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Jyuto exits the designated smoker's lounge after a much-needed cigarette. He expects to find himself alone, looking forward to the moment he’ll finally be left to his own devices -- and stops when he sees a familiar face lingering.
"Jiro-kun," he raises a polite eyebrow, "what are you still doing here?"
Jiro doesn't deign to reply, hands shoved in his pockets and half-turned away, hunched figure standing out amongst the bright-eyed mall-goers swimming by the both of them. His hood is thrown up to hide most of his face. Jyuto hears what must be an answering grunt.
"Ichiro and Saburo-kun have already dispersed. The mall might be big, but you can still catch up to either of your brothers if you hurry."
Another grunt. Looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Shrugging it off Jyuto breezes past him.
The murmurs of the huge mall wash over his racing thoughts, and he finally lets himself relax after today's earlier headache. However, not even a minute passes until he is forced to stop and turn around to confront the presence trailing behind him:
"Care to explain why you're following me around?"
No change in expression aside from that soured pucker and narrowed eyes he believes the kid thinks he’s deserving of. Either way Jiro seems unfazed at being caught out -- not like he was doing a good job at masking his presence in the first place.
"If you're hoping to find a weakness of mine by tailing me for the next three hours, allow me to save you the boredom by telling you nothing will come of it," Jyuto says dismissively. "I generally don't do business on my only day off."
"Nii-chan doesn't want me wandering the mall alone," Jiro finally speaks up, though it's little more than a mumble.
“Oh? Is that the case? I’m certain I saw Riou and Saburo-kun walk in there not too long ago.” He points to an internet cafe.
“Are you kidding me? I’m staying as far as possible from that cheeky asshole and his weird soldier friend! Who knows what they’re doing in there...”
He shivers, his first overt reaction, all bristly and offended. “Okay then, what about Ichiro-kun? Go catch up to him."
“I would, but he said he has to talk with your trigger-happy yakuza buddy one-on-one. Argh, he’s probably in danger right this very moment…!”
Jyuto sighs a long breath, closing his eyes. “You are right to worry, but not that much. Those two may hate each other but Samatoki does know how to uphold a truce when it’s called for. He follows his own peculiar brand of chivalry.”
He doesn’t know why he’s sparing the brainpower trying to comfort Jiro of all people. When he was imagining his day off, Jyuto was hoping for a nice relaxing stroll through Shibuya’s extravagant mall, Mad Trigger Crew at his side, wanting to feel for once like power is comfortably situated in his grasp and not tossed over his head like an infuriating game of monkey in the middle like it has been this past hellish week. If anyone can make him feel like himself again, it’s Samatoki and Riou.
Well, that was before they had gotten sidetracked when they bumped into the Buster Bros a few minutes ago. Apparently the kids from Ikebukuro had the same idea. It was sheer luck that it didn’t immediately devolve into a rap battle -- Samatoki had abruptly grown pensive when Ichiro mentioned his plan to redeem an in-store coupon for fifty percent off brand-name clothing. “That’s a damn good coupon,” he had said and, after eyeing their hand-me-downs, had silently motioned for Ichiro to follow him deeper into the mall.
Riou and Saburo had split off soon after; Saburo had walked up to him, uttered, “CrazyWWW?” to which Riou had replied, “GodComplex3000?” Then he had taken out a laptop from his backpack -- Riou owned a laptop? There was service in the woods? -- looked down for some sort of confirmation and nodded, the two of them entering the cafe without another word.
And here they are now, the remaining two members, all because Jyuto did not have the foresight to scram as soon as he smelled melodrama. To be fair that smoke really took the edge off of what could’ve been an explosive encounter -- the years of his life tend to tick downwards quickly whenever Samatoki rears up for a rampage...
“So, like, where are we going?”
Unfortunately Jiro decides to stick around during his why me internal monologue. Jyuto turns to face him, annoyance quickly increasing. “ We are going nowhere. Despite what Ichiro says, you are grown enough to look after yourself. So if you could please shoo and go sit in the food court or something, I have places to be.”
“You have to go to…” Jiro peers around him. “Victoria’s Secret?”
Jyuto blanches. Curse his autopilot feet.
“What do they sell, secrets?” Jiro wonders aloud, not noticing his reaction, “Knowing you, this ‘Victoria’ could turn out to be a foreign informant… ah! I bet nii-chan will know more about it.”
“D-don’t you dare ask your brother!”
“Eh? Why shouldn’t I?” Jiro sizes him up. “You got something to hide, Mr. Dirty Cop?”
“Errr… Okay, you got me.” Jyuto thinks fast. “This mall houses one of many secret bases I frequent to gather intel for, ah, various purposes. I just so happened to be in the area so I thought to pop in for a moment, that’s all.”
“Okay, so let’s go in already.”
“No, you can’t!”
“Hah? Why not?”
