Chapter Text
“Halt villains! Your nefarious schemes end here!”
Ichiji spins, cape flaring out behind him dramatically, and laughs loudly. “Well, well, if it isn’t Sora, warrior of the sea! I’m afraid you’re too late though! The laser is already finished and will soon fire on your pathetic Marine base!” He pauses as the crowd in front of them boo’s and jeers.
“Sora, no!” One child yells over the other voices.
“You fiend!” Sanji says, “I’ll never let you get away with this!”
“We already have!” Yonji says from behind Ichiji, “Behold!”
Ichiji steps away from his spot and moves to his mark further downstage, allowing enough room for the Death Laser to be wheeled out by a few stage hands in nondescript minion outfits. He hears murmurs and gasps from the crowd as the laser is revealed. The oversized prop is rather impressive, standing nearly ten feet tall and still managing to weigh a couple hundred pounds despite being completely hollow inside.
“This laser will vaporize anything in its path to ash in less than a second!” Niji laughs, patting the prop. “You might as well give up now!”
“Never!” Sanji yells, “As long as there is life in me, I will always fight for justice!” The kids in the audience cheer in response.
“Get them, Sora!”
“Don’t give up!”
“Kick their asses!”
Ichiji balks. ‘Holy shit, who taught that kid that word?!’
He sees Reiju’s expression momentarily falter, and Niji turns away from the crowd slightly to hide his laughter. Faintly he hears a mother quietly scolding her child and hurriedly escorting them out of the amphitheater. Ichiji mentally shakes himself, trying to get back into character and remember his next line.
“What nonsense!” Ichiji says, finally remembering his place, “Let’s see what good your justice will do you against the power of our science! Blue, go charge the laser!”
“R-roger that,” Niji replies, shoulders still shaking with barely repressed mirth as he heads back behind the laser. There’s a loud beep from the speakers hanging from the overhanging structures of the outdoor theater, and a large bar on the digital display on the side of the laser slowly begins to fill up with red color.
“Your doom is certain, Sora!” Ichiji says.
“Sora, you have to stop Germa before they finish charging the laser!” Nami says, the large white wings attached to her back flapping and shedding feathers wildly as she speaks. They’ll probably have to buy a new pair soon at the rate these are falling apart, Ichiji thinks idly.
“I got your back!” Franky yells, voice slightly muffled under his bulky robot costume.
“Don’t worry, justice always prevails!” Sanji says. He turns to the audience. “Will you help me take down the evil commanders?”
“Yeah!”
The children in the audience scream and bellow their support, some of them waving flags and glow sticks from the overpriced theme park gift shop.
“What was that? Are you sure you can help me take down the villains?” Sanji repeats.
“Yeah!!!”
Sanji turns back to his siblings. “Prepare yourselves, Germa! Now you face the full might of the Marines!”
Ichiji internally sighs, preparing himself for the final action scene. A glance at the clock hanging on the wall just off stage shows they’re still on schedule. At least he won’t be getting off late that night.
“Bring it!” Yonji yells, dropping into a fighting stance.
“You won’t win, Sora!” Reiju says, striking a pose.
With one last cry Sanji, Nami and Franky all rush toward them. Colorful smoke and sparks shoot from the nozzles at the edge of the stage, and the licensed theme music blasts from the speakers as they all fall into the familiar choreography. The children cheer raucously as Sanji turns cartwheels and backflips across the stage before engaging the rest of them in hand to hand ‘combat’.
Ichiji lets muscle memory take over then, moving on autopilot as he dodges and parries his brother’s punches and kicks. Having done a show a day (three a day during the summer and holiday breaks) for practically a year, makes the routine practically second nature. He’s pretty sure he could do the choreography in his sleep at this point.
Maybe it’s this complacency that leads him to messing up in the end.
Ichiji steps to the right, already prepared to block one of his brother’s upcoming punches, only to realize a second too late that he’d forgotten to dodge Sanji’s kick first. Sanji seems to become aware of the mistake at the same time, eyes widening in alarm as he meets Ichiji’s gaze, but he’s already in motion with no way to stop himself safely.
