Author's Note: When I'm happy, then I'm incapable of writing anything but gut-wrenching angst. But when terrrible things happen in real life, I need to write the fluffiness. :P So I present one choppily edited, semi-fluff fest!

Chapter Four

Fine, he'll admit it.

I'm a coward.

A big, rotten, too-dastardly-to-put-into-words coward.

It unnerves him, more than anything, to be in a situation where the internet doesn't help. Right after it took him two months of hardcore procrastination, too. God, one might think Tadashi were gearing himself up to scour the parental-blocked internet for porn, if the way he glances over his shoulder and blushes as his trembling hands hover over the keys is evidence to the contrary.

But he had twenty minutes until Hiro was done with dish duty ("A suitable punishment for traumatizing my cat," Aunt Cass had scolded.) and he doubted he'd have worked up the nerve to do this again.

Tadashi had felt so ... so naked, to delve into such unquestionably intimate details.

Leaving the real question as "why?"

And the answer: "I have no idea."

He hadn't a clue as to why the red string was such a personal subject to him. Jeez, it still didn't make sense! His limited scientific knowledge had amounted to diddly-squat in helping him deconstruct this thing. By all means, the string shouldn't exist.

Or rather, it couldn't exist.

Tadashi was close to ripping his hair out by the time three sharp tugs signaled Hiro's freedom. In the fifteen seconds it took his little brother to dash upstairs, Tadashi had slammed the laptop shut and braced himself for Hiro's head-first dive into a hug.

Years of practice had yet to keep the impact from sending them both toppling off the bed. But prior knowledge had Tadashi strategically place a beanbag chair in the exact point of landing. Giggling flowed smoothly without grumbles of pain.

"Tadashiii," the younger boy whines against his brother's collarbone. "I can't feel my hands. Kiss me better?"

He gathers up his brother's tiny hands, rubbed raw from hours of exposure to soapy water and sponges. A series of light kisses peppered over each of Hiro's wriggling fingers elicits a giggle from his soft lips.

"What did you learn?" Tadashi croons mockingly, smiling at Hiro's eye-roll.

"That cats aren't meant to fly. But look at him—he gets fatter every day! I was doing him a favour."

"Sure, sure." He winks, deciding to ignore the disgruntled grumbling in favour of smothering Hiro in a hug. Cramped space aside, it's a comfortable moment curled up in the nest of beanbags.

"Tadashi?" comes the eventual question. Brown eyes blink up at him, Hiro tilting his head as he asks, "Why don't you talk to me?"

Of all the impending inquiries, this one catches Tadashi off guard. "Huh?" Where's this coming from? "We do talk, Hiro," he says, smiling a little. "We're talking right now, aren't we?"

Aaand there's the frown. So goes the mood for light-hearted jabs.

"About this."

Oh.

Suddenly, it's awkward.

In Hiro's fist is—what else?—the source of Tadashi's concern. That very reason for all the blatant stalling and the blade that whittles down Hiro's miniscule patience.

(He wonders if this is what a cornered rabbit feels like?)

It's instinct, by this point, to answer with, "We'll discuss it when you're older."

Ah, the easy route. Coward.

"I am older," Hiro huffs. "And my teacher said I'm mature for my age, so why can't you tell me?"

Whilst putting a pin in the question of which of his little brother's teachers may be confusing maturity with intelligence, Tadashi's brain races.

To tell, or not to tell? Lie for time, or man up and rip off the Band-Aid?

"Because—" Like always, his brain stalls. "—of reasons."

To which something truly horrifying happens. Hiro's expression, formerly scrunched up in a deep-set scowl, is smoothed out as his eyes widen to a comical size, frown coming loose as his lips part in shock.

Dread plants a seed in Tadashi's stomach as his brother whispers, "You don't know, do you?" in astonishment.

"Wh-why would you—" Gah! When did his vocal chords rust over?

Hiro's wide-eyed shock twisting into a malicious smirk is salt in the wound. "I know you, 'Dashi," the tiny devil mutters gleefully. "You get that look."

"Hiro—" he tries, but it takes a few coughs and a heavy swallow before Tadashi can utter, "What makes you say that?"

"Brothers know, 'Dashi. I know. You don't. 'Dashi doesn't know~" he sings.

It's going to be a looong weekend.

