This is fan fiction. Neither Prince of Tennis nor any of its characters belongs to me.

Note: This story is based on the fairy tale "East of the Sun and West of the Moon".

The Place You Can’t Get To
East of the Sun and West of the Moon

Yuuta did not think it was very fair of Aniki to refer to Mizuki-san as a troll. He neither possessed a lock of supernaturally messy hair—unless it was that bit that he kept twirling—nor turned to stone in sunlight, and it was certainly not true that he had a nose “three and a half meters long”. Aniki had been specific about that, too; obviously it was a reference, but then Yuuta often did not follow Aniki’s references. In any case, the piece of iron that Aniki had given him “to protect him from the bad fairies” was just insulting on so many levels.

It was good to get out of the house.

Yuuta knew his family missed him, and he missed them, too, when he remembered to think about it. He may have rolled his eyes when his mom reminded him to call every week, but for the most part it was more fun than tedious to spend fifteen minutes on a Sunday afternoon catching up. He looked forward to getting emails from his sister, too; they came every two weeks or so, and never demanded more than three or four sentences in response—so that was okay.

On the other hand… well… Yuuta made an effort to be patient, but eventually even he had to admit that his brother was kind of a stalker. He emailed every day and texted like constantly, which was pretty pathetic, considering that his brother was a fairly cool and popular guy and should have had way more interesting things to do than pester Yuuta twenty-four/seven.

The worst part was that if Yuuta didn’t respond within a reasonable amount of time (and “reasonable” seemed to vary according to what Aniki’s schedule looked like that day), the messages got whinier. “When r u coming home? (^.^)” was a favorite, as were “[Insert Any Name] asked abt u 2day—everyone rly misses u!” and “Did u eat brkfst 2day?”

After Akazawa-buchou commented vaguely on the irritation of having to listen continually to “stupid ring tones” in the locker room, Yuuta decided to keep his cell phone turned off. This was convenient because then he could honestly reply “I didn’t get your message right away, Aniki!” at least once or twice a week.

It was probably also why Aniki started calling him on the phone in the dormitory lounge. Yuuta had to answer when he was called to that phone, because what if his sister had smashed her car and was in the hospital or something? Or maybe Yanagisawa wanted to go play video games and was just too lazy to walk all the way downstairs to find Yuuta and ask him? What if Mizuki-san was determined to buy the team more aesthetically pleasing wristbands and didn’t want to haul them back by himself? No—there was absolutely no choice in the matter; Yuuta had to answer that phone.

The first time Aniki called him on the dorm line, Yuuta wasn’t expecting it, so he was more puzzled than apprehensive when his name was called over the intercom. After all, most of his friends were there in the weight room with him, and everyone at home had his mobile number.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said when he realized who was on the other end of the line, and then remembered too late that he was supposed to be nice to his brother even if he was a total dork sometimes. He smiled as brightly as he could and added, “What’d you want?”

…Which was probably kind of abrupt, but at least he smiled when he said it.

“It’s okay to call once in a while, right?” Yuuta recognized the aggrieved, martyr-like tone that Aniki used when he wanted people to admire him for continuing to exist throughout the TRAGIC ADVERSITY of his short life. “I was wondering if you were okay.”

Yuuta closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and restrained himself from pounding his head on the wall. “Yeah, nothing’s changed here.”

“I played Echizen today.”

“What? Really? How was it?” Yuuta ignored the irritation he felt at the change-the-topic-unexpectedly-game—the rules of which he had never understood—because Echizen was cool, the best person Yuuta had ever played against. Plus, it was a topic that didn’t involve Yuuta having to defend himself, and normal conversation with his brother had gotten pretty rare lately.

“Ne, Yuuta,” said Aniki, not bothering to answer the question, “Seigaku’s strong…”

And Yuuta lost it. He yelled something into the phone about people who call just to rub it in and had half a dozen other protests ready, even though there wasn’t any point in making a big deal about it, because no matter what, Aniki was never going to get it through his thick head that Yuuta was not going back to Seigaku, but there’s only so long a guy can be goaded before he just blows up, you know?

It turned out okay, though; Mizuki-san was suddenly there, calmly plucked the phone from Yuuta’s hand, and said with his most saccharine voice into the receiver, “Seigaku’s Fuji-kun? Are you trying to gather enemy info?”

Aniki hung up.

Mizuki-san grinned and said, “Well, Yuuta-kun, shall we begin our training?”

