A/N:Sooooo not a two-part piece after all...

/

Sometimes, Ryoga thinks his life is surreal in many ways.

Here he is, sitting in front of yet another (soon-to-be) businessman, talking about his brother (or at least trying to) while trying to assess him. Ryoma doesn't know these things, he thinks. It's his duty, although Ryoma would deny otherwise. It is his duty as an older sibling, to look after the younger boy who is all too gullible.

"Nice place, yeah?" he drawls, and the Atobe boy gives him a cold look but his smile is very pleasant and deceiving.

"Of course," Atobe replies, and Ryoga knows the words jammed inside the young heir's throat: but I've seen better and dined with better people; you are scum to me.

He wonders, briefly, if Ryoma was even worth that much to Atobe, for the boy to reserve such harsh bites. (But that was what led him here, to find out, wasn't it?)

He smiles and Atobe does not drop his own. They order.

/

He meets Ryoma in many years and harasses him, all in which the boy takes with good humor. At least, he does until Atobe leaves. It is then Ryoma frowns and Ryoga tries to compensate with dinner and jokes and laughter. They go out, after Atobe leaves after their disastrous first encounter with each other.

Ryoma no longer smiles at every little thing he does. The Ryoma he meets again is a lanky boy with hard eyes and a jeering mouth, but mostly, he looks unhappy to see him when they are alone.

"Chibisuke," he chirps, but the lilt dies in his throat. They are too old for this, he knows, unsure, but he was a creature of habit, and the nickname does not die out so easily. "Chibisuke, you look old now." He laughs a little. "Do you still like oranges, though? They have some really good tarts here." He does a wag of an eyebrow, to see if his younger brother would get the double meaning.

Hazel eyes and a thin mouth and a sneer. "What," his little brother (blood relations, rival, stranger), "Are you doing here?"

"I live here now," he says, and laughs. "Didn't oyagi say anything to you? I just moved back to Tokyo and here to stay." He spots the waiter and signals her with a smile and she blushes, hurrying over.

Ryoma says, "He's not your dad." Coldly.

"Are you monopolizing now?" This is surreal, he thinks, waving his hand at Ryoma before he can open his bratty mouth again, and strangely, Ryoma obeys and closes his mouth, although his eyes, they grow colder by each and every word he speaks and every sound that consists a laugh. The waitress writes down coffee, milk, orange tart and lemon cake, and leaves, her blush never quite abating.

"I didn't think you loved your dad that much, but," he says, affably, resuming there conversation, "Old man would be pleased."

Ryoma looks at him. When they were young, such eyes sparkled with mirth and love, or perhaps he is romanticizing. It is so hard to remember a Ryoma who had smiled and laughed and blushed, a whole spectrum of emotions, when now, the young man sitting in front of him is still and dry. He does not think that he had contributed to this single-handedly—he refuses to believe it.

This Ryoma now opens his mouth, and his words are brittle and calm as his eyes are. "It's been a shitty week," he says now, "And you're not helping it. Why are you here?"

"Didn't your shitty week become better the moment you met me?"

"No," he says.

"Monosyllables, Chibisuke. I thought you'd be happier to see me." He doesn't lose his grin. Ryoma does not gain his. "Or at least, you were when that guy came around." Ryoma does not blush, not as he did when Atobe was there. He is pallid and angry.

"I'm not," Ryoma says evenly, "Why would I be?"

"I'm your brother!"
"You're my…." Ryoma stops and does not continue.

He sighs. "I did love it when you were younger. So much cuter and more gullible."

It is then here that Ryoma does finally produce a face. He sneers and the sneer does not look pretty. "I did love it when I forgot about you."

He produces a smile and the tart and coffee arrives. "I'm not an easy face to forget," he says, and after a moment's thought, adds, "brother dear."

/

They eat. They eat, or Ryoma picks at his food and Ryoga jokes and leers. They go back to the house and Ryoma is about to head off to his room, but.

"Say, chibi," he drawls, and he catches Ryoma by the arm and twists him around. Ryoma snarls and tries to shrug him off, but he is stronger than that, more prepared. "Say chibi, so why was he here?" And, in case Ryoma would deny everything and pretend to play stupid, he adds, "The Atobe guy. He's a huge hotshot. When did you like hotshots, chibisuke?"

