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[1️⃣📿- 🏞️]
Sometimes, Ichiro wishes Kuko didn’t live so far away. It’s not Kuko’s fault, nor his own, but it makes spending time with his best friend increasingly difficult as their schedules grow busier. Of course, that doesn’t stop Kuko from taking the two-hour train ride to Ikebukuro at any given moment with zero heads-up. Ichiro can’t complain–he’d drop pretty much anything to spend time with Kuko.
Today’s hangout was courtesy of Kuko finishing his temple duties earlier than usual and booking it to the train station before his father could catch him. Ichiro met him at the station and they spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly around Ikebukuro, helping the stray grandma cross the road and the unlucky kid with a lost dog or balloon. It was nothing particularly exciting, but the calmness of it all was what filled Ichiro’s heart with a deep-sated warmth. He loved rapping and he loved their delinquent days, but they were old enough now to see the beauty in the simpler things.
By the time they reach the local park, the sun is halfway set, bathing the peeling paint of the benches in a gentle glow. They settle down shoulder-to-shoulder to watch the sky turn dark through the trees. At some point, they start exchanging stories, sifting through the events of the past few weeks to fill in the silence. Kuko tells Ichiro about a gruesome murder case Hitoya let him sit in on. Ichiro tells Kuko about the solo job that had been tossed into his lap by Yokohama’s dirty cop, a criminal who had escaped from the seaside ward and ended up in Buster Bros’ territory.
“Iruma-san didn’t give me much to work with, just some general descriptions and motives,” Ichiro explains. “Apparently, the guy was associated with some kind of trafficking ring? Not sure, but when I found him, he was kidnapping this poor little girl right off the streets!” He makes a fist and punches his open palm. “I got so mad that I went to town on him the old-fashioned way, hah. Iruma-san didn’t say anything when I turned him in, though, so I think he secretly wanted to do the same.”
Kuko smirks, kicking idly at the dirt beneath his shoes. “Y’know, somehow I can’t imagine that guy getting his gloves dirty. He looks more like the type to get others to do his dirty work.”
“Ehh,” Ichiro makes a so-so motion, shrugging. “He might look all slimy on the outside, but he’s actually not that bad of a guy once you get to know him. He has morals, even if they’re kind of skewed, and he really does care a lot about Yokohama. I’m still a little pissed at him for how he treated my brothers, but it's not fair to discount his…” Ichiro pauses, thinking, then continues unsurely, “I dunno, good deeds? Just cuz he was an asshole before.”
Kuko blinks at him wordlessly.
Ichiro stares back for a moment before beginning to squirm under his gaze. “What? What did I say?”
“Oh my god.” Kuko throws his head back and cackles, shoulder bumping into Ichiro’s with the force of his laugh. “How are you so good? If someone treated Jyushi or Hitoya like that, I’d have their head on a platter.”
“Okay, well, it’s not like I didn’t imagine his head on a platter…”
“Yeah, but you’d never actually do it! You’re too damn virtuous for that,” Kuko snorts. Then, quieter, “That’s why I love you.”
Ichiro hums and pushes their shoulders together. “You’re not that bad yourself, man. Evil monk or not, you do just as much for Nagoya as I do for ‘bukuro.”
Kuko freezes and turns to look at him very, very slowly. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, dude, seriously! You’re in the temple or out on the streets every day, helping people out and doing community service and all that. You’re just like Iruma-san–a massive grump on the outside but a saint on the inside.”
“Dude,” Kuko says. “Dude.”
“What? You can’t sell yourself short, man. You’re a major part of Nagoya!”
“I’m actually going to punch you,” Kuko says with a deceptively calm voice, “if you don’t stop talking.”
Ichiro jolts out of the way, throwing a protective arm out in front of him. “I’m being nice to you, what the hell!”
“Well, stop it.” Kuko humphs, crossing his arms and resolutely turning his whole body in the opposite direction.
It’s Ichiro’s turn to stare at his friend. The dying sun burns right behind him, lighting Kuko’s hair like a fiery halo. His cheeks look red, but Ichiro can’t tell if it's from the cold or the compliments. The otaku in him whispers something that sounds traitorously close to ‘tsundere,’ but Ichiro decisively ignores it. Now is absolutely not the time. The ensuing silence is thick enough to cut with a knife. Ichiro wants to break it, but he isn’t exactly sure how. Eventually, the sun has sunk fully, the cold creeping up on them more aggressively.
Ichiro coughs into his fist and feigns a glance at a watch that he doesn’t wear. “It’s um-” his voice cracks embarrassingly and he clears his throat, trying again. “It’s getting late. You have a train to catch and my brothers have school tomorrow, so I gotta get some stuff done for them…” His voice trails off as he runs out of reasons to present.
