Work Text:
“Ryo-chan, it’s bath time!”
Granny’s wavering call is hardly heard over the hum of the afternoon’s cicadas and thick summer air. Ryo presses his cheek deeper into the grass, wanting to pretend he hadn’t heard her. If he waits too long, though, he knows the harder it’ll be to get out of the tub. Then there won’t be any playtime left.
So he takes one final sniff of the earthy grass and soil beneath him, where he’s huddled up in his best impression of a laying puppy. Reluctantly, he brings himself up to his knees, pawing his way out of the semi-circle door of TonTon’s doggy house. The dirt clings stubbornly onto his pale, tiny shins and palms as he continues to trudge on all fours across the yard until he reaches the wooden porch. Granny awaited with that same, homely smile, hands resting gently on her apron.
“Oh, Ryo-chan,” she hums, “There’s an important guest tonight.”
“…Ryo doesn’t want bath time,” the little boy mumbles into his shoulder, “Who’s visiting?”
“Papa.”
At that, Ryo tilts his head, more human-like than he intended, but now he’s thrown away the entire act and springs to his feet to jump up with a squeak, “Papa’s coming tonight?!”
Granny laughs heartily, extending out her frail hand, “Yes, sweetheart. Now let’s get you clean for him.”
The bathroom is warm and damp, carrying the faint scent of soap and hinoki wood. Ryo hums a specific made-up tune he always does when it’s bath time. The water is as specific, too. Never too hot, never too cold, but it’s an exact temperature with an exact amount of bubbles inside of the tub, an exact number of suds clinging to him as always. Ten scrubs on his back, ten on his front, shampoo for thirty seconds (Granny has to steadily count out loud), and TonTon’s plush perched above on the shower head, watching over everything.
It’s the same routine, for the same little six-year-old Ryo. Only tonight is different. But he didn’t mind. Tonight, Papa will be home.
It wasn’t often that he got to see his Papa. His work in the city to fund their home life in the countryside kept him far away. Since forever, it has been Ryo, Granny, and occasionally Papa. Mama had left the world the day Ryo was born; she stitched TonTon together herself when Ryo was still in her belly.
But Papa was always a good man. He never forgot, often sending letters with funny stamps, gifts of city contraptions, and always showed up for important dates. He cherished and loved Ryo, much like Granny, and the two protected him with everything Ryo could see, especially against all invaders that dared to belittle Ryo for being different.
The night’s humid as ever, crickets still chirping through all the thick blades of grass, the house lights leaking out from the cracks between its shoji doors onto the front porch. Ryo sits atop the tatami, freshly bathed, skimming through his favorite picture book open on his lap. There was a long bout of negotiating with Granny about returning to TonTon’s doghouse afterwards, but Granny had easily won with her calm, logical way. Now he flips through the colorful paper, a variety of dogs on each page and their descriptions, while Granny clattered softly in the kitchen.
“Ryo~!”
A voice calls from beyond the front gate.
Ryo’s head snaps up, ripping his attention away from the book. He knows that voice all too well. He clumsily scrambles back up on his feet, the book lost somewhere on the coffee table, his short, excited legs running over as fast as they can to the door.
“Pa—!” he starts, sliding it open.
But he stops himself as he’s startled by the sight of bodies who were unfamiliar. Who didn’t belong.
A woman. Long, brown hair, the eyes of a doe, wispy lashes. And beside her, what seemed to be a little boy version of her, undercut and a navy green shirt, though a great deal taller than Ryo. It takes three long seconds of staring at them with wide eyes before he darts back into the house without a word. Papa instantly calls after him, and the woman’s unintelligible whisper afterward.
No. No no no—It was always supposed to just be Papa, Granny, and Ryo. Who were they? The invasion was literally foreign, Ryo had then learned, the boy was huddled up against Granny’s chest, face buried in her familiar scent as Papa attempted to gently explain from across the dinner table. The woman joined in with a semblance of an apology, sorry for showing up so abruptly, her accented Japanese coming out careful. Ryo cups his own ears out of refusal to listen.
The other boy’s name is Daeyoung. Ten years old, from Korea. Papa says he will stay for the summer while his mother helps him with “work.”
“No,” Ryo says flatly, because Ryo doesn’t whine. Ryo is smarter than that. He simply says what he means. Ryo knows what he wants, and he doesn’t want this. If he doesn’t want it, it won’t bother him. Papa and Granny would always make sure of that, so why were they just… letting this happen?
