Archive of Our Own ^beta

The mornings in the Itoshi household were always busy, but not chaotic.

The clink of plates in the kitchen, the low hum of the kettle, and the soft scuffle of slippers on the floor blended into a quiet rhythm—familiar, unhurried. At the center of it all stood their mother, hair pinned loosely at the nape of her neck, flipping tamagoyaki onto a plate while keeping one eye on the clock.

"Rin, socks," she called, not looking up.

"I have socks," Rin replied, which was technically true—he had one sock on. The other dangled from his fingers as he padded around the living room in circles, distracted by the sunlight hitting the floor just right.

On the couch, Sae was already in uniform, tie a little too neat, eyes flicking back and forth over the notes in his lap. His textbook was open on one knee, pen twirling in his fingers. His mouth moved silently—half-memorizing formulas, half-biting back a sigh.

He felt the soft thump before he saw it—Rin crawling up beside him, chin propped on Sae's shoulder, wide eyes blinking up at the pages like they made any sense.

"Nii-chan, are you reading a story?"

Sae didn't answer immediately. He tilted the book slightly away, turning the page. "It's math."

"Oh." Rin didn't sound disappointed. "Is it hard?"

Sae hummed. "A little."

"I can help."

That made him glance down. Rin was beaming, holding his single sock like a flag of victory. His bed hair stuck out in every direction.

"...Put your sock on first," Sae muttered.

Rin made a dramatic sound of defeat and rolled off the couch, crawling in slow motion toward his shoe rack like a tragic anime character.

Their mom peeked around the kitchen doorway. "Rin, your lunch is packed. Your bag's by the door. Don't forget your hat."

"And your water bottle," Sae added, out of habit.

She gave him a smile over Rin's head. "Thank you, Sae. Did you finish the history notes?"

"Almost."

"Mhm." She placed breakfast on the table—rice, eggs, and miso. "Eat before you start memorizing everything again."

Sae finally shut his textbook. Rin was already climbing into his seat, swinging his legs, and repeating under his breath, "Nii-chan said it's math. It's hard. I can help."

Sae sat across from him, took one look at Rin's messy shirt collar, and leaned forward wordlessly to fix it.

Rin didn't even blink—just grinned and kept humming.

Sometimes, Sae wondered what it would've been like if things were a little different.

Not that he disliked Rin—he didn't. In fact, he liked him a little too much. Ten years apart wasn't just a number; it was a full stretch of growing up, of childhoods that would never overlap. By the time Rin was learning to read, Sae had already figured out how to file his taxes. Kind of.

Most of his friends had siblings close to their age—older sisters who shared clothes, younger brothers who snuck into their games and became rivals by default. They fought over the TV remote, split chores, shared school gossip, sometimes went to the same parties.

Sae didn't have that.

He didn't have someone who snuck into his room to vent about school. No one to roll eyes at their parents with, or fight for the aux cord in the car. His sibling experience was... different.

Rin was six years old. He didn't even understand what Sae studied. He thought homework was drawing pictures of animals and tracing the alphabet. He still asked for help tying his shoes and sometimes forgot how stairs worked when he was sleepy.

And yet, there Rin was—every morning, following him around like a shadow, mirroring the way Sae carried his backpack or held a spoon, clinging to every word like it was something important. Like Sae was something important.

It was sweet. And kind of exhausting.

Sae didn't say any of this out loud, not even in passing. Because what could he even say? That sometimes he wished Rin was older, closer, less... little? That sometimes he envied his friends and their easy, everyday sibling bickering?

He wasn't sure what that would even mean. Or if it made him a bad brother.

All he knew was that he was sixteen, Rin was six, and it felt like they were standing on opposite ends of a bridge—one still being built between them.

And right now, Sae wasn't sure if he was crossing it, or if he was just watching from far away.

By the time he got home that afternoon, the sun was already beginning its slow dip behind the buildings, stretching long shadows across the pavement. It was a Friday. He'd barely stepped through the door when his mom reminded him—midterms started Monday.

Sae knew. His bag was heavy with review packets. His brain already felt heavier.

The house smelled like simmering curry and fabric softener. Rin's shoes were kicked off messily near the doorway, one sock somehow half inside-out and clinging to the heel. His tiny voice echoed from somewhere down the hall—singing, probably, or talking to himself again.

Sae rubbed the back of his neck, dropped his bag by the stairs, and let out a slow breath.

The weekend had just begun. But exams never made it feel like a good thing.

Dinner was quiet, like most evenings.

Rin sat cross-legged on his chair despite being told not to—legs bouncing, mouth full, humming tunelessly between bites. His rice bowl was almost empty, and he was laser-focused on picking out the carrots from the curry, one by one, like it was a personal mission.

Mikoto refilled everyone's water glasses. Fugaku had just sat down after coming home from work, tie slightly loosened, eyes tired but calm.

