists and grit of his teeth.

“Ooo Amane,” Tsukasa chuckles innocently, “I like when you get violent.”

“Cut it out Tsukasa, what the fuck did you-”

Amane stops mid-tirade, cut off by his own trailing gaze. Because in the midst of staring into Tsukasa’s rotting teeth, he’s wandered his eyes down further, just for the briefest of seconds, to his own hands.

His.......hands.

They................................

Huh.

He takes a hard swallow as he continues across the rest of the room.

Over to the bathroom door, which he now notices is barred with police tape.

Down to the spot he just arose from moments ago, framed into a tragically short human shape with white electrical tape.

Up to the mirror, where he can see himself and his little brother, now looking, once again, a lot more like twins – with the same grey skinned complexion, same sunken eyes, same bloody stain in the center of their school shirts to which he can just picture Tsukasa’s delighted cheer about how they match.

And then finally, back to his hands.

Still covered in blood.

He’s gotten used to that fact.

Except now, he can also see blood on his brother’s school shirt beneath his hands. Right through his hands. Right through his fucking body.

Amane’s ears are ringing.

And he’s not pulled back until Tsukasa lets out a giggle, prying himself from his now slackened grasp and popping his feet up into a crisscross. Carefree as ever. Careless as ever.

“I told you to watch the laces,” he snickers, tapping his chin. “I thought you’d know better than to play with knives, Amane.”

It’s static.

It’s all static.

Amane breathes in. Out. Opens his mouth to flex his tongue to the roof before swallowing it back with dry, chapped lips.

Then slams his teeth together with a snap.

“Are you fucking kidding me- ”

End of guide.

Disclaimer: murder is a felony. Do not attempt, planned or unplanned.*

*Note – if the previous statement has been negated, do not get caught.

And most importantly, do not run with knives.