Yuuta was confused, since he’d finished training for the day. He’d done a ton of reps, which he figured was the best way to go, because hey, what did he know about it anyway, but what else was he supposed to do? Mizuki-san had thrown a fit this week in practice and refused to help train anybody just because Aniki had, Mizuki-san said, “publicly dishonored” him by calling him “unethical”, which Yuuta doubted because it wasn’t Aniki’s style to call people names (usually he just set traps in which other people could expose themselves), and then stomped off to his own room to sulk in the dark.

It was, Yuuta thought, legit to whine just a very little bit—but there was a new determination in Mizuki-san’s face. “Do you think that you can beat Fuji Shuusuke like that?” he asked sharply.

There was a pause, during which Yuuta searched his brain for the right answer. It seemed to be “No”, but Mizuki-san wasn’t supposed to be helping him anymore, so instead he didn’t say anything.

“Look,” said Mizuki-san less abrasively, “you want to beat him, right?”

Well, that had always been true.

After that, Yuuta dreaded the dorm phone as much as his cell phone and his email account. But the longer he was at St. Rudolph, the more likely, percentage-wise, his calls and emails were to be from Yanagisawa or Kisarazu or Mizuki-san, so that was all right. Plus, it wasn’t like Yuuta always hated talking to his brother. They’d been close, after all, before Yuuta got into middle school and discovered how frickin’ annoying it was to be a year behind a sibling who was brilliant and talented and good-looking and basically perfect.

It wasn’t Aniki’s fault, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t made an effort to understand Yuuta’s feelings, but that really didn’t make up for the prospect of a future being known only as “Fuji’s little brother”. And he didn’t want to be friends with people who liked his brother more than him—which was everyone—and he didn’t want to have to answer more questions about his brother from people he didn’t even know, and he didn’t want his life to be measured against standards he didn’t choose for himself, thank you.

Yuuta had explained this to Aniki in a way that had seemed to him to be rational and well thought out. He had also mentioned St. Rudolph’s program, tentatively because it was hard to forget how excited Aniki had been when Yuuta graduated from elementary school and they could “finally go to the same school again, Yuuta!!!” But in Yuuta’s experience, it was safe to tell his all-powerful big brother anything. He’d been too excitedly embarrassed about it to talk about it, even though he’d been thinking about switching schools for weeks, so it was nice to finally be able to tell someone about the school’s handpicked team and about Mizuki-san, who’d not only chosen Yuuta for his own particular skills but actually knew his name (AND his stats!) and had an individualized training program ready for him.

And he'd get to play tennis. With a team! Which he hadn't been doing at Seigaku.

“But don’t tell Mom and Dad yet,” Yuuta had said, kicking his schoolbooks out of the way so there was room for Aniki on the floor in front of the TV. “I want to surprise them with the acceptance letter.”

Aniki had linked pinkies and sworn he wouldn’t tell.

The next morning, Yuuta went downstairs to find the following waiting for him at the breakfast table: a stern father, a “concerned” brother with reams of Googled statistics on Mizuki Hajime and St. Rudolph’s tennis team, and the raspberry pie their sister knew Yuuta loved. (Yuuta was pretty sure that the pie was some sort of subtle threat, but he didn’t care to waste his time figuring out exactly how it worked.)

Cold rationality—thirteen was old enough to go to boarding school, and it’s not like he would be in a different country or anything—along with emphatic insistence that he couldn’t be happy anywhere but St. Rudolph, eventually defeated his parents’ concerns (“But we’re not even Catholic!”). However, Yuuta frankly didn’t feel like being very nice to Aniki after that.

So he didn’t go home.

It was weeks before he saw Aniki again, and that was at the matches between Seigaku and St. Rudolph, before which he’d been so pissed off at the idea of having to see his brother that his teammates had made fun of his “scary face”. Nobody was in a very good mood for those matches: Akazawa-buchou and Kaneda-san had gotten into a fight in the middle of the court, Mizuki-san was being kinda bitchy all day, and Yuuta could read murder in Kisarazu’s eyes every time he looked at Yanigasawa. Yuuta himself had actually dragged Nomura-fukubuchou down the sidewalk by the ears.

Aniki just had to be sarcastic: “You look great, Yuuta. Are you used to dorm living yet? I thought for sure you were going to be playing first or second singles…”

Yuuta had not been very nice.