Sae ate in silence, his textbook closed for once and left on the kitchen counter. He wasn't relaxed, not exactly—just conserving energy before the weekend study marathon began. Two days till midterms. It would be manageable, if left uninterrupted.

But then Fugaku's phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen, frowned, and stood to answer it, stepping briefly into the hallway.

Rin didn't even blink, now stacking pieces of carrot in the shape of a sun.

A few minutes later, their father returned to the table, face a little more serious, mouth drawn.

"Someone we know?" Mikoto asked quietly, setting her chopsticks down.

Fugaku nodded, lowering himself back into his seat. "Your uncle's brother—Noboru-san. He passed this afternoon. Heart attack."

"Oh no," she murmured, softly enough that Rin wouldn't hear. "When's the funeral?"

"Tomorrow morning. It's in Chiba. We should go."

She nodded again, already thinking through logistics, probably. And then both their eyes landed, almost at the same time, on Sae.

He glanced up mid-chew.

"...What?"

"We'll be gone most of Saturday and Sunday," Mikoto said gently. "We won't be back till late. Can you manage here?"

Sae blinked. "You're leaving for two days?"

"There's no one else close enough to go in our place," Fugaku added. "And—well, Rin's too little to be around something like that. Relatives, the atmosphere... it'll be a lot."

Rin, completely oblivious, was now trying to stick two pieces of potato together like puzzle pieces.

Sae looked at him. Then back at his parents. "You want me to watch him while you go?"

"We wouldn't ask if you didn't have midterms," Mikoto said carefully. "But we trust you."

He paused—only for a second. His weekend was already spoken for. He'd planned to lock himself in his room and churn through mock papers like a machine.

But still. Rin at a funeral? Surrounded by weeping adults, being asked to sit still for hours, maybe even being prodded about school or his future, or—

Yeah. No.

"I can manage," Sae said, picking up his glass. "He should stay here."

Mikoto looked relieved. Fugaku gave a single approving nod.

"Thank you, Sae" she said, ruffling her son's hair. "We'll leave before breakfast. Just keep the doors locked and don't let him eat ice cream for all three meals."

"Only dinner," Sae muttered dryly.

"And just...keep an eye on the little one. You can keep studying, I'm sure he won't disturb you much."

No one noticed Rin glance up at that, blinking once, then going right back to lining up all the spoons in perfect rows.

He hadn't followed a word of the conversation.

After dinner, the house settled into its usual low hum—the clatter of dishes in the sink, the buzz of the TV in the other room, Rin's tiny footsteps padding across the floor as he dragged his favorite stuffed bear by the arm.

At some point, Mikoto called him over.

"Rin, sweetie," she said, crouching down to meet his eyes. "Mama and Papa have to go out tomorrow, okay? Some family things."

"Is it far?" Rin asked, blinking. 

"A little," Fugaku replied. "We'll be gone for two nights. But you'll be here at home."

"With Sae-nii," Mikoto added, brushing Rin's hair off his forehead.

Rin turned to glance at his brother, who was seated at the dining table again with a notebook open, one hand in his hair and the other flipping pages like they personally offended him.

"...Okay," Rin said after a beat. "Is he gonna play with me?"

Sae didn't look up. "Absolutely not."

Mikoto laughed. "He's going to be studying. So you have to be a good boy and help him, alright? No troubling your Nii-san."

"I don't trouble him," Rin said, lips jutting out into a pout.

"You sat on my back while I was doing homework yesterday."

"...No I did not."

Fugaku let out a quiet breath that might've been a laugh. "You'll be okay, won't you?"

Rin gave a serious nod, one hand still gripping his stuffed bear by the ear. "I'll guard the house."

Sae glanced over at that—just for a second. Rin was standing there with his tiny fists clenched, face full of pride like he was being entrusted with national security instead of two days in his own home.

It was kind of stupid. And kind of funny.

Saturday morning came early.

Too early, in Sae's opinion—but their parents had to leave before the sun fully broke past the rooftops, and the whole house moved in that slow, sleepy rhythm reserved for important things. Zippers, the low thud of bags being carried to the car, hushed voices in the hallway.

Rin sat on the edge of the couch in his pajamas, hugging his stuffed bear and rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair stuck up in every direction, and his socks didn't match.

"Be good, okay?" Mikoto said softly, kneeling in front of him and adjusting his collar even though he wasn't dressed for anything. "Listen to your brother, and don't climb anything taller than you are."

"That's a lot of things," Rin mumbled, leaning into her touch.

She smiled and pulled him into a hug, long and warm. He clung to her immediately—arms around her neck, face buried into her shoulder with the kind of love only a six-year-old could give without hesitation.

Fugaku ruffled his hair next. "Take care of the house, soldier."

"I will," Rin said, very serious again.

Then they turned to Sae.

"We shouldn't be later than Sunday evening," Fugaku said. "We'll call if anything changes."

