Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Okuyasu started coming home with leftovers. 

“Ya gotta try this, Aniki. Higashikita-san makes the best tonkatsu I’ve ever had. There’s even enough to last us a few days if we stretch it.” He cheers, making room in the refrigerator by shoving day-old rice and condiments out of the way.  He places the leftovers in the space he’s made. It’s a tight fit. The dish it came in is white with painted flowers. 

A loaf of milk bread sits on the table next to Keicho. He eyes the food suspiciously. “And you are sure it’s not poisoned?” 

Okuyasu looks over his shoulder at him like he’s grown another head. “Huh? Why would Josuke poison us?”

Keicho shrugs. “Perhaps he’s feeling vengeful.” He inspects the packaging of the bread. It hasn’t been tampered with. The heart logo sticker from the grocery store keeps the plastic from ripping open.

“He’s my best friend, remember? No hard feelings. And it was his mom that made it. Well, not the bread. Josuke bought that for me.” 

“He’s buying you bread now?” Keicho has half a mind to throw it out right then and there. What does that boy think, that they need his charity or pitiful donations? 

Okuyasu closes the refrigerator, a blush high on his cheeks despite the way his jaw tightens. Good. He needs to realize how insulting a gesture like this is. 

Then his little brother shakes his head, leaning against the fridge with his arms crossed over his chest. “I paid for his ice cream the other night, so he owed me anyway.” He offers, like that should have been obvious.

Keicho crosses his arms too. He does not like his brother hanging out with that hooligan. It may be hypocritical to call Higashikata a troublemaker, considering his own track record for violence, thievery and, well, troublemaking, but his troublemaking was dignified in that it was started out of necessity. Higashikata chooses to be a delinquent. And he’s not even a good one.

Okuyasu is still in his school uniform despite the late hour, a habit he picked up only after meeting the other boy. Keicho remembers waking up in bed, his nerves exhausted from being fried by Oitoshi’s stand and healed by Higashikata’s, with Okuyasu holding his hand at his bedside, eyelids swollen from crying. Keicho gave him a long once-over before muttering, “Why in God’s name are you in your uniform?”

The uniforms were meant to be a cover of sorts (Okuyasu referred to them as their superhero costumes). Neither of them went to school for obvious reasons, so pretending they did gave them a bit more anonymity. When the furious stand users Keicho created went searching for them in schools, they turned up empty-handed (it was genius honestly). Anyway, they weren’t meant to be worn inside the house unless they were dealing with stand users.

Okuyasu ignored his question and proceeded to sob uncontrollably, throwing his arms around him in a very dramatic and annoying fashion. If Keicho hadn’t been exhausted, he would have thrown his brother across the room. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone tried to hug him.

The rule has been thrown out the window since then. Okuyasu started wearing that thing everywhere. If it weren’t for the fact that the damn thing reeked, Keicho would have believed his brother showered in it too. It was a hassle just to take it from Okuyasu so he could wash it.

And all of these behavioral problems started when Higashikata became a permanent figure in their lives.

“Speaking of,” Okuyasu says suddenly, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Can Josuke come over this weekend?”

“Absolutely not-”

“And before you say no, it’s so we can study. We have a test on Monday.” Keicho shrugs, not sure how that has anything to do with that boy coming over. “Come on Aniki, don’t you want me to get good marks, go to university and start bringing home some real money?”

“Then go to his house.” Keicho turns to leave, beelining it for the living room. He passes their father on the way, who is sitting on the floor of the hallway petting that monstrosity of a cat, plant, thing , and listening to them bicker but not understanding. Keicho makes a point not to look at him. 

He sits down on the couch, which is old and worn and needs to be replaced, snatching the magazine from the coffee table and opening it to his bookmark. Model planes and military equipment. Just what he needs to calm his mind. His stand always appreciates new weaponry to copy.

But loud footsteps mean his brother has followed him, a look of indignance plastered on his face. “That's not fair. I’m always at his house.”

“And?”

“And, mooching off of him and his mom isn’t right! It's like, breaking best friend rules or somethin.’”

“Is that what he said?”

“No, but-”“Then I don’t see the problem.” He flips to the next page. An image of a trench from World War I takes up the space of two pages. Hmm. He wonders if Bad Company can make a trench.