The kick catches Ichiji off guard, hitting him hard in the gut, and Ichiji is suddenly painfully reminded that his brother takes kickboxing classes on the weekends as the air is knocked out of him. He staggers back, barely managing to stay on his feet as he clutches his stomach.
“God damn it, Sanji!” Ichiji grunts, low enough that his voice doesn’t carry to the audience of impressionable young children. He pauses for a moment, trying to get his breath back.
“Shit, sorry!” Sanji hisses back, a grimace on his face.
“Get him, Sora!”
“Kick him again!”
‘God, are kids always this bloodthirsty?!’ Ichiji wonders as he tries to push the lingering pain out of his mind. At least none of the guests seem to have noticed them going off script. He looks over to see Reiju shooting him a concerned glance from her fight with Nami, but waves her off.
‘I’m fine,’ he mouths, and she nods and goes back to her own routine.
“Nice try, Sora!” Ichiji says, louder, straightening back up and doing his best not to wince at the sharp ache in his gut. Yeah, that’s definitely going to bruise. “But the laser is already almost finished charging!” He waves a hand at the prop, the meter now filled to the end. “Say goodbye to your precious Marine base!”
“Not so fast!” Sanji yells, quickly falling back into character, “We still have one more thing to stop you!”
“The Admiralbot!” A kid in the crowd yells.
“Form the Admiralbot!”
The cheers from the crowd increase as Sanji, Nami and Franky rush off stage and a snippet of triumphant music plays over the speakers. Seconds later a large clunky robot puppet is marched out onto the stage to deafening cheers.
“Oh no, it’s the Admiralbot!” Niji yells rushing back from the other side of the laser.
“Curses, we won’t stand a chance against it!” Reiju says.
Ichiji pulls the prop gun from his belt. “We have to try, we can’t let them win!” Colorful smoke blasts from the end of his gun, but the Admiralbot continues its steady march forward.
“It’s not working!” Yonji cries.
“For justice!” A voice booms from the speakers.
The large puppet steps next to the large laser prop and mimes smacking its fists against it, booming noises echoing from the speakers. The digital display on the side of the laser shorts out, the power meter rapidly dropping and soon displaying the word ‘ERROR’ in large red font. Plumes of smoke begin to issue from the other side of it.
“It’s destroyed the laser!” Reiju says.
Ichiji scowls. “We have no choice but to retreat! You win this round, Sora, but we’ll be back!” The crowd screams and claps behind them as Ichiji and his siblings run off stage.
“Good work,” one of the assistants, still in their Germa soldier uniform says as he races up to them and begins handing out towels and water bottles.
“Fuck, it’s like a million degrees out there today!” Niji complains before downing half his water bottle in one gulp.
“Right?” Yonji says, “I thought I was gonna melt!” He heads over to a small standing fan in the corner, groaning at the meager breeze he gets from it. “We need better A/C back here, for fuck’s sake.”
“At least it’s the last show of the day,” Reiju hums, dabbing at the sweat on her face and attempting not to smudge her makeup. She turns to Ichiji then. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m-“ he grimaces as the ache in his stomach makes itself known again.
“Oh right, Sanji actually managed to hit you, didn’t he?” Yonji says, looking concerned. “You should probably get that checked out.”
“I’m fine,” Ichiji says through gritted teeth.
Reiju narrows her eyes at him. “No, you’re not. Go to the infirmary after the show.”
“I said I don’t need to-“
“Do you want me to tell Mama?” Reiju says, daring him to protest.
Ichiji winces. “No.”
“Then go to the infirmary,” Reiju says, “If you’re really okay, then it shouldn’t take long. We’ll wait for you at the entrance.”
“Fine,” Ichiji finally sighs.
“Curtain call coming up!” one of the attendants says, before rushing away.