"Don't forget to eat real food," Mikoto added. "And don't let Rin stay up watching cartoons."

"I know," Sae said, arms crossed. "Midterms are in two days. I was planning to stay in anyway."

She gave his cheek a gentle pat, like she wasn't ready to stop mothering just yet. "We're trusting you."

"You can."

And that was that.

Rin waved enthusiastically from the porch, feet bare on the tiles, yelling "BYE!!" like they were going on vacation and not to a funeral.

The car pulled away slowly, tires crunching over gravel, until it turned the corner and vanished from view.

Rin dropped his hand. "Are they coming back tonight?"

"No," Sae said, nudging him back inside. "They'll be home tomorrow."

"Oh." Rin blinked. Then, as if it had just occurred to him, looked up with wide eyes. "So it's just us?"

Sae closed the door behind them with a soft click.

"Yeah," he said. "Just us."

Rin beamed like it was the best idea in the world.

By midmorning, Sae had managed to sit down at his desk with a mug of lukewarm coffee and a crisp, unopened math workbook.

He had a system. He always had a system.

Page 3 to 12—algebra. Then one hour for physics notes. Break. Then back to—

"Nii-chan!"

Sae didn't even look up. "I just sat down."

"But look what I drew!"

A sheet of paper was thrust in front of his face—crayon lines and smudged stars and something that looked vaguely like a dragon doing a backflip.

"It's nice," Sae muttered.

"You didn't even look!"

"I looked."

"You blinked."

"...Rin."

Five minutes later: a crash from the kitchen.

"Nothing broke!" Rin shouted before Sae could ask. "It was just... water!"

Ten minutes after that, a soft knock.

Sae sighed. "What now?"

"I can't find my T-Rex."

"You have six dinosaurs."

"But the green one has to fight the bad one and he can't do it if he's missing his arm and I think the arm's under the couch but the couch is heavy and—"

Sae stood up before his own head exploded.

By noon, he'd managed exactly two math problems, half a paragraph of history notes, and three deep breathing exercises that didn't help. His mug was still half full. So was his patience.

And then—because the universe was cruel—just as he finally sat back down, pencil in hand, eyes narrowed at a particularly stupid equation, he felt the telltale weight of something climbing onto his lap.

He glanced down.

Rin. Barefoot. Stuffed bear tucked under one arm.

"I'm not disturbing you," he said cheerfully. "I just want to sit."

"You have your own chair."

"This one's warmer."

Sae stared at him. Rin stared back. Sae didn't have the energy to argue.

So Rin stayed, quietly humming, swinging his legs, occasionally glancing at Sae's workbook like it was full of alien runes.

And Sae... resumed question three, jaw tense, pencil tapping.

The chaos wasn't loud. It wasn't destructive.

It was just constant.

And Sae was beginning to feel it in every nerve of his being.

Rin's soft, almost unnoticeable hums. The constant shifting in his lap. The tiny questions, one after another.

"Why is math so hard? What's a fraction? Why can't T-Rexes have real guns? What's a 'vowel'? Why's the sky blue? Can I have some chips?"

Sae's grip on his pencil tightened until his knuckles ached.

He glanced at the clock—noon already. Two hours. He was two hours into this, and he'd barely made a dent. Physics, algebra, history. His whole mind was a tangled mess of equations and scattered notes. But Rin... Rin had no sense of time. No concept of the stress Sae was under.

"Rin, please..." Sae muttered through clenched teeth. His voice came out too sharp. "Can you... go play in your room or something?"

Rin froze for a second, eyes wide, the perpetual innocence of childhood staring up at him. He clutched his stuffed bear tighter, as if Sae had suddenly become a puzzle he couldn't understand.

"But I'm not done sitting with you," Rin said softly, like Sae had just asked him to leave forever. He shifted in Sae's lap, the soft weight of him pressing on his legs, and for some reason, that little thing—a simple shift—was enough to push Sae over the edge.

His hand gripped the edge of his desk, jaw clenched, as his patience snapped like a fraying wire.

"Rin, I'm trying to study!" Sae's voice came out louder than he'd meant. His heart thudded in his chest as soon as he saw Rin's face fall, tiny lip quivering slightly. But it was too late. The words were already out. "You can't just keep talking! I need to focus for one damn second!"

Rin's eyes were wide now, silent for once, and for a beat, the air in the room seemed to freeze. Rin's small, confused face was the last thing Sae wanted to see, but it was there. Staring.

"I—" Sae stopped himself, the realization hitting him like a cold wave. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose. "Rin... I didn't mean—look, can you just go play in your room? Please."

Rin didn't answer right away. He stayed still, his little fingers still clutching his bear, and for a second, Sae thought he might just walk away in silence, maybe even sulk. But then...

"Okay," Rin said quietly. He climbed off Sae's lap and padded softly toward his room. His small feet sounded like tiny footsteps in an otherwise silent house.

