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Ichiro says he only did this because Samatoki owes him a favour, but Saburo knows it’s really because he accidentally ate the last of Ichiro’s leftovers. He stands by his innocence— the container was unlabelled. How was he supposed to know it would get blown out of proportion like this?
“Have fun Saburo!” Jiro taunts, skipping out the door.
Samatoki grabs him by the collar, yanking him back through the doorway. “Where the hell are you going?”
Jiro, the traitor, shakes him off. Saburo crosses his arms petulantly, leaning back on the couch. Unfortunately for him, Jiro does have a reason to leave and knowing Saburo’s luck, he would get away with it. He always thought they were supposed to be a united front, especially against Samatoki, but apparently blood means nothing to Jiro.
“I’m hanging out at a friend’s place this weekend,” he mutters.
“His boyfriend’s place,” Saburo says.
“Nii-chan said it was okay,” Jiro snaps back, not even looking at Samatoki anymore.
If Saburo had to suffer through this weekend alone, the least he could do is have some fun before he’s abandoned. He repeats Jiro’s words under his breath, the most efficient tactic to pissing off either of his brothers. Jiro, in an astonishing show of maturity Saburo honestly hadn’t thought him capable of, flips him off.
Samatoki sighs. “I don’t care what the brat told you, he didn’t tell me shit. You’re not leaving.”
It’s just then, when Saburo thinks he’s finally won, that Samatoki’s phone rings. Saburo can’t hear who is on the other end or what they’re saying, but context makes it disappointingly obvious who it is. Jiro somehow picks up on it as well, sticking his tongue out at Saburo. Samatoki hangs up and narrows his eyes at Jiro.
“Fine. Get out of here.”
Saburo jolts up on the couch. “Jiro-nii, please—”
“No!” Jiro shouts, bolting out the door and slamming it behind him.
Jiro is dead to Saburo. He only has one brother now, one who would never— hm.
Saburo decides he’s an only child.
Samatoki turns around, eyes still narrowed. “No fucking funny business, you hear me?”
“I’m fourteen.”
“You’re evil. It’s in your blood.”
Saburo slumps back on the couch, not deigning to respond. How immature. How childish. How unbelievable that this is how he’s going to spend his weekend, reverse babysitting a yakuza who wants to hatefuck his eldest brother. Yeah, he knows about that. Hard not to with how red Samatoki’s cheeks had been on the phone minutes earlier. Maybe he could use this, he thinks.
Technically, he is following Samatoki’s singular rule of “no funny business”, because this isn’t funny. It’s dead serious.
He’s just finished setting up defensive mechanisms outside Ichiro’s and his own room. Jiro’s room stays undefended, partly because Saburo is mad at him and partly because Saburo’s plan doesn’t require it and why make more work for himself. The traps on his own door are simply to prevent Samatoki snooping around in his room without Saburo being made aware, while the contraption he pieced together around Ichiro’s room is a bit more complicated.
He hums to himself, satisfied.
Step two of his plan is to just wait. Samatoki is a man like any other, and Saburo knows he will fold eventually. After all, who wouldn’t take a pretty much free opportunity to sneak around in their crushes room? Well, “crush” is too infantile a word for whatever Samatoki’s obsession with Ichiro happens to be, but Saburo digresses. The point is he will prove Samatoki is a pervert and when he shows the evidence to Ichiro, his brother will stop being friends with him and finally wake back up to the evils of white-haired men.
Why Ichiro even hangs out with him is a mystery. Saburo’s working theory is nostalgia, but Samatoki has changed from when Ichiro met him, and Saburo will prove that there’s no longer anything worthwhile about him.
By lunchtime, Saburo is as suspicious as he could be. Samatoki has been nice, more so than he had thought him capable of. Saburo almost feels bad for being so hostile earlier, but in the end all these niceties are part of whatever evil plan Samatoki has brewing. He can’t be trusted.
Saburo doesn’t understand how Ichiro could forgive him just like that. He’s not mad that it happened, forgive and forget and all that, but what is suspicious is how fast they had gone from trying to snap each other’s necks to hanging out all day and going to restaurants together. Samatoki must have blackmail on Ichiro for him to move on so fast.
“Whaddya want for lunch, brat?”
Saburo rolls onto his back, letting one of his arms dangle off the couch. It’s so hot in their building, and he curses the lack of air conditioning. Samatoki eyes him from the other couch amusedly.
“I don’t care,” he says.