Ryo doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know the exact word yet, but he feels betrayed. He can’t look at Papa’s face anymore.
This was a change. Change, something he hated to see, something that wasn’t supposed to happen in the Hirose household so long as Ryo was living in it.
“Ryo-chan,” the woman’s speaking again, "He likes to play too, so won’t you help him?"
Play? What play? This was Ryo’s life, not play, and now his little world is splitting wide open because the all familiarity he was comfortable with was being sucked away from him so suddenly that it was too much. Everything was overstimulating him now, the unknown presence, the vibration in Granny’s chest when she says something to Papa, and Ryo can only protest the exact way he knows, “No.”
But Daeyoung resides anyway.
Ryo obviously resists. Papa was supposed to stay. Not Daeyoung. The first days are long and hot, where he hides in TonTon’s doggy house, turns away at dinner, and ignores Daeyoung whenever possible. At least Daeyoung keeps his distance—on the tatami he kept a friendly gap while they watched TV, even letting Ryo sit in front of the fan while Daeyoung sat a good five feet behind. On their now-shared futon, too, where Daeyoung would crawl to the corners in order to let Ryo sprawl however much he wanted. Always giving space.
Ryo notices, though he never thanks him. He doesn’t speak to Daeyoung. Nor Granny, for that matter, not for a while. Daeyoung’s Japanese was actually not half-bad for a kid that moved only recently, from what Ryo overheard when he communicated with Granny. Ryo walks and eats as usual, but not a single word leaves his lips. It had been a season since the boy stretched being non-verbal.
Ryo continues to retreat into TonTon’s doggy house whenever Daeyoung appeared to engage. He crawls inside with the plush tucked under his chin, the wooden smell of the hut’s planks calming him.
Daeyoung was a kind boy, so he never thought of barging in. Instead, he sat criss-cross just outside the round entrance, fanning himself with his palm under the blistering sun. He has one of Ryo’s dog books cracked open with a piece of newspaper on a page, copying the drawings to fold it up and leave it at the door. One of the days, he sets a small bowl of shaved ice there that Granny had prepared, the syrup dripping down its side.
“It’ll melt,” he whispers, and leaves it.
Ryo eyes the bowl for a long time, and when the scene is clear of the other boy, he finally drags it in.
But summer has a way of softening things, fusing them together.
It starts with TonTon, as most things seemed to. Ryo is curled inward on himself atop the futon, TonTon’s plush cradled carefully between his arms, and he’s staring straight at Daeyoung’s sleeping back. The night’s as silent as it should be, aside from the white-noise of chirping crickets. It’s supposed to be familiar, but the house feels different with another person inside, someone who was supposed to be Papa but it’s not. The worst thing for Ryo was realizing that fact was, well, true.
But TonTon’s inching forward with the first move. Its worn-out paw reaches out, Ryo’s tiny hand leading, and the rough fabric brushes against the nape of Daeyoung’s neck. The older boy flinches, and Ryo quickly shuffles back to his place on the futon, clamping his eyes shut as if he had no part in the dog’s action.
Daeyoung doesn’t move after that. His breathing stays slow and steady, the rise and fall of his shoulders outlined faintly by the moonlight. Ryo cracks an eye open to spy.
Then TonTon taps him again—rougher, this time, practically scratching at the skin. Daeyoung’s shoulders jump, tensing up awkwardly at the sensation. He rolls over to blink at Ryo, who’s hiding behind the plush with his hand clenched onto the toy’s paw, clearly the one bothering him.
Ryo’s brows are furrowed, but he doesn’t shuffle back. He wants to observe Daeyoung… and how Daeyoung observes TonTon.
“…Hello?” Daeyoung whispers carefully, though quite confused, “Ryo?”
“…Not Ryo,” he finally whispers back.
Daeyoung squints. “Oh. Who is it?”
“…TonTon.”
“TonTon?”
“Mm.”
Daeyoung rubs his eyelids and stares at the doll, its features clearly battered even in the obscured view of night. Its beaded eyes were lost in between the fraying ends of thread stitching them onto the face, its nose sewn on crooked. One of its ears was green, and a completely different material from the one the rest of the body was made of. He muses about the condition of the toy. And he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he asks softly,
“What does he want?”