“You can’t enter because, uh, you need... a special membership card to enter! Yes! Which you don’t have.”
Jiro lets out a frustrated noise. Jyuto is glad he’s too busy whining to notice a group of girls walk into the store unhindered by said ‘membership card.’
“So you were lying before about 'business.' Bastard.”
“I lie a lot in my line of work. How very perceptive of you, Jiro-kun.”
Phew. Crisis averted. He doesn't prefer such obvious trickery; it wasn't even that hard to fool him but the alternative was… worse. Much worse. Under no circumstances does he want a seventeen-year old witnessing him buying lingerie as a present to one of his potential hookups. Jyuto briefly grieves his missed opportunity. Ah, to behold Riou’s ample chest right now, delicate strips of cloth accentuating those toned muscles, straining to be freed from its lacy confines… mmmm...
“Ugh, whatever. Just do what you have to do and make sure not to bore me too much.”
Jyuto shakes the daydream away. Great. So in addition to being the sensible one out of his juvenile teammates, Jyuto also has to look after this moody child who's trailing after him like some grumpy puppy. Sigh… his only day off and he's spending it like this. Maybe if he humors him it’ll get the annoying boy off his tail faster. Or maybe it’s because in between all his posturing and growled words there’s something troubling the kid, more potent -- but what?
“...This is what got you so impatient? I didn’t think you had it in you.”
It’s Jyuto’s turn to ask why Jiro’s got his sights set on a men’s fashion store, taste infinitely more expensive than the delinquency he always stinks of.
“Does wearing a suit to an interview really make all the difference? And don’t gimme some high-and-mighty opinion, I want an honest answer.”
A strange desperation colors his tone, though he tries to cover it with his usual pushiness. An annoyed Jiro he could deal with. This quiet, insecure Jiro, though, eyes bright and unblinking… it tugs at Jyuto’s heartstrings more than he cares to admit.
“I mean I like my job at the soccer stadium, I really do,” Jiro rambles on, “but it’s shitty pay and the work’s so brainless the boredom fries my brains more than the rap battles. And I wanna show nii-chan that I… I can get a respectable job too! Even if I have to sit like a nerd and have snobbish hobbies and wear a stupid tie.” He tilts his head up to Jyuto, pleading for support. “Looks aren’t everything, right?”
That voice, so loud yet unbearably fragile; it reminds Jyuto that as insufferable the Buster Bros are, they're still kids. Kids with no guidance in this unforgiving world.
“You’re right. Looks aren’t everything. But it does get your foot in the door.” With a snap of his red glove Jyuto saunters in, his mind made up.
“Welcome.” A shop attendant greets them. “Ah, Iruma-san, how good to see you again!”
Jyuto smiles politely at the familiar face, returning the bow. “Always a pleasure to visit this fine establishment. Pardon me for the long absence. Work has seen fit to bless me with a precious day off so I thought to spend it surrounded by such finery. I’m certain I’ve missed out on some wonderful collections. Please allow me the opportunity to indulge. How are the kids? Mastering college I hope?”
Jiro looks uncomfortable, passing his gaze distrustfully around the lavish interior. That’s okay, because right now Jyuto is the one in his element. He is one to appreciate the finer things in life, whether it’s fashion or cars or artwork. Oho, these cufflinks glint especially well under the lamplight…
“And can I get anything for the young master here?”
It takes a moment for Jyuto to put together that the attendant is asking after Jiro, who has been oddly watchful during their entire exchange. It’s thinly covered with an air of contempt -- but even when Jyuto is distracted he knows interest when he sees it.
“Actually,” he walks up to Jiro, pleased to see his gut instinct is correct when he catches that strange curiosity quickly covered up in the kid’s eyes, “that is the main reason we are here today. You see, my…”
Jyuto trails off. Rap rival? Annoying brat?
“...nephew here,” he recovers in record time, “is so infatuated with Uncle Iruma’s job that he wants to visit the places that made me the man I am today and follow in my footsteps.”
“How commendable! What a wonderful treat to meet a member of your family, Iruma-san.”
“Hah?? What the hell--”
“Nephew, twice removed,” he clarifies for his reputation’s sake, and cordially thumps Jiro’s back under the guise of pinching him to play along.
“Such familial dedication!” Nothing can melt the attendant’s dazzling grin, not even Jiro’s dumbfounded expression. He addresses Jiro, “Young master, how can our humble store help you today?”
Ah, there’s that look. That traitorous glint that stops Jiro short, his determination to be something more than what he currently is shining through. It burns through his stubborn, standoffish self long enough for Jyuto to see it in action.
“Uh, I need…” He clears his throat, scratches the back of his neck self-consciously. Jyuto nods encouragingly. “I’m going for an interview soon and I need, um… a suit. Or somethin’, I dunno.”
