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“Heads up.”
“Huh– woah!”
Hitoya turns in his chair at the sound of his brother’s voice in his doorway, and quickly reaches out with both hands when he sees a box flying in his direction. It lands with a soft thud in his grasp, and he instinctively brings it close to his chest before looking down.
Smooth wrapping paper decorated with a checkerboard pattern stares back at him, a simple ribbon adorning the top of the box. He looks back at Sora, who’s looking off to the side and scratching the back of his neck.
“Happy… birthday,” he says in a quiet voice after a second. “I… I got you a little something.”
“Oh.” Hitoya blinks. He looks down at the gift again, then back to his brother. “Thanks, nii-san. Uh, should I– should I open it?”
“Well, duh.” A smile cracks onto Sora’s face. “That’s kind of the point.” Hitoya laughs dryly.
“Right now, I mean.” His brother gives a short nod.
“Go for it.”
“Cool…” Hitoya turns back toward his desk, and places the gift atop it. From the door, Sora’s gaze shifts toward his little brother carefully removing the tape from one side of the box to unfold the wrapping paper.
“Woah…” His smile widens when Hitoya sees the gift inside. “This is… this is the same model motorcycle as the one we saw on the road the other day.”
“Yep.” Sora leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. “I knew it looked familiar, and then I remembered I saw a model kit of it somewhere, so I went and did some digging and managed to find one in town.” Hitoya slides the top off of the box, and marvels as he flips through the frames inside.
“It’s so cool.” He turns back to the door, a grin on his face. “Thanks, nii-san. Really.”
“No problem. Happy birthday again.” Sora blinks back at his wide-eyed brother, then clears his throat. “And, uh… sorry. About that fight. It was… it was stupid.” Hitoya’s mouth presses into a line and he looks at the floor.
“Yeah,” he says in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry too.”
The room goes quiet, and Sora grimaces.
Great. Went and made things tense again.
“Do you… do you want to listen to something?” he offers awkwardly, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll get my guitar and play you anything you want.”
“R-really?” Hitoya perks up in an instant. Sora tries his best to smile.
“Really.”
“If it’s alright, then– there was this song on an album I borrowed from a friend that should sound really cool on guitar.”
Heh. His eyes are always so bright when he talks about music.
“Then go grab it and let’s head to the living room,” Sora tells him, and watches his brother put the model kit down and excitedly reach for a CD on the side of his desk.
“Oh, and nii-san,” Hitoya says as he stands to join him, “afterward, do you want to start building the model together?”
“Hm?” Sora tilts his head as they start to walk down the hall. “I dunno, isn’t that something you’d prefer to do by yourself?”
“I mean, since you went out of your way to get it…” Hitoya’s voice trails off. Sora scratches the back of his neck again.
“Alright. If you want to.”
“C-cool…”
Hitoya laughs awkwardly, and Sora finds himself doing the same in turn, filling the silence between them. He peeks down at his brother from the corner of his eye, and sees a sheepish yet excited smile on his face.
I guess I did good, for once.
Traces of warmth and laughter etch themselves into memory and follow behind them as they walk side by side, that summer day.
—
“We managed to have some good times, huh?”
Hitoya muses to an empty room as he gently brushes dust off of the top of the scale model on his shelf. The paint has started to fade in some spots, and one of the decals along the side is ever so slightly crooked in a way that should irritate him, but–
“C-crap… nii-san, I messed up the placement…”
“Heh.” His brother ruffled his hair. “Don’t sweat it. It gives it character.”
–instead, he chuckles softly to himself, before taking a step back to look at it from farther away.
“Yeah. I guess we did.” His heart sinks in his chest like a block of concrete. “Even though the clock’s long since stopped for you.”
The model doesn’t answer him, so he sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
Guess I should try to go back to sleep.
As he turns to head back to his bed, a buzzing noise from his pocket stops him in his tracks. He pulls out his phone, and immediately raises a brow.
A call from Jyushi? His eyes dart to the time at the top of his screen. At midnight? Shit, if– Before panic can even really set in, he swipes to accept the call.
“Hey, kid, is everything alri–”
“Amaguni Hitoya!” He blinks dumbfoundedly at Jyushi’s over-the-top voice, and moves the phone away from his ear at just how loud he is on the other end. Before either of them can say anything, another voice calls out.
“Dumbass! I told you to do a video call!” Jyushi lets out a yelp, and Hitoya can already feel his blood pressure rising.
Well, if they’re both together, then at least they’re not in danger.