Ryo’s lips purse. This was a test. Daeyoung was passing it.
“Can’t sleep.”
That makes Daeyoung frown gently. He slinks an arm from under the blanket to reach out, his fingers petting slowly across the dome of TonTon’s matted head.
Ryo squeezes against the plush, and the doll mimics a little head shake of joy, all while he’s burying his own tiny head into its back as if he were the one being caressed. It elicits a giggle out of Daeyoung.
“…Does he want to cuddle?”
A pause. The dog seems to be thinking.
“When I can’t sleep, Eomma cuddles me. It’s easy,” Daeyoung explains.
TonTon then nods, Ryo’s tiny pointer finger bobbing its head up and down.
Daeyoung purses his lips into a smile. He ushers Ryo closer, then closer and even closer, and when the boy is close enough into Daeyoung’s arms he softly wraps them around him in a warm embrace. Ryo flinches slightly as Daeyoung encases him in the scent of lilies. The touch isn’t something he’s used to, and Daeyoung’s arms are not nearly as big as Granny or Papa’s when they hug him, but they’re large enough to fully wrap both Ryo and TonTon in something that felt safe. It lulled him asleep.
The week blurred into scorching afternoons, and one where Granny hands them each a fat slice of watermelon on the front porch. It seemed like all that the boys were doing was eat. It made Granny happy, though, especially seeing that Ryo was warming up to Daeyoung when they did; he scooted closer at the dinner table, lingered around him longer by the TV afterwards, slowly eased into speaking more with him, especially about the one documentary on Shiba Inus that Ryo liked watching.
She goes inside to fetch some tea while the two lean over the porch railing, watching the seeds glisten in the sunlight where they had landed from being spat out onto the grass. Daeyoung puffed out his cheeks, spat hard, and nearly toppled backward as the seed flew straight into TonTon’s doghouse.
For the first time, Ryo bursts into a high-pitched, sharp laugh, watermelon juice running down his chin.
“Ryo knows you did that on purpose!” he declares. “On purpose!”
Daeyoung seems to be flustered at both the accusation and Ryo’s shriek of a laugh, his cheeks warming up into a blush. “No…”
“Congratulations!” Ryo playfully yaps, already decided it’s now a game, skipping down into the yard with TonTon in his grip. Daeyoung watches the little boy weave through the grass to crawl inside and inspect the token, red never leaving his cheeks.
A few days after, Daeyoung comes back from the fields with a cicada shell stuck proudly to his sleeve. Ryo wrinkles his nose, but still follows, clutching onto TonTon when Daeyoung shows him how to spot the live ones clinging to the bark of the trees. They most certainly weren’t dogs, which was what Ryo’s entire life revolved around—his special interest, was what the sensei at school had called it.
But to Ryo… Daeyoung was enough of a doggy.
The boys spent hours running around the field, their loud and high voices soaring across the tops of the grass as they played. The cicadas’ buzzing rattled Ryo’s chest, almost as much as his pounding heart did, but Daeyoung held the jar steady, waiting patiently. Ryo cups his small hands over to help, and when the cicada finally flutters inside, he clutches TonTon in triumph.
“TonTon caught it,” he insisted, mumbling.
“He’s so brave!” Daeyoung beams, snaggletooth on full display.
Ryo starts feeling fluttery inside at the sight of the older boy’s grin, and at the feel of his larger hands under his—he doesn’t really know what the sensations are—if it’s just the smoldering heat, or maybe he’s just hungry, but it’s all warm and tingly and new and Ryo kind of likes it.
Ryo kind of likes… Daeyoung.
The cicadas were loud even in town, buzzing against the roofs of the shops lined across the streets. For the boys’ trip to the supermarket, Granny assigns them a list of groceries and supplies to buy for the upcoming festival. Their sandals slap against the hot pavement as they commute, swaying side to side, Ryo mumbling a story to himself as he fidgets with TonTon. Daeyoung secretly listens to Ryo referring to him as the big, gentle Golden Retriever, and Ryo, the small but diligent Maltese. TonTon (breed unknown) was the main star, per usual.
Inside the supermarket was finally the relief of air-conditioning, blowing cool breeze over their sticky faces. Ryo immediately darts to the freezers that hum along the wall containing all the ice cream, pressing his fingertips up against the iced glass, liking the way the frost prickled into his skin before melting. The boy rises to his tip-toes as he looks in, scanning all the sweets with eyes of wonder.
