The next morning, while I was having breakfast with Mom, the doorbell rang.
Onii-chan.
Mom and I looked at each other for a split second before I jumped up from my chair.
"I'll get it!"
I hurried to the door and pulled it open.
There he was.
Hands in his pockets, standing there like this was just another normal morning.
"Onii-chan…" I breathed.
He gave me a small nod, then paused for a moment.
Before I could say anything, his hand came up and he ruffled my hair—quick and casual, just like he used to when we were kids.
He made his way straight to the kitchen.
"Good morning, Kaede. Mom," he said casually.
"Good morning, Takumi," Mom replied. Her voice was careful, like she didn't want to startle him. "Please, sit. I… made extra breakfast today. I thought you might come."
Onii-chan just shrugged and pulled out a chair like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Don't mind if I do," he said. "Been surviving on convenience store food lately. I wear Amiri and eat instant ramen. Very authentic rapper lifestyle."
His tone was completely flat.
Mom didn't react to the joke. She simply placed a plate in front of him—omurice with a neat swirl of ketchup on top, toast on the side, and a cup of fresh coffee.
For a second, Onii-chan just looked at it.
Then he picked up his chopsticks.
"Itadakimasu."
He started eating without another word.
Mom sat across from him, hands folded around her own coffee cup, watching quietly. I nibbled at my toast, sneaking glances at him between bites.
The only sounds in the kitchen were chopsticks tapping the plate, the soft clink of cups, and the kettle ticking as it cooled.
And for a moment… it almost felt like before.
Like those mornings years ago, when Onii-chan would rush downstairs half-awake and Mom would scold him for being late.
Back when things weren't complicated.
Onii-chan took another bite of the omurice, then leaned back slightly in his chair, lifting the coffee cup.
"It's… weird," he said. "Being here again."
He glanced around the kitchen like he was checking if anything had changed.
"I left in April, right? So… what, three months?"
Mom smiled—soft and a little sad.
"Honey," she said gently, "this is still your home. Even if it didn't feel like it for a while."
Her fingers tightened slightly around her cup.
"You're always welcome here, Takumi."
I nodded quickly, almost too quickly.
"Yeah," I said, hugging my toast plate a little closer. "It's still your house too, Onii-chan."
I hesitated, then added quietly,
"And… I like it better when you're here."
Onii-chan looked… weirdly vulnerable for a second.
He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a quiet groan.
"Men are such pussies when it comes to women," he muttered under his breath, like he was annoyed at himself more than anything.
Then he straightened a little and looked at both of us.
"Well, ladies," he said, tone dry, "if the welcome'd been this warm three months ago, I probably wouldn't have left in the first place."
Mom didn't say anything. She just watched him, very still.
He took another sip of coffee.
"That being said," he continued, shrugging lightly, "I'm willing to treat this like a… reset."
His eyes moved between the two of us.
"Last chance, though. For all of us."
A small pause.
"So yeah. Let's try acting like a family again. See how that goes."
For a moment nobody spoke.
Then Mom quietly reached for her chopsticks again, and I did the same.
And somehow, that felt like an answer.
Onii-chan set his chopsticks down once he finished eating, then reached down and rummaged through his backpack.
"Alright, ladies," he said casually. "Token of reconciliation."
He placed a small box on the table in front of Mom, then another in front of me.
"I got you two a little something."
Mom looked confused as she opened hers.
Inside was a bottle of perfume.
Onii-chan leaned back in his chair, watching her reaction.
"I just figured you'd like smelling like Channel, Mom," he said lightly. "Now you can tell your coworkers your son buys you fancy stuff. Good PR and all that."
Mom didn't laugh.
She just stared at the bottle for a moment, like she didn't know what to say.
"Takumi… sweetie, you didn't have to…," she said softly.
Onii-chan shrugged like it was nothing.
"Relax. I can afford it."
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms a little.
"Consider it proof I'm not living under a bridge."
Mom's fingers closed carefully around the bottle, almost like it was fragile.
"Still… thank you," she said quietly.
Then Onii-chan turned to me and slid the other box across the table.
Inside was a set of lipsticks.
"And Kaede," he said, "you never wear makeup."
I blinked.
He shrugged.
"Thought you might want to look pretty for once."
My face immediately heated up.
"Girls in my class are on a whole different level," he continued, completely unbothered. "No competition. You saw Inazuki at the concert, right? She's basically the class gyaru."
I stared at the lipsticks in my hands.
"…Onii-chan," I muttered, half embarrassed and half smiling despite myself. "That's a terrible way to give a gift."
He smirked, an eyebrow quirking.
"Well, if you don't want it, I have plenty of girls I could give it to," he teased.