“Think you can hold it together for that long?” Reiju asks. “You can sit out the meet and greet if-“
“No, I can do at least that much,” Ichiji says, before he uncaps his water bottle and chugs most of it. He could only hope this heat wave would pass before long. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to the shows the next day, which was already forecasted to be just as hot if not worse.
“If you keel over, Yonji and I can drag you off!” Niji says brightly.
“And I’m sure you’ll make certain I hit every step on the way down from the stage,” Ichiji responds dryly as he towels the sweat off his face.
“Germa, you’re on soon!”
Ichiji tosses his towel and drained water bottle onto one of the backstage chairs as his siblings do the same. He glances at his reflection in a mirror off to the side, grateful that at least the hair gel is holding and he doesn’t need any last minute touch ups.
“Alright,” Ichiji says, moving toward the side of the stage. “Let’s get this over with.”
The four of them head out for curtain call, smiling and waving at the crowd as a voice over playing on the speakers thank the audience for coming and mention the commemorative souvenirs for sale located in the park’s gift shop. They step down from the stage and stand in a line at the bottom of it, meeting up with Sanji, Nami and Franky who descend down from the other side.
“You good?” Sanji mutters as he moves next to Ichiji.
“Gonna head to the infirmary after this, but I’m fine,” Ichiji says, “Good kick.”
They’re not given any longer to speak as they’re soon swarmed by children and parents asking for photos and autographs. Well, Sanji, Nami and Franky are swarmed. There aren’t as many who want to get pictures with the villains, but Ichiji’s used to that by now.
What few brave kids do approach them he’s sure to smile (non-threateningly) at and pose with as their parents snap pictures before ushering their kids away. Ichiji grimaces as the pain in his stomach begins to steadily worsen as the meet and greet drags on, but he keeps a smile on his face. A part-time stage actor for a children’s play at an amusement park might not be the most glamorous job, but he’ll be damned if anyone ever calls him unprofessional.
Before long the crowds file out of the amphitheater and the actors are finally allowed to retreat backstage to change into their normal attire. He winces as he pulls his costume off, every motion jostling his injury and sending a fresh wave of pain through his body. Ichiji grimaces as he catches sight of his reflection in the large mirror at his changing station and sees a rapidly purpling bruise already spreading across his abdomen. He doesn’t usually bruise that easily, which probably says something either about his brother’s strength or that Ichiji himself needs to be hitting the gym more often. He used to go all the time with his siblings, but he’d been neglecting his exercise routine with the approaching mid-term exams.
“Whoa, he really got you good,” Niji says, double-taking as he spots Ichiji’s stomach.
Ichiji lifts a hand and presses lightly down on the area, only to immediately hiss and draw his hand back. “Yeah.”
“Sorry,” Sanji says again, already having changed out of his costume and back to his normal button up and slacks. He looks genuinely apologetic as he stares at the bruise. “I didn’t think I’d actually hit you.”
“It was my fault,” Ichiji says, “I rushed the choreo.”
He internally braces himself as he holds up his own casual shirt. At least he only had one layer to put on, but he definitely wasn’t looking forward to it. Well, best to get it over with. He lifts the shirt over his head before pulling it down in one swift motion, gritting his teeth through the bolt of agony the action sends through him.
“Shit,” Ichiji grunts.
“Head to the infirmary,” Reiju orders, “We’ll go straight home after.”
“Yeah, alright,” Ichiji agrees. He glances at his younger brother, who still looks like a kicked puppy and sighs. “It was an accident, Sanji. They happen sometimes. Remember that time Niji broke Yonji’s thumb at the Christmas Spectacular?”
“He started crying in front of the kids,” Niji snickers.
“It was one tear, asshole!” Yonji says exasperatedly.
Reiju rolls her eyes. “Go, and I’ll herd the rest out.”
Ichiji leaves to the sound of his brothers still bickering behind him, taking careful steps up the stairs back to the ground floor before heading down the path through the park. It’s only about an hour until the park closes, and he can already see a number of families starting to slowly stream out toward the entrance gates in hopes of beating the rush out of the parking lot.