Kuko finally relaxes enough to turn back to their original position, shoulder-to-shoulder again, and facing the play structure across the park. He doesn’t make a move to get up, though. “You’re always caring for your brothers, aren't ya.”
It's a statement, not a question, because Kuko has known Ichiro long enough to know that his number one priority will always be his brothers.
Still, Ichiro nods silently. “They’re my world, y’know? I do everything, I’d do anything for them. And they’d do the same for me.”
Kuko smiles, all teeth, and pats Ichiro’s back just shy of too-rough. He finally stands up and stretches his arms up as far as they go. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad you’ve got people in your corner, Ichiro.”
“I’ve got you too, don’t I?” Ichiro says, reaching out to Kuko.
Kuko doesn’t miss a beat, grabbing Ichiro’s hand and hauling him up into a solid hug. “Always.”
They part after a moment, just close enough to brush against each other as they make their way out of the park. The streets are silent as Ichiro walks Kuko to the intersection between the Yamada residence and the Ikebukuro train station.
“I can come down to you next time,” Ichiro offers as they wait for the light to turn. “You don’t always have to be the one stuck in the train for four hours.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I’ve got more freedom than you,” Kuko reminds him. “You gotta stay nearby for your brothers.”
Ichiro doesn’t deny it, waving as Kuko crosses the street and disappears into the train station. He stares at the empty space for a few seconds before turning and making his way home. Jiro and Saburo are good about getting chores done around the house and doing their own work, but Ichiro still insists on making their breakfasts and lunches. He likes seeing his cooking enjoyed, likes how their bickering always fades during meals, likes how they act as they used to when they were younger, for however long it takes for Jiro to scarf down his three bowls of rice and coax Saburo into a slightly larger portion size. It makes him feel like he’s doing something right, like they’ve finally achieved their perfect future.
He reminisces as he stops by the conbini to pick up a carton of eggs and some cream for Saburo’s preferred coffee. How his fourteen-year-old brother ended up hooked on caffeine is not something Ichiro wants to dig into, but at least he puts enough cream in it to keep Ichiro from worrying about a childhood cut short. He spots a box of Jiro’s favorite energy bars at the checkout and chucks them into his basket on a whim. Jiro works hard–he deserves a treat that is just his. Ichiro just wishes the treat didn’t have wrappers that smell like bleach. Ah, well. To each their own.
[👌🏠]
It's late evening by the time Ichiro closes the door behind him and calls out a greeting. He can hear the shower running upstairs and Jiro’s heavier footsteps rushing down to greet him.
“Aniki!” Jiro grabs the bag from his hand without prompting and darts into the kitchen to drop it off. Ichiro watches fondly as he pumps his fist when he peeks into the bag and sees his energy bars. “Sweet, thanks, Aniki!” he cheers, tucking the box into the pantry and the eggs and cream into the fridge. “You’re back kinda late. Did you have fun with Harai?”
Ichiro recounts his afternoon as he warms up lunch leftovers for dinner, pausing to greet Saburo when he bounces into the kitchen with wet hair, nimble feet, and cries of ‘Ichi-nii!’ that match a younger Jiro’s so well he’s hit with an intense wave of nostalgia. He immediately puts down everything he’s holding to pull his brothers into a crushing hug. They squeeze him back with zero protest, then the three of them tuck into dinner as usual. Jiro devours three and a half servings and is successful in convincing Saburo to have a few extra scoops of curry on his rice. He looks so damn proud over something as simple as an empty plate that Ichiro lets him nag Saburo about going to bed on time without interfering.
They clean and dry the dishes together, flicking water at each other and giggling when soap lands in their hair. Ichiro goes through his bedtime routine with a comforting warmth in his chest, laughing when the two insist on brushing their teeth with him like they’re eight-eleven-and-thirteen again. He kisses both their foreheads good night, checks to make sure Jiro’s uniform is clean for tomorrow and Saburo actually goes to bed and doesn’t get distracted by a book or project, then burrows under his own blankets with a contented smile.
Then, as his eyes are drifting shut–
“That’s why I love you.”
And suddenly, Ichiro is wide, wide awake.
[👌🌅]
Denial
Ichiro does not wake up the next morning, because he doesn’t fall asleep in the first place. Instead, he’s startled into awareness by the chirping of birds and the unmistakable sound of Saburo’s attempts at keeping quiet. Ichiro wonders if he’s entered a parallel timeline, one where his youngest brother wakes up before him and his best friend confesses his love without him realizing. If so, he’d like to return to his own timeline now, please and thank you. Teenagers should be begging for five more minutes of sleep and best friends-turned-rivals-turned-best-friends-again should not be confessing their love at all.