Sae let out the breath he'd been holding, hand over his face. What the hell was wrong with him?

And as Rin disappeared into his room, Sae turned back to his desk, the weight of his responsibilities settling back in. Midterms. His brother. The chaos.

It wasn't over. But maybe, just maybe... he'd manage.

Sae sat back at his desk, staring at the notes again. His head felt heavy from the stress, from everything. He hated yelling. Hated snapping at Rin. But Rin just didn't get it. He wasn't a little kid anymore, and he wasn't going to stop asking questions or climbing onto Sae's lap until Sae finally told him enough was enough.

He could've handled it better, sure. But there was only so much focus he could give before his patience ran out.

He was just a kid, Sae thought, but it didn't make it any easier. Not when the weight of his midterms pressed on him harder than ever.

Still, the silence in the house felt too loud. It was like the absence of Rin's usual energy—the endless chatter and the soft shuffle of little feet—was now echoing in the quiet. The peace he'd craved had turned into something almost unsettling.

Sae sighed, tapping his pencil against the edge of the desk. He needed to focus. He had to get through this. It wasn't like he had time to babysit.

For the next hour or so, he buried himself in his textbooks, flipping through the pages, muttering the answers under his breath as he worked through practice problems. His mind, though tired, still churned through everything he needed to remember. Physics, algebra, history—all of it came together in the quiet, and for the first time that day, he made real progress.

By the time the clock hit 2 p.m., his work was done. He had completed his review for the day, and somehow—despite his frustration—he'd made it through the hours. Sae felt the weight on his shoulders lift slightly, but then came the silence again.

It was too quiet.

He leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his hair, staring at the closed door to Rin's room. For a second, he considered ignoring it, maybe just letting Rin do his thing, but that nagging feeling in the back of his mind refused to let it go. He pushed himself up from the desk, and before he knew it, he was walking down the hall.

The door to Rin's room was cracked open, and Sae poked his head inside.

Rin was sitting on his bed, cross-legged, a coloring book spread out in front of him. His crayons were scattered across the blanket in a rainbow of colors, his little tongue poking out in concentration as he carefully colored in the picture of a bear riding a bicycle.

Sae felt a soft smile tug at the corner of his mouth. It was... nice, actually. He hadn't expected Rin to be so quietly absorbed in his little world.

But then, the guilt crept back in, soft and lingering. He had snapped earlier. He hadn't meant to. But Rin's voice, his constant interruptions... it was hard to deal with, especially with everything going on in his head.

Sae leaned against the doorframe. "Hey."

Rin didn't look up, still focused on coloring the bear's bicycle wheels in bright blue. "Hi, Nii-chan!"

Sae stepped in a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I'm sorry for yelling earlier."

Rin finally looked up, blinking innocently. "It's okay. You had to study."

Sae bit his lip, unsure how to phrase it. "I have exams coming up... and I just... need to focus. I can't really... play right now, you know?"

Rin nodded, his expression serious for a moment, before his face lit up again. "Can I still color?"

Sae watched him for a second, the urge to just give in gnawing at him. Rin was being quiet. He wasn't jumping around, asking for attention.

"If you can stay quiet," Sae said, his voice a little softer. "Then you can color. But if you make noise, I'll have to send you back to your room."

Rin's face broke into a wide grin, and he nodded vigorously. "I'll be quiet! Promise!" He grabbed a green crayon and got back to work on the bear's bike wheels.

Sae watched him for a second longer before he turned and made his way back to his desk.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Just a little more quiet. Just a little more focus. He could manage.

The silence in the house was almost surreal now. Rin was quieter than he'd ever been, not a single peep coming from the room. Sae couldn't help but glance over occasionally, half expecting Rin to start bouncing around again. But no. Rin was still. Concentrated. His small hands worked diligently, filling in the lines of the picture with crayon after crayon—every color exactly where it was supposed to go.

Sae glanced up from his notes for a moment, his pen hovering mid-air. The careful precision of Rin's movements surprised him.

He's coloring inside the lines?

It was a tiny thing, sure. But for some reason, it stuck in Sae's mind. Most kids at that age would color outside the lines, turning their pictures into a wild mix of chaos and creativity. But not Rin. He was focused, his little brow furrowed in concentration as he filled in the spaces with meticulous care. The bear's bicycle was turning out almost too perfect.

Sae leaned back in his chair. "You're good at that, huh?"

Rin looked up, his face lighting up as he held up the picture for Sae to see. "I love coloring inside the lines. I don't like when it's messy. My picture needs to be perfect!"

"Oh, is that right now?" Sae smirked, teasing lightly, but it was clear that Rin's pride in his work was genuine.

Rin nodded, his face serious for a moment. "Yeah. It's fun."

Sae chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. There was something oddly endearing about the way Rin could take such joy in the small things. The focus, the precision—it was the opposite of how his mind worked most of the time. He could hardly sit still for more than a few minutes without feeling like he was wasting time. But Rin? He'd find peace in the smallest of tasks.