He beelines for the infirmary, ducking around families and employees. The pain in his abdomen has started to throb in time with his heartbeat, and he hustles as fast as he can without agitating his injury too much. At least the infirmary isn’t too far, only about a ten minute walk away, but even that is a challenge with the high temperature that has him sweating within minutes of stepping away from the air conditioning. He regretfully thinks about how he should’ve grabbed a water bottle before leaving.
Ichiji soldiers on though, keeping his head down as he threads through the crowds. He’s pretty sure some of the kids he passes are pointing at him, his distinctive hair color tends to draw attention, but he pays none of their whispers any mind. He tries to focus instead on what his stepfather and mother might be making for dinner, and the half-finished essay on his laptop that he still needs to write three pages for by the time his eight AM rolls around. Anything to keep him from thinking about the pain too much.
Eventually though he does find himself outside of the unremarkable white building set off to the side of the park’s main avenue. ‘Infirmary’ is written above the doors in bold blue letters, but there are no decorations otherwise unlike the rest of the shops on the row. Ichiji pushes open the heavy glass doors and steps inside, savoring the blast of cold air as he does so, and braces himself to be greeted by the usual infirmary doctor, a forceful older woman named Dr. Kureha.
She was the one usually on staff toward the end of the day, and this wasn’t the first time Ichiji had been on the receiving end of her unique brand of care. Though she certainly knew her stuff regarding medicine, she had the bedside manner of a drill sergeant mixed with fairy tale witch. Ichiji and all his siblings took an absurd amount of care during their shows to avoid having to be sent to her, but accidents did inevitably happen considering the amount of stunts and acrobatics their stage shows involved.
Ichiji feels a slight relief when he sees that Dr. Kureha isn’t sitting at the front desk like she usually is, but he knows that can’t last. He sucks it up like the adult he is and calls, “Dr. Kureha? Are you in?”
His voice echoes around the small waiting area. The whole building is barely two rooms with the front receiving area and a back room that doubled as an examination area and the doctor’s work station. He waits around for a few minutes before moving toward the back room. It wasn’t unusual for Dr. Kureha to not hear someone if she was back in her office. She’d likely be less than thrilled about Ichiji barging in on her, but he was too tired, sweaty and sore to bring himself to care.
“Dr. Kureha,” he says again, pushing the doors to the back room open, “I had an accident at the last show, and I-“ He cuts himself off as his eyes land on the person sitting at the desk. “Oh.”
“She’s out,” the man at the desk says, swiveling around in his chair.
This man definitely isn’t Dr. Kureha.
For one thing he’s clearly decades younger than her (though she’d kill Ichiji if he ever said that aloud in her presence), in fact he only looks a few years older than Ichiji himself. He’s got dark hair, a scruffy beard, several silver piercings glinting from his ears, and a number of black inked tattoos visible on his hands and forearms and poking out from the collar of his shirt. Ichiji blinks when he spots the letters spelling out ‘DEATH’ across the other’s knuckles.
He’s also quite handsome by, well, most standards with a sharp jawline and piercing golden eyes. He’s dressed rather casually in a soft looking yellow hoodie and skinny jeans, and if it weren’t for the white lab coat with the park’s logo on it draped across his shoulders, Ichiji might have assumed the man was just another park guest.
The man double takes when he spots Ichiji for some reason, though he’s quick to school his face back into a more neutral frown. “You need her for something?”
Ichiji quickly gathers his thoughts before he can embarrass himself any further standing in the doorway, gaping at this man like an idiot. “I- Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“Few weeks,” the man says, “She’s at a conference.” He stands then, stretching lazily in a way that makes his hoodie ride up just enough to expose the briefest flash of his stomach.
“Oh,” Ichiji says, eyes quickly darting away from the skin. Was that creepy? That was probably creepy.