Ichiro thinks he’s losing his mind. He thinks about closing his eyes and pretending that he hallucinated the past day. He does not. He rolls out of bed with an undignified groan and rubs at his eyes as he trudges up the stairs to check on his insomniac brother. Saburo does not realize Ichiro is in his room until he clears his throat loudly. Only then does the younger Yamada whirl around in his chair and look up guiltily at his eldest brother. Ichiro crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow pointedly.
“Ichi-nii…” Saburo doesn’t bother with excuses; he just taps his fingers together and tries very hard to look like he just woke up. He’s not very successful. “I got six hours?” he tries instead.
Ichiro sighs, pulling Saburo into a hug rather than responding. Saburo melts into the embrace immediately and hums happily when Ichiro pats his head.
“You should’ve woken me up, Saburo,” Ichiro scolds gently. “I could’ve gotten you some melatonin or something.”
Saburo makes no move to extract himself from Ichiro’s arms. “Jiro gave me some when he got up to use the bathroom. It helped a little, but I still woke up again.” He pulls back just enough to look up at his brother. “I’m sorry, Ichi-nii.”
“It’s fine,” Ichiro assures him. He pats his back one last time, then pulls back. “I’ll go get started on breakfast. Wake up your brother and get ready, okay?”
Saburo nods enthusiastically and hops out of his chair and disappears down the hallway. Ichiro goes the opposite way, stopping briefly to wash his face and brush his teeth in the bathroom before making his way down to the kitchen. He makes quick work of a simple pot of miso soup and rice, and by the time Saburo was down and setting the table, Jiro’s breakfast sandwich and both their bentos were ready as well.
Ichiro tries to keep an eye on the clock while he and Saburo eat, but his vision keeps going blurry. He catches his head falling forward several times as his body protests the lack of sleep. Saburo keeps looking at him worriedly, but he doesn’t say anything and only eats his food without protest. Eventually, Jiro comes rushing down, blurting apologies and trying (and failing) to fix his crooked tie. Ichiro pats his head with one hand and fixes his tie with the other, then pushes his breakfast sandwich into his hands.
Jiro smiles at him brightly. “You’re the best, Aniki!”
Ichiro returns the smile and grabs their bentos as he follows the two to their entryway. The bentos go in their respective bags, then are taken out and swapped because Ichiro mixed them up despite literally being color-coded. He gets a hug from each brother before they’re out the door, calling their goodbyes.
“Have a good day!” Ichiro yells after them. “Stay safe!”
Ichiro closes the door once they disappear around the corner and immediately topples over when he tries to turn around. He lies on the floor, groaning at the pain sprouting from his banged knee. Horrible timing. He had wanted to do some deep cleaning today, but it seemed he would be icing his knee for now. And probably taking a nap.
Except the moment he tries to lie down again for some sweet, sweet Z’s, he is once again assaulted by Kuko’s voice in his head, repeating the phrase that had been looping in his head all night.
“That’s why I love you.”
Did Kuko really say that? He had spent the whole night scrubbing through his memories of the day to see if he had imagined it or if Kuko had said something else, but his efforts were fruitless. He could remember the conversation perfectly, including how he had responded with ‘you’re not that bad yourself, man.’ What kind of idiot responds to a confession like that? ‘Man’? Seriously??
Or maybe Kuko didn’t mean it like that. Maybe it was in a dude-bro-no-homo kind of way. Like, ‘Bro, I love you so much!’ or something. Kuko has definitely said that before, right? He’s not the only one who drops the L-word that casually–he would’ve noticed by now. Right? Right?? Ichiro feels like he’s going crazy. He’s probably overthinking it. He’s definitely overthinking it. It’s not that serious. So what if Kuko, his best and closest friend, who had taken a piece of his heart with him when he left, had confessed to him? So what if Ichiro proceeded to call him ‘man’. It’s not that deep. It can’t be that deep. He’s so tired. He promises to think about this properly when he has enough brain cells to rub together to make a thought, so please, brain, let him sleep.
He stares at the ceiling for several hours, the ice-pack on his knee melting and staining his pants with fridge water. He drifts in and out of consciousness, but he does not get any sleep. Deliriously, he thinks about calling up Sensei and asking if he could use his mic to put him to sleep.
When the front door opens again in the late afternoon, Ichiro sits up with great effort and goes to greet whichever brother made it home first. Sleep may have forsaken him, but his brothers have not. A-fucking-men.
[👌🌇]
Anger
The next morning is better, if only because Ichiro manages a few hours of sleep, Saburo wakes up at a more sensible 6 AM, and Jiro doesn’t hit snooze five times before finally getting up. It's not perfect, because Ichiro’s head is still pounding, Saburo only nibbles on a breakfast bar, and Jiro’s uniform has a very obvious grass stain that he neglected to mention the night before. Little victories, though. Ichiro will take what he can get.