But then Aniki had not been very nice, either, especially to Mizuki-san, and even if Mizuki-san had told Yuuta to use a move that Mizuki-san knew would hurt Yuuta’s shoulder, Yuuta didn’t think it was worth hating him (or calling him a troll) over something like that. Especially since Mizuki-san had emerged from a week sulking over the encounter with an inexplicable respect for Aniki and new plans for St. Rudolph’s inevitable domination of the tennis-playing world. (Plus, Yuuta didn’t have to use the Twist Spin Shot all the time anymore, and hadn’t that been the point?)

Anyway, he didn’t expect to see Aniki again for a long, long time after that—hopefully long enough to get over being insanely pissed at him. After all, if Mizuki-san could do it, then so could Yuuta.

He’d been working on it, and he felt that he could probably handle a short, coincidental encounter, when Mizuki-san suggested that he and Yuuta and Yanagisawa spend a Sunday afternoon at the street courts near Seigaku. Yuuta was a little afraid that Aniki, with his creepy, creepy, creepy omniscient powers, might show up, but part of being thirteen was acting like a man, so ditching was not an option.

The street courts were busy that afternoon (Mizuki-san made some comment about “infestation”, and Yuuta recognized a couple of players from Fudoumine), but there was a free court, and Yuuta and Yanagisawa discovered that what they’d thought was going to be a fun afternoon was really intensive drills in a new setting, which, they later agreed, they should have expected. (Mizuki-san also made them wear sunblock.) The players on the other court were really loud and obnoxious, though, and after Mizuki-san went over to complain, Yuuta found himself in the middle of some kind of weird Seigaku-and-Fudoumine circus that seemed to somehow involve Echizen Ryouma being as much of a prick as 50 kilograms can manage and five or six guys hitting on Tachibana-san’s little sister.

Yuuta just wanted to play some tennis. Seriously. Yanagisawa was busy making an idiot of himself in front of Tachibana An, though, and Mizuki-san seemed intent on sticking his nose in everyone else’s business. So Yuuta asked Echizen, who was a good opponent, if he wanted to play, but then Fudoumine’s Ibu started claiming Echizen or something. Yuuta thought that was a little freaky, but Echizen just shrugged.

“If I win,” said Ibu, ignoring Yuuta, “give me the rest of the grip tape.”

“I don’t think it’s enough for a racket,” said Echizen neutrally.

Ibu considered for a minute. “Okay.”

Yuuta was curious. “What do you mean grip tape?”

Both boys looked at him. “This doesn’t concern you,” Ibu snapped, so then Yuuta was ticked off, and they yelled at each other for a little bit, which just made it more awkward when (inevitably)…

Aniki showed up. He had a stupid sweater draped around his shoulders like a department store model. He was on the phone, and it was simultaneously gratifying and irritating the way his eyes lit up when he saw Yuuta and he immediately hung up on whomever was on the other end of the line.

Yuuta was annoyed that he’d been caught in the middle of a stupid squabble over stupid grip tape or whatever. He glowered.

Aniki, as usual, smiled sweetly and set about causing the trouble he’d devised for the day. Yuuta watched as he successfully reinstated a fight between Seigaku’s Momoshiro and Fudoumine’s Kamio, insulted Ibu, flirted outrageously with Tachibana An, and snubbed Mizuki-san in the bitchiest ways possible.

It was embarrassing. Yuuta really wanted to warn Mizuki-san that no matter what girly mind game Mizuki-san tried to play, Aniki would be better at it, but that wasn’t the sort of thing he could say out loud in the middle of the tennis courts. So Mizuki-san tossed his head, volunteered to help with things, ran his fingers through his hair, showed off his extensive tennis knowledge as referee for Momoshiro and Kamio, and tilted his head so that his bangs fell to one side all in vain—Aniki refused to acknowledge his presence.

Yuuta’s face burned. How could his brother be so rude in such an obvious way? But he was proud of Mizuki-san when Aniki sweetly asked him to repeat his name (again), and Yuuta could almost feel Mizuki-san’s teeth grinding in fury, but Mizuki-san answered just as sweetly. (Well, not just as sweetly. Aniki was, after all, perfect. But almost as sweetly.) It was a hard match to sit through. Yuuta wanted to go back to his dorm room and bury his face in a pillow, but he kept his cool. He was as well-behaved as any reasonable person could be.

He couldn’t help looking enviously after Tachibana An, though, when she skipped happily away from the courts.

“She went home,” said Aniki. “Something about a date.”

“What?!” Momoshiro and Kamio had been dueling for her hand.

Aniki smiled. “With her older brother.”