“Aniki,” Okuyasu complains, drawing out his vowels as he did as a child. “It’s the principle. I wanna show him my cool posters and all the pictures I have from Tokyo, and the manga you got from S City and my collection of bottle caps from-” Okuyasu goes on, and on and on, and Keicho tries his best to ignore it, but he forgot his annoying his brother can be when his heart is set on something. Annoying and loud.

He flings the magazine on the seat beside him, throwing his hands in the air.  “Oh my God, fine. I want him out of the house by nine.”

Okuyasu makes a celebratory sound, practically jumping up in the air.

A warm feeling pools in Keicho’s chest and he raises the magazine again to hide the smile trying to take over the pout on his lips. Their father joins in the celebration from the hallway, though he probably doesn’t understand why Okuyasu is so excited.

“Shit I need to clean and find something for dinner.” He taps his chin in thought, then snaps his fingers. “I got it! Maybe you can make mom’s Udon for dinner?”

Keicho scoffs, “And why would I do that? You are the one having company, after all, it should be your job to entertain him.”

Okuyasu taps his fingers together, looking down at the floor sheepishly. “You never taught me how to make it right. Last time I tried I burnt it, remember?” 

“Then make something else .” He squeezes his eyes shut. Counts to ten. “Why do you care so much about what we have for dinner anyway? That boy’s too good for ramen now?”

“Aniki-”

“No . I’m not making it and that's final.”

“This is ridiculous,” Keicho says, dropping a package of udon into the shopping basket. Okuyasu walks a step behind him, peering at the variety of sauces on display but not knowing how any of them are used. Damn kid mentoring at that Italian restaurant, mastering foreign cuisine before he learned how to cook his own. “You better have a plan for affording all of this. Why can’t we make ramen again?”

“Josuke’s picky about his food.” They make their way to the next aisle, searching for brown sugar, and Okuyasu slips a package of dorayaki into the basket, whistling to avoid suspicion. “Hey, maybe you can get a job here!”

Keicho grits his teeth at his brother’s volume. An older woman they pass by gives him a scolding look. “I applied here months ago. They never got back to me.”

“What? Assholes.” Okuyasu stuffs his hands in his pocket, his annoyance genuine. Keicho doesn’t have the heart to tell him that the supermarket has a very good reason for not hiring him. He’s robbed this place so many times it's a wonder they let him through the door.

Okuyasu picks up a package of light brown sugar and hands it over with a questioning tilt of his head. Keicho shakes his head, picks up the dark brown instead. 

When they make it to the produce aisle, Keicho reaches for the mushrooms and is stopped by a hand on his wrist. “Wait, Josuke hates mushrooms.”

“What?”

“He thinks fungus’ are gross, won’t touch anything with them in em-”

“Okuyasu, let go of my hand.” Okuyasu relinquishes, disappointment palpable on his face. Keicho grabs two packages of mushrooms just to spite him.

Damn that rich kid and his picky eating habits. Keicho was never allowed to be picky. He was lucky to get food on the table at all, let alone have preferences. “He’ll eat what I make or he won’t eat at all, Okuyasu.”

“But-”

“What has gotten into you?” He whips his head to his brother, throwing the mushrooms in the cart. Okuyasu startles back. “Why do you care so much about impressing this boy?” 

Okuyasu flounders, flushing immediately. “W-Well-” He swallows nervously, wringing his hands. “He did save my life, like twice, and your life too, and all of my friends. A-And-” He stumbles over his words and when they don’t come easily, he just stops, his shoulders slumping. “I just want him to enjoy coming to our house as much as I enjoy going to his.”

Keicho stares silently, watching his brother shrink further into himself under his gaze.

He sighs and places one of the packages of mushrooms back. “Fine. You and him can have it without. Get your vitamin B somewhere else.”

The smile returns to Okuyasu’s face. Seconds later, “Hey, what should we do for dessert?”

Chapter Text

Higashikata arrived early, wearing his stupid uniform, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a grin wide enough to reflect light. He greets Okuyasu with a sideways hug, entering the house as if he lives there. Keicho watches from the couch, peering from behind his magazine.

Josuke offers a little wave (which Keicho returns with a scowl) and that's all that is said between them before the boys run upstairs, practically giggling.

“Tsk.” Keicho returns to his read, definitely not listening to his brother and Higashikata laugh it up in the room above him. Keicho can imagine Okuyasu now, pulling out containers of trinkets he’s collected over the years and fawning over them with the other boy. As a child, Okuyasu lost most of his toys in the move from Tokyo to Morioh, so he had to make do with the stuff found on the road, toys and trinkets abandoned on the bus, or things Keicho stole.

