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If you were to ask Ichiro Yamada about his family, his answer would be severely lacking.
”Why should I care?”
”It’s fuckin’ stupid to act like a family, I hate that the director acts like my father”.
And clearly, with how Jiro and Saburo scorned this behavior, neither of them felt the same.
That was fine. It didn’t matter, he had better shit to do than to worry about what those children thought. This place was nothing but another place to sleep when Kuuko’s house wasn’t an option, certainly not a home.
He arrives at the orphanage sometime in the evening, just as the sun begins to shine amber on the world. It’s quiet. Not that he cares, not that he preferred it differently, but it's unnatural. There’s a pit of dread settling in his stomach.
The children are huddled together in a corner when he opens the door, flinching at the sound.
No Jiro or Saburo.
One of them hands a note to him, saying that “they’d” taken them and left this note for him. The dread pooling inside of him deepens.
He barely registers the trip there, he barely hears his own voice in whatever exchange he has with Samatoki, or the run up to the highest floor, or how worn out he is from running the whole way here. He sees his younger brothers, and that’s what's important—for the first time in years, he thinks. He barely registers the red, hot pain as he ruptures his own eardrums.
The pit of dread dislodges itself once they’re safe. He’s dizzy, his ears are throbbing so violently he thinks he might pass out, but they’re okay. He manages a smile and gives their heads a quick pat. They’re both crying, and he has no idea how to deal with that, or if any tenderness coming from him would be well received. That gesture seems to go over well, though.
The walk back feels far, far longer than the run there had felt. The walk downstairs makes his head swim, and he has to lean on the railing the whole way down to keep himself from losing balance. His ears hurt. He can’t hear a thing. Once he’s on solid ground, it’s a little better. Jiro says something to him, but he doesn’t want to tell him he couldn’t hear whatever it was, so he gives an awkward little half-smile hoping it wasn’t a question.
He leaves his brothers to explain what happened, which—he felt might be his responsibility, but he’s hardly in the right state to execute such a careful interaction. He goes to wash the blood from his ears, gently, but that hardly helps. The feeling of even just wet tissue precariously jammed in to stop the bleeding has him clutching the bathroom sink with a white knuckle grip, biting his lip to suppress a noise of pain. (One that he would barely be aware of, but anyone in his vicinity would hear. The walls weren’t too thick here.)
Saburo says something to him, he gives another noncommittal smile. His expression twists into a more concerned one, tears from before still lingering. He speaks again.
“I, uh…can’t really hear…you? My ears…” Ichiro murmurs, trying to keep a steady, warm tone. He can’t really remember the last time they’d really even exchanged more than a few words with each other. He doesn’t want to mess up and scare him away. Saburo walks off somewhere, and he takes it as his cue to go lay down in his hardly-qualified-for, barely decorated, ‘room’; a desolate little corner of the living space he was supposed to share with his brothers. The bed was stripped bare of everything but a thin blanket, he suspected, his brother’s had likely taken their lack of use as an okay to take for themselves.
He did not care, he was exhausted. Hadn’t-even-changed-out-of-his-outside-clothes kind of exhausted. He curled up on his side and groaned at the contact with his ear. He flipped flat on his back to avoid exacerbating the awful stinging, clad by one sheet. He thinks he sees Saburo and Jiro curled up in bed together.
We probably can’t live here anymore, right?
He exhales miserably, pulling the sheet closer to his chest.
He’d worry about that tomorrow.
Right now, he was tired. So, incredibly tired. More tired than he can remember ever being.
The next few days, in simple terms, really fucking sucked.
Finding a house—at 17! Big enough for 3 people, still cheap enough for a 17 year old to afford. Ichiro had no idea where to even start. And, he could not hear. At least, not for a couple of days. Which prolonged and made this already-shitty process, so much harder than it already was. Kuuko’s father stepped in, helped him find a place per Kuuko’s begging—thank god for that—and even assisted with leasing.
The 3 of them had very few possessions, which came as a blessing and a curse On one hand, they had nothing. No mattresses, bedframes, silverware—practically: nothing. A pile of clothes each, some posters, a few blankets, books, a DS, and that was quite literally it.