However, with more sleep and consequently more firing neurons, Ichiro now has the state of mind to accept Kuko’s confession and instead focus on being increasingly upset at Kuko for his execution. No grand profession of love, no bouquet, no falling cherry blossoms setting the mood. Absolutely nothing like a proper confession. Ichiro Yamada was disappointed. Ichiro Yamada’s inner otaku was disappointed. How was he supposed to know how serious Kuko was being if he half-assed it like that?!
And another thing, how could he drop it out of nowhere? He knew it would be at least a whole week before they could meet again. He knew Ichiro would stress over it for that whole week. And yet the asshole had the nerve to profess his undying love (okay, he was exaggerating) without a care in the world! So rude. Ichiro takes back everything nice he said about Kuko. He lived up to his MC name very well. Evil, evil man. Ichiro hopes he’s suffering under an ice-cold waterfall right now.
Ichiro spends the majority of his day completing simple jobs in an attempt to clear his mind. He’s somewhat successful, but every time he checks his messages and sees Kuko’s icon, he gets mad all over again. He’s sure he’s going to end the day in a hospital bed from an aneurysm. And while he’s withering away in a coma, he’s going to make sure his brothers hunt Kuko down and make him suffer. Ichiro’s disembodied soul will be watching from above and laughing smugly at that traitor’s misery.
He’s being dramatic. What is wrong with him? He’s acting like some sort of scorned shoujo protagonist! Who knew love could make someone so pathetic…
His phone vibrates as he’s walking back home. Ichiro pulls it out to check and nearly drops it when Kuko’s name flashes on the screen. He scrambles to open it, inputting his password wrong a record-breaking four times before he’s finally able to access his messages.
DIRECT MESSAGE
4:11 PM
[Kick-ass Kuko]: yo ichiro
[Kick-ass Kuko]: guess what
[Kick-ass Kuko]: i have saturday off
[Big Bro Ichigo]: congrats
[Big Bro Ichigo]: ??
[Kick-ass Kuko]: omg dumbass
[Kick-ass Kuko]: lets go out somewhere
[Kick-ass Kuko]: cafe or restaurant or bar idgaf
[Big Bro Ichigo]: OH
[Big Bro Ichigo]: yeah okay!
[Big Bro Ichigo]: just let me know where
[Kick-ass Kuko]: ill get recs from jyushi theyre good with ts
[Big Bro Ichigo]: sounds good 👍
[Big Bro Ichigo]: see you then :-)
[Kick-ass Kuko]: cya 💥
Ichiro Yamada is a simple, simple man. He loves his brothers, he loves his friends, he loves his ward. He can’t stay mad at any of them for very long. With a very-much-NOT-a-date coming up with Kuko, it was very hard to stay upset with him, too. Kuko often did things on a whim. He probably hadn’t planned to confess so unceremoniously; clearly, the moment just got to him, which was incredibly romantic in its own right. Ichiro could forgive him this time. He was significantly happier as he continued his way home.
(Several Ikebukuro residents reported their golden boy, Ichiro Yamada, skipping down the streets at half past four. No one had photographic evidence, though, and Saburo made sure to nip the rumors in the bud before they could escape to a different ward.)
[👌🌅]
Bargaining
When he was younger, Ichiro had a fiery temper that often got him in trouble. Most say he grew out of it once he left The Dirty Dawg and started taking care of his brothers full-time. Most don’t know that he simply replaced his need to fight with something less destructive. It's much easier to pretend like whatever is bothering him doesn’t exist if his hands are busy doing something else. His brothers, however, have learned to fear the smell of disinfectant and bleach outside of chore days.
On Wednesdays, Saburo has chess club, so Jiro usually gets home earlier than him. He opens the front door, mouth open to call out a greeting, and is instantly assaulted by the aggressively chemical lemon scent of Ichiro’s favorite cleaner. He closes his mouth with an audible click and plugs his nose with one hand. It takes a few tries to kick off his shoes without untieing them, but Jiro manages to make it through the house while only inhaling through his mouth. He notes that every centimeter of their home has been scrubbed clean and sparkling, from the walls to the floors and even the ceiling. A sliver of sun coming through the blinds quite literally bounces off the shine of the floor. Jiro holds back a shiver. No home inhabited solely by three boys should ever be this clean. It's unnatural.
Jiro finds his brother in the kitchen with his upper body half inside the oven as he scrubs.
“Erm, Aniki?” He isn’t sure what else to say. Does he ask what’s wrong? Does he try to comfort Ichiro? Does he offer to help? He usually just follows Saburo’s lead when Ichiro gets in one of his Moods™.