Maybe he should be happy that his brother has a friend, one that doesn’t judge him and shares interests with him. He didn’t have many growing up. They all seemed to disappear when the beatings started and Okuyasu became more withdrawn.

Speaking of. His dad sits in the recliner to his right, staring into space and just...breathing. At the beginning of the year, Keicho made a promise to himself that if his dad weren’t dead by winter, he would be. It's December now, and Mansaku and himself are very much alive, mostly due to his brother’s meddling.

Unlike Okuyasu, Keicho didn't forgive their father when it was revealed that he still held love for them. He kept a stupid photograph, so what? It's not enough to forget that if their father hadn’t turned into a blubbering monster, he’d still be wailing on them to this day.

His fingers tighten around the magazine. He starts to count to ten, something Okuyasu taught him for when he’s overwhelmed like this, but every count is followed by raspy inhales to his right, little coughs as his father’s lungs try to expand despite the weight piled on them.

Time to separate himself from the situation. He stands and retreats to the kitchen, taking the apron off of the rack next to the fridge, and starting on dinner.

-

“I guess your brother’s still a dick, huh?” Josuke is reclined on the bed with an ancient copy of Shounen Jump, his jacket hanging off his shoulders as his eyes scan the page. Okuyasu was afraid Josuke would find his home weird, dirty, or gross, but as the other boy takes up almost the entire bed, he realizes he had nothing to fear.

Okuyasu sits crisscross on the floor, history book in his lap and notes spread out around him. “Cut him some slack. He’s trying his best.”

Josuke hums, flipping over onto his stomach. “Come up here dude, there’s enough room for both of us.”

Okuyasu climbs forward, maneuvering himself so he’s lying right beside Josuke over the covers. There is enough room, but their shoulders are touching, overlapping. Josuke is very warm.

He’s still looking at him. The other boy is so pretty.

“I think big bro is depressed or somthin.’” He says.

Josuke turns to him, head tilted. “Why?”

“He’s acting weird. All he does is read that stupid magazine.”

“Well, that's all we’re doing, right?”

“Yeah, but we got like...a purpose to it. He’s just reading the same thing over an’ over. Like a zombie or a robot.”

“Zombies can’t read,” Josuke says. Okuyasu gives him a withering look, which prompts a chuckle from him. “Look man, your bro is fine. Probably. But things have changed so he’s changed too. He’s gotta get used to being a normal person again.”

Okuyasu bites his lip, glancing down at the history book.

A few months ago, none of it would have made sense to him. Reading the words on the page is one thing, comprehending it, however, was impossible. Now he can do both, and even when his head feels full, he’s not as daunted by overwhelming thoughts.

Josuke is smart, just as smart as his brother. Okuyasu is glad to have him around. He doesn’t offer much help when they’re “studying” like they are now, but it doesn’t matter. It's like his genius is rubbing off on him.

“You’re probably right.” He says. “If only he had some friends.”

“If only.”

“Somebody older, and cool. Maybe Rohan.”

“No way. Those two would kill each other.” Josuke closes his read, scooting even closer until his lying across the other boy, his thigh resting between his legs. Okuyasu makes a startled noise as Josuke wraps his arms around his waist, burrowing his face into his chest. His voice is muffled as he says, “You worry too much. You’re supposed to be studying.”

Okuyasu flushes from head to toe. “We’re supposed to be studying. You have a test on Monday too, remember?”

“Pfft, it’s history, nothing to worry about. Besides, I’ve got something more interesting to study right here.” A mischievous glint shines in his eyes as he reaches for Okuyas’s slacks, hooking two fingers under his waistband.

Okuyasu throws a worried glance at the door. “What if they hear?”

Josuke glances up at him from between his legs. “Calm down, its not like we’re going all the way. My mouth’s gonna be pretty full, so it’s up to you to stay quiet.” Josuke’s hand fondles him through his clothes, feeling his member harder beneath the fabric.

Okuyasu releases a sweet exhale of breath, raising his hips despite the apprehension on his face. “Feels weird doin’ it with them right under us.”

“You didn’t seem to care last week when my mom was in the room next door. Or did you forget that I had to beg my way out of getting grounded and endure a three-hour lecture about condoms?

