The Pediatrician's Closet

Plans

Back when she had been in High School, he had found himself in the courtyard with her, looking at the tulips Iori had planted and listening as she whispered his own thoughts back at him: how lonely the house was becoming. How having so many brothers leaving made her feel anxious. In that moment, like so many others, he found himself struck with how much she emitted woman to him, not child. He didn't think he'd been around another female in his life that was more woman than her. Even so, the vulnerability she showed to him in that soft, shy voice made him wonder at how delicate she could still be, while every movement seemed to display matronly strength; the kind that reminded him of his mother before his father had died.

Desperate to remind himself once more that she was still a child, he unwrapped a sucker from his pocket (a pediatrician always kept treats on hand) and plopped it into her mouth like he would with a five-year-old. The confused look in her large, dark eyes made him want to jump into a hole and die.

"It's a reward for being such a good girl," he said. He gave his best 'I'm not a creep, you can trust me' smile he could make before patting her head—trying to somehow make his failure of a plan float—and went back inside.

It didn't help that a small part of him had been happy so many of his brothers were leaving. He decided it was the same part that wanted to make a pedophile out of him.

That same part of him gladly helped him forget that Fuuto was a child too as he read off the results of the tests.

Masaomi had assumed, based on the symptoms, that Fuuto was suffering a simple urinary infection. When those test results had come back negative, he had gone to other possibilities, ones he did not like thinking about.

The Gonorrhea test had come back positive.

While easily treated with antibiotics, it was still a sexually transmitted disease.

He stared at it for a long moment, fighting to not be overwhelmed by searing rage, before picking up the phone and dialing Fuuto's number.

"Yeah?" came his brother's voice.

He opened his mouth, ready to tell the boy the truth and to come in for antibiotics. But then fire flared up and jumped into the mouthpiece.

"I'm going to need you to come in for treatment. Just a basic flush."

Like sticking a hose up someone's urethra was a good treatment for any kind of urinary infection or STD. Usually, it would just aggravate it. Sometimes catheters even gave the infections. The balance of good and bad bacteria in the body was delicate, and infections only happened when the balance was upset.

Fuuto groaned. "Come on, bro, isn't there just some pill I can take? Or can you at least knock me out for what's going to be the most humiliating moment of my life?"

All the things Masaomi could say to that rose to his throat, so thick it could have choked him. But the fire whispered out instead, turning his lips into a cold, calculating smile.

"I'll put some general anesthesia on the bill. Don't worry, it's a simple fix. Just a small, but rare kind of infection."

"Good."

"I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"God, I hope so. It might have to be late, though. How late can you go?"

They made arrangements, then Masaomi hung up. Without pause, he dialed up his mother.

"Hey, mom. Yeah, they're good. Oh yeah, definitely. Hey, um, something has come up with Fuuto..."