Work Text:
Touya liked to hide in the closet. Natsuo found him there, hidden beneath the rows of Mom's clothes, back pressed into the corner, knees drawn to his chest. Huddled away from the shouting and Shoto's screaming, all of it muffled by the clothes. Natsuo joined him, pressing against his brother in silent comfort that he leaned into because they were all they had. Natsuo listened when he could, not quite understanding everything Touya meant, but understanding enough to plant the seeds of anger in his chest. Not that it mattered.
Nothing else mattered when they sheltered themselves in the closet. The closet was safety. The closet was the place they could always go to be alone. To hide from the world that only wanted to hurt them. They were safe in the darkness.
Even when the closet grew cramped as their small bodies got bigger, they still hid. There was safety in the familiarity of it. Comfort in pressing his shoulder against Touya's, Touya leaning his head on Natsuo's shoulder, drained from the day of hiding burns and walking on eggshells, waiting for someone other than Natsuo to notice the toll it took.
No one ever did.
Natsuo can understand why Touya was so desperate to be noticed. Sort of. Natsuo was content to exist in the shadows, another failure in the line of them. The last failure. Natsuo was never anything but a failure. So he didn't fully understand.
He understands more now. Maybe not fully, but enough.
He still craves those quiet moments of peace. When it was just him and Touya and the musty smell of Mom's clothes that hadn't seen daylight in years. Them and those quiet, gentle touches that were their solace in the midst of the violent, chaotic storm that their lives were. Peace and comfort.
So maybe that's why Natsuo makes a place to hide in his own closet. A place that reminds him of those soft moments of comfort. Of the line of Touya's heat keeping him warm while Natsuo's natural chill kept Touya cold. A fragile balance of temperature.
Except Touya's been gone for years.
So Natsuo piled blankets and pillows inside, keeping a space heater constantly running to try and replicate that feeling. Not that it ever worked, but it didn't stop him from trying to recreate one of the only comforts he knew.
It's silly and childish, and Natsuo should move on, but the thought of even attempting to do so makes a weight settle heavy in his stomach. Makes him feel physically ill. Makes his gut churn with something he can't quite describe. Wrongness is the closest thing he has, and that isn't enough.
It's fine if Natsuo doesn't focus on it.
Touya is all he had.
And he's a memory.
A ghost haunting his past and present.
A ghost that will haunt his future.