Yanagisawa supplied, “I’m jealous. A date!” but no one listened to him because Aniki was turning to Yuuta, smiling beatifically, and saying, “Yuuta, should we go on a date, too?”

And that was the end of Yuuta’s self-control for the day. “What the hell are you thinking?!” he yelled, horrified and furious. Yanagisawa snickered.

“I’m kidding,” said Aniki.

“He probably hated you before,” said Mizuki-san casually, “because of comments like that.”

Aniki ignored the remark, but when they left—which was immediately—Mizuki-san was wearing the smirk he only wore after he won tennis matches. That’s when Yuuta realized that he had at some point long ago become the rope in a figurative game of tug-o’-war.

It was discomfiting to be forced to think of himself as some sort of damsel over which nations battled. Yuuta was suddenly very jealous of Tachibana An's cool.

Once he discovered that there was a guerrilla war going on, a lot of previously inexplicable things made sense. Aniki might like to think that he was enigmatic or whatever, but Yuuta had lived with him for thirteen years. He was just as see-through as anybody else, once you know what to look for. And Mizuki-san did the same types of things, only he wasn’t as good at it. For example, when Aniki texted him later that week to ask whether Yuuta had made any friends at his new school yet (it had been more than three months since the school year started), Yuuta suddenly had the epiphany that maybe a lot of Aniki’s text messages were supposed to be not-so-subtle digs at St. Rudolph. Like (he gasped) the ones about him eating properly!

Once Yuuta figured out the not-so-subtle-dig thing, it wasn’t too hard to figure out the guilt-trip thing and the you’re-not-good-enough-and-you-need-your-big-brother thing.

It was weird, though; there wasn’t anybody he could really talk to about it, because ordinarily he’d go to either Aniki or Mizuki-san, and although it wasn’t like he needed to express his feelings or something lame like that, the fact that he couldn’t say anything made him want to blurt it out to everyone he met. Instead he said nothing and stewed. He was really angry.

The tug-o’-war metaphor also explained the until-now confusing subscription to Bis magazine Mizuki-san had received from an anonymous benefactor (oddly, the recipient was supposed to be some girl named Suzuki Haname, but it was definitely addressed to Mizuki-san’s room number). Mizuki-san made Yuuta go down to the office and figure out whether there was or had been a student at St. Rudolph with that name. There wasn't and hadn’t. Mizuki-san had shrugged and flipped through the May issue while lying primly across Yuuta’s bed, and then dragged Yuuta out to buy some kind of stupid girly non-irritating lip gloss with SPF for sensitive skin that had been advertised in it and was apparently on sale or whatever. Aniki had complained later, via email, that Yuuta hadn’t answered his phone that afternoon.

(Yuuta had half-heartedly hoped that Bis would be interesting—maybe it would have girl secrets or something in it!—but it turned out it was just pictures of models wearing boring clothing. Mizuki-san thought it was cool how the sparkles on the cover caught the light when you moved the magazine around, but Yuuta was too disgusted by the idea of a magazine with nothing but clothes in it to get very excited about that. “Clothes are an important way of expressing one's personality, Yuuta-kun,” said Mizuki-san. “You should pay more attention to how you dress.”)

In mid-June, Aniki called Yuuta to come let him in at the front gate, since they wouldn't let him in alone without a school ID.

“I’m at Shinyanagi Elementary,” Yuuta said. “I can’t. Why are you at St. Rudolph?”

“Can’t I come visit my baby brother?”

“Not without checking to see if he’s home first...”

“What are you doing at Shinyanagi?” asked Aniki abruptly. “Are you watching the matches?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Yuuta rolled his eyes, “but I’m helping Mizuki-san scout possibilities for next year’s team.”

“Oh,” said Aniki. Then: “Is he that boy who said he didn’t care if you hurt your arm?”

“Yes,” Yuuta gritted his teeth, “but—“

“Oh,” said Aniki significantly.

There was a pause.

“Aniki,” said Yuuta, “where did you hear about the matches at Shinyanagi? I didn’t know you followed elementary-school tennis.”

Yuuta could almost hear his brother’s elegant shrug. “Oh, I’m not really sure. Maybe I read it in the paper…”

“But it wasn’t in the paper, Aniki,” Yuuta pressed. “The school where it was supposed to be flooded last week, so they had to move the location at the last minute, and the only reason Mizuki-san heard about it was that the letter that was supposed to go to our coach accidentally got sent to him instead, and…”

“That’s interesting,” said Aniki without the least trace of sincerity. “Are you coming home this weekend?”