“H-hold on! Just a second! Forget you heard that!” The call swiftly disconnects, and before Hitoya can even grit his teeth and furrow his brow, another comes in. He sighs roughly, and rubs at the bridge of his nose as he accepts it.
“Amaguni Hitoya!” Jyushi appears on his screen, one hand splayed out to cover half of his face. “Arbiter of justice and adjudicator of truth beneath the starlit firmament!” He seems to hand the phone to someone offscreen so he can step back, and Hitoya’s eyes blow wide. “Tonight begins a fete in commemoration of your debut on the world stage!”
Jyushi’s words only half register in Hitoya’s brain; his eyes are fixed on the snow white guitar he’s holding. With another grandiose pose, he smiles and begins to strum away, an upbeat melody resounding with the movements of his hands. Hitoya’s upper lip twitches at its corners.
“Happy birthday, moneygrubber!” A familiar mop of red hair comes onscreen; Kuko hops into view to stand next to Jyushi, and tosses a handful of confetti toward the camera while Hitoya fights for his life against the smile threatening to split his face in two.
“You… you fucking brats…” he says, with no bite to it. “You’re making all this fuss at this hour just to tell me that?” Jyushi beams.
“Of course, Hitoya-san!” he replies, his voice pitching upward as he plays away. “We wanted to tell you the second the day started!”
“Yeah, be grateful!” Kuko adds. “Now get your sorry ass down to the temple so we can get this party started!” Hitoya scoffs.
“You know you’re interrupting my beauty sleep, right?” His tone is playful, but the second the words leave his mouth, a chill runs down his spine and his expression darkens. “Wait. Shit. You’re at the temple? Making a ruckus right now?” He scrunches his eyes. “Pipe down or you’ll wake up Shakku-san, you morons!”
“Gyahaha!” Kuko starts cackling and points, while Jyushi chuckles bashfully. “Who do you think’s holding the camera, dipshit?!” Hitoya’s jaw nearly hits the floor when the field of view turns and Shakku’s face comes onto his screen, stray pieces of confetti hanging off of his head and Amanda sitting on his shoulder.
“Good morning, Hitoya-kun,” he says surprisingly pleasantly, a mix of bemusement and exasperation in his voice. Hitoya’s face burns in horror.
“Sh-Shakku-san?! Oh, no– I’m so sorry they’re dragging you into this,” he quickly apologizes. “I’ll come down there and help you roll them up in mats so you can get some peace and–” The words dry up in his throat when Shakku chuckles on the other end.
“There’s no need for that,” he says simply. “I’m more than willing to help them celebrate you. Happy birthday, Hitoya-kun. I know it’s an odd hour, but please, do come over; my idiot son has gotten his hands on a truly unreasonable amount of food.” He points the phone toward the low table he’s sitting at, covered from corner to corner by a full spread of junk food and drinks.
“Th-thank you for the invitation…” Hitoya sputters back, still mortified. Shakku chuckles again. “You two little shits are still on thin ice, though.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome!” he hears on the other end. “Now get your ass over here!”
“Alright, alright, I’m coming…” he sighs. “I need to get dressed and do my hair, so I’m hanging up now.”
“See you soon, Hitoya-san!” Jyushi strums one last chord with a flourish of his arm, then waves at the camera.
“Don’t keep your family waiting!”
“Be careful on the way.”
“Of course. See you in a bit.” He tilts his phone away from his face to hide his smile as he hangs up.
“Brats…” he mutters to himself with a shake of his head. As he turns toward his closet again to fetch a change of clothes, his eyes freeze in place when they hit the mirror on the wall next to his shelf. He quietly walks up to it, and rests his hand against the surface.
Another year down, huh.
There are slight bags under his eyes, little wrinkles here and there.
I wonder what you would’ve looked like, these days.
His hand slides back to his side.
What kind of person you would’ve grown to become.
Strings being plucked and cheerful laughter echo in his mind, traversing the past and present as a guitar changes hands and a family changes shape. A young man frozen stock still in time stands perpetually out of reach in photos and memories, and yet threads everything together firmly.
But even if I’ll never see that, it still feels like you’re here by my side.
Bickering and making up, irritation and fondness. Different over the years, and yet distinctly the same. Hitoya smiles at his reflection.
“I’ll have to thank them when I get there,” he thinks aloud with a sigh, before turning away from the mirror and reaching for his closet doors. And though he’s by himself as he gets ready, a slight bounce to his step, the simple joy of so many others clings to him, that summer night.