"Hiro—"

Muffling his snicker with the cuff of his hoodie, Hiro's eyes sparkle. "Your face is sooo red."

"I ... I can't deal with this." He shoves Hiro off his lap to clamber up on his bed, lying down with his eyes fixed up at the ceiling.

Hiro's face pops into view, rising over the end of the bed like a morning sun. "Really, you don't know?" His voice lacks his earlier mirth.

"No, Hiro. I don't know. I'm nearly eighteen and I still haven't figured it out." Man alive, does that feel unexpectedly good to get off his chest.

"'Kay, then. It's a good thing I'm here. I am the smart one."

Barely eleven years old, with an ego wider than Hiro is tall. With a flash of that gap-toothed smile, Tadashi feels his stomach drop.

"I'll figure it all out for you."

-0-

He supposes he should have seen it coming, when Hiro bounded home from school and insisted the two of them learn Morse code, but the implication in his words tickles Tadashi just so.

His little brother pouts. "Really, 'Dashi? Aren't you the one who's always telling me to use my big brain?"

"Yes, I am. But I was thinking more along the lines of changing the world for the better, and less to do with an alternative to texting in class."

"That really hurts, y'know. Ever considered that maybe I'm interested in languages? We had fun back when you taught me Japanese."

"You wanted me to teach you the naughty words."

"Same difference. I learned something, didn't I?"

It's inevitable that somewhere along the line of Hiro's pestering, whining, and melodramatic hints (anything but the coveted silent treatment) Tadashi's willpower is ground to dust and he opens a new tab on his computer as Hiro settles himself in his lap.

After several hours of research on various websites, they've created a mash-up of crudely translated Morse code, seasoned with their own personal spin. While Tadashi points out there's no reason why they shouldn't stick to the book, Hiro insists for the fifth time that it's a pretty crappy secret language if they just copied-and-pasted from some anonymous halfwit online.

It's basic text. Simple phrases Hiro considers necessary to get both of them through the day, along the lines of I'm bored, come find me, staying late tonight, and I love you.

Actually, that last one is Tadashi's input. Though Hiro rolls his eyes and calls him a sap, he doesn't protest.

-0-

It's as beautiful as he'd dared to hope.

San Fransokyo's Institute of Technology, a haven for technology of all brands, where purely the best of the best gain exclusive entry to flourish. Change the world, revolutionize the modern age, and push the boundaries of robotics.

And it's the only place Tadashi wants to be.

Inspiration buzzes through his veins as he walks through the lab, electricity crackling from his fingertips as he grazes them along workspaces, his heart beating in accordance to his mind churning out ideas one after the other; concepts impossible in the his homemade lab, but within his reach in the halls of SFIT.

"You'd get your own lab, unlimited access to the tools of your choice, and the best sponsors tripping over themselves to get behind you."

Tadashi has never wanted for much. At most, he'd spent nights wishing he was trapped in a freakishly lucid dream and would wake up at any moment to his father's smile and his mother's chiming laugh. But realistically, he's grateful for all he has.

This university, it's all he's ever wished for. Determination beats through his heart like adrenaline, and in an instant, anything feels possible.

He'll do this. Whatever it takes.

-0-

A bonus to living above a popular café: excellent studying grub.

Aunt Cass somberly informs him she understands the rough weeks ahead of him, then vows to make it as easy on him as possible. Energy drinks and cheap ramen is strictly forbidden, substituted for lattes and cookies fresh from the oven.

With a flyer for the upcoming admission tests stapled overhead, it's almost too easy to slip into "the zone."

It's ambitious, even for him. Hundreds, if not thousands of hopeful applicants aim for the scholarship programme every year, churning out impossibly high test scores and vast potential.

Tadashi can admit that he's smart, if not on the child prodigy level as his brother. And there lies the problem.

Grades and ideas only carry him one fraction of the way. He's not particularly special. But tuition for a school halfway as decent costs a pretty penny; he doesn't have the time to earn the money for it and he refuses to ask it of Aunt Cass when she's already done so much.

Thus, what choice does he have?

It's strictly routine: a continuous loop of studying and sleep. A delicate, but manageable balance with a solid goal in mind.

That is, until Hiro starts pining for affection.

