Work Text:
Banri has always known that Hyodo has a little brother, but it’s one thing to know it as a fact, and another to see a small, loud Hyodo barge into the dorm asking to join the Mankai Company.
He’d known right away that it was Hyodo’s brother. Even without the similar hair and eye color, they’ve got enough similar features that you could guess they were related. And anyway, the little Hyodo talks about his brother nonstop.
What’s so great about Hyodo anyway? If pushed, Banri will admit that he’s shaping up into a decent actor, and he’s sure a damn good fighter, but he’s sickeningly weak to sweet foods, and he has to work hard to just get decent grades. With that scary face, there’s not much he’s suited for outside of acting (and he’s pretty much only good for delinquent roles at that), so it sure is good that acting is what Hyodo wants to pursue.
So Banri doesn’t really get why little Hyodo worships the ground his brother walks on. At all. It’s annoying, is what it is. ‘Specially because he can’t even talk to Hyodo anymore without a small purple wall throwing himself between them. Always going on about Banri bullying Hyodo, or saying confusing things about Banri’s hair. His tone of voice makes the words sound like they’re supposed to be insults, but nothing he says is ever actually bad? They’re getting a little closer to insults, he supposes. “Slick-haired snake” was at least a little rude.
Well, it’s not like Hyodo is particularly sharp with the insults, either. It’s always just “fox face” or “asshole” or something like that, and Banri rather enjoys those too. It’s fun, watching Hyodo struggle to get the words out, face reddening as he goes.
But the kid clearly is excited about the Mankai Company, and Banri guesses that’s more than he’d had himself when he first started. And he managed to put together a decent solo performance and join the Summer Troupe. Banri can’t imagine bowing ninety degrees and apologizin’ like the kid had, either. Too embarrassing.
Banri figures the kid is a good fit for the Summer Troupe, as loud and obnoxious as they all are, and leaves it at that. It’s not like he’ll be interacting with the kid that much, anyway. But somehow the kid keeps showin’ up, everywhere, and making trouble for Banri. Pulling up Hyodo’s shirt at dinner to show off his brother’s abs? Banri’d had to look away quick to avoid seein’ that. He absolutely doesn’t want to see Hyodo’s abs. Or pecs. He saw enough of them that one time in the baths, thank you very much. And sometimes in the morning when Hyodo’s changing into his work clothes. And sometimes after a tough rehearsal, when the Autumn Troupe is changing out of their practice clothes.
But the point is that he thought little Hyodo would be out of his hair. Tenma’s the one whipping him into shape, along with the rest of the Summer Troupe. It should just be mealtimes and bumping into him in the dorms that he should have to worry about. And yet he can’t seem to get away from the kid.
Hyodo’s been actin’ weird since his brother showed up. And it’s not just all the doting he does on the kid, even though he does that shit a lot. Is it normal for siblings to do things like this? Hyodo’s always savin’ the last bit of his pudding for Kumon, or patting him on the head after rehearsal, or playin’ games with him. Kumon just shows up in room 104 sometimes, sits on Hyodo’s back and reads over his shoulder. And that’s some weird-ass shit, Banri thinks, but what worries him more is the rest of Hyodo’s behavior.
He goes to sleep later and stares off into space while eating his dumb puddings, and Banri’s caught him spying on the Summer Troupe’s practices a few times. Banri should be glad that Hyodo’s annoying snoring hasn’t been interrupting his sleep, but it’s no good if Hyodo can’t sleep. He’s the Autumn Troupe’s stiff-ass daikon, after all. The asshole needs all the help he can get in rehearsals already.
Banri really doesn’t mean to overhear Taichi and Hyodo’s conversation. He’s just stretching during their break. Which the rest of these clowns should be doing, too. The action sequences they’ve been practicing are no joke, an’ he’s actually pretty psyched to be applyin’ what he’s been learning in college. He doesn’t care about their chatter, even though Hyodo’s voice is rich and warm, comforting even in his curt sentences and street slang.
It’s not his fault that they’re being loud. Taichi is apparently just as much of a Hyodo Jr. fan as Hyodo himself is. They’re both impressed by Hyodo’s stupid muscles, or something. Whatever. Banri won’t lose there either.
So he just happens to hear Hyodo telling Taichi about growing up with Kumon: how Kumon gave his all to baseball, always begging Hyodo to catch for him or swinging a bat somewhere down by the river, even adjusting his diet to help build the body type he would need as a pitcher. How Kumon would pick out sweets for himself and his brother at the bakery, and they were always exactly what Hyodo was in the mood for. How Kumon got into fights over Hyodo’s honor on several occasions before Hyodo found out and forbid him from doing so.
