Work Text:
Sanwa’s iron-built body is probably the origin of the reason why he’s never gotten sick, not in a million years and neither in a million millennia either. It’s something to joke about whenever anyone falls ill (that isn’t Erwa, who seems to be stuck in a perpetual state of sickness) and something for him to brag about. They’d tried their best to get the required vaccinations for everyone, but when it came to Sanwa, ultimately gave up whenever nurses would try to inject him with a needle and it would break upon contact.
And it’s never been a problem, because it seemed that whatever made up his skin also made up his internal organs and immune system. Qiwa sometimes wonders if he’s ever seen his San-ge sneeze.
So, Sanwa had never gotten vaccinated. He had never gotten sick.
That is, until now.
It’s the very first day of winter, the seventh of November, and Qiwa is awaken by the loud screech of his twin gege’s suddenly springing up from bed and clambering over each other as they made a break for the door. “WAKE UP YOU TOO!” Wuwa screams as Siwa trips and blocks the doorway. “WE’RE GONNA BE LATE IF YOU DON’T GET UP RIGHT NOW!”
“Huh?” Qiwa mumbles as he rubs an eye, shoulder tense. “But…”
“SAN-GE FORGOT TO WAKE US UP!” Siwa explains as he gets off, then knocks his elbow loudly against the wall. “The ONE day of the week and he OVERSLEEPS!” He yells the last part exceptionally loudly in the direction of their three oldest brother’s bedroom.
“STOP SCREAMING AND JUST GET READY!” comes Erwa’s answering voice from behind the closed door. The bathroom door slams as Siwa manages to make it before his twin, who clicks his tongue angrily and returns to the bedroom to start shaking the Liuwa-shaped blankets.
“Er-ge is screaming…” Qiwa mumbles, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and jumps down, his ankles giving him a slight shock at the contact with the floor.
“He’s probably sick of you two screaming,” Liuwa hisses from underneath the blankets.
“Dude, get up!” Wuwa pulls back the blankets, only to find empty space. Except there was still a very visible Liuwa-shaped imprint on the mattress. Wuwa smacks it, and Liuwa yelps loudly, suddenly materializing and rubbing his forehead.
Qiwa fumbles towards the closet and yanks out his school uniform, then frowns at the silence from his oldest brothers’ room. He peeks out the door and finds it still closed. “Um, Wu-ge?” he calls. “Why isn’t San-ge screaming?”
“Why would you want San-ge to be screaming?” Wuwa asks.
“Does Er-ge sound that bad?” Liuwa also asks.
“No, it —“ Qiwa frowns. “Usually San-ge is always screaming. Something’s wrong.”
The bathroom door clicks open as the toilet flushes, and the running faucet is drowned out by the sound of Da-ge suddenly opening the door, face white as a sheet. “Um. I think San-di died.”
“HUH.”
Sanwa was not dead, it seems. Once everyone had shoved themselves inside the tiny bedroom that was already barely able to contain just three of them, it was deduced that Sanwa had fallen ill suddenly. In fact, he was so ill that the most he could do was peek open his eyes, squint at the worried faces of his fellow brothers, say, “Well, fuck me,” before shoving his face back into the pillow and groaning. A second later he adds, “Have I been poisoned?”
Dawa puts a hand over his forehead and says. “No, you just have a fever.”
“San-ge is SICK?” Liuwa gasps, suddenly looking gleeful at his brother’s apparent suffering. “At long last!?”
Erwa is rubbing his eyes with a frown. He does this so often Qiwa wondered if he would ever accidentally push his eyeballs too far back into his skull. “Si-di, Wu-di, go buy some medicine on your way home from school,” he says. “San-di, stay in your bed and don’t get up.”
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Sanwa slurs from underneath the blankets, sounding breathless. Qiwa shuffles closer and presses his cheek against the top of Sanwa’s hair, but Dawa quickly pulls him away.
“No, Qi-di, you don’t want to catch it,” Dawa says, hoisting him up on his hip. Qiwa pouts as he turned around to peer at Sanwa, although it seemed his older brother didn’t even stir. He’d never seen his third oldest brother look so beaten down (in moments not caused by the hair-pulling frustration that came with playing FNAF: Security Breach’s bugged game, of which Qiwa has heard Sanwa scream over despite the closed doors of his streaming hours). The way his entire face flushed red with beaded sweat and his voice sounded so hoarse despite no strain upon it prior, made his stomach churn.
Siwa went to poke Sanwa, but his hand was ultimately snatched up by his scowling twin. “Didn’t you hear Da-ge?” Wuwa glowered. “You’re gonna catch it! He’s icky .”
Coughing, Sanwa managed a weak, “Fuck you.” Maybe he took pity upon his brother’s sickly form, because Erwa didn’t even berate him for his language (although he did frown and look over at Dawa, who only smiled back at him).
They can’t stay looking at Sanwa like he was an animal in a zoo forever, because education called first and Erwa would throw a fit if they skipped a day for no good reason. Well, Qiwa might argue that his San-ge being sick was a huge and valid reason for skipping school, but Er-ge is always right, because he’s smart so Qiwa will just have to shove his too-small socks (a lot of his clothes are getting too small; he’s growing up, something that Dawa and Erwa coo with fondness and pride, but at night Qiwa catches them murmuring about struggling to balance money to afford new clothes for him) over his feet and head down the hall for a chance to snatch up breakfast before the time runs out. Liuwa is by his hip at every step of the way, flickering slightly out of view every time his head falls back and he yawns too hard.
Dawa’s managed to make it in the kitchen before they do, in-between the time it took for the four to use the bathroom and shove their clothes on. He’s standing over the counter, pouring a packet of herbal medicine tea into Sanwa’s prized Undertale themed mug. “Hey, you four,” he greets warmly when they near. “I’ve got congee in the pot and there’s pao cai in the fridge, so eat that. I need to bring this up for San-di.”
“CAN I HAVE THE LAST BING HONG CHA?” Liuwa’s invisible form shouts in front of the open fridge.
Dawa promptly closes the fridge door with his foot, mug in hand and a steaming bowl of congee in the other. “Not now, that’s way too cold to have in the morning.” Liuwa materializes with the jar of fermented veggies, pouting viscously at Dawa as he backed towards the table. In fact, he is frowning so intently that he bumps into Siwa and Wuwa, who both held full bowls of congee and chopsticks, just about to set them on the table.
“ LIU-DI COUNT YOUR DAYS! ” Qiwa watches, absentmindedly chewing on the top of Baohulu, as the bowls get knocked into the air and Wuwa smacks across the edge of the table. Dawa copies Qiwa, although his facial expression is that of horror rather than slight amusement. Moments later, chipped white bowls clash against the table and floor, spilling hot congee in an explosion of goodness spoiled. Dawa found a way to make even bland, regular congee taste heavenly, and seeing the ambrosia laid across the floor was truly a shame.