Yuuta frowned. “I wasn't planning on it.”

“Not even if Neesan makes—”

“I have homework.” …And stuff, Yuuta mentally added; it was bad to lie to his brother.

Later, Yuuta sat hunched over the low wooden table while Mizuki-san, who was curled up in the armchair that no one else was allowed to touch, pored over a book on application of eugenics. (Sadly, the clubroom was the best place for homework. It wasn't that Yuuta’s roommate—Kaneda-san—was loud or disturbing or anything, but he liked to hang out with Akazawa-buchou, who could be loud and disturbing.) Yuuta was supposed to be doing what looked like pages and pages of geometry homework, but he had the feeling he was failing pathetically. He sighed loudly, grabbed the sugar off the snack shelf, and dumped more into his tea. The china clanked.

Mizuki-san raised an eyebrow at the sound. “Stop that. It's wasteful, and anyway that much sugar is revolting. Isn't that the fifth time you've put sugar in that cup? You're supposed to be studying.” With an imperious air, he pulled the notebook out of Yuuta’s hands, condescended to glance at it, and said, “Yuuta-kun. Since when is the x-axis vertical?”

“Um,” said Yuuta.

“You have to redo all of this,” Mizuki-san announced. “What is wrong with you today?”

“I dunno, I suck at math?” said Yuuta. “Also my brother is driving me crazy.”

Mizuki-san went back to typing. “Don't make excuses.”

There was a pause while Yuuta came to the conclusion that the subject had been successfully broached. “You know he hates you, right?”

Mizuki-san blinked at him. “It’s not hate, Yuuta-kun,” he said. “The emotion one feels for one’s destined rival is much more complicated than that.”

Yuuta opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Destined… rival?”

Mizuki-san nodded confidently. “Destined rival. Which is why it doesn’t matter, Yuuta-kun, that Fuji-kun keeps sending me girls’ magazines and invitations to children’s tournaments—”

“I think that was so he could visit me without you here,” interjected Yuuta.

“—as if I could be distracted by things like that,” finished Mizuki-san. He turned to Yuuta, eyes sparkling, and started twirling a lock of hair like he always did when he was pleased with something. “I’ve been studying him, Yuuta-kun, and I’m definitely going to win next time.”

Yuuta was skeptical.

Mizuki-san got out a red pen and started circling things on Yuuta’s homework. “He was right, you know, about your arm. I shouldn’t have made you focus so much on that shot.” He returned the notebook. “Questions five, eight, twelve, and seventeen are correct. Redo the rest.”

Yuuta obediently turned to a new leaf of paper and started over.

“You know, Yuuta-kun,” said Mizuki-san, “if you ever don’t want to see Fuji-kun, I can always find an excuse for you to be busy.”

Yuuta looked up from his work at Mizuki-san's thoughtfully tilted face. “Thank you?”

Four days later, Yuuta returned to his dorm room to find Aniki draped across his bed with damp hair and Yuuta’s earbuds in his ears.

Yuuta’s bookbag hit the floor.

“Yuuta!” Aniki pulled the earbuds out and tossed them on the dresser. Yuuta followed their trajectory possessively.

“Aniki... How did you get in here?” he asked. “Did you just get out of the shower?”

Aniki pouted. “That’s not very nice, Yuuta. I know you’re just not talented at social niceties, but some people would think you were being rude.”

“Sorry,” said Yuuta, with as much genuine remorse as he could summon.

“Your door was unlocked.”

“Yes…” said Yuuta, “but how did you get into the school complex at all?”

“Oh, your teammate, that… Mikuzi or something let me in—”

“Mizuki-san,” said Yuuta.

“—but that’s not important.” Aniki sat up and looked at him seriously. “Yuuta, it’s been months since you’ve been home. Mom and Dad are worried about you!”

Yuuta frowned. Neither of his parents had said anything to that effect when he’d talked to them that Sunday.

“Look,” said Aniki with a businesslike tone, “what do I need to say to you to get you to come home?”

“Nothing!” said Yuuta. “I’m not—”

“Well then, can you at least tell me what I said that made you leave?”

Yuuta’s jaw dropped. “Nothing! I mean, I was pissed at you for telling Mom and Dad, but I wanted to come here, anyway! What the hell, Aniki?!” (It was a rant now.) “Not everything is about you. Well—in a way it is, which is kind of why I left Seigaku, but it's not like that everywhere. Places where you aren’t, there’s room for people!”

“There’s room for you with us,” said Aniki quickly. “But you don’t belong here.”

