Chapter Text
It started when Ichiro forced Saburo to attend one of Jiro’s soccer matches.
Saburo had complained, of course—he’d begged Ichiro to stay home instead, but the eldest Yamada wouldn’t budge.
“I can’t make it to his game this time. At least one of us should be there to support him, Saburo.”
He’d sulked through the entire game, but ultimately did as he was asked.
Saburo had assumed this was a one-time thing. After all, Ichiro couldn’t really expect him to suffer through any other games, could he? That would be inhumane. Evil, even.
“Sorry, Saburo, I gotta ask for a favor again. I’m busy with a job and can’t make it to Jiro’s next game…”
He put up with another game for Ichiro’s sake, though he convinced himself that it was a living Hell.
Of course, Ichiro insisted for the brothers to travel home together after Jiro’s game, so Saburo was stuck waiting around for his stupid brother to finish changing in the locker rooms before he could finally go home.
Jiro was in an obnoxiously upbeat mood on this particular day, taking his sweet time conversing with his teammates despite knowing Saburo was waiting for him. As if he hadn’t noticed the impatient glare on Saburo’s face, Jiro put an arm around his brother’s shoulders, introducing him to the rest of the team.
“This is my baby bro, Saburo! He just started coming to our games recently.”
Saburo struggles to casually shake Jiro’s arm off him, but to no avail. He huffs in annoyance but ultimately says nothing.
“I’ve kicked ass both times he's been here. I think he might be my good luck charm, y’know?”
Saburo has to resist the urge to stomp on Jiro’s foot. He feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment and hopes no one notices.
“Isn’t a good luck charm usually, like… a girlfriend, or a gift from a girlfriend or somethin’?” One of his teammates points out.
Jiro flushes bright pink, sputtering out an indignant “fuck off” before punching his teammate playfully in the arm, finally releasing Saburo from his hold. He uses this moment to put as much space between himself and his older brother as he could, annoyance bubbling in his chest.
“If you don’t hurry up, I’m leaving you behind,” he threatens.
Jiro rolls his eyes, but ultimately bids his teammates farewell for the evening.
It’s the third game Saburo is forced to go to when things change.
One of the players on the opposite team has a sibling in the crowd—which isn’t strange, or abnormal, but this particular guy insists on being an obnoxious, stupidly loud asshole. At first, Saburo pays him no mind—he talks a lot of shit, but why would Saburo care? He insults Jiro’s team as a whole, which is annoying but ignorable.
But then Jiro and the kid’s brother go head to head on the field, and the kid starts berating Jiro specifically .
“Boo, you suck!”
“I could do better in my sleep!”
“Hey, ugly! Are you a shit player on purpose or were you born that way?”
“Just give up, idiot!”
Saburo’s face heats in anger—only he can insult Jiro! No one else is allowed to say that kind of shit to him!
“Hey, kid! Shut the fuck up,” Saburo snaps.
The “kid” looks around Saburo’s age, but that doesn’t matter—he doesn’t care to show this asshole any respect, anyhow.
The boy just rolls his eyes, “Whatever, my big bro is gonna kick your big bro’s ass anyway.”
And then he pointedly turns away from Saburo, calling out more abuse and insults toward Jiro’s team.
To his own surprise, Saburo’s fueled with rage – with a sense of bitterness and pettiness that he channels into being the biggest fucking cheerleader in the goddamn universe. He does his damn best to hype up the team, hype up Jiro— for once, he cheers for his dumb big brother. Jiro comes to a complete stop in the middle of the match, visually taken aback by this sudden change, but then a big, dumb grin comes over his face and he gets right back into it with newfound determination.
Despite it all, they win. They actually fucking win, with Jiro being their star player and a force of nature.
Jiro’s teammates run to their respective support groups—family, friends, girlfriends—and Jiro runs to Saburo with a huge grin plastered on his face. Saburo can tell when Jiro approaches that he intends to hug him—which, ew, gross, Jiro’s sweaty and smells bad even when he hasn’t been playing soccer, but then Saburo spots the obnoxious kid from before eyeing them with a glare, and Saburo wants to rub salt in the wound, so he meets Jiro halfway in a giddy hug, wrapping his arms around Jiro’s neck and congratulating him loudly like the ideal, supportive little brother.
He doesn’t expect Jiro to wrap his arms around Saburo’s waist in turn and lift him and then spin like an overexcited child, but he’s laughing and grinning and so happy in a way that’s oddly contagious, so Saburo allows it. He’s distracted by how weirdly toned Jiro’s arms are, wondering when that happened and how he missed it, and how strong Jiro is, that he almost didn’t notice when Jiro put him down and pressed a messy kiss to Saburo’s cheek.
Of course, when Jiro realized what he did, he froze—which quickly brought Saburo back to his senses.
‘Wait. Did he just…?’
Saburo looks at Jiro, who stares back in shock and embarrassment, but before either of them can address that , Jiro’s teammates drag him off to the locker rooms to wash off and change.
Ichiro drops by to meet his brothers and walk home together, meeting up with Saburo first and waiting for Jiro to re-emerge from the locker rooms, so Jiro and Saburo don’t have a chance to talk about the kiss, but both are somewhat relieved at this—especially Jiro.
And it’s awkward between them for days .
They still talk, sure, but there’s an underlying wave of tension in the room whenever they’re alone.
Eventually, Saburo has had enough.
The three brothers are seated on the couch together one evening, watching TV together, when Ichiro gets an unexpected call. He promises he’ll be “right back” as he hurries out of the room, leaving his brothers alone. It’s tense, like it usually is, and Saburo finds himself nervous, but forces himself to speak anyway.