I pouted, crossing my arms.
"I didn't say I don't want it… stupid big brother," I shot back, sticking my tongue out.
Before he could respond, my arms looped around his neck.
I planted a quick, light kiss on his cheek.
"Thank you, Onii‑chan!" I chirped, grinning ear to ear.
He froze for a split second, then rolled his eyes, clearly pretending to be annoyed.
"You're lucky I'm family," he muttered, though the faint upward twitch of his lips betrayed him.
We finished eating, and Onii‑chan stretched, yawning like he'd just woken from a nap.
"Kaede," he said, grinning a little, "be a good girl and help Onii-chan pack, will you?"
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't hide my grin. "Fine, fine… don't make it sound like I'm your maid, geez."
He smirked, stroking my hair as I followed him to his room. "You're not my maid… just my favorite little sister. For now."
I puffed my cheeks, hugging his back. "Y-you're so unfair! You know my heart can't handle this, Onii‑chan."
"Brocon," he said flatly, smirking just a little.
"Hey! You're almost like a siscon yourself…" I protested weakly, trying to sound indignant.
"Don't act like your inner brocon isn't screaming whenever I ruffle your hair," he fired back, a smirk creeping onto his lips.
I rolled my eyes, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably. "W-what are you even talking about? I—"
"Shhh," he interrupted, tousling my hair again. "Admit it. You love it."
I shoved his shoulder lightly, though my grin betrayed me. "Ugh… maybe a little, okay?! Happy now, Onii‑chan?"
"I mean… I didn't even notice it until we met again," he admitted, his voice going a little groggy. "So yeah. I guess it does make me kinda happy."
And that made my chest feel warm.
He was… finally noticing me.
"Onii‑chan!" I squeaked, hugging his back with all the energy my little heart could muster.
"Oh, hey… c'mon, Kaede, what are you, ten?" he teased, voice laced with mock annoyance.
"Just shut up! I missed you a lot, you idiot," I shot back, cheeks warming, my grip tightening a little.
He didn't push me away. We stayed like this for a while, then we headed to his room.
Onii‑chan's room felt smaller than I remembered.
Maybe because he wasn't living in it anymore.
Maybe because he was standing there, unsure what still belonged to him.
"Alright," he said, clapping once. "Let's get this over with."
He crouched by his old desk, unplugged the PC tower — the one he used to "study" all night but really made beats on — and slid it into a padded bag like it weighed nothing.
"Careful with that," I said automatically.
He snorted. "Relax. I built this thing. It's tougher than me."
I rolled my eyes and moved to the shelves: vinyls, old magazines, cracked manga volumes — all of his obsessions.
"Kaede," he said, glancing over, "don't drop the vinyls. They're worth more than your allowance."
"Wow," I muttered. "Thanks for trusting me so much, Onii‑chan."
He smirked. "Just stating facts."
I gathered the vinyls, then magazines, then manga, sliding them into a tote bag. Touching all these things felt strange — like packing pieces of the version of him I grew up with.
He zipped the PC bag and stretched.
"Good job, Kaede," he said, ruffling my hair. "You didn't break anything. I'm impressed."
I puffed my cheeks. "I'm not a toddler, you know."
"Could've fooled me," he said, softer this time.
We stood there for a moment — him with the PC bag, me holding the tote — and it didn't feel like he was leaving again.
It felt like he was bringing the parts of himself he'd left behind… forward.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Yeah. Let's go, Onii‑chan."
Mom walked us to the door, hands clasped in front of her like she didn't know what to do with them. Onii‑chan slipped his shoes on, adjusting the strap of his PC bag.
"Thanks for the breakfast," he said, voice steady but polite. "It was good."
Mom smiled — small, careful.
"You're welcome, Takumi. Come by anytime. Really."
He nodded once, not promising anything, but not shutting her out either.
Then the Uber notification buzzed on his phone.
"That's me," he said, stepping outside.
I followed him, hugging the tote bag with his vinyls and manga. Mom stayed in the doorway, watching us with that soft, worried look she always gets when she's trying not to cry.
"Take care, sweetheart," she called.
Onii‑chan lifted a hand in a lazy half‑wave.
"You too, Mom."
The door closed gently behind her.
We stood on the curb together, waiting for the car. The morning air was warm, cicadas buzzing somewhere in the trees.
Onii‑chan shifted his bag on his shoulder, then glanced at me.
"…Hey," he said quietly. "You wanna see my place?"
I blinked. "Huh?"
He looked away, pretending it wasn't a big deal.
"It's nothing fancy. Just… figured you might wanna know where I actually live now."
My heart did a weird little flip.
