He looked nice, for us eating in.

Kirito had started working out a bit in an effort to lose imaginary weight, and I guess to make himself feel better he had taken to wearing black if he wasn’t dressed casually. I thought black made him look more depressed when outside of work, but it wasn’t something worth arguing over. While I had shown up in a nice t-shirt and jeans (although I did bring a bottle of sake to my credit), he was sitting across from me in a dress shirt and slacks, the shirt unbuttoned enough to make it seem casual if you were only glancing. Needless to say, he looked a lot more sophisticated than I did and I had spent the first half of dinner obsessing over the thought, mainly because he had yet to mention Aiji, practice, doing Aiji at practice, or anything that resembled the aforementioned.

His story about the whereabouts of a mutual friend finished. I could hear the sound of my own chewing.

“This is really good,” I say with a smile, unable to think of conversation. “Did you make it?”

It was more exotic than anything, some sort of fish dish that wasn’t native to our home or Tokyo, alongside the standard fare of rice, miso, and pickles. Neither Kirito nor I had inherited our mother’s ability to cook and the side platter of sushi was clearly store bought. I guess it wasn’t really bad or anything, but I was getting used to my own crappy cooking without a woman around and this was sort of a surprise with its unusual flavor and texture.

“No, Aiji did.”

He laughed softly at the way my eyebrows raised in surprise. Last time I had Aiji’s cooking I hadn’t wanted to eat for the next two days.

“He’s getting better you know; he found this recipe in a Kansai cookbook. I see you’re surprised.”

My mouth hung open a little as I tried to think of something that didn’t insinuate his cooking used to suck.

“Where is Aiji anyways?" I say in as smooth a transition as possible, no matter how futile my efforts were to cover my big mouth, "I thought he’d be home if you were….”

I looked back to my plate and picked off another piece of flesh carefully. I wasn’t sure I even knew what fish I was eating.

“He’s out shopping. The boy has such a thing for clothing…”

My eyes carefully drifted back to Kirito's in attempts to read the mood, but he was smiling fondly amidst his own thoughts, chopsticks frozen above his plate with a pickle trapped between them. I smiled hesitantly back, not wanting to seem too eager to agree with him, in case he misinterpreted my observations. It was true and clear for anyone to see that Aiji enjoyed fashionable clothing, and now that we had more money in our pockets, Kirito openly encouraged him to buy designer brands. It only added to his feminine air, but since no one else was willing to play the role in our band, no one complained.

"You know, speaking of Aiji....," I began, voice dwindling to nothingness as I gathered my courage to bring up the topic that had managed to be avoided for the past hour and a half.

Kirito consumed the pickle promptly, seemingly snapped out of his momentary daze.

"Hmm? What about him Koh-chan?"

His face was the embodiment of ease, his voice warm and soothing like the tea sitting on the table between us.

"Well, about practice the other day...."

My eyes wander back to my plate, my tanned hands setting the chopsticks down unconsciously and slipping beneath the table.

"What about it?" he asks as if he has no idea what I'm referring to, or what the whole point behind this dinner is. I can hear him continue to eat his food, the ribcage of the fish scraping ever so audibly against the earthen plates.

It was like he wanted to hear me say it; have me describe this alleged act that went on between him and our guitarist.

"Naa, Kirito....you know...." I can feel my throat going dry and my heart beating faster as I shift around uncomfortably. "What, what Takeo had me talk to you about..."

I look up at him. He stops chewing and swallows, letting his hand rest back down next to his plate.

"Takeo has you talk to me about a lot of things. Probably because he knows I can't stand the sight of his ugly face."

My eyes widen. I had never once heard my brother openly insult anyone in the band. Ever. I almost couldn't believe my ears, if it wasn't for the slight smirk on his lips.

I can't believe he just said that, is all that ran through my mind, Aiji momentarily forgotten about. I wanted to laugh with disbelief, but instead I could feel the indignation slowly rising up my spine. How dare he talk about our friend like that? Who did my brother think he was?

"Quit--quit fucking around!" I exclaim boldly, roughly, as if he was one of my male friends. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

My heart beats faster, clogging my throat. He drops the smirk and sets his chopsticks down. I have no idea what's about to happen, for the times where I have yelled at Kirito are few and far in-between.

"Oh my dear little brother," he says quietly, barely above a whisper, "I haven't even begun to 'fuck around'."

Those eyes of his, dark and turbulent like some tempest from hell, lock onto mine with little effort. I look away, unable to bear the burden of his secrets.

"What are you going to do about it," I spit out, not out of anger, but simply because I have to force the words out of my mouth. I still can't mention the act though.

"That?"

The air clears with a simple change of intonation, my heart calming as the seconds roll by. I can breath again.

"Consider it taken care of Kohta," he says in the same amiable voice he was using before I yelled. "I'm sorry you had to go through all this trouble."

He begins eating again, my eyes looking up at the sound of more soy sauce being poured.

That was it? Just one little sentence and it was all over with? I had at least expected to argue with him about it, or have to threaten Jun quitting or something. I guessed Kirito was more sensible than I gave him credit for.

I awkwardly murmur some sort of dismissal of his apology, now feeling rather stupid that I had ever raised my voice. After a few minutes more of finishing our meal in silence, it occurs to me that I have yet to show him the photograph from our youth. All too eager to drown out everything that has just happened, I hurriedly bring it out of my wallet.

"Oh, Onii, I forgot to show you something I found last night," I say with an apologetic smile, handing him the picture. "I can't believe I'd lost it!"

He looks interested, taking the photograph with both hands.

"Remember Onii? It was around the time you had decided to form a band, and--"

"I remember Kohta." His voice is gentle, a fond smile gracing his features. My voice fades as I watch him, a surge of warmth flooding my insides at such a favorable response. I had already forgotten the Kirito that insulted and angered. Here was my brother, my friend and protector.

"Thank you for bringing this to me Kohta. Sometimes, I miss our childhood."

I nodded in agreement, too wrapped up in the thought of pleasing him to have noticed the note of sadness weighing down those words.

"You can keep it ne--I want you to have it, and I'm sure mother would too."

He looks at me in silence, and I wonder what he is thinking as I grin back.

"Such a good little brother," he states with that same tenderness from yesterday, eyes almost in another world. Something in my mind urges me to find that disturbing, but it is drowned out before it makes itself known.

Kirito stands, his feathery hair ruffling a bit in response. He looks down at me.

"And I have something for you too, Kohta. How ironic it is that we both thought of gifts, don't you think?"

He smiles. I laugh compulsively, expelling that urgency for caution the only way I know how.

"Surely it's a sign that we're in tune with one another's soul's."

Maybe it was the few cups of sake I had drank, or maybe it was just the utter lulling of his voice. Either way, the words didn't seem odd to me.

Great minds think alike, my mind echoed happily, taking his proffered hand and standing as well.

He spoke of the picture frame he was going to put the photo in as I followed him to the bedroom. Or maybe he spoke of what a good brand of sake I had bought, or how well I had been playing my bass as of late. Any way I remember it it doesn't matter, because it was all just a ploy to get me to walk just a few more steps. Take the bait just a little bit longer.

Follow along his thread until he wanted to release me.

And when I stepped into that room, the dark room that smelled of my brother so strongly, his sweat and his love and his ever so pungent ego, I could literally feel my body freeze in a cold sweat as it all smothered me beneath him. I vaguely heard the door lock click behind me.

"Well Kohta, what do you think?"

But I couldn't think. I couldn't think, but it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered, because Kirito was about to think for me.

~*~

[next chapter]