“Besides, you’re not doing anything. Just lie still, try to stay quiet and I’ll take care of everything.” Josuke loosens his shirt from where it's tucked into his slacks, kissing the newly exposed skin just like the warm air of the room. “Now do you want me to suck you off or not?”

“If Keicho finds out, he might kill you.”

Josuke shrugs, smiling in return. “Worth it.”

-

Keicho has finished setting the table, a job he normally reserves for Okuyasu but had to do on his own because his brother did not answer his repeated calls to come downstairs.

His father sits at the table, stirring his udon haphazardly, playing with it more than eating it, but he does make an excited chirp when he sees the spread laid out for them.

Keicho doesn’t half-ass anything, which is a lot more than he can say for his father. Once he agreed to make udon, he decided he was going to make the best udon any of them had ever had.

And now it's all going cold.

He trudges up the stairs, ready to give his brother a piece of his mind. Once stopped in front of Okuyasu’s door he gives it a few hard bangs. “Okuyasu get your ass out here!”

He hears a high-pitched squeak, as well as the sound of something hitting the floor with a thud. A pained gasp can be heard on the other side of the door. Keicho stares, listening to the boys scramble about. “J-Just a second!”

He takes the doorknob. “You imbeciles-”

“Don’t open the door!”

Keicho freezes, staring at the door in shock. His brother never raised his voice at him, not even when they were little. He almost wants to throw the door open just to spite him. That is until he hears the frantic whispers being exchanged between the two and the unmistakable sound of a zipper being forced into place.

Keicho rips his hand from the doorknob, the dots connecting before he can tell his brain to drop it. Dear God, why does he have to be the one to deal with this shit? His lips curl into a shocked and deeply uncomfortable frown as he turns to retreat downstairs. “Just hurry up.”

-

Dinner is served—mushrooms for him and Dad but none for Okuyasu and his guest. When the latter make their way downstairs, they refuse to look Keicho in the eye, taking their seats next to each other with quick words of thanks.

Keicho looks them up and down, takes in their disheveled clothing and red faces. He rolls his eyes. “Took you long enough. It’s probably cold by now.”

Okuyasu cringes, opening his mouth to apologize, or maybe defend themselves, but all that comes out is awkward sputtering. When it’s apparent that Okuyasu isn’t going to form any words, Josuke interrupts. “S-Sorry about that. This exam’s got us stressed.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fills the space. Even their father looks a bit tense, eyes landing on everyone in the room. Any appetite Keicho may have had has disappeared after his trip upstairs. Instead of eating, he crosses his arms and remains quiet too.

Okuyasu takes the first bite, nervously closing his chopsticks around some udon and shoving it into his mouth. He gasps immediately.

Josuke turns to him in shock, but starts digging in too. “Oh my god,” he says around a mouth full of udon. “This is so good. This is even better than when mom makes it.”

Okuyasu is grinning so wide it's like his face might tear. “Yeah big bro, this is amazing!” The boys begin to chatter about how much they love the food.

Keicho feels his face warm under the praise, but instead of replying to their compliments, he picks at his own bowl in silence.

The boys get seconds and thirds. Keicho is not used to cooking for four, but luckily there’s enough for them to get as much as they want.

Somehow, Okuyasu convinced him to let Josuke stay the night. Kiecho doesn’t quite remember the exact train of events, just that it involved his brother clasping his hands together and saying ‘pleeeeeeeeease!’

Keicho retreated to his own room for the night and tried very hard not to hear what they were up to in the room over. It's easy to imagine how well that went, since the walls are thin and the boys are not as quiet as they think they are.

But the next morning, Okuyasu and Josuke made breakfast, the latter wearing Keicho’s apron, and as annoying as it was to see, they meal they prepared was nice.

Chapter Text

“Keicho?...Keicho? Keicho.”

Keicho is underneath a truck, both hands deep in its undercarriage and covered in grime. He can see his brother’s sneakers from upside down.

 "What.”

"Me, Josuke and Koichi are going to see a movie tonight.” Okuyasu allows a thoughtful pause, hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

When it's apparent that his brother isn’t going to speak any further, Keicho bristles. “Are you asking me or are you telling me?”

A shrug. “Bit of both. I’m telling you we’re going, but I’m asking if you want to come with us.”

"No." 

Okuyasu makes a loud frustrated noise, kicking the ground next to the front tire. “You’ve been at this since you woke up. It's not gonna explode if you leave it for a few hours.”