His brother is considerate at first, content to arrange himself in Tadashi's lap then remain quiet as a mouse, the proximity alone enough to satisfy him. Occasionally he starts asking questions, ranging from "What's so great about the nerd school?" to "Do you think I can get studying food, too? Like a vending machine with gummy bears inside?" without dire need for responses.

Then impatience strikes.

"For someone so smart, you sure are dumb," Hiro comments one day, sat cross-legged on his bed. "I bet you can pass those exams in your sleep. Are you rubbing it in people's faces, how much smarter you are than them?"

"Not everyone gets to be a genius," Tadashi murmurs with a smile. "Some of us have to work to be this smart."

And there's the frown. "Well, sor-ry."

"Bored already?"

Hiro promptly averts his gaze by flopping on his back. "You're always busy, 'Dashi. Take a break and lets do something."

Yes, Tadashi wants to say. If only five minutes, he owes it to his little brother. But like always, five minutes will turn into ten, then bleed into an hour, until the entire day has been wasted on battle-bots and prototype jet-packs. By which point the night will be spent in paranoia over being a whole textbook behind schedule.

"Later. I really need to finish this essay by Monday." Though with any luck, he'll be done in a few hours.

"Can't it be now, 'Dashi? We don't have to do anything, just talk. How about I talk and you just listen?"

"I really, really can't, Hiro. I'm sorry, but I need to get this done. Rain check?"

With that, Tadashi turns back to the desk, words blurring on the paper in the silence between now and Hiro's long, low sigh.

"S-sure," Hiro mumbles. "Sure, whatever."

It takes a majority of self-control to suppress his brotherly instinct. But so lies the problem. Tadashi is past those peaceful days of naivety; he's expecting that first tug five minutes in.

New record, he thinks dryly. Ignoring it, he leaves Hiro be.

But then comes the second. Tadashi sighs. Usual routine: Hiro will chip down on his well-honed patience one small movement at a time. It's all about endurance; letting boredom tighten it's hold on his little brother before whisking him away in a momentary huff.

By the end of the day, Mochi will be equipped with his own jetpack and laser gun.

Three.

His eyebrow twitches.

Hot damn, is this the stress of finals finally bubbling over the edges? He can feel irritation crawling beneath his skin and tossing fuel on that spontaneous urge to throw something across the room for momentary relief.

But screw it. Tadashi is an older brother, the qualified guardian of a hell-raising genius. Enduring stress is what he does best.

Four.

"Hiro, knock it off."

Alright, back to the pages. He can do this. Just keep focused—

Five.

What was his assignment again?

"I mean it. I don't have time for—"

Six.

The textbook slams shut, his concentration shattered as Tadashi spins to face his brother. "Did Mochi hack at hairball in your gummy bears?" He only half means it that viciously.

Hiro, however, fully intends to snap: "I get it, okay! You're busy, tryin' to get into the nerd school. But there's other stuff going on, too."

"Other stuff needs to wait. I'm irritated, too. I wish I could spend time with you, but if I don't get this right the first time—"

"—then you have to apply next year? Oh, wow. Boo hoo." Expression oozing distain, Hiro slips himself off the bed and plants his hands on his hips. "What's the big deal? Normal people take a vacation. Once I get outta school, I'm never going back."

"Good for you, buddy. But I want to go."

He takes a step closer. "And I wanna talk to my brother."

"We talk all the time."

And another. "But you don't listen."

"I do—Hiro, I do listen. But I have too much on my mind, as it is, and you're not making it any easier."

"'Dashi." Tiny hands grasp the older boy's sleeve, "You said if I ever wanted to talk, then I'm top priority. Well," and yank the older boy down hard, making their foreheads collide. "I wanna talk."

Hiro glares at him with a level of distain that makes Tadashi wilt. Mostly. Because as adept as the tiny devil is at grinding Tadashi's resistance to dust, one can only be duped so many times before they learn.

Countless times before, Hiro has lit off identical schemes. Different methods for a the same result.

Notice me, nii-chan! those brown eyes plead, and Tadashi cups Hiro's clenched fist.

"You are my top priority." It isn't easy to loosen the younger's iron grip. "You always come first, Hiro, but I need to make room for other things, too." He runs his other hand through scruffy hair. "I'd make you my world if I could, but mine doesn't revolve around you."

He quenches the voice that shrieks liar! at the back of his mind, and regrets it as Hiro's eyes lose their rage, slowly returning to their original size then beyond. Wide, disbelieving, stunned.