A rumbling sound interrupted his thoughts.

Sae glanced over at Rin, who was now looking up at him, his eyes wide. "I'm hungry."

Sae blinked, realizing his own stomach was growling. "Yeah, me too." He stood up, stretching. The study marathon was only halfway done, but his brain needed a break. He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out the ingredients for sandwiches.

Rin followed him into the kitchen, his little feet padding softly across the tile. He climbed up onto the counter with ease, sitting there like it was the most natural thing in the world, swinging his legs back and forth.

"What kind of sandwich do you want?" Sae asked, pulling out some bread.

Rin tilted his head, deep in thought. "With cheese and ham. And maybe... more cheese."

Sae chuckled as he started making the sandwiches. "More cheese, huh? Alright, I'll make them extra cheesy, just for you."

Rin grinned, his eyes sparkling as he watched Sae work. He didn't say much, but his quiet presence was enough—just sitting there on the counter, watching Sae put the sandwiches together.

Sae couldn't remember the last time he'd made a meal for someone else like this. He always felt like he was too busy, too stressed, but somehow... making food for Rin didn't feel like an interruption. It felt... natural.

When the sandwiches were ready, Sae placed one on a plate and handed it to Rin, who immediately dug in with gusto.

"Thanks, Nii-chan," Rin said around a mouthful, crumbs falling from his lips.

Sae smiled. "You're welcome."

And as the two of them ate together in that quiet kitchen, with the sound of soft chewing and the occasional laugh from Rin, Sae realized something.

Maybe the weekend wouldn't be so bad after all.

It was just past six when the phone rang.

Sae wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, having just rinsed their plates, and walked over to pick up the call. The screen flashed Mom. He figured she’d be checking in right about now.

He answered with a quiet, “Hey.”

“Hi, sweetheart.” Mikoto’s voice was soft through the speaker. “We just reached the hotel. Everything’s fine on our end. How’re you two holding up?”

Sae leaned a little against the counter, eyes flicking toward the living room where Rin was sprawled out on the floor, coloring again. “We’re fine. He’s... calmer than I expected.”

Mikoto chuckled lightly. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah. He’s been... mostly quiet.”

“Mostly?”

Sae’s lips twitched. “He’s still six, Mom.”

“Right,” she said with a knowing smile he could practically hear. “Can I talk to him?”

Sae called out, “Rin, it’s Mom.”

Rin’s head popped up instantly. He scrambled to his feet and rushed over, nearly tripping over his crayons in the process. Sae handed him the phone and watched him clutch it tightly with both hands like it was a lifeline.

“Mama?” Rin’s voice came out bright.

“Hi, baby. How are you doing?”

“I’m good!” he chirped. “I coloured a bear riding a bicycle and Nii-chan made me a sandwich with so much cheese and I didn’t even spill anything!”

Sae sat on the couch nearby, arms crossed, listening quietly.

Mikoto’s soft laugh echoed faintly. “That sounds like a fun day. Are you helping Nii-chan like you promised?”

“I didn’t sit on him while he was studying,” Rin said (lied) proudly. “And I was super quiet. Like a ninja.”

“You were a ninja?” she teased. “That’s very impressive.”

“Uh-huh.” Rin’s voice dropped just slightly now—gentler, slower. “When are you coming back?”

Sae glanced up at that, catching the shift instantly. Rin still sounded okay. Still upbeat. But his tone had dipped just a little, just enough. His hands were fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, twisting the fabric while he held the phone to his ear.

“Tomorrow evening,” Mikoto replied gently. “You just have to sleep one time, and then I’ll be back to tuck you in.”

“Okay.” Rin paused. “I showed Bear-kun your photo. He said he misses you.”

Sae’s brows lifted slightly. That... wasn’t something Rin usually said unless he was really thinking about her.

“Well, you give Bear-kun a hug for me, and give Nii-chan one too, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too.”

Rin handed the phone back, his movements a little slower this time.

“She said she loves me,” he said softly, like it was something he needed to remind himself out loud.

Sae watched him carefully. “Yeah. I heard.”

Rin nodded once and quietly padded back to his coloring.

Sae stared at the phone screen for a moment before setting it down on the table. His mom didn’t say much else. Didn’t need to. Everything was fine. The house wasn’t on fire. Rin hadn’t melted down.

But even so... Sae could tell.

The kid missed her.

He wasn’t whining or throwing a tantrum, sure. Rin wasn’t that kind of child. But his silences were just as loud. That little pause before “When are you coming back?”... Sae caught it. The tight hold on the phone. The way he hugged his bear a little closer when he thought no one was looking.

Rin missed her. Quietly, sweetly, the way only a kid who’s trying really hard not to make it a big deal would.

Sae leaned back and rubbed his eyes.

One night.

He could manage.