His brother shuffles to the front of the car, probably taking a peak under the hood. “Is there even anything wrong with it? It sounded fine this morning-”

Keicho groans, rolling himself from underneath the truck and glaring at his brother. “If a nice sounding engine was all a car needed to function properly then all we’d need is the engine.” 

The car belongs to an old farmer from the countryside. He brought it in for an oil change- “See Aniki! Putting up flyers was a great idea!”- but Keicho figured some extra maintenance wouldn’t do any harm. It's an easy fix and he’s charging half the price of those thieves down the road. 

The sun shines in his eyes, only partially covered by his brother who’s standing above him.

Okuyasu puts his hands on his hips, bending at the waist to look him in the eye. “It’s a good movie, Aniki. There's gonna be tanks and jets and other cool shit, you’ll love it.”

As sweat drips from Keicho’s forehead. He’s very glad he didn’t bother with his pompadour today. “This is the first time I’m hearing of it.”

“Our friend Yuya told us about it. Remember him?” 

Keicho doesn’t even bother trying to remember. Okuyasu has so many friends now it's hard to keep up.  

“He’s the guy with the smelling stand,” What? “And he was in a biker gang and he has lots of fangirls. He’s coming over later to-”

“I’m not interested in the movie, no matter how amazing Josuke, Koichi and Yuyo-”

“Yuya.”

“Yuya, say it is.” He extends his hand. 

Okuyasu sighs, passing him a rag without missing a beat. Keicho wipes his fingers clean, taking extra care to get under his nails. Where are his damn gloves?

“Well maybe you should. You and Yuya have a lot in common.”

Keicho raises an accusatory brow. 

Okuyasu waves his hands. “And that's a good thing! You’re both older and cool and...” His mouth settles into a thin line, and he looks at the ground. “I don’t know. It might be good for you to have a friend. Or someone to talk to that isn’t dumb like me.”

Though he mumbled the last part, Keicho had no trouble hearing it. He feels his own annoyance fade away, replaced with guilt. 

“You’re not dumb Okuyasu.” He replies solemnly.  

Not sure what to say, or how to heal trauma from years of abuse he subjected his brother to, Keicho he doesn’t say anything. He lies back on the skateboard and rolls under the truck once more. “Whatever, be home before curfew.” 

“Fine.” Okuyasu sighs, running off as he says. “See ya, Aniki!”

It’s hot, and it only gets hotter as the day goes on. Keicho takes a break three hours past noon, reclining against the house and snacking on...something his brother brought from work. 

Snack in one hand and water bottle in the other, Keicho listens to the sounds of the neighborhood. Dogs, children, cars, it's all very mundane, oddly serene. He wonders if things have always been this peaceful. It never seemed like that before.

A few months ago, he was afraid to leave his house during the day, all the stand users he’d made and pissed off closing in on him. He barely let Okuyasu out of the house either, and between the howls of his father locked away upstairs and his own paranoid mind telling him he was going to die soon, he was in a psychosis of his own making.

Perhaps the world has always been boring like this. And he was too scared to appreciate it.

His brother doesn't seem to have that problem. He's grateful that Okuyasu didn't let years of hiding away and walking on eggshells make him jaded. He sprinted back into the world, found a pocket to squeeze into and make it his own, something that Keicho always wanted for him but couldn’t ever imagine. Though he wishes his brother made better choices of company. 

He doesn't know what Okuyasu sees in Higashikata. The boy is... loud. The clothes he wears, the way he speaks, it's all a very obvious grab for attention. And he gets it. It seems like no matter where he goes, he has people fawning over him.  

His brother is not exempt from this. It seems like Okuyasu latched onto Josuke once he didn’t have Keicho to follow around. His brother has always been easily swayed like that. 

The thought makes his fist clench where they rest on his knees. He already feels shame that his brother had to deal with his problems while he was unconscious. But to think that his brother is being taken advantage of-

The rumble of a motorcycle engine sounds as it approaches, crescendoing from a sound in the dissonance to all Keicho can hear. He looks up in time to see a man on a motorcycle park at the end of his driveway, dressed head to toe in protective gear and leather. 

Keicho doesn’t bother getting up or getting defensive. He partially summons his stand, a foot soldier by his boot with its gun pointed discreetly at the stranger. He sips his water from the ground, eying the young man take off his helmet and approach. 

“Oh er, are you Nijumura Keicho?”