Banri knows, from Hyodo’s portrait. He knows that Hyodo had a tough time growing up. Scarin’ off friends with that ugly mug of his, and attractin’ plenty of fights with it too. The very opposite of Banri. seeking out fights for cheap thrills. But somehow this bond that he has with his brother, that sort of closeness, is something that Banri can’t quite understand and doesn’t know how to feel about. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that it’s jealousy, but he’s not even sure which brother it would be directed at anyway.
*
Banri would prefer not to waste his valuable time thinkin’ about the Hyobros and how much they care about each other, but it’s hard to escape, especially with the whole troupe looking towards the upcoming Summer Troupe performance. Banri doesn’t bring it up intentionally, of course, but he and Misumi are out on Veludo Way, doin’ some street acts and advertising for Hatsukoi Koushien, and the topic of conversation turns to Kumon, somehow.
Misumi’s somehow become one of the guys at Mankai that Banri has a real respect for. The guy’s a killer actor, but usually triangles are fillin’ most of his brain. Not that Banri minds. Misumi knows what he enjoys in life, and Banri likes that. It’s not something he always had for himself. And he’s one of Banri’s favorite street act partners, too—Banri can usually feel bits and pieces of the Mankai troop members in their characters, but not Misumi. The way he carries himself completely flips when he acts, and Banri still hasn’t gotten a feel for it. It’s a challenge , which Banri rarely gets.
“How are the rehearsals going?” Banri asks between street acts. “Sakyo’s being annoying about money, as always, so we might catch a bit of a break if your show sells well.”
“Kumon’s improving quickly!” Banri doesn’t miss the way Misumi lights up when talking about little Hyodo, like it’s his own little brother he’s talkin’ about. “He works super hard, y’know! He practices in the evenings too, in our room! And sometimes he brings home triangles that he finds at school!”
“And he won’t shut about his brother,” Banri grumbles.
“He really loves Juza, it’s so cute! I…I wish I had that kind of relationship with my brother.”
Banri’s about to ask Misumi what he means—he didn’t even know Misumi had a brother—but Misumi’s already gone, rushing after a passerby to give them a flyer.
*
Later that evening, Banri’s walking back to his room after his usual weekly raid with Itaru when he sees Kumon practicing in the courtyard. Misumi hadn’t been exaggeratin’ about how hard the kid’s working. He stops to chat, genuinely a bit curious about what the kid is like when Juza isn’t around. He’s probably gotten a skewed idea of what Banri’s like from his damn brother, so it might be better for them to talk like this.
“And I guess…you were pretty cool in Picaresque too,” Kumon admits, and Banri finds himself smiling. The kid works hard, he’s got the Hyodo athletic potential, and he’s got good taste with how much he loves the Autumn Troupe’s shows. He supposes he might be able to help out a little.
“Hey, I guess I could give you some tips if you need them,” Banri begins, but he’s interrupted by a loud ah-choo! “Ugh! There’s the family resemblance, right there!”
“Huh?”
Banri sighs. There goes what was almost a nice moment. Stupid Hyodos. But he guesses it’s only Juza he has beef with, anyway. It’s not like he’s tryin’ to pick a fight with a kid.
As annoying as Kumon has been, constantly getting between Banri and Hyodo, it comes from a good place. And the kid’s working hard at acting, which is more than Banri—well, more than some people came into the company with. He’s got passion and energy and Banri can’t help but want that for the kid, when that’s all he’d wanted for himself for so many years. It’s what he respects most about Hyodo himself.
Besides, it’ll be funny to tease Hyodo later about how his kid brother took acting tips from Banri and not Hyodo himself. “I’ll give you some pointers, if you want ‘em,” Banri repeats. “Which part of the play are you working on?”
Kumon eyes him suspiciously but hands him the script. “This scene, here. I’m having trouble honestly expressing emotions of disappointment and regret without bringing the pace or the mood of the scene down too much. It’s still a comedy, y’know?”
Banri watches Kumon run through the lines a few times, trying different inflections and expressions as he goes. There’s still a bit of the Hyodo family daikon vibe, but it’s miles past where Kumon had been at his audition. Banri can work with this.
