Work Text:
This has somehow become a daily ritual.
In the morning Bankotsu wakes first, as the leader should. Jakotsu, by some magic only he possesses, wakes moments afterwards as if catapulted from his dreams. They find their way to each other, if they are not already bunked side by side, and they sit.
And then Jakotsu, with his long, clever fingers, combs Bankotsu's hair and weaves it into his customary single braid. If it takes him longer than it ought to, if his hands linger tangled in dark silk, if sometimes he brushes nape and temples with touches light as the breeze, it goes unremarked but not unnoticed.
In the winter, when they wake in the dark and marrow-freezing cold, they huddle together for warmth until sleep can find them again. In the summer they sit on opposite sides of the same tree and wish out loud for winter again.
Though he is the leader, Jakotsu does not forget that Bankotsu is younger than him. He follows, but he also protects. Whether Bankotsu notices or not is irrelevant. Jakotsu has no other family but him.
And sometimes, in the dark, Bankotsu calls him my brother.
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