Keicho caps his water and gives the man another once over. “Depends. Who are you?”

“Oh, um, I’m Fungami Yuya. Okuyasu sent me to look at his bike.” The boy stares, blinking like he can’t believe his eyes. Keicho doesn’t like being stared at, and returns the stare with a look of mild irritation. The boy startles, straightening his spine and swallowing nervously. “Sorry! You look different than I remember.”

“Have we met before?”

“Uh yeah,” The boy shoves his hands in his pockets, sheepishly looking everywhere but at him. “You kinda turned me into a stand user.” His stand manifests at his side, standing just a bit taller than its user, sniffing the air like a dog. Keicho suddenly remembers the night in the rain when a punk thought he could bully him into surrendering his wallet, and the look of fear on his face when Keicho drew the bow and arrow.

Unlike the others, he didn’t bother checking to see if this one had survived. And it's a good thing too. He’s heard about his stand’s abilities and is not at all interested in being on the other end of it.

Keicho watches the boy, who can’t be much younger than himself. If he were a better man he’d apologize, to Yuya, to his brother, maybe even to his father. 

“I see.” He says instead.

Since it was revealed that no one could heal their father, Keicho has thrown his uniform out, secret identity bullshit be damned. Without his pompadour, with his hair falling messily down his shoulders, dressed in a sweat stained wife beater and distressed slacks, he supposes he’s a sorry sight compared to what he looked like when they first met.

The boy is still staring, lips parted in shock.

Keicho stands and turns away, throwing his snack in the trashcan by the garage door. He’s suddenly very self-aware of how sweaty he is and uses the bottom part of his wife-beater to wipe his brow, but that only causes rivulets of sweat to roll down his midsection. “His bike is over there. The keys are on the wall.”

“R-Right.”

Seeming to snap out of whatever trance he was in, probably trying to form his hatred into words or vow revenge on Keicho for ruining his life, Yuya shuffles over to the other side of the garage, taking up the keys and starting the engine without another word. 

Popping the hood once more, Keicho is reminded that the truck needs a lot more tlc than a simple oil change can provide. He should bring it back, tell the old man that it's better off being sold for scrap and leave it at that, but he doesn’t mind putting in a few extra hours to get it taken care of.

Working on the truck, working outside with his own hands after being stuck in the house for months, is nice. For the first few weeks after he woke, Okuyasu wouldn’t let him do anything by himself. He hates depending on other people, especially his kid brother, but his muscles had atrophied and he could barely make it to the bathroom without help.

The fresh air is welcoming, even if it's tinged with the scent of oil and gasoline. And Okuyasu was right (a new annoying habit he’s developed), Yuya is pleasant company. He loves his brother, and he can tolerate his father, but being around someone his own age, one who is confident in their own skill and isn’t bombarding him with questions every five minutes, is a nice change.

Yuya works like he’s been in this garage before, knowing where all the tools and equipment are. He’s very different from the kid that tried to mug him in the alleyway. Keicho had been on his way home from speaking with Angelo (fucking creep. Keicho’s glad he’s gone) and a boy half his size jumped him, all skinny arms and wobbling knees.

It was no trouble taking him down then, but he doubts it’d be easy to fight Yuya now. Not only does he have a stand, but the man’s been working out. He’s stripped down, shirt and jacket discarded on the floor, his muscular body shining with sweat. He looks great. Keicho wonders if he’s ever considered joining the military.

The day goes on, the sun changing from yellow to orange. Okuyasu hasn’t called, but Keicho’s not sure why he expected him to. He started up the car to listen to the engine, which is making an awful gurgling sound now. He hops out and reaches for the coolant, which probably hasn’t been checked in years.

And he should probably check the battery. 

And all the tires just to be sure. 

Just as Keicho is contemplating taking the engine apart to clean it (or maybe calling his brother to make sure he’s okay) Yuya clears his throat, dropping a soiled rag to the floor. He leans against the bike and says, 

“I uh, wanted you to know...I’m not upset over being turned into a stand user. In fact, I should be thanking you.”

Perplexed, Keicho turns to look at him. That's the last thing he ever expected to hear from one of his victims. He should hate him. Why in God’s name is he thanking him?

Yuya scratches the back of his neck. “There was an accident. Some of my guys were racing in a tunnel, one flipped into the wall and we all went down. I woke up in the hospital and..my friends, they were all dead.” He swallows, eyes locked on the ground, seeing something that Keicho can’t. “I was the only survivor. If you hadn't turned me, I would've died along with them.”