It was almost nine when Sae finished brushing his teeth and walked back to Rin’s room. The hallway lights were dim now, the house wrapped in the kind of stillness that only ever came at night—soft and distant, like the world had gone slightly quieter just for them.

Rin was already under his blanket, lying on his side, Bear-kun tucked safely in his arms. His eyes blinked up when Sae entered, wide and expectant.

“You brushed your teeth?”

“Yup.”

“No more snacks?”

Rin shook his head solemnly. “Promise.”

Sae raised a brow. “Alright.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket a little higher over Rin’s shoulder, smoothing it out without really thinking about it. Rin just watched him quietly, his little hand still holding onto Bear-kun’s ear.

“You’ll be okay, yeah?”

Rin nodded. “Mhm.”

“You’re not scared?”

A pause. Then, “No.”

Sae didn’t believe it for a second.

He stood up and flicked off the main light, leaving the soft night lamp glowing in the corner. “Good night, then.”

“Night, Nii-chan.”

Sae returned to his room, his desk still covered in open notebooks and scribbled formulas. He cracked one open, rubbing at his eyes. Just an hour or two more—if he could push through, he’d be in good shape for Monday.

Fifteen minutes passed.

He was halfway through his notes when the door creaked open behind him.

Small footsteps. A sniffle.

Sae turned around instantly.

Rin stood in the doorway, his pajama sleeves tugged down over his hands, Bear-kun hugged close to his chest. His eyes were glassy and red, cheeks blotchy, nose running.

“I’m scared,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “And I… I miss Mommy.”

Sae stared at him for a second, the pen in his hand forgotten. He’d expected this, kind of. Hoped maybe they’d gotten past it. But—of course not.

Rin was just six.

Sae stood up without a word, crossed the room, and crouched in front of him.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

Rin leaned in immediately, climbing into his brother’s arms like it was instinct. Sae hoisted him up—he was getting heavier now, but still small enough to carry like this. Rin tucked his head into Sae’s shoulder, breath hitching with leftover tears.

Sae carried him down the hall and back into his own room, flipping off the lights along the way. The desk, the notes, the unfinished chapters—they could wait.

He’d wake up early.

He settled Rin gently into his bed, the little boy already curling up under the blanket, Bear-kun still clutched tight. Rin didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Sae climbed in beside him.

Rin’s tiny arms wrapped around Sae’s middle without hesitation, as if he’d done it a hundred times before. Like he’d known, all along, that his brother would be here.

Sae lay back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

He should’ve studied more. He could’ve finished one more topic tonight. But…

A soft breath hit his chest, and then Rin’s hand found a wrinkle in Sae’s shirt, gripping it in his sleep.

Sae looked down at him. The little guy was already out cold. Like he knew Sae would protect him. Like nothing bad could happen as long as he was close.

Sae pulled the blanket over both of them and let out a long breath, resting his arm around the small body beside him.

“I’ll wake up early,” he murmured. “Catch up tomorrow.”

Rin’s sleeping form didn’t stir.

And for the first time that day, Sae let himself relax too.

Maybe just for tonight.

The morning sun leaked in slowly through the blinds, soft and gold, casting long lines across the room. Sae stirred at the faint sound of birds outside and the feel of something warm and heavy draped over his chest.

His eyes cracked open slowly.

And there Rin was.

Fast asleep, his mouth slightly open, a small puddle of drool forming on Sae’s shirt. One of his legs was flopped over Sae’s stomach. Bear-kun was squashed between them, looking more like a hostage than a plush toy.

Sae groaned quietly but didn’t move.

He just lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling with the weight of the past day settling somewhere softer in his chest. Rin hadn’t woken up once after curling up beside him. He had just... trusted him. Completely. As if there was never a doubt in his little head that Sae would be there.

That kind of trust did something strange to him.

For all the stress, the lost study hours, the questions and interruptions and chaos—Rin had made him feel needed. Important, in a way school or football or even good grades couldn’t quite replicate.

Sae let out a breath, careful not to disturb the drooling goblin on his chest.

He thought back to his classmates again. The ones with siblings close in age. They played the same video games. Fought over the remote. Borrowed each other’s clothes. Ranted about annoying teachers and classmates and friends who ghosted them.

That kind of bond sounded easy. Loud, messy—but fun.

And for a while, he’d wanted that too. Someone closer to him. A partner-in-crime instead of a tagalong. Someone who understood his world without needing crayons to do it.

But...

He looked down at the tiny hand curled against his side. Rin was still knocked out, hair a complete disaster, breath soft and even. Completely unaware of the impact he had.

No, he wouldn’t trade this.

Not for anything.

Sure, they wouldn’t be gaming side by side anytime soon. They wouldn’t gossip about crushes or fight over curfews. Rin didn’t know what algebra was, let alone how to talk about it.

But this kid—this clingy, stubborn, strangely meticulous little brother who trusted him more than gravity?

Sae wrapped his arm lightly around Rin’s back.