The twins back Liuwa into the corner, splattered with congee and ticking eyebrows and cracking knuckles. Liuwa himself laughed nervously, still tightly holding onto the jar of veggies. “Wasn’t me!” he declares, then promptly disappears, taking the rest of their breakfast with them.
Dawa silently looks to the ceiling, lips pressed tight as though praying for patience. He delicately balances the mug by hooking his pinky through the handle, then picks up a few napkins and tosses them at the twins, effectively cutting them off their warpath of finding Liuwa and wrecking the apartment in the process. “Wipe your faces, you two. Qi-di, sweetie, can you clean up?”
One word and a wave of Baohulu — “ Shou! ” has all the congee suddenly wiped clean from the premise, save those that have befallen on his twin gege’s faces. Qiwa beams at Dawa when he’s done, waiting for praise.
“Good job, didi!” Dawa says with a dazzling smile, just as Qiwa was waiting for. He did do a good job, didn’t he? “Liu-di, come out and stop hiding. You’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry up and eat soon. You seem to forget how far the school is every morning.”
With the coast clear, Dawa heads towards the bedroom, and when the door opens, Qiwa manages to catch just a peek of Erwa sitting on the edge of Sanwa’s bed, pushing the fridge out of his sweat-stained face. And then the door closes, the two oldest immediately springing to action to patch things up.
He turns back to the table, where Siwa has placed a new, piping bowl of congee in front of him, and Liuwa was already dropping bushes of veggies into his share. “Do you think San-ge is gonna be okay?” he asks, picking up his chopsticks, but not quite jabbing the food into his mouth.
Siwa is the opposite. He inhales his food like he’d never eaten a day in his life, only made possible by the fact that his tongue didn’t burn from the congee like theirs did. Wuwa at first embarked in a race against his older brother, but ultimately forfeited after one bite, sticking out his tongue with a hiss.
Liuwa was the only one who heard him. He takes Qiwa’s bowl and blows on the surface. “He’s fine, he’s San-ge! He’d die from embarrassment if he ever, you know, died.”
“Well he doesn’t have to die to not be okay…” When Qiwa still doesn’t eat after being handed his bowl back, Liuwa scoops some up with his chopsticks, along with some veggies, and shoved it in his mouth for him.
“If you want,” Wuwa says in between his next bite of food, “we can buy him that one jelly candy he likes so much. The mango one.”
“Er-ge probably won’t like it if we got San-ge candy,” Qiwa says, though mentally he’s already planning a way to evade his Er-ge’s watchful gaze and deposit said candy into his San-ge’s awaiting palm. He only says this because he’s pretty sure Erwa is listening to their conversation from the bedroom already, so it’s best to throw him off his scent like this.
Siwa finishes his bowl with a flourish, setting it down and hopping off the chair immediately. Not one to lag behind his older twin, Wuwa quickly follows suit, shoveling food in his mouth faster than he should physically be able to handle. “If you’re not ready in five minutes we’re leaving you,” he threatens after gulping down the last of his congee. Liuwa blows raspberries at him, then bumps Qiwa’s shoulder with his own.
“Obviously I wouldn’t ever leave you behind,” he says. Qiwa only nods in acknowledgment. The door clicks open, this time with Erwa emerging, already sighing like the day was bearing down on him despite it only being the morning. Qiwa watches as he tilts his head back and says something to, presumably, Dawa, still within the room, before shutting it closed behind him.
They make eye contact. Erwa’s smart; he always seems to know what Qiwa was thinking before he even had a chance to put a name to it himself. He walks over and patted Qiwa’s head. “Don’t worry, Qi-di, your San-ge can break mountains and take on a whole army of demons before he lets himself be taken down by a little fever.”
“But this is San-ge’s first fever. Ever!” Erwa leans down and picks up some of Qiwa’s food, holding it out for him to eat. He pouts; he’s getting way too old to be spoon-fed anymore! Not that any of his older brothers seem to care. They all seem to be under the impression that he was a preschooler, but he is in sixth grade, thank you very much. He still takes the bite, though, because it’d be quite rude not to.
“Your San-ge will be okay.” Erwa cranks his head to the side, popping a bone in his neck, then sighs in relief. Qiwa cringes. “Don’t worry, he’ll be better before you know it.”
For all Wuwa is vocal about keeping all his brothers clear of any germs, it sure comes as a shock when he is the first victim to Sanwa’s sudden sickness.
Maybe it has something to do with Wuwa being the one to drop off the medicine for their sickly brother after buying it at the store. Or maybe this winter was just going to be a case of inexplicable sicknesses happening to those least susceptible to it. In any case, Wuwa has come down with the same fever as Sanwa, which was found out by Siwa loudly exclaiming in the morning due to water leaking onto his face. Turns out Wuwa had sweat so much during the night that it managed to soak up his mattress and blanket before running down to splash Siwa’s unsuspecting face.
Erwa stands in front of their room, a finger on his chin. It’s the weekend, so this time they’re all allowed to observe Wuwa in his sickly, dying form, without any interruptions. “Okay,” Erwa says, finally dropping his hand. “Wu-di, you’re gonna move and sleep in San-di’s bed with him — you should be able to squeeze in together.” Wuwa weakly raises his hand in a thumbs up. “Sorry I’m putting you too together while you’re both sick, but I don’t want it spreading to these other three, so this is how it’s gonna have to be.”
“What about you and Da-ge?” Siwa asks, sitting on the very top ladder to their shared bunk bed as though keeping vigil whilst his twin was sick. Or maybe he just didn’t want more sweat on his face. “Wouldn’t it spread to you instead?”
“You’re younger so it’ll catch on easier. Da-ge and I have better immune systems. We’ll be fine.”
Qiwa shares a glance with his two brothers. They look back in unison. “ You, Er-ge?” Qiwa says nervously. “You have a better immune system?” There were more holidays in the year than days where Erwa wasn’t sick.
“Can’t break what’s already broken, I’m afraid.”
Liuwa frowns. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“Cause if you do the math—“ Siwa adds.
Erwa coughs and brings a hand to his ear. “Da-ge just said that breakfast is ready. It’s baozi and boiled eggs.”
If there’s anything driving anyone in the house to do anything anymore, it’s Da-ge’s cooking, so they all rush past Erwa and down the hall, leaving him to deal with the two sickly boys. Qiwa is the last to go, casting a worrying glance to Wuwa, who was blowing his nose very loudly into a napkin. He hugs Erwa’s legs and leans his cheek against his hip. “Er-ge, you said San-ge would be better in no time.”
He hears Erwa’s wince. “He will. Don’t worry.”
“But now Wu-ge’s sick!”
“This is why I tell you to always wash your hands!” Wuwa pipes up weakly from the top bunk.