"Y‑yeah! I mean—yes. I'd like that."
He nodded, satisfied, then lowered his voice a little.
"But you can't tell Mom the address."
I stared at him. "Why not?"
He shrugged, eyes on the road.
"Because she'll show up unannounced with groceries or something. And I'm not emotionally prepared for that level of parenting yet."
I snorted. "Onii‑chan…"
"I'm serious," he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "Promise you won't tell her."
I pressed a hand to my chest dramatically.
"I promise. Cross my heart."
"Good girl," he said, ruffling my hair again.
The Uber pulled up to the curb.
The driver hadn't even rolled down the window yet when Onii‑chan turned to me with that look — the one that meant he was about to say something ridiculous and pretend it was normal.
"Alright," he said, adjusting his backpack strap, "if you're coming with me, we're doing this my way."
I blinked. "Your… way?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black sleep mask.
A sleep mask.
"Onii‑chan," I deadpanned, "what is that?"
"Standard safety protocol," he said, completely serious. "No minors knowing my address. I'm not trying to get surprise‑raided by Mom with a casserole."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
"…You're insane," I muttered.
"Put it on," he said, holding it out like he was offering me a sacred artifact. "Or you're staying home."
I groaned, snatched it from his hand, and slipped it over my eyes.
"Happy now?"
"Very," he said, patting my head like I was a dog he'd just trained. "Good girl."
I swatted at him blindly. "Stop treating me like I'm five!"
He opened the car door and guided me in by the shoulder — gently, but still acting like this was a top‑secret mission.
The seatbelt clicked.
The car started moving.
I crossed my arms. "You know, this is ridiculous."
"Yep," he said. "But you're still wearing it."
I puffed my cheeks. "Only because you asked."
He didn't answer right away.
Then, quietly:
"…Yeah. I know."
My chest warmed a little.
The ride was mostly silent — just the hum of the engine and Onii‑chan occasionally telling me to "stop peeking" even though I wasn't.
After a few minutes, he spoke again.
"Kaede."
"Mm?"
"You really can't tell Mom the address. I'm serious."
I nodded under the blindfold. "I won't. I promised."
"Good."
His voice softened — barely, but enough that I heard it.
"Thanks for trusting me."
I smiled into the darkness.
"Always, Onii‑chan."
The car slowed, then stopped completely.
I felt Onii‑chan tap my knee lightly.
"We're here. Don't take it off yet."
I groaned. "Onii‑chan, I'm not going to memorize the streets by smell."
"Yeah, well, I don't trust your sense of direction," he said, opening his door. "You'd get lost in a convenience store."
I puffed my cheeks. "Rude."
He ignored me — obviously — and came around to my side. The door opened, and his hand wrapped around my wrist, guiding me out carefully.
"Step down. There's a curb."
I followed his voice, feeling the warm afternoon air hit my face. He kept a hand on my shoulder as we walked — not tight, just steady. Like he didn't want me tripping and dying on the way to his new life.
We climbed stairs — a lot of them — and I could hear him breathing a little heavier by the time we reached the top floor.
"Okay," he said, stopping. "We're at the door."
I heard keys. A click.
A soft creak.
Then his hand brushed my cheek.
"You can take it off now."
I lifted the blindfold.
And blinked.
The apartment was… tiny.
Seven square meters, just like he'd said.
White walls.
A narrow bed shoved into one corner.
A tiny couch squeezed into the opposite corner.
A kitchen so small it might have apologized for existing. Two burners and a fridge.
A wobbly table by the window.
A divider pretending to be a wall.
It was small.
But it was clean.
Quiet.
His.
Onii‑chan stepped inside, dropping his PC bag onto the bed with a soft thud.
"Welcome to Casa de Forsaken," he said dryly, spreading his arms like he was showing off a mansion. "Luxury living at its finest."
I stepped in slowly, taking everything in.
"It's… cozy," I said.
He snorted. "That's a polite way of saying 'tiny.'"
I shook my head. "No. I mean it. It feels… peaceful."
He paused at that.
Just for a second.
Then he shrugged, pretending it didn't matter.
"Yeah. That's the point."
I set the tote bag down on the wobbly table, smoothing the vinyls inside.
Onii‑chan watched me quietly, leaning against the divider.
"So," he said, voice softer than before, "you like it?"
I looked around again — the bed, the chipped tiles, the little kitchen, the window catching the afternoon light.
"It feels like you," I said simply.
His eyes flicked away, like he didn't know what to do with that.
"…Good," he muttered. "That's good."
And for the first time since he left home…
I felt like I was seeing the real Onii‑chan again.
Not the rapper.
Not the runaway.
Not the numb version of him.
Just… him.