He was his. Just the way he was.

And—

THUNK.

Sae jerked as Rin’s foot kicked him directly in the stomach mid-roll, limbs flailing in sleep.

“OW—!”

Rin didn’t even stir. Still peacefully drooling on the same shirt he’d just attacked in his dreams.

Sae glared down at him, face deadpan.

“…Never mind,” he muttered. “This munchkin’s annoying as hell.”

But he didn’t move away.

Not even when Rin kicked him again, this time with a little snore and a smile.

Because, well. That was family, wasn’t it?

You love them. You’d kill for them.

And sometimes, you wished you could kick them back.

Sunday passed in a blur.

It wasn’t chaos exactly—but it wasn’t calm either. Sae managed to revise a bit in the morning while Rin sat beside him at the table, colouring or building weird towers out of erasers and pencil sharpeners. Occasionally, Rin asked things like “What’s a mitochondria?” or “What’s inertia?” only to forget the answers within minutes.

Sae didn’t mind as much now. He just gave half-baked answers and ruffled Rin’s hair whenever the kid got too serious about his eraser skyscraper collapsing.

They watched cartoons in the afternoon. Rin fell asleep on his shoulder somewhere during the second episode, fingers still sticky from whatever leftover snacks he’d stolen.

And as the sun began dipping lower, Sae checked the time for the fifth time in an hour.

Almost 6 p.m.

Their parents were due back any minute.

Rin was practically vibrating with excitement by the time the clock hit 6:15. He kept running to the window and pressing his face to the glass, squishing his nose flat while whispering, “Are they here yet?” every three minutes.

And then—finally—the headlights pulled into the driveway.

“MAMA!!”

Rin exploded from the couch like a rocket and bolted to the door before it was even fully open.

The moment Mikoto stepped inside, Rin flung himself at her knees. She laughed, bending down to scoop him into her arms, holding him tight as he babbled about sandwiches and bear coloring and how he was a ninja now.

Fugaku followed in with their bags, chuckling softly as Rin jumped into his arms next, trying to hug both parents at once.

Sae stood back near the hallway, hands in his pockets, watching the reunion with a crooked smile.

Mikoto noticed him instantly.

“Oh, Sae.” She stepped forward and, before he could dodge, pulled him into a quick hug too. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, half-muffled by her shoulder. “Wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was,” she insisted, brushing a hand through his hair. “You had studying to do. You still managed.”

Fugaku joined them, setting the bags down. “You're a responsible kid, son.”

Sae scratched the back of his neck, ears slightly pink. “He wasn’t that hard to manage.”

“But you still did it.” Mikoto leaned in again, cupping his face like he was still ten. “We don’t say it enough, but we really do appreciate you, sweetheart.”

Rin looked up from where he was hanging onto their dad’s arm. “I helped too! I coloured quietly!”

“Yes, you were a perfect helper,” Mikoto said with a laugh, pulling Rin into a squeeze.

Sae just stood there, letting them fuss over him for once. It felt weird. He was sixteen, too old to be babied—but somehow... not too old to want it, just a little.

They all sat down together in the living room for a while. Mikoto unpacked the small snacks they’d brought back, and Fugaku gave Rin a new sticker book from one of the nearby shops.

Sae munched on senbei absentmindedly, head leaning against the back of the couch, eyes drifting toward the clock again.

Tomorrow.

Midterms.

Shit.

He’d studied, sure. Gotten a decent chunk in. But it still felt like it had crept up too fast. His chest tightened slightly.

He felt his mom’s hand gently rest on his head again, fingers combing back his hair like she used to when he was little.

“You’ll do fine,” she said softly.

Sae didn’t answer.

But he closed his eyes and leaned into the gesture, just for a second.

And Rin, now curled up with Bear-kun in his lap again, peeked up and said, “Nii-chan’s the best. He’s gonna win the test.”

Sae huffed. “That’s not how it works, dumbass.”

“It should be,” Rin mumbled, yawning.

And for the first time in a long time, Sae smiled without thinking.

Later that night, after dinner was cleared and the house had returned to its usual rhythm—the soft clatter of dishes in the sink, the hum of the hallway light, the muffled sound of Rin showing his new sticker book to Bear-kun—Sae sat at his desk again.

His textbooks were open. His pen was in his hand.

But he wasn’t studying.

Not yet.

He was staring at the little corner of the hallway he could see from his room. Rin had just run past it barefoot, giggling about something, his voice trailing as he jumped into bed with the kind of energy only a six-year-old could summon at bedtime.

And Sae found himself thinking about it all.

The weekend had been exhausting. And loud. And chaotic. And nothing about it had been easy. Not the snap, not the silence, not the guilt, not the kicking.

But it was theirs.

It wasn’t the kind of sibling bond he'd imagined before—those effortless, close-in-age friendships he used to envy in other families. He and Rin wouldn’t be swapping game controllers or venting about high school drama anytime soon.