Erwa pats his head. “And isn’t your Wu-ge always the quickest to get over a sickness?”
Well…yes. Wuwa’s attentiveness towards germs of course carries over whenever he would inevitably catch a cold — being careful avoiding sicknesses also meant he was careful recovering from them as well. Still, with two of his gege’s out of commission, Qiwa couldn’t help but worry.
“Good morning, San-di,” Erwa suddenly says, not even turning his head. Qiwa does, watching as Sanwa trudges over to them, rubbing an eye. He didn’t look like he was faring any better than before. “Are you feeling better? You don’t sound like it.”
“How d’you know what a sick person sounds like?” Sanwa mutters, putting a hand down to pet Qiwa’s head. Why does everyone do that so much? Is it just because he’s the shortest? Hmph. He’s way more impressive than that! “What are we doing here?”
“Wu-ge’s sick!” Qiwa reports.
Sanwa’s droopy eyes managed to widen a bit. He looks into the room, eyes going from the top bunk where you could just barely see the lump of blankets encasing Wuwa, down to Siwa’s lower bed where water was still dripping into, then back to Qiwa. Suddenly, as though burnt by fire, he yanks his arm back. “Shit, fuck, is it cause of me?”
Erwa shrugs while Qiwa vigorously shakes his head. “I mean, we wouldn’t know. It’s rare for you to get sick, and Wu-di’s next in line. So maybe this winter is just particularly harsh on the two of you.” He finally turns around to survey Sanwa, eyes scanning him as though trying to look past his skin and straight to his bones. “But, seriously, how are you, didi?”
“Uhhh.” Sanwa takes a moment to sneeze. “Like, shit?”
“Alright, back to bed it is with you,” Erwa sighs, stepping away from Qiwa to start ushering Sanwa back into their bedroom. “By the way, Wu-di’s moving in with you for the time being. So the other three rascals don’t catch it.”
If by ‘rascals’ he meant Siwa, Liuwa and Qiwa, then that surely is an insult. If by ‘rascals’ he meant just Siwa and Liuwa, then that would make sense. But he said it was three of them, so unfortunately Qiwa will have to accept being grouped with the other two.
Sanwa very vocally voices his protests, using his iron-built body to stay rooted in place. “No! You made me stay in bed the entire day yesterday and I —“ a coughing fit interrupts him— “and I’m sick of it! I’m BORED! Not even Project Sekai on my phone for ten hours is keeping me entertained.”
“YOU PLAYED SEKAI WITHOUT ME!?” Wuwa shouts from within the room, voice congested as much as his nose is.
“Yes, and I got a full combo on Todemo-Wondererz. Masters level.”
“YOU CAN’T BE THAT SICK IF YOU FULL COMBO-ED THAT ON MASTERS!”
“Aiyah, gou le,” Erwa groans. He jabs Sanwa with his elbow a few more times, until he finally relents and lets himself be pushed away. “San-di, stay in bed. You’re going nowhere if you don’t let your body rest.”
“Noooooooooo I don’t wannaaaaaaa.”
“Go to bed. And stop whining like that you’re like, twenty.”
“Twenty thousand!” Wuwa adds, before breaking out into a string of at least five sneezes.
“Please feel better soon, San-ge!” Qiwa cries out before his two older brothers disappear into the room. He stands at the entrance of his own room, nervously twiddling his hands together. Erwa and Sanwa were still bickering inside the room, with Sanwa voicing the same concern over how two sick people in close proximity would do to their fragile Er-ge. Yet Erwa seemed very convinced all their worries were silly, out of reach things.
Qiwa heads into the kitchen just in time to duck from a sudden plume of fire. There’s the hissing sound of smoke before Siwa calls out, “Sorry, I was aiming for Liu-di. He was right in front of you.”
Liuwa turns visible, just as Siwa had said, right in front of him. He wipes away sweat. “What a close one!”
Qiwa steps around him as Siwa launches himself at Liuwa, roaring about payback and atonement. He waddles over to his Da-ge, sipping a cup of what smelled like coffee. Qiwa frowns. “Why are you drinking coffee? You get mad when Er-ge does it.”
Dawa lowers the cup from his lips. “That’s cause Er-di drinks at least five cups a day. And I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Cause of San-ge?”
Dawa smiles, putting down the cup onto the table. He reaches down and lifts Qiwa up by his armpits before settling him down on his lap. “No need for you to worry about. Are you hungry?”
He ignores the question. “But I am worried. San-ge never gets sick! And now Wu-ge too…”
“Your Da-ge’s on the case!” He smiles radiantly. “Nothing a bowl of chicken noodle soup and bitter medicine can’t fix!”
“I want chicken noodle soup…” There’s still remains of breakfast left on the table, though the baozi has long since stopped steaming.
“You’re not sick.”
“But Da-ge’s noodle soup is very yummy…”
“Then Da-ge will make it for you.” Dawa boops his nose with a finger. Qiwa scrunches it up. “Only for you.”
“Da-ge?”
“Ei.”
“I want to buy candy for San-ge.” Qiwa pauses. “And Wu-ge, too.”
He’s sure Dawa will say no to such a request, so Qiwa makes sure to look extra pitiful as he stares up at him. He pouts his lip and makes sure his eyes are wider, perfectly mimicking a little kid who wanted nothing more than to help make his gege’s feel better, and wouldn’t it just be so sad to crush that spirit?
Dawa wavers. He ducks his head and whispers, “Fine, but only one each. Nothing too hard on their stomachs.”
Qiwa whispers back as well, as though this would actually prevent Erwa from hearing them, “Promise.”
So Qiwa holds Dawa’s hand as they step down the elevator to the first floor, armed with four large reusable bags (Doraemon themed, because Qiwa liked those ones the best) and ready to take on the long list of groceries. They, of course, must make a stop at the snack shop down the road, a flurry of red walls and bright yellow lights illuminating rows and rows of junk food. Qiwa scouts out the mango jelly immediately, beelining to the shelf with such intensity he doesn’t even stop to swipe his favorite peach drink on the shelf next to the door.
Mango jelly acquired, Qiwa glances around, a man on a mission, for a pack of those blue shark gummies he knows Wuwa goes crazy over. Dawa walks behind him, following him around the store as Qiwa obtains his goods.
He turns around to drop the two snacks into the red basket that Dawa held, pausing slightly when he notices his Da-ge was eyeing something on the shelf next to him. Qiwa drops the candy in gently, ten padded next to his brother to see what he was looking at. Qiwa glances back at him. “Da-ge, do you want the candy?”
Dawa hurriedly tears his gaze away from the bag of small guava hard candy. He looks almost like a dog that got caught chewing up the couch cushions, leaving feathers everywhere. Qiwa had no idea why his Da-ge would ever turn to him with such an expression, as though waiting for Qiwa to berate him. “No! Um. Sorry, are you done?”
