Chapter Text
It starts, like most things, quietly.
Just you and Tsubaki walking home from Furin High, your footsteps stepping in rhythm with the click of his heeled boots. The street is half-empty, the sun is stretching long shadows across the pavement, and the day is hotter than usual, but it’s familiar. Safe, even — just like him.
Just like your older brother, Tasuku Tsubakino.
He’s always drawn attention. Always.
People stare at his long black hair with its red tips catching the light like burning coals. They whisper when they see his painted nails, the red lipstick he wears, and the black choker around his neck.
They look at the Furin uniform, then at the skirt he pairs it with before they even notice the confident sway in his step, the 8cm heels he wears like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And for Tsubaki, it is.
But you’ve never once looked away. Not since you were little. Not even when the other kids called him names behind his back. Not when you overheard someone say, “It’s weird, isn’t it? A guy like that at Furin?”
You’d ball your fists and glare at them. But Tsubaki would just smile — that tilted, confident smile — and say, “They’re boring. Don’t be like them.”
You never were. You never even wanted to be like them.
You’re just a first-year; but already, you walk beside one of the Four Kings of Furin. People move aside when he walks. They know what Tsubaki is capable of; not just in a fight, but how fiercely he defends people.
How he lifts others up with that easy confidence, like it’s nothing to care that hard.
He’s always looked after you. Since forever. Since you were born. But now, you can’t even meet his eyes properly.
Not since… well.
Not since you started noticing the way your stomach flutters when he smiles just at you, or how your heart speeds up when he brushes your hair out of your face and tells you to focus on your lunch. Not since you started dreaming about him.
Not like a brother.
Not like a family should.
And you feel sick over it. Disgusted with yourself. Because he’s your brother. And you’re just his little sister — two years apart, same parents, same last name, same home. Same blood. That should’ve been enough to keep the line clear.
But it isn’t.
Not anymore.
And even worse: your older brother is gay. Or at least you’re convinced that he is. You’ve known about Tsubaki’s feelings for Umemiya for a while now, his childhood friend.
He doesn’t exactly talk about it directly… but you’ve seen the way his eyes follow him. The way his smile gets brighter around him and he would start fiddling with his earrings. You’d never want to get in the way of that. You never could.
How could you, when you don’t even qualify? Not just because you’re his blood-related sibling — but because you’re also a girl.
“Hey, sis,” Tsubaki says suddenly, glancing sideways, “You’ve been awfully quiet today. Is there something that’s bothering you?”
You shake your head quickly, trying to hide the flash of panic behind your eyes. “No. I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” the man responds flatly, but he doesn’t press — just reaches out to flick your forehead, as gentle as always despite the gesture. “It’s okay. Just tell me when you’re ready.”
You feel like you’ll never be ready. You’re afraid of the way he makes you feel, ashamed of your feelings — more than you willing to admit it.
But every time you look at him, your heart squeezes in your chest. It’s like you’re drowning. You want him. You want him so badly that it’s painful, and he’s right there — walking next to you, close enough to touch, but you know you can’t. Not like that.
Because he’s your brother.
Because you’re a girl.
But you love him anyway.
And that gentle smile he’s flashing you… That’s the worst part. He’s always kind to you.
Tsubaki has never once made you feel weird or less than for being who you are. He never laughed when you were nervous about joining Furin after the district decided to turn the school into a co-ed one.
He was the one who tied your ribbon properly when your fingers shook too much. The one who threatened to break a second-year’s jaw for talking behind your back.
You glance at him again, and you can’t stop. This time, he’s the one who notices — and the side of his mouth quirks up.
“See. You’re doing it again. Staring at me.”
Your cheeks burn, caught red-handed.
“Am not,” you reply automatically. A useless protest; he can read you better than anyone else.
Tsubaki laughs, lifting up his hand to flick your forehead again. It’s a habit of his to touch you in little ways like that, but you’re hyper-aware of it now. It’s like there’s a pit of fire underneath your belly.
He’s your brother. And he’s beautiful — not in a delicate way, no… but in the way that fire is beautiful. Sharp, unignorable.
Alive.
And now you’ve gone and ruined everything just by loving him the wrong way. The way a sister should never feel for her own brother. Still, you walk beside him every day, holding the weight of your secret like it’s a second school bag slung across your chest.
He doesn’t notice.
