#diignis

The moment Tatsuya all but collapsed onto the cushions, Katsuya had assumed exhaustion was in play—because his brother so rarely opts to sit with him willingly, to take Katsuya’s presence in the yōshitsu as an invitation. There is distance between them and it’s nothing poetic; Tatsuya maintains his space. That’s just how it is.

So sleep is likely the only reason Tatsuya’s breaking the streak now. He would not, in any conscious state, opt to use Katsuya instead of those cushions—but Katsuya has no interest in waking his brother. Perhaps it’s selfish; he decides right away to allow himself this indulgence.

Because Katsuya can remember what it was like when Tatsuya used to sleep propped up against him—or at least, he thinks he can. He knows the tricks memory plays. Witness testimony is unreliable; that sort of thing. Whatever he recalls about Tatsuya in their youth could be some fabrication supplied by a desperate mind, yet Katsuya chooses to believe it, to savour a quondam closeness.

Where Tatsuya’s body was once soft, and small, he’s so much bigger now; his weight pushes on Katsuya like he’s saying he’s really there. His breathing is shallow and steady. His warmth is the same.

And Tatsuya has been coming closer, lately. Whatever magnetic repulsion he’d been imagining between himself and his elder sibling has slowly been ebbing away. Tatsuya’s presence on the sofa to begin with is surprising, but not the leap it once would have been.

The roil in Katsuya's gut is something his heart feels before his head has time to intervene. It's an undulation of warmth, lazily folding over itself like a sinking feeling, but not unpleasantly.

Katsuya knows he'll lose it if he moves, yet duty has always dictated him before self-indulgence gets a say—so he really has no course of action available that isn't turning to Tatsuya, sharply, and with a severe kind of grimace. He hopes his brother hasn't paid any heed to the pause he took to gather his bearings.

"Don't be foolish," Katsuya says, with feeling. It's not appropriate to be putting things like that on Arisato. To see behaviour that isn't there and make ridiculous accusations. "He's simply... my friend. He happens to enjoy my company."

Granted, that statement is not one Arisato has ever committed to, though it's a barbed declaration anyway. The suffix of unlike somebody I could mention goes unsaid—but there's that sensation again, even as Katsuya perfects his most admonishing glower.

Just beyond the bedroom door—one claimed for Tatsuya alone to open, all others beware—there comes the sound of brisk footsteps, then an exasperated sigh. The source, knowing better than to turn the handle, decides to knock instead, with Katsuya's voice accompanying three brisk raps.

"Brother. I'm going to the precinct for an hour. Is there anything you need?"

The lack of a reply is nothing new, but neither is Katsuya's attempt to persevere. His brother can't evade him if it's simply an honest question, so he softens his voice just enough to sound... cordial, if not familial.