The death-grip on Tadashi's sleeve goes slack. "I ... see," the younger whispers. Hurt.

Guilt starts eating at him like a vat of acid. "It's bothering you, isn't it?" Willpower? That's a laugh. He has nothing when it comes to his otōto's well-being. "If it's that bad—"

"No!" Hiro snaps; the force of it makes Tadashi jump. "No, I'm not—" He frowns. Then pouts. "—you finish your stupid essay, and I'm not talking to you 'til you do."

"You're worrying me."

"Good! I heard that's what it's like in the real world; you worry all the time, and that's how you get wrinkles and die."

"Hiro—"

"You can come find me when you're done."

With a stomp to his step, Hiro flounces from the room and doesn't look back. Not when Tadashi hurries after him, or loops his arms around his waist and hoists him off the ground, fruitlessly coaxing co-operation from him with words of come on, buddy, don't be like this. But Hiro stays stubborn with his arms folded so tightly it's a miracle he can breathe.

Aunt Cass intervenes an hour into the pleading to usher him upstairs. "I told you I wouldn't let you procrastinate," she says. "He gets this from your mother's side—believe me, it's just easier this way."

Dejected, Tadashi returns to his study area with his feet dragging on every other step.

-0-

"Hiro?"

Two hours later and a completed assignment to show for it, Tadashi trudges back to his room as Aunt Cass sleeps, and Hiro's lips remain sealed.

The younger sits in a nest of beanbag chairs, eyes fixed out the window and back firmly to the door. The ever unpopular I'm totally not mad, I'm just not talking to you right now pose that requires a buzz saw to cut through the ice Hiro encases himself in.

Silence. Obviously.

The air compresses around him.

Tadashi sighs. "Don't do this," he tries again. "I can't make this right if you won't meet me halfway."

To his credit, Hiro considers it for all of two seconds. "Say you're sorry."

He could apologize. Make this easy on them both. Get them caught in a repetitive loop where sorry makes everything better by pushing problems onto the back burner to fester and broil until the whole house comes burning down.

And he could, because he's a coward who can't refuse his little brother.

Liar, liar, liar. "I won't lie to you."

"Bye, then."

He's like a fish; tiny, slippery, and there one minute but gone the next. Hiro starts shifting in his seat; arms tightly folded, his butt shimmies side to side to sink him deep into his beanbag barrier.

Unfortunately for him, years of karate have gifted Tadashi with swift reflexes. He slides his hands under the younger's armpits once Hiro is waist-deep in foam beans. "Hiro, don't push me away. Please, just talk to me for once."

Make me.

There's nothing to talk ABOUT.

Bite me, 'Dashi.

A wide variety of answers. But then, Hiro chooses: "But you don't talk to me," and Tadashi feels himself gape.

"I—"

"We used to talk all the time," Hiro gripes, his sharp glare dulled by the reluctant presence of tears. "But now you don't tell me anything. You don't tell me 'bout school, or robots, or this." He pinches the red string and holds it up in distain, as though its riddled with germs. "What's that about, Tadashi?"

Extra syllable, full name, serious business.

"Hiro—"

"What's happening to us?"

A pause.

Hiro stares, lips pursed and eyes wide, as if he'd like to snatch the words from the air and cram them back down his throat, away from his brother's ears. Tadashi ...

... apparently isn't going to reply, as Hiro deflates, shoulders slumped and expression defeated.

Quietly, that it scarcely exists, Hiro whispers, "Am I losing you?" and it's an electric jolt down Tadashi's spine.

"Wh-what?" is his intelligent reply.

Half-submerged, Hiro turns to gaze up at him. "This is how it starts. Slow. You work late one night, I want to spend time with you, and we fight. We ... we don't make up. But you said you wouldn't leave, right? D-don't leave me."

"Hiro ... " He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. Hiro is worried, but at the same time, so cute in his fretting; all wide-eyes and pink cheeks. And Tadashi smiles warmly. "Whatever gave you that idea, knucklehead?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Satou."

The names instantly bring up mental images. They're regulars in the café; he lives for caffeine and she adores fudge brownies. Early thirties, going strong since before Hiro was born.

Well, until ...

"They're divorcing. They loved each other, they really did. But now, they—" He shudders. "—they ... don't. I heard one minute you swear you love someone and you'll stay together forever, but then—then that happens. And there's nothin' you can do."