On the other hand, moving in was simple, at least.
It had been about 7 days since…everything, about 5 since he’d regained his hearing. (Which, his ear should be fine: he’d looked it up.) His time would mostly be devoted to figuring out housing, which admittedly, was a good 90% of his time. Once that was over with, he’d simply return to the orphanage for what he hoped was one of his final times; tuning out whatever legal drama went on in the background with the other children and whoever this new director was, he’d be out soon so that didn’t matter.
He’d spend his time with his brothers. After a long, long day of way too much thinking, he’d use that little window of time before bed to just get to know the two. He’d sit by Saburo on his bed, watch idly with a smile as he made a little version of him on his DS. (A Mii? Tomodachi Life? He had no idea, but Saburo was happy to share.) He seemed to cling to him a little more by the day. He was 12, he was definitely shaken up by what happened.
Needless to say, he warmed up to Ichiro very quickly over their last week in the orphanage. Hugged him when he’d get home from whatever dumb adult thing he’d have to sort through, updated him on what this little virtual version of him was up to today. It was nice, he decided. Domestic. He was a cute kid.
Jiro was…certainly more hesitant to get close at first.
Which made sense. He was 15, more hardened than the younger. Maybe he was even a little embarrassed for how helpless he’d been in the face of danger, and felt warry to face him.
Despite that, he’d save dinner for Ichiro from the start since he was typically out during meal time. Jiro was into soccer. Ichiro offered to help him practice passing the ball back and forth. That was a good opportunity for small talk, little praises about how he had good reflexes. This broke down the wall he’d erected pretty quickly. Which was a little sad, he distantly thought. That both were so desperate for someone older to care for them, barely able to resist the slightest bit of kindness from him. Maybe he was that way deep down, too.
In retrospect, maybe he should have thought about integrating their time together sooner than later. To make it so that him being with Jiro didn’t mean Saburo would be alone, and vice versa. That was an honest mistake on his part, something he hadn’t even considered would cause conflict.
It did, of course.
They began their moving process on a Thursday afternoon. Samatoki drove the three from the orphanage to their new residence, since he himself didn’t have a car, let alone a license. But Samatoki had offered, since it was hardly out of the way and they hardly had much to transport in the first place.
An argument between the two flares up when Jiro has to run back inside and grab something he’d forgotten just before they’re off. Saburo calls him stupid once he’s returned with a bundle of clothes he’d probably thrown under his bed while they were packing. Jiro reacts almost instantly with another insult thrown right back at him.
Honestly, he’s in shock. He’d never seen the two fight, had even thought them to be incredibly close. He collects himself for a moment, recoiling with shame when Samatoki looks at him with a look of mild annoyance.
“H-hey, you two…be nice to each other.”-is all he manages to get out. They stop, and it’s quiet in the back seat for the short ride to their new home.
They arrive at an average looking city-house, gated, with an empty spot where their household name would reside and all. There’s a little building that sprouted off of it in the front that, in fact, that had been the reason he’d chosen this house among the few cheap options he’d been presented with. He smiles faintly, because he’d done it! It was over with! The three of them had a house, their own place with their own room.
Samatoki helps carry a few boxes inside, and says goodbye after a quick ‘thank you’ from Ichiro.
Well—their own rooms might be a stretch right now. There are 3 rooms upstairs, one with a big old dusty bed. Suffice to say, Ichiro was dirt poor right now. They did in fact have their own rooms, just not the resources to truly call them such. Regardless, he felt proud knowing they’d be able to do so once he’d found his next money source. For now, he set their respective boxes in their respective rooms.
The house has a few amenities to it already, likely stuff the past owner had left. An old fridge, a microwave, a stove, an outdated TV, and a couch.
It’ll do, for now. There’s no dishwasher, or laundry accommodations, but it’d be ridiculous to expect those things. If he had to, he could just do those things by hand.
