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Jiro knew he couldn’t complain about his life at home. He didn’t have parents, but his brother Ichiro had always made sure they had a comfortable life. But there was something that Jiro really despised; he was quite ashamed and he never said it out loud, but doing chores was something he really hated with all his guts. He also knew that if he could, Ichiro would do everything himself to lift the “burden” off of his and Saburo’s shoulders, but he was often out the whole day for work and anyway, even if he hadn’t been, Jiro thought it wouldn’t have been right to leave it all to Ichiro. This was why he never dared to complain, but it didn’t mean he was happy about them either. Saburo, always the clever little brat, had quickly picked up on his aversion to housework, and with his every comment, Jiro could feel his will to do chores slip farther and farther away.
They were still quite young when they’d had to learn to take care of a house, and they had soon understood that splitting the work was the best thing to do. Saburo had decided he would clean the floors and his and Ichiro’s rooms, while Jiro would cook and clean his own room. Apart for a few snarky remarks that dinner was so burnt it needed the emergency room, to which Jiro had replied that the amount of hair on the corridor floor wasn’t normal and Saburo needed to go to the eye doctor (“it’s called ophthalmologist, idiot”) if he thought it was even remotely clean, everything had gone smoothly for many months, during which Jiro had begun to think housework wasn’t that bad. That was until one particular evening, when Ichiro wasn’t home; Jiro heard the faintest knock on his bedroom door, followed by an even fainter “Can I come in?”. It was weird coming from Saburo, but Jiro relished not being called an idiot for once and opened the door with a grin. Only to be met with an annoyed Saburo holding his school uniform.
“What do you want? Do you need big bro to wash your uniform like a mother?”
There was no need to use that tone, Jiro knew it, but he had to keep up the appearance.
“If I let you wash it, it would shrink so much that it could fit your pea-sized brain” Saburo replied rolling his eyes. It was a fair answer, but it didn’t mean it didn’t annoy Jiro.
“Well, then? I’m busy, I don’t have time to listen to a whiny child” Jiro lied. He wasn’t doing anything different than rolling in his bed trying to fall asleep, but Saburo didn’t need to know.
“There’s a rip in my jacket, can you fix it yes or no?” asked the younger, losing some of the defiance in his tone.
Jiro wasn’t going to miss this chance. He put on his biggest, cockiest smile.
“Mmm let’s see, if I fix it what’s in it for me?”
“You’d contribute to something actually useful for once, I guess.”
“If you put it like that, you can sew your own stupid uniform!”
“Okay okay, if you fix it, I’ll make dinner for the rest of the week” Saburo gave up eventually.
“Awesome! I knew you had some sense in you, now give it here!” Jiro snatched the jacket from his brother’s hands and slammed the door.
He’d looked very confident in his ability to fix that tear, but to be honest he had absolutely no idea of what to do. He figured it couldn’t be that hard, fished his phone from under his pillow and had no idea on how to do it. He found a needle and some thread in a little box on the top shelf, that Ichiro had given him a few years prior and had labelled ‘emergency’. This was damn well an emergency, so Jiro knew he would find what he was looking for. He mentally thanked Ichiro, not without wondering how the hell could he have guessed years prior that one day he would have needed needle and thread, and he put himself to work.
One hour passed and the tear was still there, looking pretty bold. Jiro threw the jacket against the wall. He’d spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to thread the needle, and when he’d done it he’d found out that the stitch pattern was more complicated than he had anticipated. Everything looked so easy to watch, but when he’d tried doing it, it had come out all wobbly and looking worse than the tear itself. He let out a frustrated but quiet groan. He had to figure this out or his reputation was forever compromised, but he didn’t want to waste all this time on Saburo’s stuff. He decided to take a break and put on a few of his favourite songs to mend his broken morale, confident that that was what his brain needed and, after that, he would be able to finally put two and two together and sew the damn thing.
When he came down for breakfast the next morning, the first thing he saw was Ichiro’s worried eyes.
“What happened to you? Did you feel sick tonight?” his older brother asked.
“What? Why sick? I feel good as usual” was Jiro’s confused reply. He brushed off Ichiro’s unnecessary worry and went to leave Saburo’s jacket on the coat rack. He glanced at the entrance mirror out of habit and understood what his brother meant: under his eyes there were two quite visible dark patches, and they were so bad they made his whole face look pale and kind of sick. He groaned. He may have sewn the uniform perfectly, so much so that he was sure Saburo couldn’t be able to guess where the tear was anymore, but it had taken him more time than he’d care to admit. Much more time. He slipped into the bathroom and tried to cover up the mess before the little gremlin could see it. From there he heard Saburo greet Ichiro and then a rustling of fabric. He was checking his uniform, already mocking Jiro’s work. The older was about to step out and give him an earful about gratitude when he heard the quietest “fuck, he did a good job” slip from his lips. He stopped dead in his tracks, a hand still on the door handle, not sure if he’d heard him right, but deep down he was sure he did: Saburo said good things to him so rarely that, when he did, Jiro sure noticed. He decided not to push the matter at breakfast, as he felt he’d already been blessed with a morning without insults. What he still didn’t know was that, later that day, Saburo told Ichiro about the great job Jiro had done on his uniform, making him swear secrecy on their conversation, and from that day on every time one of them needed a minor sewing job they went to him. With time he became better and better, until sewing was just another of his assigned chores. One he actually liked, for once.