Or maybe he does, and he’s just pretending — the same way you pretend not to see the way his hand lingers on yours a moment too long when passing you your bento. The way he always makes sure you walk on the inside of the pavement. The way his eyes soften when he says your name.
You don’t know what it means. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
But for now, you walk. You try not to look at him for too long; try not to love him.
And you fail, every single day.
Chapter Text
The door to your house clicks shut behind you with a familiar creak of the hinges cutting through the quiet. Inside, it smells faintly of jasmine — probably from Tsubaki’s perfume. The smell you’ve always liked your whole life.
You kick off your shoes, lining them up neatly beside his polished black boots, then you put down your school bag and let it slump against the wall. It’s heavy with textbooks; almost as heavy as your guilt.
Meanwhile, Tsubaki is already halfway down the hall. He glances back at you with his blue eyes that are both sharp but warm, like they see right through your carefully built walls.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, tilting his head, “I could whip something up. Mom and Dad aren’t back until late, right?”
You nod, though your stomach is too knotted to care about food at the moment. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
Eventually, Tsubaki grins and disappears into the kitchen. You trail after him from behind nonetheless.
The house feels smaller tonight, like the walls are pressing in, amplifying every little thing — his voice, the clink of a pan, the way your heart stumbles when he brushes past you to grab a spatula. He’s humming to himself while he’s cooking, and the sound settles low inside your bones.
A part of you wants to come closer, wrap your arms around his waist from behind and rest your head against his shoulder… but you can’t. It’s too intimate now that you’re no longer just a child. You’re a girl, and he’s your older brother.
So you just watch him instead, lingering by the kitchen island instead of going over to help.
And then you see him, really see him; Tsubaki has always been graceful, like he’s dancing even when he’s just chopping vegetables.
His painted nails flash under the kitchen light, red and perfect, matching the lipstick he hasn’t bothered to wipe off. The skirt of his uniform sways slightly as he shifts his weight, and you catch yourself staring — then look away with your cheeks burning.
This is wrong. So wrong.
You’re his little sister. His blood-related little sister, still figuring out how to navigate the chaos of high school life while he’s out there leading the Jikoku Unit, one of Bofurin’s fiercest. He’s got Umemiya, the sun to his moon, and you’re just…
Well. You’re just you.
A girl who shouldn’t be feeling this way. A girl who’s betraying everything just by thinking about your older brother like this.
“You’re doing it again,” Tsubaki says suddenly, not even looking up from the stove. His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge to it — like he’s testing the water. “That quiet thing. You’ve been off all week, you know.”
You swallow hard. Unconsciously, your fingers are twisting in your lap. “I’m just… tired, brother. School is a lot. I’m trying to adjust.”
He snorts, tossing a handful of chopped green onions into the pan. The sizzle soon fills the silence.
“Tired, huh? Right… You’re dodging me.”
The man turns then, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. The choker around his neck shifts slightly, drawing your eyes to the pale line of his throat before you force them back to his face. “Spill it, sis. What’s eating you alive?”
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
What can you even say?
‘I’m in love with you, and I hate myself for it. I know you love Umemiya, I know we’re siblings, and I’m terrified you’ll hate me if you find out.’
Is that it? Sure, the words are there, sharp and heavy — but they stick in your throat like broken glass.
Instead, you mumble, “It’s nothing, brother. Really.”
Tsubaki stares at you for a minute, then sighs. A long, weary sound. And he puts down his spatula.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he mutters, then flicks your forehead. It’s a casual gesture he likes to do to you ever since you were both kids, like he’s not even thinking about it. It still makes your skin prickle. “Don’t play dumb with me. I can spot your mood a mile away.”
Nevertheless, you stay silent.
His eyes narrow, and for a moment you think he’s going to call you out again. But then Tsubaki sighs once more, pushing off the counter to flip the contents of the pan.
“Fine. Keep your secrets. But don’t think I’m letting this slide forever.”
You force a smile, though it feels brittle. “You’re too nosy for your own good, brother.”
“Part of my charm,” he shoots back, winking.
The gesture is so him — playful, confident — that it twists something in your chest. You want to laugh, to lean into the warmth of this moment… but the guilt is there, clawing at the edges.
Chapter Text
Dinner passes in a blur.
Tsubaki keeps the conversation light. He’s talking about Furin, about how the boys are having difficulty adjusting to the new co-ed system, about Sakura nearly starting a brawl over a misheard comment, about Kotoha’s new menu at the café.