Keicho can’t keep the shock off of his face. He heard of that accident, read it in the belated newspapers Okuyasu supplied him with to catch up on current events. Eight people died, the only survivor being a teenager with life threatening injuries. He shouldn’t have survived, that's what the papers said, and the doctors called it a miracle.

He doesn’t think he should be thanked for that. He doesn’t deserve credit for Yuya’s survival, especially since he shot Yuya without any regard for his well being after. He runs his fingers through his hair, wishing he had a hair tie. It's too damn hot, and this sappy conversation is making him run hotter. 

Instead of actually replying, he grunts and lifts the hood, leaning on it as he searches for the radiator cap.

Yuya claps his hands once, turning on his heel to face the bike once more. “Anyway! I kinda owe you, so if you need anything, just let me know. ”

He probably should have changed the coolant earlier, but whatever. He can’t find the radiator cap anywhere. Damn old cars. “You could tell me why my brother is so obsessed with that foul-mouthed delinquent.” He whispers under his breath.

“Who, Josuke?” Yuya has no trouble hearing him. He barks a laugh. “He’s not so bad once you get to know him. When I met him, I thought he was a total dick too. And he is, but Okuyasu...well, they bring out the best in each other.”

Keicho wants to argue that Okuyasu always had admirable qualities and Josuke had nothing to do with it, but he has a feeling that Yuya is right. 

Okuyasu was always kind where Keicho was bitter, forgiving where Keicho was full of rage. He is smart in his own way, but Okuyasu was too young to reach his full potential, and in his attempt to help Okuyasu become stronger, Keicho only made it harder for his brother to flourish into his own person.

The Okuyasu he knew when he went under and the Okuyasu he met when he woke are not the same, and it’s only logical to admit that Higashikita had something to do with that.

He asks, “How long have they been...” He waves his hand, not sure of the word.

“Friends?” Yuya hums. “Kobayashi says it started when they were searching for the guy that almost killed you.”

Keicho freezes at the reminder, blood running cold. Yuya continues. “But even after, they were always together. Sneaking around, pranking the mangaka or screwing with the alien. You should’ve seen them when they were searching for Kira. They were practically glued at the hip.”

“I wouldn’t know. He doesn’t talk to me about such things.” He grumbles. It's his own fault. If he had himself as a brother he wouldn’t be so open either. “Now all he talks about is ‘the power of friendship’ and how better off I’d be if I had a friend and got out of the house more.”

Yuya chuckles darkly. He pauses before asking, “Does that bother you?”

“What?”

“Friendship. Their friendship.”

Keicho shakes his head. “Why would it?”

Yuya bites his lip, looking indecisive. “Some people would say they’re too close.”

“Well ‘some people’ should mind their goddamn-” In his mindlessness, Keicho accidentally grabs the burning radiator cap, turning it just enough that steam rushes out.

He swears, snatches his hand away as white hot pain envelops it. He shakes it out to dispense the scolding pain at his fingertips, groaning when it starts to radiate throughout his hand. A litany of curses runs through his mind, plus frustration at himself for doing something so stupid. He doesn’t notice Yuya until the man is at his side, pushing him aside so he’s in front of the truck.

“Ice your hand, I got this.”

Keicho shakes his head. “It’s fine-”

“It’ll scar if you’re not careful,” Yuya interrupts, not even looking in his direction. “Better safe than sorry.” He turns the radiator cap slowly, allowing it to depressurize the way Keicho should have. 

Keicho glares, not used to being the one told what to do, but instead of arguing further, he turns to the door and makes his way into the kitchen. 

Stupid car, he thinks, running his burn under cold water. It isn’t bad, or rather, it could have been a lot worse, but Yuya is right that without proper care the small burn can become an actual problem.

He runs his fingers under the cold water, biting his lip to keep from hissing from the pain, when he hears the shuffling of footsteps behind him. 

He turns to see Mansaku dragging toward him, eyes wide and locked on his hand. His father, in all his deformed glory, has the audacity to look worried, reaching forward like he wants to check his hand. Keicho turns off the water and he stomps away in the opposite direction.

He takes care of his hand with burn cream and gauze, but it doesn’t need much more than that. When he returns, Yuya has returned to the bike. A pair of gloves balance on the truck’s windshield for him. Keicho begrudgingly takes them, sliding them on with a grumble of thanks.

