#ichiro 01

Solitude is not something Saburo is familiar with. 

Loneliness? Sure, he sits in his room most of the time, doesn’t exactly make friends easily. But that’s a different sensation, a temporary, yearning one. This? This doesn’t have a noticable end, he doesn’t know what to do with something that tugs at his heart so strongly and the only identification he can give it is he really wants to see either of his brothers. Jiro, who always stood up for him when they were younger, who held close to him so nothing would ever hit him. Ichiro, who stood further away, who tried to make things easier for them. Who had grown so much more loving as the years went on. Even as he argues and derides Jiro now, it doesn’t change the fact he still loves him. The most important thing to Saburo would happen to be his family. 

Which aren’t here. 

Nowhere to be found, though he hasn’t looked every where just yet. There’s still plenty of places to check, more corners and crannies to search in. Somewhere, anywhere he has to find one of them. There’s no way it’s just him, there’s no...way. He runs his thumb over his fingers. His mother’s ring isn’t with him right now - it’s safer, with Ichiro, away from here. If he thinks like that, he’ll be fine. Best that they stay home, that they continue to aid Ikebukuro, and prepare for the Division Rap Battle. 

A red jacket catches his eye though, and he whips around so fast - already walking towards them before he realizes his legs are even moving. He wants to stop himself from hoping, aware hopes can be dashed so quickly. From behind, anyone with black hair could wear a red jacket. Yet his heart still burns, and his pace picks up. Please be…!

“Ichi-nii!” He cries out, his facade cracking as hope and desperation play on his face.

As the night came through, so did the chilly breeze, and Seofon was starting to feel awfully exposed in his swimsuit. He needed to look for something else to wear, a jacket perhaps, or more importantly, some goddamn pants.

He looks for someone, and approaches the first person he sees, tapping them on the back, his hands rubbing at his arms, trying not to visibly shiver.