Zenjiro sat perfectly still at the dining table. The hard wooden back of the chair dug firmly into his spine. A heavy, dull throb pounded aggressively right behind his eyes. It was a standard, punishing hangover.
He stared blankly at the white ceramic plate resting on the table in front of him. A mound of hot fried rice sat untouched. Steam rose slowly from the oily grains. His stepmother Clara usually handled the morning kitchen duties. She never missed a day. This morning was completely different. The heavy volume of strong alcohol she drank the night before kept her locked in the master bedroom. She could not even stand up. Zenjiro had to drag his own aching body to the gas stove to cook lunch.
Liora sat on the exact opposite side of the low wooden table.
Zenjiro looked at his food. His mind drifted away from the dining room. He thought about the terrible, panic-inducing moment he experienced right after leaving their bedroom earlier.
He remembered walking down the quiet hallway. He remembered locking himself inside the cold bathroom. He stripped off his gray shirt. He pulled down his dark shorts and his underwear. He stood under the bright fluorescent light and inspected the heavy, damp stain clinging to his clothes.
He genuinely thought he urinated in his sleep. The deep humiliation had burned his face red.
He touched the damp fabric. He felt the cold moisture against his bare skin. A sudden, sharp realization hit him. The texture was entirely wrong. It was slightly sticky. It carried a highly specific, sharp odor. He stood there in the freezing bathroom and stared at his own hands.
A specific biology textbook from his middle school science class flashed directly into his mind. He remembered the detailed diagrams of the male reproductive system. He remembered the clinical paragraphs describing nocturnal emissions.
The heavy, agonizing heat from the entire morning finally made complete biological sense. The fluid was absolutely not urine. The intense, prolonged physical friction had triggered a completely involuntary bodily response.
It was the very first time it ever happened to him.
He dropped the ruined clothes directly into the plastic laundry basket. He turned the silver shower handle all the way to the right. He stood under the freezing water for twenty full minutes. He scrubbed his skin until it turned raw and red. He tried to wash the heavy guilt and the confusing pleasure entirely down the metal drain.
Now, he sat at the dining table in clean clothes. His head ached violently.
"Onii-chan," Liora whined loudly.
The sharp pitch of her voice pierced right through his throbbing skull. He lifted his heavy eyes.
Liora leaned heavily against the wooden table. She still wore her dark high school uniform from yesterday. It was a complete, wrinkled mess. The thick pleats of her skirt were entirely crushed. Her white blouse hung loosely over her shoulders. The collar was unbuttoned and crooked. She did not even bother changing her clothes after waking up.
"My head really hurts," Liora complained. She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't want to eat."
She propped her right elbow directly onto the wooden tabletop. She dropped her head forward. She rested her pale forehead heavily against the open palm of her right hand. She looked completely miserable.
"Come on," Zenjiro said. His throat felt like dry sandpaper. "I cooked for you. You should eat."
"No," Liora groaned. She refused to open her eyes. "My head aches. Do something, Onii-chan."
Zenjiro stared at her messy blonde hair. A sharp spike of annoyance hit his tired brain.
My head also aches, Zenjiro thought bitterly. We are in the exact same situation.
She was an eighteen-year-old high school student. She was grown up now. She still acted exactly like a spoiled, helpless little kid.
He let out a long, heavy sigh. He pushed his wooden chair back. The legs scraped loudly against the floorboards.
He stood up. The sudden shift in elevation made the room spin slightly. He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. He walked slowly out of the dining area and moved down the short hallway.
He stopped in front of a tall wooden cabinet. He pulled the top drawer open. The small metal hinges squeaked. He dug his hands through a messy pile of loose bandages and small paper boxes. He looked for the specific medicine his father Soichi occasionally used.
His fingers brushed against a small, flat foil packet. He pulled it out into the light. It was a heavy-duty hangover pill. He checked the back of the drawer. He found exactly one more resting in the corner. Coincidentally, there were only two pills left in the entire house.
He grabbed both foil packets. He walked back to the dining room.
He sat down heavily on his wooden chair. He tossed one of the silver packets directly across the table. It slid across the smooth wood. It hit Liora's right elbow with a soft tap.
"Take that," Zenjiro commanded. "You will feel much better if you take that."
Liora slowly opened one blue eye. She looked down at the small foil packet touching her arm. Her face twisted into a deep grimace.
"Medicine?" Liora complained. She pulled her arm slightly away. "That tastes bitter."
Zenjiro picked up his wooden chopsticks. "You drank a bitter beer last night. You endured it. You can take the bitterness of the medicine too."
Liora lifted her head from her palm. She glared across the table at him.
"It was different," Liora argued loudly. "It is absolutely not the same thing."
"Just take it," Zenjiro said flatly. "You want to feel better. You take it."
Liora aggressively crossed her arms over her chest. She pushed her lower lip out in a childish pout. She turned her head entirely away from him. She sulked in total silence. She stared angrily at the blank kitchen wall.
Zenjiro completely ignored her tantrum. He snapped his wooden chopsticks apart. He picked up his ceramic bowl. He scooped a large bite of the hot fried rice and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed slowly.
Liora turned her head back. She watched him eating. She watched him ignoring her complaints entirely. Her face flushed bright red with sudden frustration.
"Onii-chan," Liora demanded sharply. "I said my head is aching. Make this go away."
Zenjiro swallowed the heavy rice. He sighed loudly. He raised his left hand and pointed a single finger directly at the silver foil packet resting on the table.
"Take it," Zenjiro repeated.
"NO," Liora yelled.
The dining room fell completely silent. The loud echo of her shout faded into the walls. Zenjiro did not react. He calmly picked up another bite of rice and placed it into his mouth. He chewed.
Liora suddenly fussed. She shifted her body violently in her chair. She swung her leg under the wooden table.
Thud.
She weakly kicked Zenjiro's left knee. The physical impact carried zero strength. It was just an act of pure frustration. She started to throw a big, childish tantrum.
"Onii-chan, my head aches," Liora whined loudly. "I am dying."