Tadashi's heart aches.

"It happens slow. You don't even notice it until one day you're all lovey-dovey, then five seconds later you're yelling and stuff. I-I didn't mean to make you mad, Tadashi. I really, really didn't. You believe me, right? I won't put rocket boots on Mochi, I won't bother you when you're studying, I promi—"

A hand clamps over his mouth, stifling his squeak of surprise, and doe-like eyes stare up at Tadashi, spilling tears across the younger's cheeks.

"Hiro," he starts slowly, keeping his words firm and steady, "if anything remotely like that were to happen, then I think it would've happened a long time ago."

A knife gouges a hunk out of his stomach as Hiro looks guilty.

"But look at me. Look at us."

Hiro proceeds to do so, muffling what sounds akin to: but we're fighting.

"So what if we argue. Brothers do that. Family does that. Remember Project H?" He can feel Hiro smirk beneath his palm. "We're still here. Always will be."

He's silent for a while, blinking slowly a few times. Then he reaches up to peel Tadashi's hand from his face, but keeps hold of it. "Promise, right? Pinky swear—you can't break that."

"As if I would." But he offers his little finger nonetheless, which Hiro promptly hooks around his. "I promise."

-0-

He's midway to his usual spot outside the elementary school when the string acts up. Not a subtle pull or a pulse of warmth, but a trembling that churns discomfort in his stomach. A dull vibration races along the red trail, as though someone holds it taunt and plucks the string to a melody meant for a harp. It doesn't hurt, far from it, but it's distinct enough that Tadashi knows he won't be able to ignore it.

As if he had a choice.

He could have eternity to piece together an explanation as to why, but it would remain impossible to fathom a reason as to how he knows Hiro needs him. Now.

So he breaks into a run and follows the trail. It's a short path; Tadashi turns the corner, and the world is tinted red.

Tiny stature and scruffy hair, he'd recognize his little brother in any crowd. And this particular get together involves Hiro on the ground, bare knees scuffed and shreds of skin clinging to his palms, surrounded by three towering boys projecting a hostile aura, even before they make a move.

A blonde, stocky boy raises his fist and Hiro closes his eyes in preparation for the blow that never connects. While Tadashi isn't an athlete, his mind is his weapon, equipped with seven years of studying martial arts and a black belt in karate. In under a minute, the three bullies have been swiftly dealt with, and Hiro watches his brother with a pitiful mixture of awe and shame.

Malicious the boys may be, they aren't dumb enough to rise towards a futile challenge. By the time they've scurried away out of sight, Hiro gathers himself back to his feet and slaps away Tadashi's offered hand.

The blow stings more than it should.

-0-

It's an odd feature. Downright surreal, he'd admit. Terrifying for reasons he can't explain. But Tadashi can't deny the usefulness of his borderline sixth sense, as loathe he is to need it.

Hiro babbles out a hasty lie as Tadashi bandages up his cuts. Something about a bet gone wrong, how Tadashi saw it way out of context, and that honestly, there's absolutely nothing to worry about.

"I swear."

First and foremost, Tadashi is an older brother. As good a liar as Hiro may be, it's a transparent wild card against him. He can see the lie prancing cruelly in hurt brown eyes, desperation mingling with shame of losing the battles he needs to fight.

"Whatever context makes this—" He dabs disinfectant on Hiro's knee. "—look harmless, I don't want to know it. But Hiro, if they're hurting you—"

"They're not."

"—then please, please don't keep it to yourself. It doesn't make you weak to ask for help."

He hadn't known what to expect from those words. Lying skills aside, Hiro is prideful. Too arrogant for his own good and unashamed to flaunt it. He'll never accept help, much less ask for it.

But then, nor does Hiro roll his eyes and sigh, "Fine. Whatever makes you feel better, nii-san."

With his wounds patched up, bandages covered by too-long sleeves and baggy jeans ("Don't tell Aunt Cass about it. You'll make her worry about nothing."), Hiro slips off the bathroom counter and retreats to his bed, sliding the partition screen across without saying goodnight.

Tadashi lies awake at midnight, his own portion of the room open as he stares wistfully at the quivering bow around his pinky. He tells himself Hiro needs time, that his otōto will come to him once he's ready to talk or hug it out, but the plan to stay away for as long as it might take are promptly trashed as he hears a brush against fabric, and muffled sobs emit from behind Hiro's side of the screen.