He is suddenly immensely grateful that his sunglasses are obscuring where he had been staring along with what Niji called his ‘resting murder face’ that keeps him pretty expressionless. He can practically hear his sister lecturing him on ‘objectification’ or ‘the male gaze’ or some other thing she’d seen in a video essay online. At least the other man doesn’t seem to have noticed Ichiji’s wandering eyes.
He tries to get his brain back on topic. “So you’re working here now?”
“I’m filling in until she’s back. Don’t worry, I got all my fancy papers to prove I’m qualified,” the man says, “Trafalgar Law. What can I do for you?”
“I got injured during the show,” Ichiji says, “I work at the Sora stage play. My brother accidentally kicked me during one of the fights.”
“Huh, that sucks,” Law crosses the room toward Ichiji, and a distinctly unhelpful part of Ichiji’s brain notes that the other is a couple of inches taller than him. “Can I see?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Ichiji says.
He feels strange and wrong footed under the other’s scrutiny. The other man’s eyes, burning gold, feel like they see far too much. It’s a bit like being a bug under a magnifying glass or bird caught in crosshairs. Ichiji does his best not to flinch under the others gaze and instead reaches for the hem of his shirt. He lifts it up, grimacing slightly as he sees the purple color has darkened and spread a bit more since he’d left the changing room.
Law’s eyes widen as they take in the injury. “I’m just going to make sure nothing’s broken, alright?” He says, lifting a hand and nodding toward the bruising.
“I don’t think anything is, but go ahead,” Ichiji says, feeling oddly embarrassed. He’s usually not one to care much about modesty, a lifetime of living around his three brothers and swimming competitively for years in middle and high school will do that, but under the doctor’s gaze he feels strangely exposed.
Law moves a hand toward his abdomen and Ichiji forces himself not to shrink away. He still sucks in a pained breath as the light pressure of the other’s hand sends a sharp ache through him. Law shoots him an apologetic look but continues his examination.
’At least his hand isn’t cold,’ Ichiji thinks absently. He still has to clamp down on the urge to shiver as the other’s fingers ghost over his ribs.
“Good news, nothing’s broken,” Law says, finally withdrawing his hand after what feels like an eternity, “Your brother got you pretty good though. You can drop your shirt.”
Ichiji lets his shirt fall back into place. “Sanji takes kickboxing classes.”
“Hm, well, you can tell him they’re working,” Law says. He crosses the room over to a small ice machine and pulls a plastic sandwich bag out of a nearby box. He opens the ice machine and begins scooping some of the ice into the bag. “I imagine it’ll take three to four weeks for your bruises to fully heal though.”
Ichiji sighs. “I expected as much.” It’d definitely be a pain in the ass to wait that long, but there was no way around it.
“Here.” Law hands him the plastic bag full of ice, now wrapped in a cheap washcloth. “Put that on your injury for about twenty minutes. Do that a few times a day. I’d say to try and elevate your injury above your heart while you sleep, but given where you got hurt…” he frowns, “Maybe try and put a pillow under your back.”
“Alright,” Ichiji agrees, pressing the bag against his abdomen. Though the cold sensation initially makes him flinch, the numbing feeling it sends through area dulls the persistent aching throb.
“You said you’re in the stage play, right?” Law asks. When Ichiji nods he says, “Talk with the program director about taking out any strenuous choreo or stunts for the next few weeks.”
Ichiji raises an eyebrow. His director definitely wouldn’t be happy with that. “I’ll try.”
Law clearly picks up on his tone, because he scowls, “If he has any problems with that, he can talk to me. You don’t want that getting any worse, Red-ya.”
Ichiji blinks. “Red…? Oh.”
He jolts in realization as he watches the doctor’s eyes widen and flit from Ichiji’s face to his hair and back again. Ichiji raises his free hand to his hair reflexively. Sometimes he forgot that it was dyed, even after all this time.