Daeyoung leaves him to wander around for a few minutes, responsibly completing the list Granny had given them. He checks off each item with a fuzzy pen, doing his best to do the math of currency in his head. Once his basket’s full and the list is all checked off, he returns to the freezers, where Ryo was standing in the exact same position he left him in: peered over the glass.
“Obaa-chan said we can pick two,” Daeyoung whispers, pointing to the ice creams stacked inside.
That wasn’t really true. Granny hadn’t mentioned anything about purchasing ice cream, but, Ryo clearly wanted some and if Daeyoung did his elementary calculations correctly, there should’ve been enough change to buy at least one for each of them.
Though Ryo is still staring into the bin, Daeyoung can feel him grin. He leans in low, nose nearly pressed to the glass. “Papa likes vanilla. So Ryo will pick vanilla.”
Daeyoung nods, “I like melon. No reason,” he shrugs, then reaches to slide open the box and grab the flavors.
At the register, the two decided to add a bag of sparklers for the festival. They ended up being a few yen short, but the employee at the register didn’t seem to mind… maybe because Daeyoung was so polite and well-spoken, and seemed to care well for his younger.
The boys carry their ice creams outside, sitting on the small bench right in front of the mart. The plastic sack of groceries sat next to Daeyoung’s left, Ryo kicking his legs to his right, and TonTon on the far end.
“Papa likes vanilla, Papa likes vanilla!” Ryo carols.
It’s sweltering hot, the air thick and humid, so the ice cream melts down their fingers and chins rather quickly. Daeyoung tries to hurry and finish his portion to save from the mess, gazing over at Ryo to check if he was eating at the same pace—but only giggled when seeing the ice cream was merely half-way done with the other half beginning to melt down in a stream onto Ryo’s arm.
Daeyoung’s laughing because he thinks it’s really cute. Ryo, not so much. And when the older notices the pout on Ryo’s face, he stops giggling almost immediately. His face straightens up in an instant, heading back inside to quickly grab some tissues, and returning to help wipe down Ryo.
Ryo lets him initiate the touch first, this time. It’s weird how he isn’t the one enabling it yet he’s not upset. It’s not Ryo cupping Daeyoung’s hands over a mason jar, or Ryo guiding Daeyoung’s finger across the picture book… he’s not cuddling him, either. But it’s a strange skinship.
As Daeyoung is focused on properly cleaning the stickiness off the tiny elbow, Ryo stares. He looks over Daeyoung’s attentive expression, and how he’s so genuine with the way he’s holding onto his forearm with a feather-light touch, how nobody ever in Ryo’s little world besides Papa and Granny tended to him like this.
Especially not at school. Especially since he was special. It was challenging for him to find a place there. Anywhere. Ryo couldn’t change himself for it to be easier, anyway, because he shouldn’t have to—and, he had no perception of why he would’ve. Even if he would say too much or say too little, fixate on certain things, keep that straight face that the other kids didn’t like… why are those things seen as a vice?
But Daeyoung never minded any of that. Daeyoung never made fun of him. And Daeyoung always smiled and talked to TonTon. Daeyoung was kind and patient and strong, and to Ryo, a big cool dog who supported him despite everything; despite being a completely new presence that infiltrated the Hirose home.
The one time change happened against his will, that change being Daeyoung, Ryo became attached.
Ryo starts feeling weird again, blush spreading all over him and he retracts his arm rather abruptly. Daeyoung flinches at the reaction, eyes widening with subtle fear, because Ryo then bites his lip, discarding the rest of the ice cream somewhere on the pavement to grab TonTon and sprint off onto the path back home.
The taller boy is left clueless, startled eyes darting back and forth between the abandoned cone on the concrete and Ryo running away, as he, too, began sprinting after him with the grocery bag over his shoulder.
Daeyoung was unsure if he had done something wrong; he learned and understood from the very beginning that he was an intruder, and respected that Ryo had every single right to not accept him right off the bat. But he’s confused. He thought they were getting closer now. He believed that Ryo was finally opening up to him.
Little Ryo isn’t fast at all, so it takes barely anything for Daeyoung to catch up to the boy who is now speed-walking with TonTon clutched under both of his arms. And although he’s all caught up, Daeyoung keeps the same distance that was established when they had their first interactions.