You nod along, picking at your food. You’re trying to focus on his words instead of how his laugh makes your heart skip a beat.
Afterwards, desperate for a distraction, you offer to wash the dishes. The cold water feels like pins and needles on your hands, but it’s grounding. It’s at least pulling you out of your head.
All the while, Tsubaki lingers nearby. He’s drying the plates you pass him with his shoulder brushing yours every so often. Each touch feels like a spark, and you hate how much you crave it.
“You’re gonna scrub that plate to death,” he remarks while nudging you with his elbow. “What’d it ever do to you, sis?”
The only thing you can do is let out a laugh, even though the sound is shakier than you intended. “Just making sure it’s clean.”
“Uh-huh.” Tsubaki takes the plate from your hands, and the motion causes his fingers to graze yours. The contact is brief, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.
He doesn’t seem to notice — or maybe he does, because his eyes flicker to yours, searching, before he turns away to stack the plate in the cupboard. You two finish the dishes in silence afterwards, accompanied by the pounding of your heart; so loud you’re sure he can hear it.
When the last utensil is dried and put away, your older brother stretches, and his shirt rides up just enough to show a sliver of skin above his uniform skirt’s waistband.
You look away, fast, but not fast enough. The image is now burned to your mind.
“I’m gonna change,” he says, oblivious to your turmoil. “You wanna watch something after? That new drama Kotoha has been raving about?”
“Sure,” you manage, though it’s barely above a whisper.
Tsubaki flashes you a smile — that bright, unguarded smile — and heads to his bedroom. You stay rooted to the spot, gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
And then you can hear the muffled sound of him moving around in the next room; the thump of a drawer closing; the slide of fabric against skin. It’s all too vivid, sending your imagination running wild. It doesn’t help that you’ve memorised the sound of his footsteps and the scent of his perfume.
Shaking your head, you try to focus on breathing, on pushing down the feelings that keep bubbling up… but it’s no use.
You love him.
You love him in a way that’s wrong, in every way that could ruin everything. And you’re terrified he’ll find out.
Still, you decide to wait for him in the living room and stare at the ceiling to distract yourself from your own thoughts.
When he comes back, he’s swapped his uniform for a loose sweater and leggings with his hair tied up in a messy bun. The red lipstick is replaced with something subtler, a faint pink lip gloss of some sorts, but his nails are still red as always. There’s also a faint remnant of shimmer on his eyelids, probably from that glittery eyeshadow he loves. Of course, his choker stays around his neck too.
Your mouth goes dry. You want to look away, but you can’t, not when he’s right there in front of you — more natural, more relaxed, and somehow more beautiful.
Tsubaki looks softer like this, less like one of Furin’s Heavenly Kings and more like the brother you grew up with. But that only makes it worse. Because even now, even in this quiet, domestic moment, you can’t stop wanting him. You can’t stop loving him more than a sister should.
He flops onto the sofa, patting the spot beside him. “Come on, sis. Get closer. Don’t make me watch this alone.”
You hesitate but eventually scoot over, leaving a careful gap between you.
The TV turns on to reveal some cheesy drama flickering on the screen, but you barely register it. Your eyes keep drifting to him instead. To his hands which rest on his lap, to the curve of his jaw, to the way he laughs at the over-the-top dialogue.
As the episode progresses, you’re hyper aware of every little thing about him; how he leans forward at exciting parts and the small sigh he lets out when a scene is particularly dramatic. His arm is almost touching yours now. A part of you wants to close the gap, to feel the warmth of his sleeve against your skin.
But that would be crossing a line. One you can’t cross.
So you stay put, pretending to focus on the TV, though your attention is divided. And if your brother notices, he doesn’t say anything.
Halfway through the episode, Tsubaki shifts, stretching out until his legs are draped across your lap. It’s something he’s done a hundred times before, but tonight… It feels different. His weight is warm, grounding, and your hands hover awkwardly before settling on his shins. You can feel the muscle beneath the fabric.
“You okay?” he asks gently. He’s looking at you, not the screen, and there’s something in his expression you can’t read — something that makes a lump grow in your throat.
“Yeah,” you choke out, and it sounds pathetic to your own ears. “I’m fine.”