Ichiro moves to stand up and greet Jiro, but it seems like he forgot that he was attempting to guillotine himself in the oven and ends up banging his head on the roof of it instead. Jiro winces at the ringing sound of metal as Ichiro shrinks in on himself and groans.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Ichiro assures as he rubs his head tenderly. He stands up again, this time much slower, and extracts himself from the oven to give Jiro a hug. “How was school? Did you like your lunch?”
Jiro pulls out his unassigned-assigned seat and plops onto it with a relieved sigh. “School was fine. I passed that math test I was worried about. Lunch was good, thanks for the extra onigiri. Suzuki-sensei even let me eat it in class!”
“That's kind of her,” Ichiro smiles and returns to his hermit cave–sorry, oven–to resume scrubbing. His voice echoes slightly when he continues, “You should thank Saburo, too, y’know. He was rooting for you every time you two studied.”
Jiro flushes. “Yeah, I know. I stopped by the market to pick up some seafood mix so we could make pescatore tonight.”
“That’s really nice of you, Jiro, thank you,” Ichiro praises.
Jiro hums happily and leans back in his chair. The sound of Ichiro’s scrubbing seems louder without their talking to cover it up.
“So, uh,” Jiro starts, “do you wanna ta–”
“Nope!” Ichiro cuts him off far too enthusiastically. “There’s nothing to talk about!! Nothing at all!!! Everything is fine!!!!”
He pauses, taking a deep breath, then continues scrubbing with renewed vigor. Jiro wisely decides not to push further. Instead, he returns to the living room to grab the seafood mix from his bag and sits back down with a bowl of water and a tray to clean and prepare the seafood for cooking. If neither of them talks about it, then nothing is wrong. A very simple philosophy that Saburo absolutely despises. Saburo isn’t with them at that moment, though, so they are free to avoid their problems until they fall on them like an anvil. Jiro decides he will wait under the anvil with his brother as well. What a great moment of brotherly bonding. Saburo will certainly be jealous, he thinks, for all of thirty seconds before he notices the seafood and gets a sparkle in his eyes that will negate any of Jiro’s attempts at sabotage.
[👌🌇]
Depression
Ichiro does not make a habit of preaching what he doesn’t sow. He wants his brothers to be the best they can be, and he encourages that by setting a good example for them. Hard-working, hard-resting, loving, and every other virtue he thinks his brothers would benefit from, he practices himself. Not everything goes to plan every time, though, and his downfall will always be his own dedication. That is to say, Ichiro is occasionally a victim of nightmares.
It's to be expected, Sensei had explained to him when he confessed his predicament. Ichiro had gone through a lot in his life; it would be more surprising if he didn’t suffer from some sort of side-effect. Compared to the other options, nightmares were relatively unremarkable and easy to handle. Ichiro didn’t mention what happened after the nightmares, after he had already woken up and was back in the world where the worst possible outcome was no longer reality. Frankly, he tries to think of it as little as possible. It's hard to do that when he’s experiencing it, though. He had been blissfully nightmare-free for the past few weeks, so he supposes he was due for one. That doesn’t mean he’s expecting it, and it certainly doesn’t mean he has to like it.
Ichiro wakes up in a cold sweat, Kuko’s laughter and cruel words ringing in his head, and a less metaphorical anvil pressing down on his chest. He tries to kick off his blankets or take a deep breath, but his body is locked in place like some sort of fucked-up marionette. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s aware that struggling and panicking only makes it worse. That corner of his mind is unable to speak up, and Ichiro continues to do just that. By the time his body is listening to him again, he’s worked himself up into a full panic. He tries once more to kick off his blanket, but somehow he ends up pushing off the wall in the process and ending up on the floor in a tangled heap.
If Saburo was awake, he had definitely heard that. Ichiro prays that he isn’t, and that he doesn’t come running to check on him if he is. The universe must take pity on him, because his door remains shut for the full five minutes it takes him to get his breathing under control, untangle himself, and get off the ground. A quick glance at the clock confirms that it’s 4:30 AM. Too early to do much of anything, but too late to try to go back to bed. Ichiro resigns himself to staring at his ceiling and trying not to think for two and a half hours.
He makes it through an hour before he gives up and decides to get an early start to his day. Uniforms are checked, breakfast is made, bentos are put together, and brothers are summoned with varying levels of success. Saburo keeps sending him worried glances when he thinks Ichiro isn’t looking. Ichiro tries to avoid them, an odd sense of deja vu poking at his brain. He also resolutely ignores the buzzing phone in his pocket. He isn’t sure he can talk to Kuko without losing his mind any further. He’s rapidly falling apart and it's only a quarter past seven. What has the world come to?
