Chapter Text
The metal overhang of the apartment building makes thunderous drumming noises when the rain beats against it. Violent and, in their late neighbor's defense, heart attack inducing.
But that's how Michikatsu can tell it’s only a couple of feet away without looking up and he's never felt more thankful.
He goes to detach himself from his brother's side, but is interrupted by the tightening hand on his waist.
"Nii-san.", he says, seconds from clawing at the offending appendage.
The frustrated growl wasn't intended to leave his throat, but it does. Yoriichi's hand plucks itself off albeit lingering and slow. But Michikatsu takes his chance to bolt up the 2 flights of stairs, pushing his legs to the limit.
Knowing Yoriichi will shake out the umbrella and take his sweet time up the steps, Michikatsu rushes. Just so he could be in the safety of the bathroom without any problems.
But when has that ever been his life.
He peels the wet fabric of his pants pocket apart to dig for his keys. Yanking it out, he shoves it into the lock and turns the knob at the same time. The apartments are so dilapidated and appallingly built that the doors require two people minimum to force them open.
So, Michikatsu feels the briefest amount of gratefulness that the door wasn't shoved closed all the way.
Though that feeling quickly evaporates just as soon as he walks in to see women's loafers in the genkan.
He blinks at them.
Disappointed. Thwarted, if he had to say.
"Yoriichi?"
All the lights are out, except the kitchen's, leaving the small space just barely illuminated.
Dim. Quiet.
They're both listening for one another, it seems.
Michikatsu says nothing as he shuffles to the side to kick his slippers off. No need to answer, he gives it less than 10 seconds.
"Yoriichi, sweetie? Is that you?", the soft, yet tired voice calls again around the corner of the entrance. "It was raining, and I was worr-"
Her sentence is cut short when Michikatsu catches her eye. All maternal warmth quickly seeping from her entire being right before him.
His mother just stands there. The stray hairs flying from her messy bun and the wrinkled scrubs tells him she had just got home from work. Yet, it seems, the mere sight of him has her looking more tired.
And old.
Michikatsu just leans against the wall, shivers starting to kick up deep in his chest. But he doesn't dare take a step closer to the woman. He can bet everything in his name that there's an equally unimpressed look slapped onto his own face.
This day is just keeping up its horrid track record…
They've only been in each other’s presence for at least a minute and the tension is already uncomfortably thick.
And just like a hot knife through butter, his older brother cuts through it when the rickety door scrapes open.
"Michikatsu, I would appreciate if you didn't run fr-", Yoriichi stops. He blinks. Then clearing his throat, he…corrects himself.
"Hello, mother. I didn't know you were home so early."
Michikatsu only gives his brother a sideways glance, but he can still catch the stony expression from his profile. His demeanor changing subtly in the presence of the woman.
But just like that, their mother is back online, a smile stretching across her weary face.
"Sweetie.", she says, almost reverently. She clicks on the overhead light and rushes over to plant kisses on either side of Yoriichi's cheeks. "That's not how you greet your mother, now is it?"
Yoriichi is quiet for a moment, his face cupped in her tiny hands.
Broad hands engulf hers and pull them away from his face and into a delicate hold in front of him. Michikatsu can see the muscles of his mother's face loosen as her smile falls.
"I'm home, Mother."
And it’s back.
"That's much better."
A chill sets in his body and is made colder when he gets a nonchalant glance from her.
"Michikatsu. You're all wet.", her voice is strained as she states the obvious. As awkward as every conversation starter.
With her own son.
She makes no move to come near him, though, so he takes that as his cue.
"Yes, mother."
He doesn't take his socks off as he treks dripping wet footprints into the carpet. An enthusiastic, yet one-sided conversation picks up as he makes his way to the bathroom. But he's glad he doesn't have to hear his mother's overly sweet voice drone on about her day at the hospital.
The hairs on his neck stand, but he refuses to acknowledge his brother's stare.
Once inside the bathroom, he....breathes.
Nerves fried to hell and back, body beyond exhausted, and a brief look in the mirror tells him he's not doing a good job of hiding this. There's no denying that.
Looking like a drowned rat definitely screams "my life is a dumpster fire."
Michikatsu closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before stripping his clothes off. His pants almost leave him breathless from trying to pull his underwear off at the same time.
His muscles ache from the run, that by the time he's washing up, he has to take a minute to massage his thighs.
As a boy, he's not proud of how soft his legs have gotten. A pinch to the inside tells him there's more fat than muscle there. Just squishy...chubby, even. Running his fingers up and across his stomach, and every squeeze comes up feeling like he's molesting a 5-foot bag of dough.
Don't get him started on his chest. One peek under his hair covering him is enough to make him swallow the sudden onslaught of shame.
Just. Embarrassing.
If only...If only he'd kept up with practice, perfected his swings, toned his body, maybe then he wouldn't be...this.
Maybe he'd be strong. Built. Powerful.
Gently cupping his ribcage, Michikatsu remembers the strength behind that grip that held onto him, just a while ago.
If he had strength like that...could he fight? Maybe hold his own? Maybe against his bro-
He nearly slips from how fast he jumped up from the stool when he hears the rattling knocks on the door. A single soapy hand flies to his crotch on instinct when he yells.
"W-what!"
The rabbit quick pulse under his skin doesn't calm when he looks up. He's entirely unsure how he missed the 6 ft tall imposing figure pressed close to the frosted glass separating the bath and shower.
It should’ve been extremely hard to miss.
"Michi. I'm...I'm just checking on you.", Yoriichi says, voice low. “You’ve been in there for a while.”
"Well, I'm fine.", he answers back, wanting this interaction to be over. It’s difficult not to feel like a cornered animal with his dick in his hand and raised goosebumps on his arm.
