[ in ichiro's dreams, his life is a little different. he lives in a world with his parents still alive, sometimes, collecting a test he got an A on, piled onto the couch to watch a ghibli movie, holding a toddler jiro's hand and a baby saburo in his arms. it's family dinners and school nights and ichiro, aching desperately to make his parents proud, to carry on the yamada name. he walks jiro to kindergarten, to first grade, to second, swears to his parents he'll protect them.
but the dreams always fade. they turn to ichiro in front of the courthouse, still holding their hands, chin held up high as he still holds his brothers hands, too young to understand the gravity of the situation, social workers, foster care, the orphanage itself. even in dreams, it turns to bitterness, anger, frustrated at a system that had failed his siblings, furious at a man who pretended to be his father, even angry at how easily his brothers accepted it. (they didn't know better, they don't know better, they'll never know, i have to help them out and bring them home--over and over, his mantra, in reality in dreams) ichiro's so angry sometimes he can't keep it in, lashes out at whoever he can fight, anyone who steps in his way.
and then, samatoki happened. someone who saw ichiro past a firecracker pissant delinquent (someone that wasn't a loan shark, saying come work for us, ichiro doing jobs that sat badly in his gut to try and survive) and recognized his potential. suddenly, ichiro found the family he'd desperately been craving, in this person, someone he wanted to be. samatoki took care of his blood and took care of his problems: he was cool, effortless, and had a laugh that boomed off the walls of his apartment when ichiro said something particularly clever, or when nemu taught ichiro to cook for the first time and he managed to burn something as easy as a pan of vegetables.
in this apartment, he'd found love, something ichiro thought he'd never find again. he bonded with nemu and felt some of the weight lift from his shoulders, and every day he spent with samatoki made him feel lighter, his age, seventeen pretending to be in his twenties, cool enough for an ear piercing but not cool enough to smoke cigarettes.
in samatoki's bed, he sleeps like a baby, held in someone's arms in a way he hasn't been since his parents died. he soaks up the affection, the attention, every inch of it, and returns it back. (and maybe he's a yakuza, but maybe his parents would be proud, because ichiro's sunshine smile has returned to his face, lately, the same gap toothed one in the last family picture he has in his wallet.) it means he's not so ready when the sunlight breaks in through the window, because six am comes and goes, and ichiro grunts, a soft, slightly annoyed noise as samatoki's voice rumbles against his ear.
he does move. to his credit, he rolls over as if he was going to get up, turning to face samatoki and blinking his eyes half open to look at him, squinting. he looks utterly bleary, his hair sticking up in thirty different directions, and he seems to be making his decision, before he drops down and presses his face into his chest, instead, trying to block out the sunlight and inhale the scent of cologne and cigarette smoke instead. ]
Five more minutes. [ it's not like his brothers want him to wake them, anyway. that guy will do it. (just thinking that makes ichiro wake a little more, thinking about how little he wants the head of the orphanage to step any more into a role that should be his.) ]
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but the dreams always fade. they turn to ichiro in front of the courthouse, still holding their hands, chin held up high as he still holds his brothers hands, too young to understand the gravity of the situation, social workers, foster care, the orphanage itself. even in dreams, it turns to bitterness, anger, frustrated at a system that had failed his siblings, furious at a man who pretended to be his father, even angry at how easily his brothers accepted it. (they didn't know better, they don't know better, they'll never know, i have to help them out and bring them home--over and over, his mantra, in reality in dreams) ichiro's so angry sometimes he can't keep it in, lashes out at whoever he can fight, anyone who steps in his way.
and then, samatoki happened. someone who saw ichiro past a firecracker pissant delinquent (someone that wasn't a loan shark, saying come work for us, ichiro doing jobs that sat badly in his gut to try and survive) and recognized his potential. suddenly, ichiro found the family he'd desperately been craving, in this person, someone he wanted to be. samatoki took care of his blood and took care of his problems: he was cool, effortless, and had a laugh that boomed off the walls of his apartment when ichiro said something particularly clever, or when nemu taught ichiro to cook for the first time and he managed to burn something as easy as a pan of vegetables.
in this apartment, he'd found love, something ichiro thought he'd never find again. he bonded with nemu and felt some of the weight lift from his shoulders, and every day he spent with samatoki made him feel lighter, his age, seventeen pretending to be in his twenties, cool enough for an ear piercing but not cool enough to smoke cigarettes.
in samatoki's bed, he sleeps like a baby, held in someone's arms in a way he hasn't been since his parents died. he soaks up the affection, the attention, every inch of it, and returns it back. (and maybe he's a yakuza, but maybe his parents would be proud, because ichiro's sunshine smile has returned to his face, lately, the same gap toothed one in the last family picture he has in his wallet.) it means he's not so ready when the sunlight breaks in through the window, because six am comes and goes, and ichiro grunts, a soft, slightly annoyed noise as samatoki's voice rumbles against his ear.
he does move. to his credit, he rolls over as if he was going to get up, turning to face samatoki and blinking his eyes half open to look at him, squinting. he looks utterly bleary, his hair sticking up in thirty different directions, and he seems to be making his decision, before he drops down and presses his face into his chest, instead, trying to block out the sunlight and inhale the scent of cologne and cigarette smoke instead. ]
Five more minutes. [ it's not like his brothers want him to wake them, anyway. that guy will do it. (just thinking that makes ichiro wake a little more, thinking about how little he wants the head of the orphanage to step any more into a role that should be his.) ]