[Pippa] 'brother' {collab w/ Rin}
'brother'
PG, Yara/Yamamoto, mention of others
The first part of this was written by me. The second part - demarcated by '~~~' - was written by Rin.
~
Yara liked it when they called him brother. Niichan. It was joking, fun, familiar. They were, after all, as much like family as anything else; forced to work together through their adolescent years, serving as mentor and counsellor to those who joined (and grew up) later. They fought against each other and they fought together, covering each others' backs both on-stage and away from the glare of the theatre and concert-venue lights. Brothers, friends. It was all one and the same, really.
"He's got this image of, like, a cute younger brother," Yara had said, and Yamamoto had giggled and grinned with happiness he was incapable of hiding. Because that's just how he was; cute, younger, and part of their family. That's how he was then, at least.
Tatsumi had felt the same way, Yara knew. They had been friends for a long time, worked well together, and more often than not one knew how the other would react even as the words left his mouth. Their eyes would meet over the table with shared amusement, and they would laugh, and Yamamoto would look up and splutter because he hadn't caught the joke.
"Hey, niichan," Tatsumi would say, batting his eyelashes at Yara as he scrounged advice, or a free drink, or a bite of food. And Yara would laugh, and relent, because that's how things worked.
Then, at least.
But when Yamamoto approached him that one evening after work, high from the buzz of dancing for an audience, and stammered that rushed, nervous confession, Yara suddenly didn't know how to react. This was… unexpected. Well, it was, and it wasn't. But there he was, the 'cute younger brother', suddenly looking more nervous than ever, possibly slightly sick, and wholly unrelated. Yara found everything shifting around him, and as he stared into the yawning chasm of realisation he discovered that he had absolutely no idea what to say.
"Ryo-chan, you..."
"N-n-no, you don't have to say anything!" Yamamoto said, eyes widening in panic as he seemed to realise what he'd said, how much he stood to lose. "Please, I... just... Forget I said anything."
"Ryouta." The syllables cut sharply through the air, half-command and half-plea. Yamamoto froze, meeting Yara's gaze with reluctance. Yara found his voice again. "You just... surprised me. I need..." Yara panicked as Yamamoto looked dangerously like he was about to cry. "Give me a little time to think about this, okay? I'll... give you my response tomorrow, before work."
Yamamoto nodded, and Yara knew from his expression that the other man would be at the theatre several hours earlier than usual. He reached out and gave Yamamoto's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before turning and walking away. This was... Yara sighed, rubbing at his forehead with one hand as he dug the keys out of his pocket with the other. This threw everything off-balance. But, then again...
The motorcycle engine roared into life and Yara steered out of the parking lot and onto the city streets. He wouldn't get much sleep that night, he was certain.
~~~
It was just nerves, everywhere, every single nerve end in Yamamoto’s body like a live wire, the way his emotions sang through him.
He didn’t know what had possessed him to tell Yara, after keeping it to himself for so long. Oh, sure, Eda had laughed - ‘Doesn’t everyone know, Ryo-chan?’ - but obviously Yara hadn’t been expecting it, and that made it even worse, perhaps. But he’d wanted to know, wanted the chance to try and make things more with Yara, because he’d realized that Yara was the one he wanted the most.
Yamamoto hadn’t been able to sleep that night, too wound up with dread, counterbalanced by the glimmering hope. In the end, he arrived at work earlier, two cups of coffee already down, the third in hand.
He wasn’t pessimistic by nature but he tried to brace himself for the worst, for the no to come, for Yara to just want little-brother-Yamamoto and nothing else.
It was the nerves, fraying, electrocuting his every capacity, allowing every single wonderful and terrifying scenario to rush through him.
When Hayashi arrived, he shot Yamamoto an alarmed look. "Ryouta, you’re a mess."
With nothing to deny, Yamamoto just nodded, shifting from one foot to the other as he waited. People filtered through the doors he was standing next to, into the mirrored rehearsal hall, and then finally.
"Niich-Yaracchi," he squeaked, nerves and coffee and adrenaline propelling him forward. Yara looked just as tired as Yamamoto felt, but he still managed a smile as he caught Yamamoto’s arm, steering him down one of the less used hallways.
"I promised you an answer," Yara began, and Yamamoto felt horrified, wanting to reach out and make Yara stop because he was no longer sure he could handle the truth.
"It’s okay," he mumbled, staring at his feet, scuffing a sneaker on the ground. "You really don’t-"
But Yara slid a finger under Yamamoto’s chin, drawing his gaze upwards. Breath catching in his throat, Yamamoto’s eyes wandered from the floor up Yara’s figure, and then finally into Yara’s own eyes.
Yara’s eyes were probably Yamamoto’s favorite part of the man - though he could list a ridiculous amount of things he liked about Yara - they were always electrified with emotion, alive, vibrant, the perfect example of how Yara was himself. For a moment Yamamoto got so lost in those eyes that he almost missed Yara speaking.
"I said I’d give you an answer... and I want to give you an answer, Ryouta."
And because Yara was such an intensely physical being, his answer did not come in words, but in his lips covering Yamamoto’s, firm and feeling, more than Yamamoto had ever imagined but just right.
In an instant, Yara showed Yamamoto what utter and complete happiness could feel like.