“Okay, so for this part, you’re overacting a little bit with your body language, so try using your voice like this…”
*
Banri returns to his room later that evening, and even there it seems like he can’t get away from thinking about the goddamn Hyodo family, because of course fuckin’ Hyodo has to be in the room, not in the kitchen letting Omi stuff him with sweet things or working on schoolwork with Tsumugi or doing some extra practice with Sakyo or reading with Muku or any of the other places where Hyodo usually is on a Thursday night at 8:30 PM.
Hyodo’s just sitting there in their room, sucking on a Meltykiss and reading a Mankai Company script. Banri wonders why he has it—the Summer Troupe is far from done with their run, and the Autumn Troupe won’t get their new script for a while, at least not until after they’ve gotten their new member. Banri hopes it won’t be someone as annoying as the little Hyobro, though it’ll be more work for him if whoever they get doesn’t have a passion for acting.
But when Hyodo sees Banri come in, he quickly stuffs the script into his desk and pulls out his phone, trying and failing to look absorbed in Kazunari’s latest Instablam post.
Of course, Banri can’t pass up this opportunity to mess with Hyodo.
“Hey, Hyodo, whatcha got there?” Banri saunters over to his roommate, leaning on the desk and looking meaningfully at the drawer. “Why you got a new script?”
“’S none of your business,” Hyodo grumbles. “Was just curious about the new play, so I asked Kumon if I could borrow his script.”
“If it’s Kumon’s copy, then why’s it so clean?” Banri opens the drawer and snatches it before Hyodo can protest.
“Ugh, give that back, asshole!”
Banri steps back out of reach. “Ooh, scratchy handwriting, a few kanji readings written in, this is definitely yours! No one else is this stupid!”
Hyodo sighs. “Yeah, okay, ‘s mine! Go on then, make fun of me helicopterin’ over my bro or whatever. Do your worst.”
Banri stares at Hyodo in shock. It’s not like him to give in so easily. “Just sayin’, your writing is like a grade schooler.” He puts the script back down and walks over to his own side of the room, grabbing a change of clothes. “I’m gonna go take a bath,” he says quietly and leaves.
That had been weird, even for Hyodo, right? Banri takes his time showering, enjoying the feel of the warm water running over his skin. Even these small pleasures have been better since he came to Mankai, a small part of him notes. Everything more vibrant and alive, the world of acting and the bonds he’s built here giving his life interest again. But all the weird ways Hyodo has been acting make him think back to how he was before, and his own relationship with his sister.
She’s not a bad sister, he supposes. Always got him decent presents for his birthdays, always brought him something when she traveled, always pulled her weight with chores when she lived at home with him. But she’d always been rather distant, maybe because of their age difference, maybe because Banri never needed anything from her.
But he looks at the Hyobros and the way they look out for one another—the way Kumon brings Juza pudding every time he goes to the convenience store just because, the way Juza had stepped in when Banri had cracked a joke about Kumon being a fighter like his brother. God help any poor sucker who actually picked a fight with Kumon. That might be the one thing that would get Juza to throw a punch nowadays, actually.
And then he looks at his own childhood and the sister who was always distant and strict, more like another parent than a sibling, when all Banri had wanted was someone to—
Well, there’s no point in what he wanted, now. Wants, present tense.
*
Banri knew Hyodo had a copy of the Summer Troupe’s most recent script, but he didn’t know it was for this .
He wasn’t trying to spy on the conversation or anything, but he’d been in the room when Muku came to get Hyodo, looking all frantic and stressed out, and it had to be something serious and something about Kumon for both of them to be lookin’ like that, so Banri followed them out to the living room, where he found Hyodo claiming that he was ready to be an understudy for the Summer Troupe’s new play.
And suddenly the dots all connect in Banri’s mind, about how Hyodo hadn’t wanted his brother to join Mankai, even though he clearly adores him and loves having him around. About Hyodo’s late nights with that damn script, and how it’s taken him longer to fall asleep recently, distinct lack of snores echoing through their room, making it almost more difficult to sleep.
And yet there’s really no way Hyodo can go onstage with the Summer Troupe, not without plenty of time to practice. He’s improved so much over the last year, but comedy isn’t Hyodo’s strength, and neither is playing an endearing, soft character like Akiyama. There’s no way he can go onstage like this.
This has nothing to do with you, part of his brain says. You’re Banri Super Ultra Easy Mode Settsu, you can do whatever you want.
And it’s precisely because he’s Banri Super Ultra Easy Mode Settsu that he has to be the one to do this.
The only actors in the whole company who could learn a role this quickly are himself, Tasuku, and maybe Masumi, but Banri’s the one with a personal stake in the matter. Banri’s the leader of the Autumn Troupe, so it’s his responsibility—he can’t let Hyodo make a fool of himself on stage, after all. And it—it shouldn’t be so hard to say, or even admit to himself, but he wants to help.