Maybe that was the issue. Maybe Daeyoung got too close too fast. So he trails behind, watching the back of Ryo’s tiny figure trudge on. The strap of his tank top is peeling off his small shoulder, his steps are clearly hurried and it seems impossible for him to walk in a straight line. There’s a few non-discreet attempts of Ryo craning his head around to check if Daeyoung was following him. Daeyoung pretends not to notice.
It’s not long before they reach the house again, where Granny is tending to the backyard garden. Ryo rushes to open the front gate, not bothering to close it because he assumes Daeyoung is trailing right behind. But when he makes his way in, he idles at the first wooden steps on the porch, where he feels the older loom closer along with the rustle of the plastic grocery bag…
Ryo fully turns around, face buried into the back of TonTon’s head. His tiny ears poked out the sides of the doll, burning red.
“Ryo had fun today. Thanks…” he mutters, before darting back into the house.
Daeyoung stills. Then a smile slowly creeps onto his lips, turning into a giggle, and he follows Ryo through the open shoji screen.
After the stretch of a few long days, the festival arrived. Granny tied Ryo into a pale yellow yukata, Daeyoung into green with a borrowed sash. It had been revealed during the preparations that this was Daeyoung’s first experience at a summer festival, and Granny had gotten ahead of herself with being so excited for him that she spent too long making sure their outfits were perfect instead of setting up her booth. With a quick kiss to their foreheads, she left them to explore.
Ryo insisted that he hold TonTon in a cloth sling, as if the plush were a real puppy. He and Daeyoung walk around the lively yet humble community dotted with stalls, paper lanterns, and people wearing fancy yukata. They take turns cradling TonTon when one of them wants to play a game at a booth.
Daeyoung recognizes it as the first time he’s being allowed to hold TonTon, all by himself. He’s been permitted to touch and pet and cuddle it between Ryo, sure, but being given the sling and cushioning it in his very own arms was something he was never authorized before. TonTon, protected in his cradle while Ryo is busy trying to scoop goldfish out of the shallow pool with paper nets. Daeyoung stares down at the doll, slightly more battered than the last time he was this up close to it. Then back at Ryo, who’s almost got his entire head into the water, still trying to retrieve a fish.
Daeyoung begins to grin, feeling quite protective. He’s responsible, now, of both TonTon and Ryo.
The sweet smoke from the yakitori stalls wafted through the warm night, quickly making the boys’ stomachs ache with hunger. Ryo tugged Daeyoung eagerly towards Granny’s stall, where she and the neighbors stood fanning the grill of fresh okonomiyaki batches. Of course she hands the boys their free portion behind the counter when they show up, cooing at how adorable they stood side-by-side in their attire and especially TonTon bundled proudly in the sling.
When they take their seat at a nearby table, Ryo clumsily balances the paper plate stacked with two of the piping hot pancakes in his lap. He meticulously saws a piece off with the chopsticks, making sure to blow off the steam with three big huffs (though more like lip flaps than actual air) before offering the food up to Daeyoung’s mouth.
The older boy raises his brows, blinking. His brain stalls for a moment before leaning forward and opening his mouth to accept the bite. When he chomps down on the chopsticks, Ryo’s already grinning happily. Daeyoung felt warmth pulling at his own mouth. He likes when Ryo is happy. It makes him happy, too. That was how simple things were.
Before another bite could be claimed, Ryo’s head turns sharply and his eyes light up when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. He’s now abandoning the food, carelessly throwing the plate and utensils on the table with zero ceremony to scurry over.
“Dog!”
A real dog. A huge, healthy, fluffy Labrador with beautiful black fur. Ryo’s already bent over and buried in her, rubbing his cheek against her side, giggling wildly as he receives friendly kisses all over him. Daeyoung can’t tell if it’s because the dog is just so big and Ryo is terribly small, but watching the interaction, his heart feels like it’s about to melt into the heat.
Daeyoung followed slower, TonTon still secured in his sling. The dog’s owner chuckles something through a heavy countryside accent, introducing the dog’s name and age, and Ryo cheers excitedly repeating the information like a chant, clumsily patting his tiny hands all over her coat. It’d be no surprise to anybody if he were to roll around in the grass just like her, dirtying his yukata in green.