Qiwa crosses his arms, leans his weight on one leg, then raises an eyebrow.
Dawa rattles the basket, jingling the two snacks. There’s a little cracking sound as the handle slightly tears under his hold. Qiwa only stares harder. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Dawa says, even though his face made it look like he knew exactly why Qiwa was looking at him like that.
“Da-ge, you love guava candy!” Qiwa says, and he almost feels like a detective accusing the guilty — his oldest brother — of some kind of heinous crime. Maybe Dawa was something of a misbehaving dog. “You always trade your white rabbit candy for guava with San-ge on Halloween!”
“A-ah…” Dawa’s cheeks were a little pink as he darted his gaze to the side. “Yeah. But, come on, let’s go. We still have a lot of groceries to get!”
Qiwa juts his bottom lip out. His brother was hopeless, and even more so is an effort to get him to buy something strictly for himself. “Then I’m gonna buy some guava candy!” Qiwa exclaims. He reaches up and snags the bag, tossing it into the basket. “I like it, too! And I’m running out of snacks!”
Dawa blinks, then nodded. “Eh… hao …”
When they leave the store, Qiwa digs out the guava candy bag. They stand at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the signal to turn green. With a slight tug on the plastic, the bag splits open, revealing the small wrappers of candy underneath. Qiwa picks one up and pops it into his mouth, feeling it knock against his teeth. Guava flavor bursts into his mouth as he reaches back into the bag, then withdrawals another candy. This time, he holds it out for his Da-ge.
Dawa blinks. Qiwa stares at him. Slowly, the candy is taken out of his hands. Then, with a sudden blinding smile, Dawa squeezes the candy into his mouth. “Thank you, Qi-di.”
“Don’t expect candy from me all the time.”
“En, en.”
“I’m only sharing now because you let me buy candy for San-ge and Wu-ge.”
“En, zhi dao le.”
The light turns green, and the crowd squeeze themselves onto the road. Qiwa feels Dawa grab his hand as they cross. “If you get sick, too,” Qiwa says, “ then I’ll buy you candy.”
“Thank you, Qi-di.”
(That night, Siwa awakens everyone with a sneeze that erupts in a blast of fire and they had just barely been able to put it out.)
Siwa’s the last person anyone would ever want sick, because even though his twin had the capability to flash flood the apartment with each sneeze, Siwa had the capability to burn it down in half the time it takes to drown everyone. They leave the windows open in the case of floods anyway, so it’s much less of a threat.
Fire, on the other hand…
Once again, Erwa is standing at the entrance to their bedroom. Qiwa and Liuwa stay at the very edge of the bed, backed as far away from their fourth brother as possible. Siwa groans, releasing a slight breath of fire. It’s a good thing they’ve swapped out most of the wooded furniture for inflammable things, but still the threat looms. “We can move those two in here, I suppose,” Erwa says. “Liu-di, Qi-di, you can sleep in San-di’s bed with us. After we wash the bedsheets.”
“I think no matter where you put us —“ Siwa cuts off with a snotty sneeze — “someone else is gonna get sick.”
“Are San-ge and Wu-ge any better?” Qiwa asks, allowing Liuwa to pull him a bit closer. Anywhere that’s away from the fire zone.
“They…” Erwa glances behind him. “Not that much… but it shouldn’t take too long. Their fever broke at least.”
“And it all comes down to us fourrrrrrr,” Liuwa sings. Then, he switches to a game show host’s voice: “Whooooo will be our next victim? Place your bets now!”
“Don’t bet on your brother’s wellbeing.”
“Party pooper.”
Erwa glances to the side, focusing on something else for a few seconds. Siwa coughs. Qiwa’s brothers were dropping like flies now. Suddenly, he wondered if this mysterious illness will suddenly dig its claws into him, and he would become the next victim as Liuwa was saying.
Erwa turns back to them with a sigh. “Da-ge can’t take work off today, so I’ll be here. You two go finish up any homework you have in the kitchen.”
“What!” Liuwa cries. “This early!?”
It was only eight ‘o clock. “If you get it done now you won’t have to do it later,” Erwa points out. He shuffles over to Siwa’s bed, sitting on the edge and placed a hand over his forehead. Then he yanked it back with a hiss. “Ow. You’re boiling — like, literally.”
“Sorry,” Siwa whimpered. “Er-ge, you’re gonna get sickkkk…”
“Haven’t yet, shh.” Erwa sighs, rubbing his hand on his pants. “I’m gonna run out and buy some more medicine. If no one gets better by tomorrow, we’re taking you to the hospital.”
“Aren’t you worried Si-ge and Wu-ge might blow up their room? Again?” Liuwa asks. He begins sliding across the bed, trying to make a break for the door yet keeping a far distance from their fiery brother.
“If they’re not better, what else can we do?”
“Purify them with holy water,” Liuwa suggests, then grabs Qiwa’s hand and drags him to the door as fast as possible. “Qi-di, after breakfast, let’s go play in the park!”
“Wei, I said to do your homework first!” Erwa calls, but it’s ultimately lost in the wind as Liuwa drags the two of them to the kitchen, the sound of clattering bowls and running water welcoming them. Dawa’s moving around in the kitchen, somewhere Qiwa suddenly realizes he hardly sees his oldest brother outside of. It’s his favorite place in the whole apartment, he’s sure, but that’s only a fizzling candle. Even Qiwa got sick of the park after a while.
There’s a bag of guava candy on the counter, opened and spilling wrapped sweets around it.
Qiwa hadn’t even noticed that Liuwa had turned invisible until two guava candies suddenly disappeared from sight, and a moment later, he feels one press into the palm of his hand. A cheeky voice says to him, “Can’t believe Da-ge would just leave candies out!”
Qiwa slips the candy into his pocket. He couldn’t believe that Dawa would leave the bag out in the open like this. Unless he was eating some? But Dawa always prioritized health above all else — candy first thing in the morning? Or maybe this was his equivalent of Erwa’s caffeine addiction? The water turns off, leaving soapy liquid running down in Dawa’s forearm. He turns.
Ah. Maybe the candy was something alike a caffeine addiction. Dawa didn’t look like he’d gotten any sleep since before this whole mess started.
“Congee againnnnn?” Liuwa whines as he hops onto the table.
“We didn’t have congee yesterday,” Dawa points out, somehow managing to balance seven full bowls in his arms. “And your gege’s are all sick, so they can’t be eating anything too harsh.”
“Why is congee not too harsh?” Liuwa eagerly takes two bowls, sliding one over to Qiwa. The table is so empty, and even the pitiful table full of scrambled eggs and leftover peas almost looked overwhelming for the two currently sitting. Of course, there’s always meals where someone couldn’t make it, but breakfast was an almost-never-missed occasion. With work and school typically starting at around the same time, no one has an excuse to not be at the table.