“Ichi-niiiii,” Saburo had taken to calling him that, “This outlet isn’t working.” He whines, blocky grey charger in one hand, 3ds in his other. “Find…” He grunts, carefully maneuvering the mattress he’d taken from the lone bed upstairs. “Find another one, Saburo. Not much I can do about—gah!!” He watched helplessly as the mattress slid out of his grip, landing at the bottom of the stairs in a loud thud. With a sigh, he pushes it toward the couch, where Jiro had quickly made himself at home. He clicked the remote futilely, giving an annoyed huff.
“Nii-chan—” Jiro had also taken to calling him by something besides ‘Ichiro’. It was the kind of familiarity they should have. “The TV isn’t turning on!” Ichiro shooed him off the couch so that he could push it back. “Ah, no..?” He gave the couch a good shove. “Saburo is good with that stuff,” Right? He’d rambled about emulation to him, so hopefully that carried over to something like this. “How about you two try and figure that out together?”
Ichiro proudly stood with his hands on his hips, looking over the sleeping area he’d thrown together haphazardly.
Saburo plopped down on the couch with the remote in hand. “You need batteries, obviously.” Miraculously, the TV sputtered to life on a blue screen with a list of channels. Ichiro sat by the two once he was done preening over his problem solving skills. One of them would have to sleep on the couch, while the other two doubled up in the bed upstairs. He felt a little uneasy at the thought of either of them being alone on a different floor, so this setup would work well.
“Hey, what are we eating for dinner? I’m hungry…” Jiro mumbled over the sound of Saburo flipping through different programs. Ichiro freezes up for a second at the realization.
He has about 13 dollars to his name right now, no groceries or anything of the sort. The two look at him expectantly, and he wonders for a second if how utterly poor they were was something he should keep to himself.
Well, regardless of if they knew of their situation, they had to have something to eat.
“Mmm…I don’t know. Maybe there’s a convenience store nearby?” He eyes the clock, and it really does feel wrong to consider dragging on whatever they were doing right now, stalling the inevitable. They’d had a quick breakfast at the orphanage before they said they’d goodbyes, so it wasn’t like they truly hadn’t eaten. But that was hours ago. It was about 5 pm now. He’s suddenly aware of the biting emptiness in his stomach, because he’d been too busy to even eat breakfast.
Sure enough, there’s a convenience store just a block away. After little stalling, he’d caved and taken the two over. Because now he was painfully conscious of just how hungry he was himself. Ramen and eggs would be cheap and filling, he thinks that sounded good for now.
But they don’t have a kettle for water, or a frying pan. His heart sinks at the grim reality, that he is 17 with two children, pretty much, and flat broke with hardly any of the stuff someone would need to survive.
He resists the urge to just steal, because that’s wrong, and he wasn’t going to do bad things anymore. He was responsible for Jiro and Saburo, he had to be a good role model.
In the end, the three end up with cheap rice balls and two packaged yakisobas to split between them. That empties his wallet completely. What they’ll eat tomorrow? Ichiro doesn’t even want to think about that.
He takes a small portion, the thought of either of them having to go to sleep hungry makes him too sad to take more than a third of the noodles. They watch TV while they eat, deciding on some channel airing old anime. Jiro seems disinterested in Sailor Moon from where he sat on the mattress below he and Saburo, but watches anyways.
There’s a working shower, thank god. He rinses off quick, when he comes back there’s some Gundham show playing. Jiro seems a lot more interested in that. The two are sat on the mattress together, looking at Saburo’s ds.
After the two wash up, he decides it’s probably time for bed. Because he is actually, incredibly hungry. The small meal—if you could even call it that—he’d eaten had done little to nothing for him. It would be easiest to sleep off.
“Whoever sleeps on the mattress is gonna have to share,” He explained, bringing bundles of blankets and pillows from their meager belongings. He’d imagined it’d be the two of them on the mattress, considering he’d seen them share a bed willingly just a few days ago.
Saburo pipes in immediately. “I wanna sleep on the mattress with you, Ichi-nii!” He beams as he speaks. Ichiro thinks he catches a look of dismay from Jiro. He’d probably thought similarly, then.
“Alright, Jiro? Any objections?”
The younger shakes his head, simply going upstairs to change into pajamas without another word.
It’s easy to ignore the lingering worry for what their next meal would be once he’s settled in for the night.