"Well, you were soaking wet when we got in, it's natural for your Nii-san to be worried."
"You really think I'm going to drown in that short period time we were apart?", Michikatsu scoffs. "Give me more credit than that."
Yoriichi is silent for a moment.
It was only for a second, but his unmoving form made it feel like an eternity.
"Please don't say terrible things like that, Michikatsu. I don't want to have to come in and keep watch on you, just in case.", Yoriichi sighs, sounding slightly exasperated.
Though the sudden hand on the door handle speaks volumes on how serious his older brother was.
"D-don’t come in. I-I can bathe by myself if you'd go away and let me.", the stutter completely fumbles his normal moody facade, but his muscles are tensed.
On high alert.
Just when he's gearing himself up to lunge at the handle to try to keep the door close (not likely), Yoriichi slips his hand off.
"Alright, alright. I'm sorry. I'll just take your laundry and head out, then. Be careful."
Michikatsu's muscles start to uncoil at Yoriichi's fallback. A sigh so deep is waiting to deflate his chest…
But his guard is instantly back up when he swears, he could see Yoriichi's eyes staring right at him through the deeply frosted glass.
His eyes widen when he shuffles backwards, butt hitting the edge of the tub, trying to escape the prickly stare. A couple of blinks and his brother's figure is nothing but a discolored blur in the glass. Moving about. Most likely...picking up his clothes.
It’s only when he hears the slide of the outer door, does he notices his breathing his hurried, making his chest ache.
Then, when he's settled in the molten hit water, does his anger arise.
He slaps the water harshly, only making a small splash and leaving him with a stinging hand. Red swelling under the thin skin.
"Goddamn it..."
He doesn't feel any better.
So, there Michikatsu was, slapping and splashing hot water all about in a childish fit of rage. Because his brother has effectively, for the second time today, gotten the best of him.
And he knows just what will be missing from his "laundry".
"And don't forget to ask Mr. Kimura for that recommendation letter too. I know if you have that one with the other from your Kendo coach, you'll be set."
God, she can run her mouth faster than Michikatsu's legs. He takes another small bite from his miserably made sandwich, listening to his mother's voice through thin walls splitting his and Yoriichi's rooms.
Once Michikatsu had come from the bathroom, staying an extra 30 minutes to calm his...emotions, they had finished eating whatever they called dinner. He could tell because the kitchen smelled slightly of bleach, and the lights were off. Just the light from his mother's open room door and his brother's closed one.
He tipped toed across the living room to the kitchen to fix something to eat in the dark, to not alert them of his exit from the bath. Now, he sits on the floor of his room eating his turkey and bread sandwich with only the dimness of his night light illuminating his dinner.
The smell of take-out had seeped through the cardboard thin walls and almost makes his stomach growl.
Michikatsu frowns down at his stomach, buried in his large thrifted t-shirt. He rubs a small circle against it.
"The hell are you making all that noise for?", he whispers to it, and it answers in a long warble.
"Hm. I see. You want better food, I'm guessing. This is clearly not cutting it."
He takes a long look at the pale de-crusted bread, wondering. Then he turns his attention to his phone on the ground.
It’s been disconnected from services a long time ago and he just keeps it to listen to his music and as an overpriced watch. The only people with working phones are...well, everyone else in this place apparently.
Grasping it, he reconnects to their elderly neighbor's wi-fi. Having been in the vicinity when his..."thoughtful" brother set it up for them, he knows the password.
He takes another pitiful bite, watching his whole phone update to the current world. As soon as it connects fully, 2 notifications pop up from his email app.
Quickly tapping it, he hopes to God it’s what he thinks it is. Well, whatever God can spare him some kind of blessing.
The little loading wheel has him clutching at his baggy shirt, anxious. Luck seems to never be on his side, but this could be a well-deserved moment.
He's concentrated so hard that the knock at his door startles him.
Michikatsu knows for a fact it’s his mother because Yoriichi never knocks...
...
Once again, she's silent for a moment, as if they're face to face.
What the hell does she want? Even through the door and the 5 feet that Michikatsu sits away from it, he can still taste the bitterness on his tongue.
"Michikatsu, I know you're in there.", she says through the door, never coming in. Even if she tried, she wouldn't be able to. Since the dull, yet satisfying "Click” of his lock is a routine he'll never forget.
He says nothing. Just like the girl from earlier, she'll say her piece and leave. Probably faster.
"I'm taking the late shift tomorrow and… Yoriichi wants you home as soon as you get out of school."
Michikatsu goes back to his email. Nothing of importance is being said, so why waste his time.
The email opens, and one is coupons from the grocery store he frequents-
"He has practice till 6, so..."
-the other one says-
"So, don't make trouble for us and just... be home early."
-Fujimori Market Employment.
"Good Night."
Michikatsu’s hand is pressed tightly against his mouth as he stares at those precious words at the top of the mail.
At least today won’t end an absolute travesty.
He cleans his mess up. The cup, the plate, and half of a sandwich onto his dresser before climbing under his blanket. The careful drawl of his mother's voice was no longer pestering at his door, so Michikatsu assumed she's gone. It has become terribly easy to tune her out.
The muscles of his face refuse to lift into a smile, but he knows that’s exactly what he would be doing. The bright light from his phone sears his golden opportunity into his brain.
"...an in-person interview for the position...", he whispers to himself, finally shutting off the device.
4:30, huh? The mile walk shouldn't hurt him too much on time. But that job is his, no matter what.
It takes him another hour and 45 minutes of watching his door and planning his day until he finally feels sleepy enough to drift off. Dreams of nothing floating under his eyelids.
…
Click
…