~
PG, Yara/Yamamoto, mention of others
The first part of this was written by me. The second part - demarcated by '~~~' - was written by Rin.
~
Yara liked it when they called him brother. Niichan. It was joking, fun, familiar. They were, after all, as much like family as anything else; forced to work together through their adolescent years, serving as mentor and counsellor to those who joined (and grew up) later. They fought against each other and they fought together, covering each others' backs both on-stage and away from the glare of the theatre and concert-venue lights. Brothers, friends. It was all one and the same, really.
"He's got this image of, like, a cute younger brother," Yara had said, and Yamamoto had giggled and grinned with happiness he was incapable of hiding. Because that's just how he was; cute, younger, and part of their family. That's how he was then, at least.
Tatsumi had felt the same way, Yara knew. They had been friends for a long time, worked well together, and more often than not one knew how the other would react even as the words left his mouth. Their eyes would meet over the table with shared amusement, and they would laugh, and Yamamoto would look up and splutter because he hadn't caught the joke.
"Hey, niichan," Tatsumi would say, batting his eyelashes at Yara as he scrounged advice, or a free drink, or a bite of food. And Yara would laugh, and relent, because that's how things worked.
Then, at least.
But when Yamamoto approached him that one evening after work, high from the buzz of dancing for an audience, and stammered that rushed, nervous confession, Yara suddenly didn't know how to react. This was… unexpected. Well, it was, and it wasn't. But there he was, the 'cute younger brother', suddenly looking more nervous than ever, possibly slightly sick, and wholly unrelated. Yara found everything shifting around him, and as he stared into the yawning chasm of realisation he discovered that he had absolutely no idea what to say.
"Ryo-chan, you..."
"N-n-no, you don't have to say anything!" Yamamoto said, eyes widening in panic as he seemed to realise what he'd said, how much he stood to lose. "Please, I... just... Forget I said anything."
"Ryouta." The syllables cut sharply through the air, half-command and half-plea. Yamamoto froze, meeting Yara's gaze with reluctance. Yara found his voice again. "You just... surprised me. I need..." Yara panicked as Yamamoto looked dangerously like he was about to cry. "Give me a little time to think about this, okay? I'll... give you my response tomorrow, before work."
Yamamoto nodded, and Yara knew from his expression that the other man would be at the theatre several hours earlier than usual. He reached out and gave Yamamoto's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before turning and walking away. This was... Yara sighed, rubbing at his forehead with one hand as he dug the keys out of his pocket with the other. This threw everything off-balance. But, then again...
The motorcycle engine roared into life and Yara steered out of the parking lot and onto the city streets. He wouldn't get much sleep that night, he was certain.
~~~
It was just nerves, everywhere, every single nerve end in Yamamoto’s body like a live wire, the way his emotions sang through him.
He didn’t know what had possessed him to tell Yara, after keeping it to himself for so long. Oh, sure, Eda had laughed - ‘Doesn’t everyone know, Ryo-chan?’ - but obviously Yara hadn’t been expecting it, and that made it even worse, perhaps. But he’d wanted to know, wanted the chance to try and make things more with Yara, because he’d realized that Yara was the one he wanted the most.
Yamamoto hadn’t been able to sleep that night, too wound up with dread, counterbalanced by the glimmering hope. In the end, he arrived at work earlier, two cups of coffee already down, the third in hand.
He wasn’t pessimistic by nature but he tried to brace himself for the worst, for the no to come, for Yara to just want little-brother-Yamamoto and nothing else.
It was the nerves, fraying, electrocuting his every capacity, allowing every single wonderful and terrifying scenario to rush through him.
When Hayashi arrived, he shot Yamamoto an alarmed look. "Ryouta, you’re a mess."
With nothing to deny, Yamamoto just nodded, shifting from one foot to the other as he waited. People filtered through the doors he was standing next to, into the mirrored rehearsal hall, and then finally.
"Niich-Yaracchi," he squeaked, nerves and coffee and adrenaline propelling him forward. Yara looked just as tired as Yamamoto felt, but he still managed a smile as he caught Yamamoto’s arm, steering him down one of the less used hallways.
"I promised you an answer," Yara began, and Yamamoto felt horrified, wanting to reach out and make Yara stop because he was no longer sure he could handle the truth.
"It’s okay," he mumbled, staring at his feet, scuffing a sneaker on the ground. "You really don’t-"
But Yara slid a finger under Yamamoto’s chin, drawing his gaze upwards. Breath catching in his throat, Yamamoto’s eyes wandered from the floor up Yara’s figure, and then finally into Yara’s own eyes.
Yara’s eyes were probably Yamamoto’s favorite part of the man - though he could list a ridiculous amount of things he liked about Yara - they were always electrified with emotion, alive, vibrant, the perfect example of how Yara was himself. For a moment Yamamoto got so lost in those eyes that he almost missed Yara speaking.
"I said I’d give you an answer... and I want to give you an answer, Ryouta."
And because Yara was such an intensely physical being, his answer did not come in words, but in his lips covering Yamamoto’s, firm and feeling, more than Yamamoto had ever imagined but just right.
In an instant, Yara showed Yamamoto what utter and complete happiness could feel like.
~