Back when he started working stage shows he was told that he could use a wig for the role of Sparking Red, but within a couple weeks Ichiji was already tired of messing with the wig cap and far too many bobby pins just to keep the damn thing in place. Eventually he’d opted to just dye his hair red instead of dealing with it, so now all he had to worry about was styling his hair up before the show. Given how often they performed, he’d never regretted his decision even if it earned him some strange looks in his college classes. His other siblings had all followed suit (except Sanji who could just keep his hair natural, the lucky bastard), which had led to far too many jokes from their friends and co-workers about how they all resembled a pack of Skittles when together.
“Sorry, I just- first thing that came to mind,” Law say, looking a bit flustered now.
“It’s fine,” Ichiji says, dropping his hand, “I do play Sparking Red in the show. My name’s Ichiji Vinsmoke though.”
“Right, yeah,” Law says, scratching the back of his neck as he avoids Ichiji’s gaze, “Uh, just keep icing the area, and you should probably come back in a week or so to make sure it’s healing up okay.”
Ichiji nods. “Alright. Thank you, Dr. Law.”
The other makes a face. “Just Law. No need for all that.” He finally glances back at Ichiji. “See you around, Re- Ichiji.”
“You can use Red if you want,” Ichiji blurts. Almost immediately he wants to bite his tongue off because honestly where the hell did that come from. “Not that you have to,” he adds, “You just… it sounded more natural from you.”
Law blinks, and then smirks in a way that sends a flush of embarrassment down Ichiji’s spine. “Red-ya then.”
“Sure,” Ichiji says, the back of his neck burning. His phone vibrates in his pocket. “Hang on, sorry.” He pulls it out and glances at the screen, abruptly grateful for the interruption stopping him from making an even bigger idiot out of himself.
Reiju
Everything alright?
Ichiji
Yeah, be there in a second.
“Sorry, I have to go,” Ichiji says, shoving his phone back in his pocket.
“No problem, I was gonna start locking up soon anyway,” Law says, “Don’t do anything to hurt yourself anymore between now and next week.”
“I don’t plan to,” Ichiji says.
He turns and heads back out of the infirmary, pushing the doors open and stepping back out on the overly warm streets of the main avenue. By now there are even more people heading toward the entry gates, and Ichiji can already hear the park speakers calling warnings that the rides will be shutting down soon.
Ichiji shakes his head to clear it from the strange feeling he’s had building in his chest ever since he laid eyes on the new doctor. It was probably just the injury or the temperature or… something. He balks at the cold, wet sensation spreading from the bag through the washcloth and seeping into his shirt. The heat is melting the ice even faster than expected. He’d probably have a bag full of water by the time he made it to their car.
He hurries down the main avenue toward the gate, spotting his siblings’ bright hair when he’s still yards away from the entrance. He quickens his pace toward them, and they all look up as he approaches.
“Everything okay?” Yonji asks, glancing at his stomach with concern.
“Bruising,” Ichiji says, “But nothing’s broken.”
“That’s good,” Reiju says, looking relieved.
“The doctor told me to not be doing any stunts for the next few weeks though,” Ichiji says.
“Maybe you can switch roles with Niji then,” Reiju suggests. “He’s behind the laser for most of the time we’re on stage.”
“People are gonna be mad that Sparking Red’s not out though,” Niji laughs, though he looks a little excited. Ichiji can hardly blame his brother considering his role had been mostly written out of their latest script.
“They’ll live,” Reiju says with a shrug.
Ichiji glances at Sanji and internally sighs when he sees his brother’s guilty expression once more. “I’m fine,” he says, “We’re just being careful.”
“I…”
“If you don’t stop blaming yourself, I’ll get Yonji to tape all your kitchen utensils to the ceiling again,” Ichiji deadpans.
Sanji gasps, now looking outraged, “You wouldn’t!”
“I absolutely would,” Ichiji says.
“I would too!” Yonji grins.
“You shitty bastards!” Sanji scowls at both of them, but it’s a marked improvement over his previously guilt-stricken frown.
“Boys,” Reiju interjects, “We need to get going. Mama’s already asking where we are.”