It’s a little earlier than he’d choose to sleep, only about 9 pm, but it’d been a long day. The TV plays quietly and provides a thin sheet of light over the three, with Saburo curled up by his side and Jiro blearily trying to focus on whatever show was on. He smiles softly, carefully grabbing the remote and extinguishing the faint light once Jiro’s expression eases.
It’s domestic, despite the chilly fall weather and the fact he and Saburo were down a blanket (they only had three, Jiro didn’t have the factor of shared body heat so he’d need the 2 more), it’s warm.
He feels a flicker of pride in his chest. It’s a baren little place, he might not have much to eat tomorrow and they might have to manage with this sleeping arrangement for a while, but it’s home. And this kind of a place could exist because of him.
There’s a knock at his door the next morning before he’s even had the time to wake up. Had it not been for Saburo shaking him awake, he’d probably have slept until the afternoon.
“Wh…whuh?” He sprung to life at the sudden contact, taking in his surroundings bit by bit. “Someone’s here,” Jiro explained, looking down at him from the couch.
Another resounding knock to the front door. “Ichiro! Yo! Hurry your ass up!” Samatoki??? He scrambles up, no time to care about his disarrayed hair or the fact that he was still in pajamas. He opens the door to Samatoki, one hand resting on his hip, the other holding a large beige tote-bag.
Ichiro scans him over. Honestly, he’s still an unnerving person to be around. “Something up?” He asks tentatively.
The other responds by holding the bag out to him. “I was talkin’ about you with Nemu, guess she felt bad or something.” That statement is…well…But regardless, he takes the bag anyways. It’s filled to the brim, about 5 different containers of homemade food stacked on top of each other. There’s a little note on top thanking him for ‘saving her’, he feels his face heat up a little bit.
“Well, that’s all I wanted to say. Oh, but you better hurry your ass up and finish doing whatever homemaker-shit you’re doing lately. Haven’t been able to do much without ya around. Bye.” And with that, he turns and leaves before Ichiro can even get another word in.
He hardly cares about that right now, the only thing he can think of is sitting down and eating a warm, full meal.
It’s about a week’s worth of food, if he had to guess. There’s a big pan of baked mac & cheese, a little decorated cake with strawberries on top, a container of chicken fried rice, curry, and a container of plain white rice. Maybe it was the hunger speaking, but everything laid out in front of him looked and smelled absolutely delicious. If Nemu Aohitsugi was in front of him at this very moment, he would have to get on his hands and knees to thank her.
They managed to get into a steady rhythm of living pretty quickly.
He’d walk Jiro and Saburo to school, pack leftovers for lunch, go about his usual life alongside Kuko, Samatoki, and Sasara.
He received some money from picking up some random job, helping some couple catch a dog. More money, from another random job. It’s easy, and it seems like everyone in Ikebukuro had something for him to do. He’s able to scrape up enough money to buy some groceries, proper silverware and plates.
Fighting between Jiro and Saburo became more frequent. Saburo would provoke him over some petty thing, Jiro would react by hitting him. Ichiro has to explain that ‘we don’t do that, violence isn’t how we get our point across.’ Which was a pretty weak argument, coming from him. But he was left with little options.
Odd jobs are a decently lucrative business, and considering the fact he hadn’t even finished high school, he didn’t have many other options. It’s enough to keep him and his brothers fed, and that’s enough for him.
Things get…unusual, once he comes into contact with Ramuda Amemura.
He’s an odd guy, shorter than him by a lot. He said strange things, sometimes incredibly ominous things that made him feel uneasy. There was an uncertain feeling set in his stomach the moment he first laid his eyes on the man, like something bad was going to happen soon.
He’d be right, of course. Kuko leaves him shortly after.
Ichiro cannot fathom why, what he could have possibly done to ruin everything so quickly. For fucks sake, they’d been together a few days ago and nothing seemed even a little bit off. Why so suddenly? What was so disgusting about him that Kuko couldn’t even stand being around him for a single second? That he can’t stomach being touched by him, so much so that he resorts to punching him?