He wants Kumon to be able to relax a little bit, to know that the show won’t fall apart if he’s too feverish to go on stage. He wants to protect him in the small ways that he can, to be there to support him in the ways his sister never was, because she never had to be. He wants to do something nice for Juza, who’s a great actor once he’s settled into a role, but won’t have the time to find his footing in this one.
So Banri volunteers to be Kumon’s understudy, because he wants to, and Juza certainly won’t do a good job of it. He cloaks these soft feelings and warm sentiments in barbs and insults about Juza’s acting, so all he’s expecting is resistance from Juza, but all the asshole says is “I owe you one.”
Banri can’t look him in the eye after that, but he’s glad to be doing this.
*
Hyodo stays at the dinner table with Banri that evening after dinner, running through lines of the play. It should only take Banri a few read-throughs to learn all the lines, but it’s easiest to practice with someone else there to check the lines and read the other parts aloud. They stay there for a few hours, running through the whole play until Banri can recite his lines from memory, with appropriate gestures and facial expressions.
It doesn’t feel bad, doin’ something like this for Kumon. Something an older brother would do, perhaps.
Banri wonders how he got here, from hating Hyodo’s guts and wanting nothing more than to beat him at the thing he loved most, to get the most satisfying victory. And instead, he’s now rushing to learn a play in just a few days so that he can support Hyodo’s kid brother. He might not even get to shine himself—he’s learning the role so that Kumon won’t have to worry about the whole play going down if he gets sick. If everything goes well, Banri won’t be performing at all.
He’s not sure if his past self would be disappointed in his weakness, or just proud and relieved that Banri finally found something that he cares about. Something, and some people.
He finally rolls into bed later that night after taking a quick glance at his textbooks, just to make sure he’s set for classes and quizzes tomorrow. Since Hyodo’s not snoring, he’s probably not asleep yet. Still worryin’ about Kumon, if Banri were to guess.
Hyodo surprises him by rolling over onto his stomach, looking up at Banri from his pillow but not quite meeting his eyes in the darkness. “Hey, uh.” His voice is quiet, and then his hand sneaks between the slats of the bed frame dividing them, grabbing onto Banri’s hand as Banri adjusts his pillow. “Thanks. I really am…I’m grateful.”
Banri says nothing, but squeezes Hyodo’s hand a little, just to let him know he heard.
A long moment later, he adds, “He’s a good kid, and you’re a good brother.” But Hyodo’s already snoring, face down in his pillow, hand still large and warm in Banri’s own. And somehow Banri can’t bring himself to let go, so he falls asleep face down in his own pillow, holding Hyodo Juza’s hand.
*
The next morning, Hyodo’s already gone when Banri wakes up, and he wonders if falling asleep like that had been a dream. But he puts it out of his mind for now, because there’s one more thing he resolved to do yesterday afternoon when he volunteered to understudy for Kumon, and so he sits down at his desk, picks up the phone, and dials.
“Hey, sis,” he says. It’s been a long time, and he has to fight off the voice telling him that this is weird, he and his sister don’t just talk casually, he can’t just call like this for no reason. “How you doin’ these days?”
“Doing alright,” she says. “Do you need something, Banri? It’s just…it’s rare for you to call.”
“Didn’t need anythin’,” he says, because it’s true. He doesn’t need to talk to his sister or to be close with her or anything like that. “Just wanted to talk to you, I guess. Not a big deal, if you’re busy—”
“No, it’s nice to hear from you!” Banri’s surprised that she really does sound happy. “How’s the theater company life?”
“It’s…there are some guys here who surprise me, sometimes,” he says. “You and your husband should come see our next play if you have time. Does he like action?”
“You’ve never asked about him before,” she says, and Banri feels a little bad that she sounds surprised.
“’S not like we were super close as kids,” he says.
“I’m sorry about that, actually,” she admits. “You always did a good job of taking care of yourself, y’know? Never had to worry about your grades, or you doing well in sports, or anything like that. Easy mode, right? But after a while I guess I felt useless, so I stopped checking on you.”
Banri feels weird, like his chest is so full it could burst from the pressure. “I guess that’s what I get for being good at everything!” he jokes, but he feels so relieved on the inside.
“So what brought this on?” she asks.
Banri looks over at Hyodo’s rumpled, empty bed, feels the ghost of Hyodo’s hand in his own, and smiles.