Ryoma continues to glare at him., but he, in turn, continues to smile at him, his grip increasingly insistent.

"How do you even know who he is anyway?" Ryoma finally bites out.

"Famous name, famous face." Ryoga hums and tilts his head. "Surprised that you think I'm that dumb, chibi. He's the guy whose going to rule the Japan stocks someday."

"You'd know all about hotshots yourself," Ryoma says. It's the dismissal of the younger boy he doesn't like, Ryoga thought, looking into older eyes, dimming shadows. It's the jabbing, it's the mouth, it's the eyes. Ryoga likes to think he's above everything, including his brother.

"Don't be cruel, Ryoma," he says sweetly, and he drags the boy into the hallway. Ryoma follows along somewhat half heartedly until Ryoga opens a cabinet and takes out a seal and stamp ink. "What are you doing?" Ryoma asks, suspicious.

Ryoga hums and plasters red ink onto the seal, takes out some paper for good measure, stamps his carved seal. "Told you I'm living in Japan now," he says, and wags the seal stamp in front of the boy, "Officially, oyaji made me his son. So I'm going to the city hall tomorrow to clear up some stuff."

"Good for you," Ryoma mutters, and tries to twist free again. Ryoga presses down onto his grip and Ryoma winces. He smiles.

"Don't struggle so, brother," he says. He dabs more red stamp ink, fakes a dip onto the paper. At the last moment he turns to Ryoma and imprints a mark onto the boy's exposed neck.

Ryoma snarls immediately, and tries to back off, but Ryoga is prepared for that.

"The fuck!" Ryoma snaps, and his other free hand clasps over the red mark. Ryoga laughs.

"Chibi, let me look," he says, and he yanks Ryoma's hand away from the damage. The ink had blurred and mashed with the skin surface; blurred and pale, it almost looked like a mark.

"It looks like a hickey, chibi," he says cheerfully. "I wonder what Atobe would say to that."

Seal inks don't come off easy, he thought, almost giddily. He pounds his seal onto the ink base again and waggles it in front of an aggravated Ryoma.

"What do you think Atobe would say to that?"

"He'll think you a sick bastard," Ryoma says.

"He already does, though." Ryoga laughs and mock-attempts to press another mark onto the boy; this time Ryoma dodges.

"He already does," Ryoma agrees warily. The skin where Ryoga is gripping Ryoma's arm is turning an angry red. It will bruise tomorrow, Ryoga thinks, with little regret.

Ryoma studies him. Ryoga knows this, because Ryoma's eyes are hard to miss: they penetrate people, with emotions and variables, something Ryoga loved as a child and something he is ambivalent about as he is older. There are things that he does not want the younger man to know, and there are those hazel eyes, pondering and wondering.

"Why are you doing this?" Ryoma finally asks, his voice flat. He is hardly struggling anymore now. "Why now? You don't care and you never did."

He wants to say: that's not true, that has never been true, if I ever cared about anyone it has always been you. He can't say such words when he doubts them himself, many times a day; he cannot swear words that he wants to cherish. He does not what Ryoma to be disappointed in a future that he cannot promise. Their bond is fragile and breakable.

"You're right," so he says instead; he grins at the boy and he makes sure his smile is disinterested and sharp, as dismissive as Ryoma had been, "Smart as ever chibi." He shrugs and yanks Ryoma closer; Ryoma comes, docile and still, his eyes hard and angry again. "It's just fun, you know. You make life a little less boring. Also." He stops and lifts the hem of Ryoma's faded shirt; Ryoma makes a face but doesn't put up a fight (it disappoints him for some reason; he would have preferred the struggle and the yelps instead of the resigned disgust on the boy's face). "Also, you're dating an heir-to-be. What's there not to care about?"

"You're repulsive," Ryoma says, in the same flat monotone voice. Ryoga's heart stops and he can't remember to breathe. He composed himself, of course, and his next imprint is harder, near the boy's hollowed hips, his seal bright red and his name apparent. He roughly rubs the ink and the name blurs into another pink glob.

"I know," he manages, and his smile is still plastered. "Don't wash yourself tonight, chibi. I wonder how Atobe'd react?"

Ryoma meets his eyes and his silence is a barren black.