“Is this the young master’s first suit? Oh, what an exciting milestone! If you could just follow me to the dressing area and wait a moment for me to fetch my measuring tape. Come, come!”
The attendant floats off to another part of the store. “Just don’t make me wear any dresses, alright?”
Jiro whirls on Jyuto, leveling an intense stare. Jyuto raises an eyebrow. That is certainly out of the blue. “This chain specializes in tuxedo and suit-style formal wear. Granted the clientele is not limited to one gender, but how in the world did you reach that conclusion?”
“Tch, argh, I dunno! He’s gonna think I’m a girl and bring a buncha dresses. I don’t-- I’ve already been through all... that . I don’t wanna go through it again.”
He says the last part quietly, and Jyuto realizes it’s more about what he doesn’t say, face furrowed in one part Jiro-style ferocity -- and the other a stiff, quiet panic that makes his normally gangly limbs go rigid under his blue jacket.
"That won't happen on my watch, I assure you." Unspoken sincerity strengthens that statement. He smirks. “And if it does… well, I’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t dare make that mistake again. Permanently.”
Okay, that might have sounded a bit too manipulative. But no matter the wording an invisible weight looks to have been lifted off Jiro’s shoulders. Like he didn’t know if he was alone in his mission, or where Jyuto stood until he said those words. Mercifully, before Jyuto can begin to analyze the warmth swallowing his stomach, the attendant comes back with his equipment.
The measurement takes up more time than necessary, mostly because Jiro keeps fidgeting and tries to shrink away from the close range. It’s especially evident when the measuring tape goes around his torso area. The urge to whisk the boy away from discomfort briefly spikes past Jyuto’s throat, and he has to retreat into the store proper to calm down by browsing the aisles.
When he comes back he has a few items as references for tasteful color combinations -- then does a double-take at the suited figure before him.
Jyuto nearly doesn’t recognize Jiro. He’s too used to him obsessing over his skater boy look and baggy jacket that must be a Buster Bros staple, along with the attitude to match. Here under the spotlight, however, is a different young man altogether: shy glances thrown every way across the room, cuffs compulsively pulled on. Vulnerable, yet determined to face the real world.
Pride wells up his chest. Jyuto takes a deep breath to cover it up and instead praises the attendant, “My, my. You work fast as usual, my friend.”
“Of course, Iruma-san. The young master has potential, after all.”
“Hm. Indeed he does.”
That simple acknowledgement has Jiro’s mouth agape, as if he can’t believe he is hearing that from his rival who had blatantly insulted him to his face not so long ago.
But this isn’t a rap battle. This is just life. Jyuto can appreciate someone who jumps out of their comfort zone to take a risk. After all: he who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life.
“What’re you-- HEY, that’s my hat!”
“Where we’re going we don’t need it,” Jyuto says coolly, tossing it off to the side and ignoring Jiro’s outburst. He works on Jiro’s posture next.
“Can you get your hands offa me, I’m-- oi, what the hell, don’t smack me!”
“I won’t, as long as you behave . Square your shoulders properly and keep them level. Stop slouching, you’ll wrinkle the blazer.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll wrinkle your face--”
“Don’t be rude to your uncle,” Jyuto interrupts with a pointed look.
“Yeah, yeah…”
Jiro puffs his cheeks. Then deflates, letting up for the sake of keeping up the image. It still doesn’t stop him from whining loudly when Jyuto asks for a tub of hair gel.
“There,” Jyuto steps back to admire his handiwork. “Such a neat and practical hairstyle.”
Jiro gingerly feels his hair. He looks one step away from crying.“You gave me a middle-part?? Man, that’s so uncool...”
Jyuto ignores that, and instead reaches for the tie. “And now for the last piece… do you know how to tie a tie?”
Blank stare. Of course.
“Nevermind, I’ll put it on for you. Hold still.”
The tie slides around his neck and under his collar. Jiro watches his nimble fingers with unprecedented attention. This is intimate, a vital part of an impressionable young man’s life like Jiro’s. Even as Jyuto hopes he hasn’t stolen this moment away from whatever parental figure he looks up to, likely Ichiro… he kinda wants to be. He wants to be exactly that for Jiro, even if he is annoying and bratty and moody and hot-headed.
Because they’re just kids. Whatever direction they had has been ripped out from under them, and they’re floating without purpose, without guidance. That’s no way to live. They’re all talented boys. And besides, anyone who pushes themselves to commit to such a daunting undertaking has earned the right for a little nudge in the right direction from Iruma Jyuto.
He ties the final knot, pulling it tight and smoothing out the collar. He stands back, admiring his work. A rush of fatherly pride briefly chokes him off, and it takes him a moment to speak, “When you go home, I suggest you watch some youtube videos. There are many ways to choose how to tie a tie. You never know which may suit your style the best.”
To his surprise Jiro just nods. He smiles, subtle and tiny. He sticks his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground. “Uh-huh. I’ll do that.”