“Wait! I was forgetting Amanda!!” Jyushi panicked voice echoed through the hallway.
“Get on a moveee, I’m hungry here!” Jiro’s exasperated voice replied. They were meant to go for ice cream while Ichiro and Kuko discussed some top-secret matters. Jiro knew exactly what it was, but he didn’t want to push his brother; Ichiro would tell him and Saburo when he was ready. Jyushi, on the other hand, apparently didn’t have the faintest idea of what they were doing. Bless his pure heart.
“Oi Jyushi you’re taking forever! Do you really need your stuffed animal right now??” he shouted into the empty entrance, and a couple of seconds later Jyushi appeared, as if summoned.
“Here we are! We can go.”
They walked silently for some time, only talking to decide where to go. They settled for the market, where they knew they could find something to nibble while killing time. Jiro was quite comfortable in the silence, but he could see in the corner of his eye that Jyushi looked kind of… restless. At some point he had looked as if he had finally built up the courage to say something, only for it to slip away a moment later. They reached a shop they liked, bought a few things and started to look for a place to sit and enjoy their food. The tables were all full, so they sat on a bench under a tree, a few meters away. As they sat down, Jiro decided he couldn’t tame his curiosity any longer.
“What’s this thing with Amanda? Why do you always bring her with you?” he asked.
Jyushi stared at him for a few seconds, looking unsure of what to say. Jiro didn’t push it: if he didn’t want to talk about it, it was fine, but he still thought it was weird considering that he brought that stuffed animal everywhere. After a few more hesitating seconds, Jyushi started talking.
The answer took Jiro by surprise. He had thought of Jyushi as a bit childish, someone who couldn’t seem to be able to grow up and didn’t even notice. Jiro knew it wasn’t entirely true: after all, he’d seen him on stage and he felt like a whole different person, strong and confident. For some time after that concert, he had thought he had a twin, as there was no way he could be the same guy as the one crying over a stuffed, weird-looking pig. He’d abandoned that idea after Saburo mocked him a week straight. The actual story behind Amanda was so dark and sad that he wanted to slap himself for bringing it up, although unknowingly. Jyushi had to have read his mind because as soon as he finished, he added: “even though I miss my granny, I know that as long as Amanda is with me, she also is, and it makes me happy.”
“Why were you so restless while we were coming here?” Jiro hurriedly tried to change the topic. It wasn’t the right thing to do, but he had no idea of what to tell Jyushi and he didn’t want to end it in silence.
“I thought…” Jyushi hesitated again, then looked at him, squeezed Amanda in his hands and continued. “I thought you hated Amanda and me and were counting the seconds until you could go home” he whispered. Jiro was surprised. He’d never commented on the toy pig the other boy brought around until now, when he’d asked about its story, so he didn’t know what could have given Jyushi that impression. His memory sent him a hint.
“Wait, is it because I called it- her, I called her a ‘stuffed animal’ before?” he tried, spying Jyushi’s face that was half hidden behind his bangs and slightly turned to the other side, making it almost impossible to see.
An unintelligible sound came from behind the bangs.
“What?”
“Yes” Jyushi spoke up ever so slightly, but enough for Jiro to hear.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I honestly thought you were exaggerating a bit with the whole bring-her-anywhere thing, but now that I know why you do it, I feel dumb for thinking that”. He blushed. “Even if it did look weird from the outside, man” he quickly added, trying to calm his burning cheeks.
Jyushi laughed for the first time that afternoon. “I know, but she’s more important to me than what the other people think” he added with a proud look. “Thank you for understanding.”
They both ended up staring at Amanda for a couple of minutes, when Jiro broke the silence again.
“It looks a bit, how can I say it… worn out” he said pointing to one of the ears where some of the stuffing was coming out.
Jyushi sighed. “I know. I wish I could fix her, but I tried once and almost ripped the whole ear out, and it was so hard putting it together. I’m reeeeally not cut for that.” He turned Amanda around and showed Jiro the stitches behind the ear in question; Jiro mentally agreed that it was the poorest sewing job he’d ever seen in his life. Jyushi had started talking again about how difficult sewing was but Jiro wasn’t listening to a word of it, instead arguing within himself about whether or not he should say something. He decided for it.
“You know, I’m actually quite good at sewing. I could fix it for you if you’d like.” He had talked with the most nonchalant tone he could muster, but in reality, he was sweating inside. He’d just offered to fix something so dear to Jyushi, what if he fucked up? What if it was out of the line, given they’d only gone out for snacks a few times? His thoughts were stopped by an excited squeal.
“Really?? You can do it??”
Jyushi’s eyes were sparkling and Jiro pushed down whatever had started stirring in his stomach when he had noticed it.
“I mean, if you trust me enough with it…”
“Of course I do! Can we go home and start doing it now??”
Jyushi’s enthusiasm really took Jiro by surprise.
“Y-yes, if you want…”
“Perfect, let’s go then!” Jyushi grabbed Jiro’s wrist and forced him to stand and follow him. With great embarrassment, Jiro noticed how he didn’t mind that contact at all. Sure, he had thought that Jyushi was a weird, over-grown child, but maybe he didn’t really hate spending the afternoon with him, and if he hoped Ichiro would spend more time with Kuko and left them alone more often, it wasn’t anyone business.
And it certainly wasn’t Saburo’s business if he silently thanked him for ripping his jacket, all those years ago.