It’s hard to even be angry at him. He feels like crying once he’s knocked him over. He cannot even bring himself to actually punch him, that’s how deep his affection towards Kuko had rooted. Kuko seems confused, but has no problem clocking him hard enough to leave him laying on the ground.
He looked conflicted. Hurting. He seemed like he didn’t even know what was going on himself, but he won’t even let Ichiro reason with him.
It’s entirely shameful when he cries in front of Samatoki, of all people. But it seems like he’s in a similar situation, so just this once, the other sympathizes with him. He can hardly keep his voice from breaking, but he manages to stop crying once Samatoki talks to him for a bit. He is not the least bit comforting, he simply explains that it’s wrong to cry over something as small as this. It doesn’t feel small. It doesn’t feel small to him. Something tells him Samatoki was trying to reason with himself through Ichiro, and that it was just as massive and awful for him, too.
Saburo and Jiro are already there once he’s home. Since he’d gotten busy lately, and since the two should know the route by now, he stopped walking them home from school. His face is undoubtedly bruised, sore from the hits he’d taken. He doesn’t say a word to them, he goes straight to take a shower so he can cry undisturbed. It's been a few weeks. Between bills and groceries, he still doesn’t have the money to change their bedding situation. But he had to pick himself up, he didn’t have the time to sit around and sulk about his best friend. He had Saburo and Jiro to take care of, that was that.
Ramuda Amemura appears again. That sinking feeling still doesn’t go away, but it’s easy to chalk up as lingering misery from Kuko. He hadn’t even seen him since what had happened. He’d blocked him on everything, too. It was like he never existed. He becomes a more frequent character in his life, and so does Jakurai Jinguji.
Jakurai is a direct contrast to Ramuda. He has a kid somewhere around Ichiro’s age, so he’s quick to care for him. He is tall, gentle, he picks his words carefully, and his presence is very comforting. Unsurprisingly, he is almost horrified once he learns about his situation. He and Ramuda take him out shopping once they find out the full extent of it. He doesn’t really feel guilty about this one, because both are likely incredibly wealthy. He’s able to buy beds for Jiro and Saburo, finally. That and a rice cooker are a more than welcome addition to their developing home. Jakurai pulls him aside and asks him to promise that if he or his brothers needed anything, he would come to him without hesitation. He meekly agrees. He’s predisposed to dislike adults, given how many had turned on him already. But he wants to believe Jakurai is truly just a good person, he wants to rely on him.
He gets comfortable in this lifestyle, ornate sweets from Ramuda, extravagant meals one of the two paid for. His brothers are happy, well fed, safe and warm. There’s not much more he can ask for.
He gets too comfortable in this lifestyle.
Careless. He’d gotten careless.
He arrives home, content, excited even. He’d been invited to the Aohitsugi’s, Nemu would be cooking for them tonight.
Before he can even enter the house, it’s jarring just how quiet it is. It’s unnatural. He doesn’t hear his brother talking, or the TV playing.
It’s quiet. Not that he cares, not that he preferred it differently, but it's unnatural. There’s a pit of dread settling in his stomach.
Some of their few belongings are strewn about the living room. He feels sick for a second. Don’t jump to conclusions. They’ve gotta be around here somewhere. “Hello??” No response. He investigates upstairs. “Saburo? Jiro? Hello???”
They are nowhere to be found.
“C-come on, you two. This isn’t funny.” He laughs a dry laugh, searching more frantically. This could not have possibly happened again. This cannot be happening. This can’t be real. His heart pounds in his ear. This can’t be happening.
Ramuda calls amidst his panic. His legs feel like they’ll give out when he hears what he has to say.
He barely registers the trip there, he barely hears his own voice in whatever exchange he has with Ramuda, or the run up to the western gate or how worn out he is from running the whole way here.
This time, he does not see his younger brothers.
Some bitch who didn’t have the guts to face him in person explains to him that ‘their fates lie in his hands’. He speaks with her the harshest he has in a good while, before he’s escorted to the arena. He has to battle? That’s no big deal.
But it’s Samatoki.
He has to go up against Samatoki. Is he fighting for the same reason?