Well, except now. Qiwa never thought he’d miss the rambunctious, violent, life-threatening breakfasts together they had everyday. Even Dawa’s cooking tasted a little bland against his bitter tongue. As Dawa topped each bowl with an arrangement of food, he answered, “It’s bland and watery, so it’s easy to eat if you’re feeling nauseous. Especially in the morning, when you’re not usually up for eating.”
“Is that what Er-ge says?”
“You’d only listen if it was your Er-ge?”
Liuwa chews on his chopsticks. “I only double check with Er-ge. Of course I listen to everything Da-ge says.”
Actually, Liuwa had a pretty firm streak of not listening to a lot of what Da-ge says, nor Er-ge. But Dawa seems to take his words to his my heart, looking touched. Qiwa finishes eating. He doesn’t want to eat congee for breakfast tomorrow.
He doesn’t want to do his homework, either. Liuwa is practically bouncing in his seat as he raves about going to the park, so Qiwa smiles and agrees heartedly. In any case, isn’t leaving the house to allow Erwa to get everything situated while they were sick actually a blessing in disguise? That’ll be two less people to deal with, and of course they’ll still complete their homework when they get home (or at least, Qiwa will). The two of them trade excuses like this between giggles as they put on their shoes, hoping to build their case strong enough so Erwa isn’t angry. And judging by the way their brother doesn’t come barreling out the door and dragging them back by the ears, they’re pretty successful.
Part of him knows it might just add to the grief if the two of them don’t just listen and do as their told, staying at home but still staying out of the way. But Qiwa’s hates weekend homework, and even more so does he hate being told to stay out of the way.
A car crash happens on the side of the road en route to the park, a car turning into the motorbike lane at the wrong time. Liuwa makes a noise at the loud metallic crash, the two looking over to see both drivers begin yelling at each other. It didn’t seem like there was a lot of damage, and Qiwa couldn’t see any major injuries from where he stood. There was still a lot of yelling.
“Ah? Aren’t you Sanwa’s didi’s?”
Qiwa turns around in unison with Liuwa, meeting the gaze of a burly man. Donning a grey, singed tank top despite it being winter, and dirty sweatpants covered in oil stains, was Liu-shushu, someone Qiwa had only met two or three times, always accompanied by Sanwa. They had stopped by his shop a couple of times when Sanwa picked him up from school, if only to exchange a few words or pick something up.
Apparently, Liuwa knew him too, if the excited gasp of recognition was anything to go off of. Sanwa had apparently met Liu-shushu during a very similar incident that had happened just a few seconds ago: a car crash. Or rather, a bike crash. Liu-shushu accidentally rammed right into Sanwa as he was crossing the road, and because it was Sanwa, the bike took a bigger hit than he did. In exchange for not getting sued, Liu-shushu offered the motorbike to him, although only after he fixed it up. Sanwa jumped on the opportunity to help, so every so often they meet up to do so.
“Hi, Shushu,” Qiwa greets politely. He pointedly covers his nose as Liu-shushu takes a long drag of his cigarette.
Either he didn’t get the gesture, or he just didn’t care, Liu-shushu made no move to snuff it out. “Where’s your ge? He was meant to come by yesterday. Didn’t answer any of my messages.”
“Eh? But he was playing Sekai for hours…”
“Gege’s sick,” Qiwa reports. The cigarette sticks out of Liu-shushu’s mouth as he crosses his arm. Dawa had flew off the rails when Sanwa returned from his first trip to the shop, apparently “reeking of smoke” and being absolutely beat by Dawa (even though it did little to no damage). Sanwa swore with all his might that he hadn’t even gone near a cigarette, and it only took Erwa’s input that he didn’t see anything for Dawa to step back.
Dawa still muttered on about how this would spell the start of his perfect, sweet, angel of a brother (Qiwa cannot believe those were his exact words to describe Sanwa of all people) be roped into smoking and the likes.
“Ah, my regards,” Liu-shushu says, glancing over as the police eventually showed up to the scene of the crash. “My daughter’s sick too. Was supposed to have her this weekend, but her ma said I’d kill her before she recovered, and I couldn’t argue.”
“Why’s everyone getting sick all of a sudden?” Liuwa whines. “You know, Si-ge and Wu-ge said they might take us roller skating this weekend if they flipped tails on a coin!”
“And was it?”
“Wu-ge’s sick too,” Qiwa says. “Si-ge got sick last night, so they didn’t have a chance to flip a coin.”
Liu-shushu made a show of counting on his fingers. “Three out of seven of you gone, aye? Well, if it’s anything, I know lots of water is good for ya.” Another puff of smoke. His voice was almost too raspy to understand clearly. “Tell your San-ge to get better soon or else. And, by god, my best wishes to your two oldest gege’s. I can’t even imagine the hell they’re go through.”
They wave goodbye afterwards, and Liuwa turns around only to shout a loud, “Please quit smoking, Shushu!”, to which Liu-shushu waved off dismissively. A cold gust of wind blew past them, lifting their hairs. The sun’s completely covered by a sea of clouds, knocking out any chance of warmth to protect them from the winter. Qiwa’s nose twitched, frigid.
There’s a lot of kids at the park already, mostly younger ones that don’t have the burden of weekend homework to worry about. Qiwa hops on one side of the seesaw and laughs when Liuwa jumps onto the other side, somehow managing to balance with his feet on the seat. For a moment, Qiwa can forget about his brothers that are sick at home, the wary look to Dawa’s eyes, having to eat congee because there were no other options. Liuwa swings them around faster than should be possible, and Qiwa has to hold onto the handle tightly to avoid being flung into the air.
They take over the swing set after noticing the slide was already guarded carefully by a group of six-year-olds, who glared fiercely at them when they tried to inch past them to go down it. Qiwa debates kicking them off, but ultimately decides the swings were their best bet. So Qiwa sits gripping the metal as Liuwa stands behind him, pushing him with all his might into the air.
After a while, Liuwa retreats to his own seat and starts swinging himself. It’s when Qiwa looks over and sees his Liu-ge’s face wide open with glee does he realize it’s been a while since they’ve had enough leisure time to spend it at the park. Between Liuwa’s sudden new homework load in middle school and a sudden rise in demon attacks (it’s getting harder to deal with those under the law enforcement’s radar, who still believe prison of all things is the most efficient way to get demons to learn their lesson and not, like, death) they’ve been either cooped at home or in some alleyway, covered in blood.
It’s nice to just get the chance to run around and play, scream in fun rather than in pain or terror. Qiwa’s stomach always does a funny little slip anytime he’s swinging down from behind high in the air, and he giggles each time.
And yet…
The clouds mean it’s hard to tell how long they’ve been at the park, but eventually Qiwa comes to a stop, no longer keeping himself swinging. He looks towards the direction of where they’d came, apartment poking out in the distance.