Yuuta almost screamed with frustration. “Why can’t you just say you’re sorry like a normal person?!”

Aniki tilted his head to one side and smiled as if he were amused. “I’ve never been normal, Yuuta.”

“Well then why can’t you just say you’re sorry?!” he snarled.

Aniki looked at him for a minute and didn’t say anything. Then he said, “I don’t know the answer to that question.”

Yuuta took a deep breath.

“I just really miss you,” Aniki added.

“I know,” said Yuuta.

“You should come home.”

“And you,” said Yuuta, “shouldn’t have come here. Why did Mizuki-san let you in, anyway?”

“I said I’d play a match with him,” said Aniki, “but I think you’re missing the point about—”

“Get out of my room,” said Yuuta.

“—coming home. Neesan said to tell you she misses you, too.”

“Get out of my room,” Yuuta repeated.

Aniki frowned at him. “You’re picking up crude habits here. Speaking of which, what kind of soap are you using? I could only find—”

“Aniki,” said Yuuta, “I’m serious. I like St. Rudolph, and if you keep trying to manipulate my friends, I’m never coming home again. Get out of my room.”

Aniki stood up gracefully and moved to the door. “Call when you’re ready for Neesan to come pick you up,” he said. He shut the door behind him without making a sound, which Yuuta had always interpreted as a perverse way of slamming the door.

Mizuki-san was applying all-natural hair product for delicate scalps when Yuuta knocked. “I lost,” he said thoughtfully, “and I’m not any closer to understanding Fuji-kun’s true style.”

“Yes, well,” said Yuuta, “he’s a genius.”

“Hmm,” said Mizuki-san. “I’ll get to watch him play against Rikkaidai this weekend, though. Rikkai’s a good team, so he’ll have to show his true strength. I'll definitely figure him out this time. Who do you think he’ll play against, Yuuta-kun?” Mizuki-san started mumbling names and stats of various Rikkai players.

Yuuta briefly weighed the consequences of destroying Mizuki-san’s dream and decided just to go back to his room.

Kaneda-san was sitting at his desk when Yuuta came back. “That was your older brother?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Yuuta.

“I passed him on the way up here.”

“Oh.” Yuuta pulled his history textbook out of his bag and flopped onto his bed.

“He must be really lonely,” Kaneda-san observed.

“Who? Aniki?”

“Well,” said Kaneda-san, “yeah. He’s constantly calling you, and he looked really sad when he left. It’s too bad you guys couldn’t have spent more time together. It’s hard when you’re busy.”

Yuuta watched Kaneda-san’s back as he flipped through pages of textbook. “I dunno,” he said. “He’s probably just faking it. He’s been really weird and pushy lately. He wants me to come home.”

“Oh, well, it’s none of my business,” said Kaneda-san. He flipped a few more pages without saying anything and then added, “But I don’t think he’s faking it.”

Yuuta raised an eyebrow, which Kaneda-san couldn’t have seen, so he grunted instead to make it obvious that he was listening.

“Think about it,” continued Kaneda-san, still not looking at Yuuta. “He calls you and emails you all the time, he’s always trying to talk to you when he sees you, he goes out of his way to come visit you…” He shrugged. “It’s kind of cute, isn’t it?”

“What.” (It wasn’t a question.)

“I don’t mean it like—I mean—” Kaneda-san was flustered. “I mean that it’s cute in kind of a sad way. I guess it’s kind of lame to be attached to somebody like that, but… Don’t you feel sorry for him? A little?”

Yuuta blinked at Kaneda-san for a minute.

He slept on it.

On Saturday evening when he went home, he had to let himself in. He’d figured his parents wouldn’t be back yet, but he’d thought maybe Aniki or Neesan would be home. No luck.

He went upstairs to toss his bag in his room and happened to glance across the hallway. There was sound and flickering light from Aniki’s room, so Yuuta pushed open the door. His brother was sitting on the floor, watching Rocky, which Yuuta knew very well had been borrowed from his room, since it was his favorite movie. It wasn’t the type of thing Aniki usually watched. (Aniki never had to work hard to win anything, so Yuuta figured he couldn’t understand people who did.)

“Neesan’s out today,” said Aniki without looking away from the television.

Yuuta frowned. “I don’t come home just for the raspberry pies.”

“Right,” said Aniki. Then he turned to Yuuta and smiled radiantly.

Yuuta figured he could ignore the embarrassment of being thought of as an object if it meant making everybody a little happier.