“Um… may I?” Daeyoung asks politely, though the request is useless. He crouches down next to Ryo, extending a hand to glide his fingers across the soft and cozy animal. Daeyoung can feel her excited breathing through the warmth of her mass, and he feels his own chest swell.
Then, a small sniffle.
Ryo, who is relishing in the same delight of petting such a beautiful creature, is sniffling. His nose twitched once, twice—then he sneezed. Daeyoung tilts his head, slowing down his own hands on the dog as he begins to notice Ryo’s increasing symptoms.
“Ryo…?” Daeyoung starts.
Another sneeze. And another. The younger boy is sneezing in rapid succession.
Daeyoung observes how Ryo’s small crinkled face is still so stubbornly nuzzling deeper into the dog’s fur, sniffling and giggling at once, his little body caught between joy and discomfort.
The older doesn’t think twice when he tugs at Ryo’s shoulder. “You’re allergic. Come on…”
Ryo resists at first, but every ounce of his strength is depleted as all of it is poured into his sneezes. Finally, he allows himself to be dragged away by Daeyoung, stumbling alongside him through the crowded aisles and down the lantern-lit path, all the way across the market and back into the quiet village.
By the time they slipped through the gate, Ryo was still hiccuping tiny sneezes, his cheeks pink and damp. Daeyoung led him straight to the porch, easing him down onto the step.
“Ryo, you didn’t tell me you were allergic…” Daeyoung whispers softly, kneeling to pat at Ryo’s nose with the edge of his own yukata’s sleeve.
The boy sniffled. “Ryo isn’t allergic. Just sneezes sometimes.” He starts to cup his ears.
Daeyoung didn’t have the heart to correct him—also because he had the feeling Ryo already understood, just refused to let it be true. He had a special connection with dogs, after all. Nothing would get in the way of it.
From across the yard, TonTon’s little doghouse sat waiting in the moonlight, its planks detailed with cracked paint and a crooked roof. Ryo then reaches to retrieve TonTon from out the sling across Daeyoung’s shoulder, turning and clutching it close. He carries it across the grass, yukata definitely now stained with the grime and dirt. The little boy ducks into the doghouse, curling inside with the plush tucked under his chin.
Daeyoung follows carefully, crouching by the entrance. He could see the soft shape of Ryo inside, sulking but now secure, TonTon’s ears brushing his irritated cheeks. He rests his chin on his knees, listening to the crickets sing and the remnants of Ryo’s sniffles.
Then, a little voice from the shadows of the doghouse:
“…There’s room for you. Ryo thinks.” The words sound practiced, as if he’d repeated them in his head first.
Daeyoung blinked. He leaned closer, and saw Ryo’s round eyes peeking out from the doorway, serious but soft. He could feel his hesitation, and not because Ryo was shy. That wasn’t the reason he had been so distant in the past, no. It was Ryo having to rearrange the rules in his head for what was allowed in his world.
The invitation spread warmth across Daeyoung’s chest. He doubted that he could actually fit, with his size and the apparent width of the thing, but Ryo’s cute call was something he couldn’t dismiss. He shuffled forward slowly, setting his sandals and the empty sling aside before crawling in. The space was cramped. Their knees and shoulders pressed together, with TonTon jammed between them.
“See?” Ryo said, proudly. “Not too small.”
“Yeah…” Daeyoung nodded, letting out a quiet laugh.
It’s uncomfortably hot inside the little hut, the heat of a body that had just exerted an immense amount of energy through a coughing fit, and the other, panicked for his condition. It’s stuffy but Daeyoung doesn’t feel trapped at all. He feels safe, rather.
Ryo’s at least content knowing that this dog was one that wouldn’t make his nose itchy.
“Not too small… not too small…” Ryo repeats, rocking against Daeyoung before settling.
Then, the fireworks could be heard faintly over the hill, and Daeyoung’s reminded of the sparklers the boys had bought days prior to the festival. When he turns to mention them to Ryo, the younger’s head is already resting against his shoulder. His breath was still a little sniffly, but calmer now, and TonTon’s stitched snout poked out from under his petite chin.
Daeyoung sat still, careful not to move. He realized neither the fireworks or cicadas were louder than Ryo’s breathing and tiny heartbeat.
