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When the door opens, the first thing Ichiro notices is the faint smell of cigarette smoke. “I’m home,” Jiro says as he drops his backpack by the door.
“Welcome home,” Ichiro says automatically, and scoots over on the couch to make room for Jiro. In the background, the anime he’d been watching plays on, but it’s just background noise right now. He can catch up later. Next to him, Jiro yawns and stretches back on the couch, settling in.
“What’re you watching? Can I join?” Jiro’s asking. He reeks of cigarettes and Ichiro agrees with a noncommittal grunt, not really paying attention. He should try to be chill about it, he thinks—he’s let his little brothers figure out their own ways, and it’d be really uncool of him to freak out about this, but—
“What've you been up to today?” Ichiro asks, a minute into it.
“Hah?” Jiro asks, still focused on the screen in front of them, not yet aware that he’s in trouble. “Nothing much, just hung out with some buddies after school.”
“And what did you guys do?” Ichiro asks. Jiro finally turns to him, eyes widening at Ichiro’s tone of voice.
“Ahh, you know,” Jiro mumbles, avoiding eye contact. He’s really a terrible liar. “Just sat around, shot the shit… nothing interesting.”
“Uh huh,” Ichiro says, unconvinced. He should be glad it’s Jiro that’s gotten himself into trouble. Saburo’d probably be a bit more meticulous about covering his tracks, though he wasn’t any good at keeping secrets from his big brother for long, either.
When Ichiro’d been worried about coming home smelling of cigarette smoke, he’d always try to get home before his brothers to shower and change out of his clothes. He’d only ever tried it a few times himself, but hanging around a habitual smoker meant the smell of it sank into his hair and clothes, trailing him long after they'd finished their practice for the day. Had Jakurai and Ramuda had the same problem? He can’t remember Ramuda smelling of anything but sweet perfume—but then, he hadn’t been the one to cling to Samatoki like some kind of dumb puppy.
He tilts Jiro’s face upward for inspection. Jiro blinks, and then cowers, as if expecting some kinda blow. Ahh, really, could he look any more guilty?
“I told you to stay away from that shit,” Ichiro says.
“S-sorry, nii-chan,” Jiro says. The tone of his voice says he knows that he’s in trouble, but he’s still not sure why.
“You know smoking’s not good for you,” Ichiro clarifies, and then, to keep him from spending too much time wondering how Ichiro could know, adds, “Your breath stinks of it."
“Ah!” Jiro says, the light bulb finally going off over his head. “I’m sorry… They told me to try it just once, so I—ah.“ He cuts off, covering his mouth, probably remembering Ichiro’s expressed displeasure at the smell.
Ichiro sighs, letting Jiro go and patting him on the head. He shouldn’t be too hard on him. Jiro’s a good kid, even if he needs some extra guidance sometimes.
“It’s fine, just don’t do it again,” he says. “And go take a shower before Saburo gets home.”
Jiro nods, blushing, and scrambles away to the bathroom.
He shouldn’t be too hard on Jiro—after all, he’d also been an impressionable kid like that once, hadn’t he? When Samatoki had offered him a cigarette, Ichiro had taken him up on it, not wanting to look like childish.
“Samatoki-kun, you shouldn’t give cigarettes to a high schooler,” Jakurai had scolded, though without much force behind it. He’d long given up on correcting all their bad habits.
“It’s fine, Ichiro can handle it, can’t he?” Samatoki had asked, and then he’d leaned in and lit Ichiro’s cigarette with his own. His eyes falling closed, startling white lashes sweeping over his cheeks, like it was a—like a real—
Ichiro had choked, coughing hard to hack up the lungful of smoke he’d swallowed too quickly, while Ramuda giggled in delight and smacked him on the back.
“Guess he’s still a kid after all, huh,” Samatoki had said, laughing himself.
“I’m not!” Ichiro had protested, and smoked the rest of the cigarette to prove it.
He’d been careless then, not really thinking about the way the smell would stick to him. He still remembers clearly Saburo running up to hug him after he got home, burying his face in Ichiro’s chest. Remembers clearly the brief scrunched up look of disgust on his face when he’d pulled away, an honest reaction only a kid could have to the smell. If not for that, would he have kept up the habit, trying to follow closely in Samatoki's footsteps?
That’s right, his brothers are his moral center, keeping him on the right path. There's no reason to feel nostalgic for that other time, for the smell of smoke still lingering in the air.