Ichiro’s brilliant solution, once he’s sent his brothers off, is a marathon of all his favorite shoujo anime. At least, he thinks it's a brilliant idea, until he gets ten minutes into Horimiya and can’t stop seeing Hori’s little brother as his own and Miyamura as an emo Kuko and he has to pause the episode to push his face into a pillow and scream. At that point, he decides the mind-numbingness of uncut One Piece is a better way for him to wallow in his own self-pity.
Ichiro makes it through twelve episodes without absorbing a single second before his phone vibrates and he goes to check it on instinct. He’s slapped in the face by a whopping twenty-five messages and two missed calls from Kuko. He sort of feels bad, but his self-pity currently outweighs his guilt. Ichiro is fully prepared to return to his search for the One Piece when his phone lights up again, this time with a call from Kuko. In his panic to throw his phone, damage be damned, his finger slips and hits the accept button.
“ICHIRO MIDDLE NAME YAMADA, I KNOW WHERE YOU FUCKING LIVE!”
God, take him now.
“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, LEAVING ME ON DELIVERED ALL DAY AND IGNORING MY CALLS?!”
His time has come. He’s ready.
“DO I HAVE TO RUN YOU OVER WITH HITOYA’S MOTORCYCLE TO KNOCK SOME SENSE INTO YOU??”
Put him out of his misery and spare him from this embarrassment.
“Hi, Kuko,” Ichiro croaks out.
“Oh, he speaks! The genius rapper of our generation remembers how to use words!! Now if only he could remember how to ANSWER MY FUCKING TEXTS!!!”
Deliriously, Ichiro wonders if he’s updated his will recently. He should get on that.
“I’m sorry,” he tries, “I was busy?”
“Oh, were you.”
Ichiro can feel his disbelieving glare through the phone.
“Yes…?”
“I need you to know that if I were not currently in the middle of practice, I would be banging on your door so hard you would be getting noise complaints.”
“Noted,” Ichiro replies faintly. “Is that all?”
“No, but Hitoya is a mandated reporter, so I need you to fill in the blanks.”
“Noted,” Ichiro repeats.
He can hear some commotion on the other end of the line, probably Hitoya yelling at Kuko to get back to practice and Kuko yelling back increasingly offensive insults. He can vaguely make out Jyushi’s higher-pitched voice attempting to diffuse the situation with minimal success.
“Okay, listen, I don’t know what's up with you today, but I need you to snap out of it. You’re probably worrying your brothers and you’re MAYBE worrying me too. So get off your sorry ass before I actually ditch practice to intimately acquaint you with motorcycle wheels.”
Ichiro is suddenly hit with the realization that, even if he had hallucinated the confession, Kuko would never belittle him for it. Because while Kuko may act like it's him against the world, he would also go against the world for his people. And Ichiro just so happens to be one of his people.
“You there, dumbass? Did you fall into your own head?”
“No, yeah, I’m here,” Ichiro says, smiling genuinely for the first time all day. “I’m fine, really. Thanks for checking in, though. You’re the best.”
“Goddamn right I am! And don’t you forget it!”
Ichiro snorts. “I could never. See you Saturday?”
“I’ll drag you out myself if I have to.” Some more yelling, then, “Oops, gotta go—bye!”
Ichiro stares at the ‘call ended’ screen, smiling like an idiot. He certainly felt like one, having to get the obvious yelled at him. With a decisive nod, he turned off the TV and wandered over to the kitchen. He was craving something sweet, and his brothers deserved a treat for putting up with his mood swings the past week. He thinks they have all the ingredients for Napoleon cake.
[3️⃣🏠]
Saburo Yamada is a fourteen-year-old genius.
That isn’t a declaration or a boast. It is simply a fact. The sky is blue, Ichi-nii is the coolest, and Saburo is a genius. Saburo is proud of his status; he won’t lie and say that he isn’t. But as a genius, he is more aware than most of his shortcomings. He struggles with normal bodily functions like eating and sleeping. Where he is strong mentally, he is weak physically. His social life is entirely online friends and the girl next door who he plays RPGs with. He’s scared of sharp objects and of slamming doors. He’s scared of not being enough. He’s scared of being alone.
Saburo does not voice the last two, ever. Not to Ichi-nii now, not to Jiro when they were younger, not to his government-mandated therapist who most definitely reports back to Party of Words. They are thoughts for him and him alone. He does not need to be scared of not being enough if he continues to work his hardest in every part of life. He does not need to be scared of being alone if he takes care of his brothers the way they do of him.
The sun is yellow, Jiro is annoying, and Ichi-nii has been going through something since Monday.