Summer rain and the end of the season put the Hirose household into a weird mood. Outside, Granny tended to the garden and surrounding plant life in her vinyl poncho with a certain silence. Inside, the boys were sprawled across the tatami, Daeyoung invested in a thick shounen manga, while Ryo lay restless, complaining to TonTon. If it weren’t pouring, Ryo would be out in the yard or curled inside the doghouse as usual, dragging Daeyoung with him. But now his routine is thrown off (one that he had just adapted to, now with the older) and the irritated muttering turns into sulks.
He kicks his heels against the floor as he talks to the doll, boredom already settling in when he begins to curl around, rolling across the surface area of the mat like a pebble in a stream. Soon he’s circling around Daeyoung who’s dedicated to finishing his chapter. Ryo eventually tumbles into his side.
He does it again. And again and again, crashing into the boy until Daeyoung resigns, setting the book down.
“…Nii-nii,” Ryo says.
Nii-nii? That’s new.
“Me?” Daeyoung asks.
“Mm.” Ryo sits up, hair ruffled and forehead exposed. He tugs insistently onto Daeyoung’s arm to lean him up.
Without hesitation, Ryo’s suddenly crawling into his lap, their small limbs slotting together perfectly. Daeyoung couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face, thinking about how far they’ve come compared to only a few weeks ago when he had shown up—Ryo hiding in the hut, refusing to meet halfway through the gap between them. Now he’s secure enough to climb all over him, as if he’d been there forever. It makes his heart tingle oddly. Almost painfully…
TonTon “walks” across Daeyoung’s chest, paws tapping in rhythm with Ryo humming along, and the six-year-old never quite finishes. Perhaps he simply wanted to introduce the nickname. Maybe, it meant more. Daeyoung didn’t know. Only knew he didn’t want the moment to end.
Then Ryo lifted TonTon around, staring at the doll with pure eyes. He leans in and applies a sweet kiss to its embroidered snout, and in the same motion he presses the plush against Daeyoung’s lips.
It was slow and clumsy, yet Daeyoung pauses, blush creeping all over him now. The frayed fabric grazes against his mouth, his nose taking in the scent of Ryo’s own sweetened damp skin. He stares at the puppies in his lap, and his arms seem to move on their own when they lift up off the mat to encase both of them in a hug at once. He’s squeezing them as tight as he can, embracing them with all the emotion and energy and strength of a ten-year-old in love.
“Ah… I don’t want to go…” he’s now muttering into Ryo’s hair, breathing in all of him, all the sweat and innocence, and it’s impossible for him to cling even tighter to the warm body.
Ryo doesn't pull away. He lets himself be held. “…Ryo doesn’t know what you mean.”
“Ryo,” the older whispers, and it’s barely heard above the steady pitter-patter of rain contacting the roof. He’s expending all of his power into the hug, the grip unbearably desperate, terrified it’ll all fall out of his hands. “Ryo…”
“…It hurts,” Ryo murmured suddenly.
Daeyoung’s breath hitches as he hears the boy beneath him, and it’s not entirely on purpose the way he refuses to let go. His arms tremble with the contradiction of wanting to hold on forever and knowing he couldn’t, tears surfacing to his eyes.
“It hurts. It hurts, Nii-nii.”
“Sorry…” Daeyoung’s apology eventually cracks in his throat. One hand is still cupping around Ryo’s round head, and the other knots into the back of his shirt. He gazes down at the boy, trying to engrain the image in his mind forever, “I don’t want Eomma or Papa to come back. I don’t want to leave.”
Ryo finally looks up at Daeyoung, thumbs fidgeting over TonTon’s tummy. “Don’t worry, ‘kay? You’re not going,” he states with control.
“…Okay.”
The rain landed harder around them, enclosing them in a cocoon of sound.
The reality was, summer never lasts.
Nobody knows who cried the most. It was impossible for Papa and Granny and even Daeyoung’s mother to pry the boys off each other. They promised that the two would see each other again, and soon at that. There was even the promise that they’d hear greater news than only staying together for a few weeks. Brothers, they’d be, then. But no amount of reasoning was able to contain the tantrums led by the two. Neither yielded without the storm of tears and fists and muffled screams.
Ryo never whined, he was better than that—that was what was believed. But on that day, with TonTon crushed between his arms and his face pressed to Papa’s shoulder as Daeyoung disappeared out the front gate, that was proved wrong.
Change was still a hard thing to swallow.