How incorrigible. A new year offers new beginnings and changes, Keito thinks as he climbs up the stairs with a practiced familiarity, but Eichi seems to be entirely hell-bent on rehashing his old habits. Though it’s really to be expected he’d partake in the Tenshouins’ spring-cleaning one way or another. Eichi is absolutely useless at cleaning, and Keito doesn’t think he got any fonder of the servants since they’d been friends. It’s inevitable he’d be dragged over. A sigh escapes, but so does a fond smile. Some things never change, do they?
It’s easy to navigate his way through the mansion; growing up alongside Eichi means Keito would probably know his way around blindfolded. He’s always found it ironic a boy from a Buddhist temple would have a mansion, the very image of materialism, as a second home.
He raps once against the door, but doesn’t bother waiting for a reply before walking in. “Alright, brat, where are we starting?”
He’s expecting a long, messy day.