It started with the eye bags that made Saburo think Ichi-nii had gotten in a fight overnight. He could barely keep his eyes open long enough to send him and Jiro off to school. When Saburo came home, he noticed Ichiro wince when he put pressure on his right knee. He almost called him out on it, both in the morning and in the evening, but he decided to wait and see. It wasn’t smart to rush into things without the full picture.
On Tuesday, Saburo made a mistake. He was so focused on puzzling out Ichiro’s predicament that he completely ignored his food. It wasn’t until Ichiro handed him a breakfast bar to eat on the way to school that he realized. That wouldn’t do at all. Ichi-nii put a lot of effort into making sure that Saburo was eating enough. There was no point in solving Ichiro’s situation if he ended up in one of his own. He made sure to eat the full plate of fruit Ichi-nii brought him that afternoon while working on erasing the rumor circulating of him skipping down the streets. (Saburo would have dismissed the rumor himself if the plate of fruit Ichiro had brought him wasn’t cut up into cute animals, something he hadn’t done since they first moved out of the orphanage. Very interesting.)
On Wednesday, Saburo played pretend. He pretended that he didn’t notice the strong smell of lemons and sparkling ceilings and the redness of Ichiro’s fingers. He ate his pasta pescatore (with great joy, might he add—being both a victory and a thank you meal made it so much more delicious) and pretended like he didn’t notice Ichiro tapping at the table with a far-off look in his eyes and the concerned glances Jiro kept sending him. He helped wash the dishes and pretended like the spotlessness of the steel sink wasn’t severely off-putting.
On Thursday, Saburo almost broke. He had, in fact, been up when Ichiro fell to the floor in a pathetic heap of panic and blankets. He did rush down to check on his brother and nearly ran in when he heard his heavy breathing through the door. But grass is green, Samatoki is an asshole, and Ichi-nii is the strongest of them, and he doesn’t like it when Saburo or Jiro see otherwise. So Saburo waited behind the door until he heard Ichiro’s breathing even out. He waited until the distinctive creak of Ichiro lying on his mattress was heard, then he snuck back upstairs. He would care for his brother just like his brother does for him, but not at the price of Ichiro’s pride or dignity. Saburo didn’t say anything at breakfast when Ichi-nii’s haunted expression almost made him break again. He just made sure to hug him extra tight and swore to himself that if things weren’t better by Sunday, he’d talk to Jiro and call a Yamada meeting. He would care for his brothers just like they do for him, even if it meant having an uncomfortable conversation.
The sky is blue, Saburo is a genius, and Ichi-nii will be okay. If Saburo says it enough, it will come true.
[1️⃣📿- ☕]
Acceptance
Friday went by fast, and before Ichiro knew it, he was getting ready to leave for his and Kuko’s not-date. He washes his face, brushes his teeth, combs his hair, and dresses in his usual ensemble. Kuko would definitely show up in his usual wardrobe–there was no reason for Ichiro to stand out. Ichiro does spend a few minutes staring at himself in the bathroom mirror until Jiro knocks on the door and asks if he’s almost done. He scrambles to unlock the door and avoids looking Jiro in the eyes out of embarrassment. He’s making a fool of himself, and he hasn’t even left the home yet. He would commit minor crimes for a bit of his usual confidence and swagger. Where had it gone when he needed it most?!
Ichiro refrains from slamming his head into a wall and instead snatches his shoes off the entrance rack and takes his time lacing them up.
“Jiro, Saburo,” he calls out eventually, “I’m leaving now!”
Saburo peeks up from in front of the couch and Jiro leans down from the top of the stairwell.
“Have fun, Ichi-nii!”
“Get something for us too!”
Saburo’s groans of ‘oh my god, Jiro’ are cut off by the door closing behind Ichiro’s back as he summons his courage and sets off for the diner Kuko had sent him the address to earlier. Despite all of his dawdling, it's a nice day out. The sun is shining brightly, cooled by a slight breeze, and the streets are busy enough for a sense of community, but not so busy that it's hard to walk down them. Ichiro is struck with a sudden love for Ikebukuro, the ward he and his brothers have dedicated so much to protecting. It really is his sacred home base. Every step bolsters Ichiro’s confidence, and soon enough, he’s all but bouncing down the sidewalk with a hefty pep in his step. He’s not skipping, he swears–he learned his lesson the first time–he’s just excited.
The diner is close by, and Ichiro spots the sign within fifteen minutes. He’s so focused on double-checking to make sure it's the right diner that he’s completely caught off guard by someone grabbing his hoodie and yanking him away from…the pole he was about to run into, shit. Ichiro turns around, ready to kneel dogeza to thank his savior, and is greeted with the lovely sight of spikey red hair paired with a, dare he say, lovingly exasperated expression.
“I know your littlest bro wears glasses, but do we need to get you checked out, too?” Kuko asks dryly.