“Liu-ge?” he calls, and he’s much too quite to hear, so he repeats it louder.
“Mmmmmmmmmm wasssssssupppppp?” Liuwa replies as he swings back and forth.
“Are gege-men gonna be okay?”
“This again?” Liuwa continues swinging, even as Qiwa idling twists his swing around. “Of course they’re gonna be okay! Da-ge and Er-ge always take care of us when we’re sick.”
“Did you see Da-ge’s face? It’s only been a few days but it’s like he hasn’t spelt for years.”
Liuwa makes a contemplative noise. “Maybe he always looks like that when we’re sick too, but we’re just too sick to realize.”
“Oh.” That makes the pit in his stomach grow, and Qiwa knows at once it’s not because of the thrill of the swing.
“Mmhm, but this isn’t something for you to worry about! You’re too little to be taking care of anyone. Gege can do it!”
(When they get home, Qiwa gets started on his homework immediately, making sure to keep quiet. When Dawa comes home, covered in a sheen of sweat from whatever odd job he had to do that he never wants to tell Qiwa, Erwa steps into the kitchen with him. They look like they’re about to have one of those serious talks they always did when they know no one else would hear it.
Qiwa jumps up from where he’s sitting on the floor, using the coffee table to do his work. He barrels into the kitchen, cutting Dawa off in whatever he wanted to say by wrapping his arms around both his and Erwa’s waists, drawing them close.
“Thanks for taking care of us,” he whispers. And two hands come down to ruffle his hair.)
The world is over. The world is, spectacularly, over. Qiwa must be being punished for all his crimes and sins in the past. For listening to the lure of demons’ whispers and irresponsible use of magical weapons and — and —
Fuck. Hoooooooly fuck.
It’s over. It’s so over for him.
“Da-ge! Lay back down!” Qiwa exclaims in a panic when his oldest brother alarmingly attempts to get up. His face is thick with sweat once again, face flushed and eyelids drooped, not at all due to the fact that he’d been working. He rushes forward and starts yanking him by the arm, but it does nothing to deter his path.
“I’m okay, didi…” Compared to right now, Dawa’s exhausted expression yesterday looked like he was living on top of the world.
Qiwa dangles uselessly in the air, gripping his arm. “NO! NO NO NO! YOU THREW UP LAST NIGHT!”
“That was last night, now is now…” Dawa stumbles to the door, heaving. “You’re…heavy…”
Qiwa snaps his head up in alarm. “I’M WHAT?????”
Erwa groans from where he’s sat up in bed, both hands covered his ears. “Can you two be any louder…” Or, that’s what Qiwa suspects he says, because halfway through his sentence he starts hacking into his arm, gross and raspy.
“I’M —“ Qiwa manages his volume into a whisper, “ so sorry Er-ge.”
Judging by the wince, he was still much too loud.
“I HATE BEING SICK!” Liuwa shouts, completely ignorant to their Er-ge’s suffering, even when he flops back down on the mattress aggressively. “I NEVER WANT TO EAT AND IM TOO TIRED TO SLEEP AND TOO TIRED DO ANYTHING AND I’M ALWAYS SO BORED AND —“
“How can you be too tired to sleep?” Qiwa asks as, finally, Dawa gives up on inching toward the door, yet he makes no move to go back to bed.
“I don’t know, but this is all SAN-GE’S FAULT!”
A pause. “SHUT YOUR TRAP LIU-DI!” Sanwa’s face voice answers from the other room. Qiwa pulls on Dawa’s arm some more, and his brother is just weak enough that he finally lets himself get tugged back to bed. He quickly puts a hand on his forehead, wincing when it positively burns under his palm. Ow. He doesn’t know how high a temperature means a fever, but this was definitely one. He quickly rounds the bed to get close to Erwa, who peeks a glaring eye at him, as though the sound of his socked feet sliding across the wooden floor was a thunderstorm.
A burning fever as well. Liuwa’s the only one who was spared it, which, despite his sickness weighing down on him, granted him bragging rights in front of the two gege’s. Qiwa tapped a finger to his chin.
“Is there more medicine that Si-ge and Wu-ge bought?” he asks, waiting for a reply. Dawa groans. Erwa squints at the ceiling. Seconds pass.
“No,” Erwa eventually says, the word cutting into him like every twist of his vocal cords damaged them.
“Um…okay…” Qiwa bites his bottom so hard it suddenly goes numb. “I’ll go buy some!”
“Not by yourself!” Dawa yelps weakly. “What if you get lost! Or trip!”
“Da-ge.” Seriously? Qiwa has shoved his hands inside dead demons’ guts and did backflips off cliffs, but getting lost in the city he’s lived in for years is suddenly concerning?
“You wouldn’t know what to buy!”
“I can read, Da-ge.”
“And what if you don’t know how much to pay!”
“Again, I can read, Da-ge.”
“And if you get lost —“
“I know how to read, Da-ge.”
“I’m gonna go throw up real quick!” Liuwa announces cheerfully and disappearing from view. A second later, harsh retching was heard from the closed bathroom door.
“I’m going with you —“ Dawa jumps off bed, pauses when he looks like he’s been stricken down by a bout of nausea, and falls backwards onto the bed. “Ohhhhhhh that was not a good idea. That was. Oh no. My vision just went all black.”
“Welcome to the club,” Erwa pipes up. Qiwa leaves the room and lightly knocks on the bathroom door.
“Are you okay in there, Liu-ge?”
“Peachy!” A cough, following by more retching.
Qiwa winces, pulling away and heading over to the other room, three more sickly brothers waiting for him. Wuwa manages to sit up and stare at him walking in from the top bunk; Siwa is curled up in three sets of blankets below him; Sanwa sprawled like a starfish across Qiwa and Liuwa’s bed. “Um,” Qiwa calls from the door, “are you guys okay?”
“I’m starting to think getting poisoned with my own water by that blue snake demon is better than this,” Wuwa insights helpfully.
“I’m FREEZING!” Siwa exclaims from within the blankets.
Sanwa weakly holds up a thumbs down.
Ahhhhhh why must the world end in such a way? Qiwa would rather fight twenty demons on his own than deal with this! A hundred, even! A million! It’d probably be easier! At least he knows how to kill things! His face drops into his palms as he groans, running useless numbers into his head as he tries to calculate what on Earth he is going to do now. Liuwa was right! He had no idea how he was meant to take care of anyone!
He’d hardly ever had the opportunity to take care of himself! Someone was always hovering over him, hands fluttering, nudging him. Good job, gege’s! This didi is so spoiled, it’s going to spell the end for you all!
No, calm down.
Qiwa needs to buy medicine.
And, uh — he needs to make breakfast. Right.