It doesn’t matter. The thought that his life with his brother would end so soon, the darker implication that they may be killed if he doesn’t win only fuels the numbness that's slowly taken over. He cannot let them die here. He cannot, absolutely cannot let their peaceful little life end now.
He is knocked down very, very quickly. He can’t even think of scorning himself for it right now, all he can do is beg, grab Samatoki’s leg in hopes of at least slowing him down.
“Stopstopstopstop—” He gasps, doing anything he can to drag him down. He yanks him with all the strength he can muster. Samatoki punches him as hard as he can—which is pretty fucking hard—and he’s sure he can taste blood. His head goes fuzzy for a second That doesn’t matter. I can’t lose them. I can’t let him press that button. This cannot be happening. This cannot be real. He shook himself out of it quickly, grasped at his ankle again and begged with all his might. “You can’t—they’ll…they’ll hurt my brothers. Samatoki. Samatoki, Samatoki. Please. Please.”
His pleas fell on deaf ears. He presses the button. Ichiro can not even will himself to get up. He just watches as Samatoki is led away, not even sparing a glance back at him. Oh god. This is real.
It sets in instantly. He sobbed. He sobbed loudly, unable to even consider stifling the pure dread that hit like another punch to the jaw. He just cried, and cried. He called for his brothers desperately. No. This is real. They’re gone. They’re gone because of me. I failed them. Things were finally looking up, and I fucked it up. I always do. That's why Kuko left, that's why— He wailed, letting his head fall to the ground helplessly.
“Ichi-nii…?”
“Nii-chan?”
Ichiro all but dove into the two immediately upon hearing their calls. He’s unable to hold back more cries as he hugged them as close to his body as he possibly could. A flurry of questions from the two played in the background, his heart was pounding so hard, it was the only sound that registered. He closed his eyes, pressing his head into their shoulders as he came down from his haze.
This is real? This is real. They’re alive. They’re here.
He remembers feeling angry once the same woman who’d explain things appears in front of him, but that hardly held up. This is real. They’re alive. They’re safe. We can go home now.
The walk back feels far, far longer than the run there had felt. His jaw aches, both Jiro and Saburo cling to his side. He deduces, they’re probably not hurt. They had been confused when they’d seen him crying, so they probably hadn’t experienced anything scary. They’d seen him in such a low state, and that had likely left them perturbed enough to stick close. By Samatoki’s logic, this was something that was alright to cry about. It still felt humiliating. Completely pathetic.
His stomach is still in knots, so he doesn’t eat dinner. He sits on the couch with a bag of ice held to his jaw, both boys sat on opposite sides to him. His voice felt too raw to even try to talk about what happened, but the two seemed to share his sentiment. They all squeeze into his bed that night. This whole thing was way too familiar, only this time he had a say in comforting them. There was that, at least.
He calls them out of school the next day. (The desk ladies give him some trouble, but let him off after some talking.) Thought they’d deserved a day to recuperate, and honestly just couldn’t stomach letting them out of his sight just yet. He could have seriously lost them, and then what? If he had lost them, he thinks, he might have honestly just killed himself.
Samatoki, like Kuko, disappears from his life without much resolution. But, he’s not blocked, so he decides to send a text.
“Samatoki-san.” He shakes his head. No, that’s overly formal. We’re on better terms than that.
“Samatoki,” He begins again. “I hope you and Nemu are alright. I was able to get home with my brothers safely last night, I hope things were the same for you.” Ichiro grimaces. It all feels blocky, uncomfortable. He sends the message.
“For the record, I don’t hold anything against you. I would have done the same if I were you.”
He receives a response almost immediately.
“fuck you. don’t talk to me. if I see you ever again i’ll fucking kill you.” And he’s blocked. He gawks at his phone.
This is it, huh? Just like that? Again?
He’d lost Kuko, now Samatoki and allegedly the rest of his group. Why was everyone always so, so pissed off at him?
Were his brothers the only people who wouldn’t throw him aside at a moment’s notice?
Were they truly all he had?
Right now at least, that was certainly the case.
All he had was a scarcely decorated house, about 300 dollars, his brothers, and now; not a single adult to rely on.
What a sad, sad life for a 17 year old boy.