But that didn’t matter anymore.

Rin didn’t need to be just like him. He didn’t need to grow up faster or shrink himself down to fit Sae’s world.

He was his own, and Sae was his brother.

That was enough.

More than enough.

Sae looked down at his notes, then glanced at the time. He still had some studying left in him before midnight.

But now, he didn’t feel so weighed down. He wasn’t alone in it.

Not really.

Somewhere down the hall, a six-year-old boy had whispered “Nii-chan’s gonna win the test” like it was fact. Like he believed in him.

Sae didn’t know what kind of big brother he’d grow into.

But this weekend, for better or worse—

He'd been one.

And for now?

That was a start.

[Bonus Scene: Ten Years Later]

The house hadn’t changed much.

Same slightly creaky floors. Same overwatered plants Mikoto insisted were thriving. Same clock above the kitchen that ran two minutes late no matter how many times Fugaku tried to fix it.

The only real difference was the quiet.

Well—until Rin’s voice came echoing from upstairs, sharp and frustrated.

“I swear this page is cursed! None of these formulas make sense!”

Sae, now twenty-six and home just for the weekend, looked up from where he was sitting on the living room couch, sipping tea. He shared a glance with their mom, who was folding laundry while humming, and their dad, half-asleep on the other end of the couch with the TV remote still in hand.

“He’s at that stage,” Mikoto said fondly. “Midterms.”

“Poor kid,” Fugaku muttered without opening his eyes.

Sae snorted quietly and set down his cup. “I’ll go rescue him before he sets the house on fire.”

“You were worse at his age,” Mikoto called after him.

“And look how I turned out,” he deadpanned, already climbing the stairs.

Rin’s door was half open. Sae leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching his brother try to smother himself in a physics textbook.

“Having fun?”

Rin looked up, hair an absolute disaster, eyes bloodshot, and energy radiating high school existential crisis. “I’m losing my mind.”

Sae stepped into the room, hands in his pockets. “Midterms will do that to you.”

“You’re saying that like you weren’t blessed with straight As and zero effort.”

“I had effort,” Sae said, insulted. “I just didn’t complain as loudly.”

“You complain professionally now,” Rin snapped back. “Like, corporate-level sarcasm.”

Sae raised an eyebrow. “Want me to leave you to your meltdown?”

Rin groaned and flopped backward on the bed. “I hate that you’re the calm adult now.”

Sae smirked and sat down at Rin’s desk, spinning the chair once. “Perks of being employed.”

“Also annoying.”

“Thank you.”

There was a pause. Rin stared at the ceiling, Sae casually spinning in the chair like he didn’t have bills to pay.

Then—

“…Hey,” Sae said. “Wanna play video games for a bit?”

Rin lifted his head. “Seriously?”

“You’ve hit the wall. You’re not absorbing anything. You need a reset.”

“I need to pass.”

“You will. C’mon, twenty minutes. I’ll even let you lose gracefully.”

Rin groaned, but the twitch of a smile tugged at his lips. “Fine. But I’m picking the game.”

“Fine by me. I still win.”

Ten minutes later, they were both downstairs, controllers in hand, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. Mikoto walked by with a tray of fresh fruit, placing it between them before ruffling Sae’s hair and kissing Rin’s temple in one go.

“Don’t fight,” she warned.

“No promises,” they chorused.

Fugaku, still seated at the dining table reading the newspaper, peeked over the edge. “Don’t break the controller again, Rin.”

“That was years ago!”

Mikoto just laughed and headed back to the kitchen.

On screen, Mario Kart loaded. And within the first minute, Rin shoved Sae’s shoulder after getting blue-shelled.

“YOU aimed that at me!”

“You were in first place. That’s how the game works.”

“You waited until I passed you, you cheat.”

“I’m a decade older than you, munchkin. I learnt a thing or two from it.”

Rin rolled his eyes. Idiot.

And as the game went on, and the background hum of their parents filled the house—Mikoto asking if Sae needed more tea, Fugaku muttering about Rin’s posture—Rin glanced at his brother beside him.

He still thought, sometimes, what it would’ve been like to grow up with a sibling his own age. To go to school together. Share friends. Gossip about teachers. Borrow hoodies without swimming in them.

But sitting here, in his own living room, kicking his annoying, smug, ten-years-too-old brother in the shin for throwing a banana peel at him...

He wouldn’t trade this.

Not for a twin. Not for a younger sibling.

Not for anything.

Sae looked over just then, catching the pause in Rin’s expression.

“What?”

Rin shrugged. “Nothing.”

Sae tilted his head. “You thinking about how you’ll never beat me?”

Rin kicked him again.

Sae winced, dramatically. "Don't hit too hard. My back already hurts."

“Yes, yes, old man...” Rin muttered, sighing.

Sae chuckled, resetting the game. “Wanna play one more?”

Rin nodded, soft and sure.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”