The cold wood floors pinch his feet as Tadashi swiftly kicks aside his duvet and crosses the room. He could knock on the wall, call out Hiro's name, give the younger time to wipe away his tears and feign being asleep. Leave his precious otōto to suffer in silence as he turns a willful blind eye.

Direct attempts had always been the only method to get through Hiro's thick skull.

Tadashi slides back the screen, unhindered by Hiro's panicked gasp and ignoring the younger's garbled attempts of an excuse to scoop him up into a hug, duvet and all.

"'D-Dashi—"

"Let me help you, Hiro. C'mon, you and me, like always. We promised we'd look out for each other, remember?"

"I'm ten years old, 'Dashi. I don't need you babying me all the time. Nothing is wrong. Don't you trust me, anymore? Why else wouldn't you believe me?"

"Because evidence says to the contrary."

And there's so much of it that Tadashi feels the guilt pulsing from within him. Physical violence must be a recent thing, all things considered, but how about the emotional part? Verbal assault, mental games, and malicious pranks?

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words leave psychological damage that never heals.

Hiro ... oh god, Hiro—who frowns up at the worst older brother in San Fransokyo. "You can fake evidence, but I say I'm fine. Completely fine," he growls. "Now leave me alone."

Whoever said words couldn't hurt deserved a slap upside the head.

Tadashi's voice cracks as he says, "Hiro—" Then two firm little hands latch into his shoulders and shove weakly. Embrace faltering, he stares down ... right into brown eyes that shimmer with a film of tears.

"Please!" Hiro's urges, his voice thick. "'Dashi, please ... " Then the tears spill over, salty trails smoothing over flushed cheeks as Hiro slumps under an invisible burden and whispers, "Stop it," in a failing voice.

Something in Tadashi breaks.

He moves mechanically, brain short-circuiting against a sucker punch. Tadashi is back on the other side of the partition screen by the time his mind boots up the emergency power.

"H-Hiro," he croaks gingerly. His tongue darts over dry lips before he tries again. "You know I'm on your side ... right?"

For a full five minutes, Tadashi stands bare foot on the chilly floor before he receives a reply, spoken so quietly he barely hears it.

"Yeah. Yeah, 'course."

-0-

It's a lazy Saturday morning. Just like any other, a stranger might claim. But by the time Tadashi finishes clearing up the tables in the café, he finds Hiro sat in his nest of beanbags, glazed eyes directed out the window.

Unlike multiple occasions Tadashi has stumbled unto this scene before, this time he comes with a plan.

"Hey, cheer up."

It's a very half-assed effort Hiro puts into smiling. One that almost makes Tadashi discard careful planning in order to dash across the room and apply a home remedy of hugs and kisses until the world is sunshine and gummy bears again.

Think of the long-term, Tadashi. Stick to the plan.

Oh yes, a plan. It's risky, likely doomed to failure, and will get him into a lot of trouble. But for the sake of Hiro, for his happiness and well-being, Tadashi would build those damn rocket boots and send Mochi to the moon, if that was the code to making Hiro smile again.

Fortunately, while said plan might encourage those mental blueprints, nobody will be airborne anytime soon. So long as he stuck to the stages.

Step One: get Hiro's interest.

Plonking his bag onto his bed, Tadashi rummages around inside until his fingers graze across cellophane and Hiro turns his head at the familiar sound. "Doctor's orders: a handful of gummy bears a day. I know you don't like taking medicine and all, but d'you think you can manage that?"

He retracts the bag and tosses it neatly across the room, landing smack-dab in Hiro's lap. Then comes silence for one, two, three seconds before—

"Why?"

"If you don't them, I'll take them back."

Hiro, his face formerly scrunched with suspicion, curls defensively around the packet.

I'll take that as a no.

In the most casual manner his mediocre acting skills allow, Tadashi tosses his bag neatly beside his bed before crossing the room to sit by the computer. He spins his chair towards the screen, back to Hiro and prickling under the weight of his otōto's accusing stare.

Three, two one ...

"What's this about?" comes the inquiry. From his tone of voice, Tadashi doesn't need to look to confirm the expression on Hiro's face.