What else, what else? How did Dawa ease him out of sicknesses in the past? A lot of tissues for his nose. A lot of sleeping. Pain relief medicine that tasted like moldy grapes and stained his tongue even when he smacked his lips to get rid of the taste. Was rest the best way to help them? Sanwa had done nothing but rest for a couple of days, and sure his fever has gone down, but —
Liu-shushu’s words come to mind. Plenty of water. Right. Qiwa silently thanks him and wishes him to quickly reduce his smoking habits.
“I’ll be back!” Qiwa chirps before he promptly turns around and dashes to the kitchen. He picks up the electric kettle and dunks it under the faucet, tapping his foot as he impatiently waits for it to fill up with water. Then, he all but drops it onto the pad, clicking the start button and stepping back as it begins to boil.
Okay. Step one, done. Now…
Qiwa turns to the stove.
How does one make congee?
It turns out, with clumsy panicking.
It’s not that he doesn’t have the faintest of clues how, but Qiwa has never had hands-on practice when it comes to cooking. Sometimes he watched at the table, working on homework or simply keeping his gege company, as Dawa danced around the kitchen preparing their meals. Congee was, frankly, just extra watery rice, right? In a pot instead of the rice cooker, right? Nervously, Qiwa grabs the biggest pot they have then shuffles to the side of the fridge, where a bag of opened white rice is awaiting him. He squats down, then pauses. How many cups is rice is enough…cups of rice? One? Two? Maybe three? His gege’s all had big appetite’s, but no one liked to eat a lot when they were sick.
Qiwa dumps four cups of the grains into the pot, then shoves it under the sink and swishes it under the water. It turns a murky white.
Dumping out the water has a few grains falling out, and he hasn’t got the patience to pick them back up — no one’s gonna miss a few grains of rice, after all. He refills the pot, this time double the amount of rice he’d gotten.
Now he gets why Dawa is the only one in the kitchen most times. This was a whole workout! A pot of rice and water shouldn’t be this heavy!
With a grunt and popping bones, Qiwa manages to slide the pot over the stove. There’s a brief moment of confusion and panic as he tries to figure out which way to turn the handle so the fire would erupt, but eventually figures it out. So now he has a pot of rice and water over high fire. Cool? Cool.
“Er-ge, I’m doing a good job, right?” Qiwa whispers. There’s no reply, not that he wasn’t really expecting one, with his brother’s condition. Still.
The kettle beeps, done, and so Qiwa goes to grab six mugs from the drying rack. He doesn’t think he’d be able to carry them in Baohulu while they’re filled with water without spilling them whine he has to dump them out. He’ll have to carry them up in rounds, it seems. After breakfast, so they have time to cool down a bit before consumption.
Ahhhh he hasn’t had to think this strategically ever! And over something as not-life-threatening as this!
But somehow, he is the only one of his brothers spared from this mysterious illness, so he must step up and care for everyone else! Just as they’ve always been taking care of him!
Breakfast happens soon enough. When Qiwa went back upstairs to check on everyone, Erwa helpfully let him know that he should put the lid on the pot to cook it more efficiently. He also opened his phone and showed him a picture of what medicine to buy, much to Dawa’s despair. It seems he still wasn’t ready to accept that Qiwa would have to take on the role of the caretaker. He tried to get up once again, swayed again, and collapsed back on the bed.
“I told you not to get up,” Erwa grumbles.
“Qi-di, did you hurt yourself at all?” Dawa asks, nervously darting his eyes across Qiwa’s body as he nears.
“I’m not a baby!” he exclaims in response. “I made breakfast! Making breakfast!”
“I’m worried!”
“Don’t be!”
“Qi-di!”
“Da-ge!”
Dawa’s looking at him with those puppy-dog eyes again. Qiwa glares. He returns downstairs, remembers to put the lid on the pot, and takes out the fermented veggies still residing in their fridge alongside whatever leftovers from last night. Eventually, the congee is soft and ready to eat.
He readies six bowls of food with congee and whatever else they have on hand, then grabs a fistful of chopsticks that hopefully cover six people. By the time he grabs two and carefully begins transporting them to the bedroom, he’d already positively exhausted! Was this how Da-ge lived every single day? Qiwa couldn’t imagine doing all this, on top of a whole job to manage! No one had even had a power-induced accident that broke something he needed to clean up yet!
With this new knowledge, Qiwa is suddenly all the more grateful to his oldest brother.
The first row bowls go to Dawa and Erwa, obviously. The reactions range from grateful (Erwa) and surprised (Dawa). Qiwa can only smile smugly as he hands Dawa his bowl, the chopsticks balancing delicately on the rim. He stands waiting for a few moments before Dawa seemingly understood what he wanted. Chopsticks quickly drag a scoop of rice to his lips.
Pause. Then, similar to just a few days ago, Dawa turns to him with such a dazzling smile (despite his sickness) that Qiwa almost feels like he needs to shield his eyes. “This is edible!” he exclaims, that wasn’t possibly the lowest bar there is.
“That cannot be what you were worried about,” Qiwa says exasperatedly. “Please.”
“I was worried you burnt yourself, too. Was it heavy?”
Qiwa pointedly does not admit it was very heavy. He leaves the room to collect the next to bowls, this time depositing it in Liuwa’s lap (“Awwwww, my little brother bringing me breakfast in bed while I’m out and injured!” “Liu-di don’t slobber him with your germs!”) and then Sanwa’s in the other room (“Qi-di you didn’t blow up the kitchen?” “I’m not Si-ge, of course not!”). Spurred on by their reactions, Qiwa deposits the last two bowls into his twin gege’s, then finally steps back with a sigh.
Oh, but relief can only be achieved at the end of the day.
“I’m going to buy medicine,” Qiwa announces to his two oldest brothers, in a matter-of-fact tone that left no room for argument. “Nobody get up while I’m gone!”
“What if I need to pee?” Liuwa asks immediately, hoping to contradict him as he always is.
“Hold it in.” Qiwa glares.
Dawa smiled warily. “Qi-di, are you sure…”
He was hardly able to finish as Qiwa turned his glare to face him. Never one to stand opposite of his brothers, especially when met with such a glower, Dawa backed down. He sends a look at Erwa, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he was trying to silently ask him to keep an eye on Qiwa while he was out.
He brings them their waters, now warm instead of boiling hot, and has to wipe his forehead after a bead of sweat inched down the side of his head. How is running back and forth to deliver bowls and cups this taxing! Once again, Qiwa has to marvel on how his older brothers manage to do this every single day.
He forgets his scarf and sorely misses it, because today felt like the coldest day in the history of ever. Qiwa wraps his arms around his purple puffer jacket and feels the air bite into his cheeks, forming icicles. Baohulu is stuck under his armpit, a light pressure. He wonders if he should just suck all the cold out of the world, but it probably won’t do well to bring back the warmth.
