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The crying had quieted down, and Hinaji was allowed into the darkly-lit room, his small five-year-old feet making little noise on the hardwood floor. His mother lay on the bed, regal still despite the sweat coating her skin and the way her hair pooled around her, disheveled.
“…Mother…?” His whisper sounded loud in the stillness, and he felt a little bad when she turned her head to look at him. But she didn’t reprimand him, she didn’t frown.
“Come here, Hinaji.”
He did as she said, creeping closer, little hands reaching up to pull at the covers as he stood on tiptoes to look at her. There was a small bundle beside her, and she pulled the blankets back a little to show the very red face of his new baby brother.
“This is Hanabi,” she said simply-she always spoke that way. Succinct, to the point. No need to embellish.
Hinaji looked between his mother and brother, not quite sure what to do. But then he released the sheets with one small hand and reached over to touch the baby’s cheek gently, smiling.
Hanabi. His own little brother.
“Hello, Hanabi.” His mother said nothing about him speaking to a sleeping child, and so Hinaji smiled brightly at the newborn. He had a brother now, someone to help whenever he was hurt or sad or alone.
That would be the best thing ever.