So he smiles to himself and cheerfully offers, "Can't I be nice to my little brother? The whole bullying big brother angle wouldn't work for me. That's okay, isn't it?"

He can feel the sharpening of Hiro's stare severing his self-control.

"I have a surprise for you, Hiro." He spins in his chair to face his brother directly. "It's way better than gummy bears."

Rather than intrigued, Hiro looks scandalized. "Better than gummy bears?" he asks skeptically.

It's hard not to grin. "Way better."

-0-

When Hiro cooperates, life's mysteries become easy to unravel. As does sneaking out and navigating through San Fransokyo under the cover of darkness.

And trespassing? A piece of cake.

Together, they weave through the spacious campus to make a beeline towards the grand building, front and centre.

San Fransokyo's Institute of Technology. Highly prestigious, dangerously brutal, an arena for the best, and a degree reserved only for the ones who survive.

From the last time he was here, Tadashi mapped out a plan on the fly. Smuggle Hiro inside, creep into the rafters, keep a low profile, and watch the magic happen.

Steps one to three go off without a hitch. They sit behind a railing, out of sight, out of mind, and the showcase unfolds beneath them.

Best seats in the house? Highly debatable. But nevertheless, the view is stunning.

Countless pieces of tech, robotics Tadashi couldn't begin to find a name for, all scattered about the enormous hall in a mosaic of sheer, breathtaking scope.

Then a hand sharply yanks his sleeve, and Tadashi meets a suspicious pair of brown eyes.

"Okay, spill," Hiro gripes. "Why'd you bring me here?"

Tadashi manipulates his expression into one of pure innocence. "What, what? Can't I break a few rules here and there?" He tilts his head. "You're always the one telling me to loosen up and enjoy being young. Make up your mind, otōto."

With his arms folded, Hiro shakes his head, eyes never wavering. "Nu-uh. Not buying it."

"I wanted to do something nice for my brother. Is that better?"

"A little. But that's pushing the limits of my suspension of disbelief."

"Then how about I let you in on a little secret?" Hiro raises his eyebrows, but doesn't dissuade him. "After graduation, this is where I want to go. That orientation tour my class took last semester? It really opened my eyes."

Chocolate-brown eyes narrow. "Unbelievable," Hiro grumbles. "Do you know how to have fun, 'Dashi? Man, if I weren't around, you'd have gray hair. And stress wrinkles. Then they'd only let you in here as a crabby old professor."

"Words hurt, Hiro."

"You're halfway there, anyway. What with the clothes 'n all."

"How do I know you're not just jealous? Not everybody can pull off the eighty-year old look with such aplomb."

"Hate to break it to you, bro, but you're not funny, either."

"Knucklehead."

"Nerd."

-0-

Tadashi can feel the change, even now.

Enraptured, Hiro watches the night unfold with such youthful curiosity it makes Tadashi's heart swell. Any semblance of concern or fear takes a backseat as he coils his arms around his brother's waist, chin resting in a mass of inky hair as he lets the array of robotics occupy his mind.

Reality makes an unwelcome gatecrash in the form of a ginger yank on the string.

But budding irritation at the disruption is washed away as Hiro murmurs, "You don't have a clue what this is, do you?"

He wonders when he'll finally learn not to underestimate Hiro in any subject. "Short answer, no," he sighs. "Believe me, I've tried to make sense of it."

Hiro idly twists the thread through his fingers. "'S not like we can ask, right? I mean, I've looked for anyone else, but there's nothing."

"You and me both."

"How long's it been here? Did it just appear one day?"

"For as long as I can remember. And that's, like, before you were alive to be on the end of it."

A cheeky smirk dominates Hiro's lips. "Lemme guess, you freaked out?"

"I took it in stride, you little brat."

"Sure, sure. It's the sorta thing that happens every day, after all."

He's a split-second from replying when the lights promptly dim, severing Tadashi's train of thought, and a single spotlight hones upon the main stage across the hall.

From thereon out, the magic unfolds. One-by-one, the stage is occupied by a genius in this field and that, commanding technology at the fingertips as it all unfolds before twin sets of brown eyes, and Tadashi smiles, because this is what it means to know precisely where he and his baby brother belong.

He returns to reality in unison with a tug on his finger, and looks down just as Hiro tilts his head up, brown eyes peaking through a dark fringe.