Ichiro chuckles. He opens his mouth, either to greet Kuko or thank him for the save or something else completely normal, but what comes out instead is a breathless “I want to make out with you.” Ichiro is already slapping a hand over his mouth before he finishes the last word, but it's too late. He has gone and put his foot in his mouth in the most spectacular way possible. Someone get him a trophy; this has to be a world record.
Kuko stares at him. Ichiro stares back, refusing to remove his hand from his mouth lest he say something even more ridiculous, like asking Kuko to move in with him or a marriage proposal. What is wrong with him, seriously? Kuko’s stare does not let up. He does not blink, and Ichiro is ninety percent sure he isn’t breathing. He’s getting worried enough to check for a pulse when Kuko grabs his arm and hauls him into the diner, still without uttering another word. Ichiro stays similarly silent as they bypass the host stand and beeline straight for a booth hidden near the emergency exit in the back. Kuko sits down on one side of the booth and Ichiro slips into the other side on instinct. The silence holds fast. Ichiro feels like he’s in some sort of all-star staring contest. He’s pretty sure he loses when he’s the first to speak up.
“Um,” he says eloquently. “So.”
Kuko raises an eyebrow and stares at him passively. He still does not say a word.
“How was your week?” Ichiro tries.
The other eyebrow raises. Kuko looks incredulous now.
Ichiro pulls out his trump card. “I’m sorry for calling you ‘man’ after you confessed?”
Kuko finally breaks, bursting into loud laughter and clearly holding back from banging at the table as well. “Dude,” he says, and Ichiro feels another wave of deja vu take hold, “dude.”
Ichiro crosses his arms and frowns. “In my defense, I didn’t even realize that was a confession.”
Kuko just laughs louder, tears glimmering in his eyes. Ichiro is struck with the sudden urge to shut him up with a kiss–as seen in all the best shoujo runs, his otaku brain goads. So he does just that, leaning over the table (because he’s tall enough for something as suave as that, bless you, Yamada genes) and planting a slightly open-mouthed kiss on Kuko’s lips mid-laugh. He leans back after a few seconds and enjoys the shell-shocked look on his best friend’s face. Soon-to-be boyfriend, hopefully.
“The longer you spend laughing at me, the less time we have to have an actual conversation about our incredibly mutual romantic feelings,” Ichiro tells him with faux-seriousness, channeling his inner Saburo.
Kuko snaps out of it rather quickly and points an accusing finger at him. “You.”
Ichiro smiles goofily. “Me!”
He leans back in for another kiss, this one reciprocated and therefore much, much nicer than the first. Kuko is a surprisingly good kisser, Ichiro notes, as he brings a hand up to card through his hair. Kuko mirrors him, though his hands linger on the nape of Ichiro’s neck rather than the sides of his head like Ichiro’s do. Ichiro can feel him playing with the small hairs by his hairline and shivers, melting like an ice cube under Kuko’s warm touch. He eventually breaks the kiss to catch his breath, his heart skipping a beat when he meets Kuko’s eyes properly. There's something soft hidden beneath the rock-hard amber of his gaze. Ichiro likes it a lot, and he particularly likes that it's directed solely at him.
“So,” Ichiro repeats, this time smug, “was that a better answer?”
Kuko scoffs and rolls his eyes fondly. “Yeah, sure, man.”
“Oh my god.” Ichiro deflates like a punctured balloon. “You’re never letting that go.”
“Nope!” Kuko says, grinning. “I’m going to print it out and frame it. ‘You’re not that bad yourself, man’, wasn’t it? I think it deserves its own special place in the temple. A sacred reminder of how not to respond to someone’s confession.”
Ichiro’s head hits the table with a thunk. “That’s just great,” he grumbles, words muffled. “My idiocy, immortalized.”
“You’re teaching the next generation,” Kuko tells him sagely.
“I’m going to become the laughing stock of the next generation,” Ichiro corrects him morosely.
“Damn right,” Kuko cackles, sounding absolutely delighted at Ichiro’s distress. “And I’m gonna love every second of it. Enough of that, though,” he cranes his head and looks around the diner, “where’s a waiter when you need one?”
A few booths down, heads artfully hidden by menus, the next generation in question look at each other with increasingly panicked faces. Tailing Ichiro was supposed to be a last-ditch effort to figure out what was wrong, not a front row seat to a solved romance crisis and their brother’s subsequent canoodling with his best friend. With an amount of unspoken coordination that only comes with living in close quarters your entire life, Jiro and Saburo Yamada put down their menus and bolt past the still-empty host stand and out the diner in perfect sync. They had made it out with hopefully enough dignity to be able to look their brother in the eyes that night. Now they just have to hope Ichiro actually makes it home that night in first place.