Part 2: Fractured Quiet
"Kaito, that is enough!" Renjiro growled, exerting his full physical weight to force Kaito backward, pinning him firmly against the side of the sofa. "Look at me! That is your brother! Step down!"
Kaito thrashed for several seconds longer, his chest heaving with ragged, suffocating breaths. But under Renjiro's absolute refusal to budge, the adrenaline abruptly drained out of him. His knees buckled slightly, his strength giving out all at once. Yanking his arms free from Renjiro's slackening grip, Kaito stumbled back onto the cushions and buried his face in his trembling, sweat-stained hands, sobbing violently into his palms.
It was only after Kaito finally collapsed back onto the sofa that Haruto's body reacted to the overwhelming spike of terror.
Haruto brought both bandaged palms up, slamming them over his face to hide from the room. His heart hammered wildly against his broken ribs like a trapped bird. His left eye twitched closed involuntarily, locked in a painful, stress-induced spasm. His breath came in shallow, frantic gasps, and a sudden, hot sensation trickled down his upper lip—a sharp nosebleed triggered by the sheer spike in blood pressure.
He kept his hands pressed over his face, desperately hiding his physical breakdown, but a dark drop slipped past his wrist and hit his trousers.
Renjiro glanced over, his sharp eyes instantly catching the stain. "Akari."
Akari dropped to her knees in front of the chair. Knowing Haruto's severe phobia of seeing blood, she reacted smoothly and without panic. She pulled a clean cloth from her coat and gently pulled his hands down just enough to dab away the red trail before he could open his eyes to look at it.
"Breathe, Haruto," Akari commanded softly, her voice an anchor in the storm. "Don't look down. Keep your eyes on me. Breathe in."
Haruto forced his lungs to expand, taking in a shaky breath.
"Breathe out," she guided smoothly.
Haruto let the air escape his teeth.
"In again... and out."
They repeated the cycle four, five, six times. Slowly, the deafening roar of his pulse began to recede. The dizzying spell of near-fainting passed, and the painful spasm in his left eye gradually relaxed, allowing him to open it slightly while keeping his focus strictly on Akari's face. He sat slumped in the chair, completely exhausted and thoroughly shaken, but conscious.
Renjiro patted Haruto's shoulder gently before turning back toward the living area. The sofa was empty.
During the commotion, Kaito had slipped away without making a sound.
Before anyone could speak, a sharp, heavy crash echoed down the hallway, followed by the muffled splintering of wood and the harsh thud of objects hitting the wall.
Renjiro didn't hesitate. Leaving Akari with Haruto, he walked directly toward the source of the noise—Kaito's bedroom. The door was unlocked, resting slightly ajar, rattling against its frame with every impact from inside. Renjiro pushed it open just an inch, peering quietly through the gap rather than forcing his way through.
The room was in total chaos. Kaito was amidst a full emotional breakdown, wildly tearing through his belongings. Books were being ripped from shelves and hurled across the floor, paper flew in scattered shreds, and desk drawers sat overturned in the clutter.
Kaito caught sight of Renjiro standing at the door. "Stop looking at me!" he screamed, his voice cracking with pure anguish.
Driven by blind anger, Kaito grabbed a wooden chair and hurled it across the room. It smashed violently against the doorframe, nowhere near Renjiro, before clattering loudly to the floorboards.
Renjiro didn't yell or scold him. He simply stepped back out of the doorway and pulled the door shut, giving Kaito his boundary while remaining standing in the quiet hallway nearby so the boy knew he wasn't abandoned.
In the living room, Haruto rested his chin against his chest, listening to the muffled thuds and breaking wood from behind Kaito's closed door. Kaito's cruel words—Why are you alive?—echoed over and over in his mind, cutting far deeper than any physical injury. His breathing had finally evened out, but the fear lingered—not just of the monster he suspected lived inside his brother, but of the crushing realization that his analytical deductions couldn't solve the tragedy.
Kaito was grieving. Haruto was grieving. Separated by a single wooden door inside the same quiet house, both brothers were fracturing under the weight of Ayame's ghost, completely unable to reach each other.