"'Dashi?" the younger murmurs. "If it means anything, and I'm not saying it does, but if we figure it out and it's bad, well ... we'll still be good, right? Like, if it means that if one of us dies then the other will, too, you promise you won't pad me up with bubble wrap and keep me in the closet, right?"

"Then don't give me any reason to tempt me." It earns him a sloppy headbutt to the chin.

"I mean it! Promise me that nothing has to change."

He holds up his finger, which is automatically linked by Hiro. "I promise. And we'll figure this out together, okay? Just like always."

-0-

They should talk about it. Tadashi wants to discuss this abnormality with Hiro, but his mind draws a permanent blank on how to breach the subject.

Sure, there's Fred's route on spontaneity. He could dive head-first into things without a plan or a Get Out Of Jail Free card, but it takes all of one look at Hiro with the subject matter in mind for Tadashi's brain to short circuit and his nerve to head for the hills.

So yes. He's hopeless. But it's a Friday night that boasts another failed attempt at talking, and Hiro is sprawled across his lap, eliciting kitten snores as the TV buzzes mutely in the background. The time for potentially awkward discussions can come later—it's times like these he wants to enjoy.

It's an excuse. Genuine truth lies behind it, but it's an excuse nonetheless.

They'll never talk about it; that much is clear as crystal. Maybe that's why Tadashi doesn't expect it when things just ... happen.

-0-

Tadashi is in the middle of an exam when the tugging starts up: S. O. S.!

Inner drama queen aside, Hiro explicitly promised not to use that code unless protocol demands it and four months on, that promise stands. Enough that it takes Tadashi a moment to translate the neglected phrase.

What's wrong?

Come find me.

Rain check.

The other end is dormant and Tadashi knows chances are high his brother is glaring at the nearest inanimate object. It doesn't stop him from whizzing through the remainder of the exam and tossing it across the teacher's desk as he dashes out of the room.

Where are you?

Home.

This doesn't bode well, Tadashi thinks. He recalls Hiro being whisked away to the principal's office more than once that week, but given his otōto's newfound love of public pranks, it's an occurrence Tadashi doesn't think twice about anymore.

He's home in record time, spares a few moments to greet his aunt, then climbs the stairs to find Hiro sat cross-legged in his beanbag chair. The younger doesn't give him the chance to inquire.

"They want me to skip a few grades."

Tadashi blinks, eyes fixed on the portrait of sheer misery his brother embodies. "Again?"

Hiro slaps his hands to his face, nails digging into his temple as he groans. "Yeah, 'Dashi. Again."

It's a bitter routine and a freakishly common recurrence. Hiro had barely memorized the halls of elementary school before he was thrust into middle school, too tiny in the sea of green-eyed preteens with a frail hold on morality.

Tadashi has seen the bruises, their origins, and the emotional scars they inflicted. Hiro has reason to be terrified he'll never reach puberty.

"Otōto." He settles himself opposite Hiro so the younger can't look away. "Remember what happened six years ago?"

It's next to impossible to get Hiro to consider indulging affection in public, but up in their sanctuary away from prying eyes, he openly burrows himself into Tadashi's hug.

"I promised we'd be okay, didn't I?"

He rubs Hiro's back amidst shuddering sobs, gently rocking them both and smoothing Hiro's wild hair.

-0-

Growing up with two wayward boys, Aunt Cass is far more savvy than she gets credit for. It takes one glance at Hiro's sullen face and she doesn't breach the subject of education, grades, or negativity of any kind.

Hiro is tight-lipped throughout dinner, swirling rice around his plate with a dark cloud over his head. But Tadashi can still pull off the puppy-dog look well enough to silently convince him to join in movie night.

It's nearing midnight by the time both brothers are in bed, and Hiro finally breaks his silence.

"High school, 'Dashi." His voice yanks the older back from the brink of slumber. "High school."

Tadashi rolls on his side, peering at the outline of the lump that is Hiro. "Think of it this way: you hate school, so by skipping several grades you'll be done with it sooner."

Hiro grumbles into his pillow.

Really, it's only natural by this point. Tadashi coils the string around his finger and taps out: I'm proud of you.

It takes Hiro five whole minutes to respond with the ever popular: Love you, too.

-0-

Author's Note: Because obviously, when you're connected by an invisible string, it's meant to be used like this. :)