“It’s fine.”
Jiro looks his way briefly, “I’m sorry?”
“It’s fine,” Saburo repeats, pulling his knees up against his chest and hugging them to himself, “if you wanna k…kiss after a game like that.”
Saburo can almost swear he sees Jiro flush red out of the corner of his eye, but it’s dim in the room and Saburo’s too embarrassed to look closely.
“It’s not that I—you don’t have to—I didn’t—” Jiro stutters, trying to pick a sentence and stick with it, but to no avail.
“I said it’s fine,” Saburo repeats, “it’s only on the cheek, it’s not a big deal.”
Jiro’s silent for an uncomfortably long stretch of time, and Saburo thinks he’s about to explode from sheer tension, but Jiro finally speaks.
“... Really? You’re not, like, trying to bait me just to call me a pervert or something?”
Saburo snorts, “That much is already obvious, I don’t have to say it. But, I mean it, okay? Just… stop acting so weird.”
Saburo can hear Jiro let out a breath of relief, so Saburo finally takes a glance at his brother. Jiro’s much more relaxed now, and there’s no longer a thick tension in the air.
Jiro scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “Does this mean you’ll still come to my games?”
Saburo rolled his eyes, “Yes , you dummy.”
“Thank god. You’re my good luck charm, y’know.”
Saburo wants to glare, but Jiro is flashing such a blinding smile that catches him off guard, and suddenly he doesn’t want to glare anymore.
“You’re weird,” Saburo huffs instead, turning his gaze from Jiro, who continues to grin stupidly.
True to his word, Saburo continues to come to Jiro’s games. He finds that though before he mainly just stared off in a bored haze, now he’s actually entertained by the game. He wants to pay attention now, for some reason he can’t put his finger on, and finds himself entirely enthralled by the match. He watches his brother play, begrudgingly admitting to himself that Jiro is actually pretty good.
Plus, Jiro is oddly mesmerizing to watch. The usual dumb, lazy expression he usually wears is gone, replaced by a focused, piercingly intense gaze. With every movement, Saburo sees Jiro’s muscles tense beneath his clothes, though his legs are particularly nice to look at, and he gets a chance to admire them every time Jiro kicks the ball.
When Saburo catches himself distracted with these thoughts, he shakes himself out of them immediately. What was he thinking, admiring Jiro like that? That was weird—and gross! Jiro was gross! Why would he ever think differently?
He told himself it was just exhaustion, but when the game is won and Jiro pulls him into a tight hug and kisses the skin right by his ear, Saburo’s stomach seems to erupt into a hub of frantic butterflies.
He ignores it, of course. He tells himself it’s nothing, he tells himself it’s just embarrassment, if anything.
With each passing game, Jiro’s kisses turn from single, light pecks, to multiple , peppering kisses across Saburo’s cheeks. Then, they become lingering kisses, Jiro keeping his lips against Saburo’s skin for far too long to be normal between brothers .
Jiro doesn’t notice his teammates shooting the brothers suspicious glances, but Saburo does. He brings it up, next time they’re alone.
“Your teammates have been staring at us.”
“Have they? Haven’t noticed.”
“Yes, they have,” Saburo huffs in annoyance, “so if you still want to celebrate, we’re gonna have to find somewhere more private.”
Saburo spies a hint of pink on Jiro’s cheeks, who clears his throat awkwardly, “Uh, well, I know this one area on the way to the locker room? There’s this sharp corner that leads to a spot that’s pretty commonly ignored…”
“Great. Point it out to me next chance you get so I know where it is.”
He’s casual about it, hardly even looking at his brother while he speaks.
This was their normal, now. So why did his stomach still flip when talking about it? Hell, even when thinking about it? He brushes it off, refusing to allow himself to think about it.
Eventually, Jiro’s next game comes. Jiro’s team wins, as usual, and the moment the game is called, Saburo slips away and heads towards their new meet up spot during all the commotion.
When Jiro’s team runs by, Saburo spots Jiro in the very back—purposefully, of course. Saburo grabs him by the shirt, and when Jiro turns to Saburo, his face lights up immediately. He rounds the corner with his brother, a stupid grin on his face, and he immediately lunges in and kisses Saburo‘s cheek.
It’s a lingering kiss, which Saburo expected, but then Jiro plants another kiss, slightly left of the first kiss. A little different from usual, but Saburo figures Jiro is just getting carried away due to their newfound privacy.
Then Jiro plants another kiss. Then another. And another . Then he’s pressing lingering kisses across Saburo’s cheek bones, and over his nose, and against the shell of his ear.
Saburo’s heart pounds in his ears. He knows he should put a stop to this, since this? This was becoming too much. Lines were being blurred. Saburo had already started seeing Jiro a bit differently, and he needed to stop this before it was too late.
But Jiro’s kisses were so soft, his brother radiating warmth that’s somehow soothing and stifling. His hands envelop Saburo’s waist and Saburo almost feels like a child again—but not in the way he hates. He feels oddly small, but safe, like his brother is protecting him.
‘This is bad ,’ he tells himself, ‘this is really, really bad .’
Yet his fingers curl into Jiro's shirt and he holds himself closer to his older brother.
When Jiro pulls away, it feels as if an eternity had passed—yet also that it was over all too soon.
Jiro smiles at Saburo, cheeks pink, and he gently tucks some of Saburo’s hair behind his ear.
“I’m gonna go get cleaned up,” he says, pulling away from Saburo’s grasp, “I’ll meet you out front of the school.”
And he leaves Saburo with his heart aching.