That spurs them all to start walking through the gates out to the parking lot. Ichiji internally groans when he sees all the other families doing the same. It’d probably be an extra twenty or so minutes just to get back on the highway.
“So, did Dr. Kureha bust your balls again?” Niji asks.
“Hm?” Ichiji says, “Oh, no she’s out of town for a conference for the next few weeks.”
“Who’s in the infirmary then?” Sanji questions.
“A guy named Trafalgar Law,” Ichiji says, “He’s pretty young.”
“Young?”
“Maybe a few years older than us,” Ichiji says.
“Huh,” Niji says, “Did he bust your balls then?”
“No,” Ichiji replies. He pauses, not really sure how to describe their previous interaction, “He’s fine. Got a lot of tattoos.”
“Woah, really?” Yonji asks raising an eyebrow. “Did you show him yours?”
Ichiji shoots him a dry look. “No.”
“He probably saw part of it though,” Niji says, glancing at the bottom half of Ichiji’s tattoo that poked out from under his short sleeved shirt. He smirks at Ichiji. “Did you want him to bust your balls?”
“I’ll strangle you,” Ichiji replies bluntly. “And I won’t even feel bad about it.”
His brother cackles in the face of his threat. “You’re not strong enough to kill me.”
“Want to find out?”
“He wasn’t rude though, right?” Reiju cuts in.
Ichiji shakes his head. “He was fine. He-“ He almost mentions Law giving him a nickname, but quickly bites that back. “He looked like he was pretty casual about the whole thing. He didn’t even want me to call him ‘doctor’.”
“Hm,” Reiju hums, “Well, I’m glad everything turned out alright then.”
They reach their car, a beat up minivan that their mother had bought used nearly a decade ago and was somehow still chugging along.
“Shotgun!” Yonji calls, quickly hopping into the passenger side and slamming the door in Niji’s face before flipping him off through the window.
“Fucking bastard!” Niji snaps, though he still trudges to the side door and rolls it open.
Niji drops into one of the front seats while Ichiji slides into the row behind him. Sanji sits down in the same row as Ichiji and slides the door shut. Once they’ve all buckled in Reiju starts the car up, and soon after they’re rolling toward the already forming line of cars toward the exit.
“Are you really okay?”
Ichiji looks over to see Sanji still shooting the bag of rapidly melting ice on Ichiji’s abdomen a concerned look.
He lets out a long breath. “Every single utensil taped to the ceiling. Even the toaster.”
Sanji scowls. “I’m just trying to-“
“I’m fine, Sanji,” Ichiji stresses. “It’s not like you were trying to kick me, right?”
“No!”
“Then it’s fine.”
Sanji huffs. “Alright.”
Ichiji can see the other still isn’t fully reassured, but there’s not much else he can say to make Sanji believe him. Instead he opts to say, “Even the blender. Even the microwave.”
“The microwave’s screwed into the wall, dumbass!” Sanji snaps, brow furrowing as he seemingly tries to figure out the logistics of how Ichiji would tape their microwave to the ceiling.
“I’d get Niji to unscrew it,” Ichiji says with a shrug.
“Can I?” Niji says, a grin stretching across his face.
“If you want Mama to kick your ass,” Yonji snorts.
“Mama would never kick my ass.”
“Only because Zeff would do it for her.”
Ichiji smirks as his brothers start bickering. Soon both Reiju and Sanji begin interjecting into the rapidly devolving debate of exactly how many people their mother could probably convince to commit assault. The number climbs alarmingly high considering how well-loved Sora was in their community. Ichiji shudders to think of exactly how many people would help hide a body in the event that someone did cross their mother.
In that vein Ichiji is definitely not looking forward to explaining to their mother and stepfather exactly how he got injured. He’s sure that he and Sanji will have to endure an hour long lecture about safety and awareness before the night’s out. At least, Ichiji thinks, he could probably still look forward to his mother doting on him a little, even if just for the evening. Though his stomach is still aching and the freezing water dripping from the bag is starting to soak into his pants, that thought alone is enough to bring a smile to his lips.