“How’s your hand?”

“Fine.”

“You should let Josuke take a look at it.”

Keicho would rather die. Again. “I said it’s fine .”

The other man shrugs, hopping up from his spot on the floor and trotting over. There’s a small smirk on his face. “Okuyasu never said you were clumsy.”

“That's because I’m not clumsy. You were distracting me.” He grabs the coolant, hand shaking from embarrassment, but he blames it on the pain.

Yuya snatches it from him. “Let me.” He says, not really asking, and pushing past Keicho again. Keicho steps back in surprise. He hates being treated like an invalid. But he doesn’t argue, consceding that it's only logical to let Yuya do it.

Yuya has a suspicious smile on his face. His hands are steady as he pours the coolant, even as he looks up and grins up at him. “You know. I could be your friend.” Keicho rolls his eyes, ready to tell him to fuck off, but the man corrects, “Fake friend. Just to get the boys off your back.”

“Ridiculous.”

“We don’t need to be as close as those two. Just hang out every once and a while, so Okuyasu doesn’t think you’re as reclusive as he’s always talking about.”

Keicho balks. Okuyasu has been talking about him to other people?!

“And this way you can see them for yourself." Yuya replaces the old radiator cap with a new one, one that just materialized in his pocket. Then he turns, eyes twinkling with mischief as he peers up at him. “What do you have to lose?”

Keicho places one gloved hand on the outstretched hood, leaning down to make eye contact. “My time, my dignity, my sanity, need I go on?”

“Dramatic much?” Yuya pouts, his eyes are half lidded as he looks Keicho up and down, blue eyes finally locking on him once more from behind long eyelashes. Keicho is warm again, particularly when he sees the light blush high on Yuya’s cheeks, and the way the same flush spreads to his chest.

“Yuya, baby!” A high pitched voice cheers from the driveway, causing both Yuya and Keicho to startle. Standing at the end of the driveway are three women, all with very degrees of excitement painted on their faces. 

Both he and Yuya retract, suddenly aware of how close they were. Yuya’s face is bright red as he clears his throat, turning to the approaching women with a sheepish smile.

“Hey ladies, did ya miss me?” He asks. They swarm him, ignoring Keicho in order to get beside him, all trying to make their voices the loudest. Keicho avoids rolling his eyes, turning back to the engine and tightening the radiator cap.

“We thought you were gonna meet us at Kamayo baby!” The blonde one pouts, her arms wrapped around Yuya’s middle. 

“I was! I must’ve lost track of time...” 

“And who's this? He’s cute!” The red haired woman asks, peering up at Keicho from behind long eyelashes. She gets really close, so close that if he breathes too heavily their chests will be touching. Annoyance prickles in the back of Keicho’s mind, along with the feeling of being too exposed. He wishes he still had his shirt on. 

“That's Nijimura Keicho. He’s a friend.” Yuya’s smile is bright, not allowing any room for Keicho to argue.

The redhead smiles up at him, “Well any friend of Yuya’s is a friend of mine.”

“And mine!” The girl’s start bickering over who would be the better friend, all except the brunette, who stares at Keicho passively while hanging onto Yuya’s arm. Keicho stares right back.

“Sorry man, I gotta bounce.” Yuya has his arms wrapped around two girls but manages to turn easily. “The bike should run fine now. Tell Okuyasu to be careful with the throttle.”

Halfway to his bike, he says “And think about what I said, Okuyasu knows how to reach me!”

Keicho has finished with the truck, showered and dressed in casual clothes as he reads his magazine. Okuyasu gets home a minute before curfew, Higashkita and a few others waving him goodbye from the street. 

“And then the UFO came down and started absorbing Godzilla’s DNA to get rid of his super healing and then it turned into its own monster and-” Okuyasu punches the air, mimicking the fight. “It was fucking awesome you would have loved it!”

He drops into the couch beside his brother, smiling wide. “Do you think Bad Company can make a UFO?”

“No.”

“Oh. It’d be so cool if it could though!” Okuyasu reclines and lifts his feet on the coffee table. “Did Yuya show?"

 Images flash in Keicho’s mind of Yuya’s smirk, his flushed face and loose hair. He clears his throat, flipping the page of his magazine. “Yes, your bike is fine.”

“Hell yeah! Could this day get any better?” He hums to himself. “Hey, can we order take out?”