“Let me guess,” Samatoki sneers. “You think I’m going to poison you.”
“I do now.”
Samatoki barks a laugh. “I have better things to do with my time.”
Saburo narrows his eyes. Of course, he doesn’t actually think Samatoki would try to poison him— Ichiro would kill him, for one, and Saburo isn’t stupid enough to eat anything he makes. Still, his mentioning of the topic is suspicious. Now is as good a time as any to put his plan into motion, he thinks, if he can get Samatoki to take the bait.
“I’m gonna eat up in my room,” he mutters.
He stands up, and Samatoki doesn’t follow him into the kitchen. Good.
Saburo doesn’t bother actually making anything for lunch, just heading up the stairs and slipping into his room quietly. Now, it’s a waiting game.
Perhaps I underestimated him, Saburo thinks.
It’s well into the afternoon now, and he’s been working away slowly at this site he’d been commissioned to code a few weeks ago. It’s going well, and it also allows him to keep an eye on his traps. Shockingly, nothing of note has happened.
Just when he decides to let down his guard, accepting Samatoki might not be the disgusting pervert he’d assumed, he gets a ping from one of his monitors— the one hooked up to the motion sensor in Ichiro’s room.
He knew it. He knew Samatoki couldn’t be trusted.
He quickly switches to that monitor, pulling up the camera feed in Ichiro's room. Whatever moral objection he had to bugging his brother's room was quelled by his suspicion of Samatoki. He could apologize to Ichiro after he proved the yakuza was no good.
The angle isn’t the best, but he can clearly see Samatoki briefly inspecting Ichiro’s room (mostly his collection of manga and anime figures) before… laying down on the bed. Saburo narrows his eyes, waiting for him to do something, but it doesn’t happen. Samatoki just lays in Ichiro’s bed, pulling out his phone after a minute and then nothing else.
The evidence is a little lacklustre, but he figures this is enough to prove to Ichiro that Samatoki is untrustworthy. Ichiro hates when people enter his room without permission, and Saburo is certain he wouldn’t grant that to Samatoki of all people.
He screenshots the footage and sends it to Ichiro with no accompanying text. His brother will understand his point, he’s sure.
A few minutes after he sends Ichiro the picture, he gets a text back.
ichiro: have you always had cameras in my room???
saburo: ofc not
saburo: i set this up today because i knew he couldn't be trusted.
saburo: i know you like him for whatever reason but the proof is undeniable
saburo: i don’t know what his game is but he’s weird and a freak
ichiro: i see
Ichiro smiles at his phone. His baby brother is so smart, really, but his lack of social skills is endearing. To anyone else, it would be obvious what’s going on, but of course Saburo’s mind jumps straight to the most malicious explanation. Ah, maybe that’s concerning, actually.
He screenshots the text and sends it his second most recent contact.
Frustratingly enough, Ichiro doesn’t seem to give a shit Samatoki had been sneaking around in his room. Saburo can’t really confront him about it without raising any suspicion of himself, so he deigns to scream really loudly into his pillow.
It helps a little.
By the time Ichiro arrives home, Saburo and Samatoki have gotten into no less than ten catfights, resulting in matching black eyes and a mutual agreement to stay in separate areas of the house unless strictly necessary.
Samatoki damn near gets on his knees and cries when Ichiro arrives home, lamenting his decision to babysit and recounting his torment. Ichiro, of course, thinks Saburo’s beef with him is hilarious. Samatoki can admit that it’s pretty hard to take anything the kid does seriously, but this is just ridiculous.
Thank whatever god smiled down on him this morning, Saburo is still moping in his room and Jiro had headed back out almost immediately after returning home, giving Samatoki and Ichiro a moment of peace together. Samatoki feels his headache disappearing already.
Ichiro laughs. “It’s cute.”
He presses closer, crowding Samatoki against the kitchen counter and preventing him from taking another drag of his cigarette. Samatoki scowls.
“He’s getting too damn old,” he says.
“It’s fine to let him have fun.”
“He wants me dead.”
Ichiro goes silent at that. Finally seeing sense, Samatoki supposes, until he looks up at him with a vaguely pathetic look in his eyes.
“I just want you all to get along,” he nearly whines.
Samatoki groans internally. It’s not fair. Ichiro shouldn’t be allowed to guilt trip him like this, not when he’s entirely weak to it.
“I’ll keep trying…” he mutters. “But tell him no more spy bullshit. Seriously.”