Chapter Text
Rin had just turned fifteen, which marked the beginning of his high school life. Up until now, he had been living in his older brother's shadow. Everyone knew him as Sae’s little brother.
Who even really cared about Itoshi Rin ?
For most of his childhood, he adored his big brother. Sae played football? Rin played it too. Sae got a new game console? Rin begged for the same one.
Sae was his role model—his hero.
But everything changed when Sae left for high school. Since Sae lived in the dorms, they stopped seeing each other regularly. Whenever his older brother came home, he barely paid Rin any attention.
-
"Nii-chan, you’re back! I missed you!"
Thirteen-year-old Rin had exclaimed, jumping into his brother’s arms.
Sae pushed him off with a scoff.
"Yeah, same."
He looked down at Rin’s feet, his eyes narrowing slightly. A frown crept onto his face.
"You already got the same shoes? Will you ever stop copying me?"
"I just wanted to match..."
"Is living in my shadow all you’re good for?"
Sae turned away arrogantly and made his way upstairs to his own room.
-
That was Rin’s first heartbreak—the first time he truly understood what betrayal and desperation felt like.
He bit down on his lip, the memory still fresh and bitter.
Now, he would have to pass Sae in the hallways. See him in the shared kitchen.
Would he ever find any friends?
Social interactions were hard and confusing. But Sae had always helped him.
That’s right.
For these past two years, Sae hadn’t been there to scold the kid picking on him, or to refill Rin’s water bottle, or to tell him what gift to buy for a classmate’s birthday—or what to wear to the party itself.
The suitcase laid open on his bed like a hollowed-out chest, waiting to be filled with the pieces of Rin that were allowed to come with him. He moved around the room silently, pulling shirts and socks from drawers with mechanical precision, folding them tightly, almost too tightly, as if he could strangle the nerves out of them.
He should’ve felt excited. Everyone said moving into the dorms was a rite of passage. Freedom, independence, new beginnings.
But all Rin felt was dread, a sharp kind that curled like a wire in his chest.
He glanced around his bedroom—the posters curling at the corners, shoe collection lined up under the desk, the soccer ball with fading autographs from his middle school team. This place had been a cage, sure, but it was his. And now he had to leave it behind and walk into a school where Sae still existed like a ghost with a heartbeat.
Sae, who hadn’t spoken more than five full sentences to him in two years. Sae, who didn’t even say goodbye before heading back to the dorms at the end of breaks. Sae, who had once told him with such sharpness it had left a scar, "Is living in my shadow all you're good for?"
Rin could still hear it. Like it was stitched into his ears. He didn’t even remember what he said back—maybe nothing. Maybe he just stood there, like an idiot, wearing the stupid matching sneakers he’d been so proud of.
He threw a sweatshirt into the suitcase harder than he meant to.
He wasn’t excited. He was terrified.
He didn’t know how to make friends, or how to talk to people without sounding like he hated them. He didn’t know how to smile at someone without it hurting, or how to answer questions like “Where are you from?” without immediately being followed up with: “Wait, you’re Sae’s brother?”
He didn’t want to be Sae’s brother anymore.
He wanted to be Rin.
But how could he, when Sae walked those hallways first? When Sae’s name was whispered like legend and Rin’s would only ever be the afterthought?
He sat down on the edge of his bed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. His knees, his chest, his throat. He wanted to scream. Or maybe cry. But he didn’t. He never did. Crying felt useless when no one was going to look back and ask “ what’s wrong?” anyway.
His fingers clenched the edge of his mattress like it might keep him from floating away. Or breaking.
He wanted to hate Sae. So badly. But he couldn’t stop missing him. Wanting him. Wanting his approval like he was still that small boy at the train station, waving too hard as his brother disappeared down the platform.
“I’ll show him,” Rin whispered to himself, voice shaking. “I’ll become something without him.”
But it didn’t feel like a promise. It felt like a prayer.
-
The suitcase wheels rattled unevenly over the concrete, one of them already catching on the cracked pavement outside the train station. Rin’s hoodie was too big, the sleeves swallowing his hands, but he didn’t adjust it. He liked the way it made him feel — small, hidden, unnoticeable.
The sky was overcast. Fitting.
He kept his head down as he moved, earbuds in but no music playing. He just needed the illusion — something to shield him from the world, from everyone else’s eyes, from the weight of leaving home behind. From the fact that his heart was a mess and his stomach wouldn’t stop knotting itself.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He didn’t want to check it. Didn’t need to check it.
But he did.
Sae, 9:04 AM
mom said you’re coming to the same highschool.
my room is 109.
i can show you around.
Rin stared at the screen.
For a second, his chest fluttered with something — hope? hunger? God, he hated himself for it. He hated how one message from Sae could still light up that stupid little kid inside him who once believed his brother was everything.
He locked his phone.
Didn’t reply.
Didn’t even give himself time to think about it.
He shoved it deep into his backpack like it had insulted him. Like Sae himself was something to be folded and ignored.
Show him around? Like what — like a charity case? Like a favor?
Rin clenched his jaw, dragging the suitcase up the steps to the platform. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not this time. Not after years of silence. Not after that night with the shoes. Not after disappearing over and over again like Rin didn’t matter.
He found an empty bench and sat, curling his arms around himself, hoodie sleeves dangling past his knees. His train wouldn’t be here for another eight minutes, but he already wanted to disappear. Into the seat. Into the ground. Into anything that didn’t hurt like this.
He just kept staring forward, lips in a tight line, ignoring the phantom heat buzzing under his skin — a whisper of what it felt like to be wanted by Sae, even if only for a moment.
Even if it was already too late.
Rin sat by the window, earphones in, hood up, chin tucked deep into his jacket. The outside world rolled by in streaks of color and unfamiliarity—new city, new life, new chances to fuck it all up. His backpack sat heavily between his feet, stuffed with clothes he didn’t care about and books he wouldn't open unless forced. The boxy suitcase his mom helped him pack felt distant now, like it belonged to someone else entirely.
Rin’s thumb hovered over the screen for a second before he turned it off.
No reply. No “thanks,” no emoji, no bitterness. Just silence. A heavy, deliberate kind.
He leaned his head against the window and let the cold glass bite into his temple. It didn’t hurt enough. His nails dug into his palm under the sleeves of his hoodie—slow and firm, just enough to leave little half-moons. Just enough to feel it.
Because right now, he needed something real. Something that didn’t feel like his whole life slipping through his fingers again.
He hated how fast his heart had jumped when he saw Sae’s name. Hated it even more when he felt disappointed it was just a practical, detached text. Room 109. Like Sae was a fucking tour guide. Not the person Rin used to follow around like a second shadow.
The announcement for the next station rang out. His stop.
Rin forced himself up, dragging his things off the rack and into his arms. The weight of them felt good. Anchoring.
He stepped off the train into the late summer air, his skin prickling with nerves he wouldn't name. The school was a fifteen-minute walk from the station. Dorms just past the tennis courts, he'd heard. Room assignment in his email. He knew all this. Memorized it like it might distract him.
He wouldn’t text Sae. Wouldn’t let himself look desperate again. Not after all this time.
He could find his own way.
He would.
Even if every step away from the station felt like walking deeper into something he didn’t know how to survive.