In fact, he should just suck it all out anyways, because clearly winter was the reasoning behind his brother’s sicknesses. Qiwa would do this in a heartbeat if it meant helping them in the slightest — but, unfortunately, morality is a key factor, and also Erwa would harshly scold him if he ever committed such a thing, so until things stretch too thin, Qiwa will still his hand.
The pharmacy is on the next block, past where the snack store he’d gone to and closer to the high school that Siwa and Wuwa attend. It’s storefront is bright green and eye-catching. The blinding lights inside somehow take Qiwa back to the hospital that he often visits Erwa at whenever he’s been hit with a particularly nasty round of his illness.
Erwa did say they should start dragging their brothers to the hospital if their condition doesn’t get any better. Qiwa is quite certain all six of them in hospital beds at once spelled only disaster, so it should be their very last resort.
The medicine that Erwa had showed him was easily located, with Qiwa having zeroed in on the shelves like some sort of hawk. Or like he was going after his brother’s power. In any case, he grabs the pills and pays for them at the counter.
What a quick and easy transaction! This all happens in under ten minutes! And Da-ge was so worried, for what? Qiwa’s not a helpless little baby!
(Before he goes home, he stops by the snack shop once more, meeting its bright yellow lights and funky music. One by one he picks out a sweet for his brothers, taking a slight hit in his wallet. Stupid, annoying, sick brothers. They’d better start treating Qiwa more accordingly.)
Sanwa is seemingly all better the next day.
As ‘better’ as he can be with a miraculous recovery overnight. He’s still sneezing, still got a headache, still fighting off remnants of sickness. But he’d been able to get up without feeling too nauseous, and his appetite has returned to normal — meaning he too, is not satisfied with just congee.
But at least now, Sanwa can mince some meat to throw in the pot of congee as it cooked and sprinkle green onion on top. Qiwa, from where he’s filling up the kettle with more water, can watch intensely as his brother, slightly sluggishly, moved about. Cooking wasn’t Sanwa’s strong suit, but they’ve realized that it’s better for knives to break than for skin to.
The lid is placed on top, and Sanwa sighs, like he was finally free of the burden of chopping two ingredients. The board and knife had not yet even been washed. Qiwa climbs onto the counter and surveys his San-ge’s face, now free of the flush of sickness.
Sanwa raised a hand and lightly pushed back his hair, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. “I’m so glad I don’t get sick often,” Sanwa says with a shiver. “I hope this is the one and only. No one ever told me you felt so…weak.”
Qiwa closes his eyes. “Yeah, but — it’s better when there’s people taking care of you. Like Da-ge.”
“And Qi-di,” Sanwa says, then roughly musses up his hair. Qiwa opens his eyes, pouting. “Thanks, lil bro.”
“Don’t you dare get sick again.”
“Yes, sir.”
They carry bowls — Qiwa with two, and Sanwa somehow balancing the rest — to both the rooms. Wuwa looked like he was also faring much better, though not enough for Qiwa to deem him ready to get out of bed. He hummed as he was handed his breakfast. “You separated our bowls from the rest, right?” he asks, wincing when his fingertips burn. “These are the same bowls as yesterday?”
“Mhm!” Qiwa’s heard him lecture everyone about keeping the sickly’s food bowls and utensils separate from others too many times to not subconsciously follow his words. “How are you feeling, Wu-ge?”
“I just hope I don’t miss too much homework,” is all he says, casting a worried glance out the window.
“Can you ask Tiantian what we missed?” Siwa asks from below, voice still raspy and nasally. Qiwa climbs down the bunk to climb over his bed, placing a hand over his forehead.
“I can’t tell if you still have your fever if you’re so hot all the time!” Qiwa complains.
“I don’t feel like I have a fever?” Siwa offers.
“Qi-di!” Sanwa calls from the doorway. “Do you need me to walk you to school?”
Qiwa turns, then stares. “What?”
Sanwa steps into the room, using his foot to kick aside a pile of dirty clothes. Qiwa’s pretty sure they were there from last week. “D’you need me to walk you to school?” he asks.
“I — I’m not going to school.”
Now it was Sanwa’s turn to stare. Wuwa makes a noise. “What? Whaddya mean you’re not?” He squints at him. “You have to go to school. You already missed yesterday. Don’t think Er-ge didn’t realize.”
“Gege’s are sick!” Qiwa exclaims. “I can’t just leave!”
“What?” Sanwa squints impossibly harder. “Dude, you don’t need to take care of them. School’s more important.”
Rich talk coming from the dropout. “I am not going to school,” Qiwa says with finality. “I am going to stay home and take care of gege’s.”
“I’m here too.”
“You’re still sick!”
They have a standoff. Qiwa is still sitting on Siwa’s bed, and Sanwa is staring at him from the door. As if there was any hope of Qiwa leaving the rest of his brothers alone at a time like this! He glares back. Sanwa’s eye twitches.
“It’s only another day,” Qiwa points out. “And I don’t think you can take care of them on your own.”
“That’s highly debatable.”
“Ge.” Clearly this wasn’t working. Sanwa wouldn’t fold so easily like this, not like Dawa. Qiwa quickly changes tactics, hopping off the bed and running up to his brother. He slams against his legs and buries his face into his stomach. “San-ge, please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?” For his final move, he tilts his head up adoringly and pouts.
Stricken with such a heartfelt expression, Sanwa could only concede to his wishes. He sags his shoulders. “Fine. Fine. If Er-ge gets mad, I have nothing to do with this.”
Qiwa beams. Sanwa scowls.
Wuwa recovers. Liuwa follows. Dawa is up and frantically moving around, taking over the caretaker role like he’d been itching to do so. Siwa returns back to normal, and already he and his twin and play fighting and wrecking the place. Erwa’s sickness bleeds into another bout of his usual illness, the one that forced everyone into whispers and dim the lights. But he kisses Qiwa’s forehead when he comes to check on him.
“Da-ge,” Qiwa calls quietly, and it’s late at night now, homework finished and dishes washed. Dawa was sweeping the floor.
“Mm?”
“Did I do good?”
The sweeping pauses. Dawa looks up, meeting his eye. It’s late at night, and Erwa is irritable enough with the showering on already, so they have to be quiet. Dawa mulls the question over for a second, eyes darting to the sky. Finally, he comes to a conclusion.
Qiwa’s head tilts up to hold his gaze as Dawa comes over to him at the table. A hand comes up and, like a million times before, lightly pets the top of his head. “Qi-di did good. He did a great job.”
Preening, Qiwa leans up to the touch. “I’m not a little baby anymore, Da-ge.”
“I know,” Dawa whispers. “Just my Qi-di.”
“En.”
“Sorry for making you take care of us.”
“Don’t mention it.” Qiwa closes his eyes, drowsiness kicking into gear. “Gege always takes care of me.”
(Qiwa wakes up to a splitting headache, a runny nose, and a stomachache like no other. One touch on his forehead confirms a fever. And they have congee again.)