“Jiro-kun?”
He looks up, eyes sparkling with promise. Damn, he really is just a kid. “Yeah?”
Jyuto holds him fast by the shoulders, and just barely manages to stop himself from pulling him into a tight hug, paternal instinct nearly overflowing. “Just be yourself.”
Jiro blinks. Once, then twice, then flutters his eyelashes in quick confused motions. Then he doubles over laughing.
“All this-- pffffft, we spend all day totally overhauling my rad style, and now you’re telling me to ‘be myself?’ You’re so lame Uncle Iruma, hahahahaha!”
“Well,” Jyuto sputters, “clothes and fashion sense are one thing, changing your personality is a completely different--”
Jiro just keeps laughing. Even when Jyuto abruptly stops to fondly smile and laugh along, whispering under his breath: “Uncle, huh?”
______
Slow day at work. All days have been slow lately, ever since that encounter in the mall a few days ago. It’s annoying. Jyuto may have had no choice but to help the middle Yamada out that day, but that doesn’t mean he actually wants updates about that major interview Jiro was talking about. He had gotten him the suit -- “You can rent a suit?” “People do it all the time for school proms, Jiro-kun” -- and drilled him on interview questions but after that it was up to the kid. There was only so much he could do. He wasn’t a miracle worker. Time to put it out of his mind.
He says that, but now all that was left was the interview, and time itself has slowed to a crawl just to spite Jyuto. Locking his phone with a sigh he pockets it and gets out of his car, intending to light up a cigarette.
Yokohama is beautiful on a night like this. The view is especially handsome at this time of evening near the shore, reds and oranges melding into cool blue. The colors remind him of Samatoki’s eyes, red with ferocity and dipping into the ocean of Riou’s deep navy composure. Being here always clears Jyuto’s head.
He’s about to finish his cigarette and maybe stare into the horizon like he always does -- when his pocket vibrates with a message. He’s almost ashamed at how his heart jumps when he sees the sender.
Yo. It’s Jiro. Don’t ask how I got your number. Nii-chan didn’t tell me and I ain’t asking. He's got his ways. Anyhow I figure I should update you on how things went since you kinda have a right to know or whatever.
Jyuto curses quietly when he reads: I didn’t get the job. But there’s more. A whole lot more. He reads on.
It was a total crapshoot. I couldn't imagine anyone more depressed than that mopey Shinjuku salaryman but these guys made him seem downright cheery. They asked me all these useless questions, and I answered them like you told me to. In the end they said I wasn't ‘enthusiastic enough about the company.' Jeez, sorry I didn't worship your hunk of concrete hard enough.
I’m still kinda glad I went though. Because as much I hate how boring my current job’s gotten, I know for sure I don't wanna abandon the soccer stadium just to be some fake-ass yes man. So, I went to work one day all dressed up and asked to sit down with my supervisor to talk one-on-one. Hah, you shoulda seen the guy's face. I don’t think he’s ever seen me so serious!
Anyway we talked about a lotta different possibilities, like bumping me up to full-time or giving me a raise or shifting me to nighttime manager for some extra responsibility. He says he’s seen how good I am with the kids so the promotion’s not a far off idea. Honestly, I think he was more impressed with how gusty I was, haha.
But I couldn’t have done it without you pushin’ me in the right direction that day. I was lost on what to do but I feel one step closer to figuring out what I truly want. So, uh, thanks for, y’know, the suit and stuff. I'll find a way to pay you back, don’t you worry. Doesn’t matter if you’re a dirty cop; that’s just the Yamada way. Later, Uncle Iruma!
“Hey.” A hard two-tap knock on his car’s windshield startles Jyuto out of his reverie. “Been lookin’ at your phone for ten minutes with that dumb look on your face. What’s got you all sappy?”
Samatoki leans on the hood, arms crossed and shirt flapping faintly in the breeze. Jyuto didn’t even notice him getting out of the car.
“Thought you were stoppin’ for a smoke, not reading a full-length novel under the stars. Though I wouldn’t say it’s your worst idea.” He tilts his head back, eyes half-lidded. “Nice night to camp out.”
“It is.”
“Wish Riou were here.”
“Hmn.”
Samatoki gets out a smoke of his own. He’s halfway through his first drag when Jyuto settles beside him, cigarette stilled in his lips, silently asking for a light. Their eyes meet when they touch embered tips, faces inches away. The coolness of the hood and the night air mix pleasingly with the heat from their pressed sides.
“Tell me about Nemu.”
And the way Jyuto breathes it, like some faraway fairy tale, stops any question that jumps Samatoki’s tongue. Jyuto’s eyes don’t plead -- but they do waver in between genuine intent and adrift at sea, voice small and quiet under the vastness of the heavens.
So, Samatoki offers him his shoulder, lays back against the hood, and begins to speak.