Tsubaki hums, not quite believing you, but he doesn’t push it further. Instead, he turns back to the show. Though you can see his expression has turned a bit pensive.
The episode ends soon after in a cliffhanger ending meant to keep the audience hooked. Your older brother sighs and fumbles for the remote, turning off the TV, and the sudden silence feels deafening.
“Hey,” the man begins again. “Sis… I know you’re not fine.”
“I am,” you lie, but it comes out too quiet. Too fragile.
He sits up, swinging his legs off you, and suddenly he’s closer, knee brushing against yours. “You’re really bad at this, you know.” There’s no teasing in his tone now. It’s gentle, almost careful. “Whatever is going on, you can tell me. You always can.”
It causes your heart to lurch.
You want to tell him. You want to spill everything, to let the truth pour out and see what happens. But the fear is stronger — the fear of his rejection, of his disgust, of losing the one person who’s always been there.
“I…” You start, but the words fail you. In an attempt to comfort you, his fingers find yours. The touch sends a shiver through you, making you jerk and pull back instinctively.
Tsubaki’s brow furrows and his gaze bores into you. There’s a quiet desperation in it, like he’s trying to read your mind. “Please.” It’s a plea. “Please, sis. Talk to—”
But you’re shaking your head before he even finishes speaking.
“No. Nothing is wrong, really. I just…” Your voice cracks this time, and you hate yourself for it. But not him. Never him. Instead, his eyes soften instantly. He opens his mouth, shuts it, then tries again.
“Is it me? Did I do something?” The concern in his voice is a knife to your chest. “You’ve been jumpy around me lately.”
“N-No, it’s not you,” you answer quickly — too quickly. “It’s me, brother. I’m just… messed up.”
Tsubaki doesn’t look convinced, though. He shifts closer, and now there’s barely any space between you, with his thigh pressed against your own. You can smell his perfume, sweet and floral, and it’s dizzying.
“You’re not messed up,” he responds firmly. “You’re my sister. Whatever is going on, we’ll figure it out. Together.”
His words are meant to comfort you, but they only make you sadder. The word ‘sister’ should anchor you, remind you of the line you can’t cross.
But it doesn’t.
Not when he’s looking at you like that, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. Not when his other hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, and the touch lingers just a second too long.
You look away, fighting back tears, and for once, Tsubaki doesn’t try to force you to meet his eyes.
He just waits, gently reaching out his fingers once more and intertwining it with your hand. His thumb makes slow circles on your wrist; a comforting gesture he’s done since you were a kid. You so badly want to lean into it. You want to cling to him like you used to, back when he would hold you when you had nightmares, or when he’d let you sit on his lap and tell him everything.
“It’s fine,” you cut in, too fast, while your other hand twists in your lap. You can feel your face burning, and you’re sure he can see the flush creeping up your neck. “I just… I’m fine, brother.”
But you’re not.
You know it, and he knows it. He always does.
Tsubaki leans back slightly, giving you space, but his gaze doesn’t waver; you can feel it pressing against you, and it’s making it hard to breathe.
He runs a hand through his hair, the red-tipped strands slipping through his fingers, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable — like the boy who used to sneak you extra sweets when your parents weren’t looking. Not the Heavenly King who commands respect with a single glance.
“You’re not fine,” the man scolds, softer, but there’s a firmness to it now — like he’s not letting this go. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Months. Jumping when I touch you. Avoiding me. And don’t say it’s school, because I know you better than that.”
Your heart stutters, and you bite your lip so hard it hurts. You want to protest, to say it’s nothing… but the words won’t come. They’re lodged in your throat, tangled up in the guilt and the shame and the impossible feelings you can’t control.
Tsubaki is right. He always is. You’ve been acting strange, flinching when he’s too close or when he touches you lightly. You’ve been avoiding him, too desperate to keep the line clear, but he’s noticed.
Of course he has.
He’s always known you too well, seen through every flimsy excuse. It’s one of the things you love about him; his ability to cut through the noise and find the truth. But right now, that truth is a blade, and you’re terrified it’ll cut you both.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” you deny instantly. You look down at your hands, at the way your fingers are knotted together with your brother’s, and will yourself not to cry.
Not here.
Not now.
Tsubaki is quiet for a moment, and you can feel his eyes on you, heavy and searching. Then he sighs — a soft, almost defeated sound — and shifts closer again.
Not as close as before, but enough that you’re acutely aware of him. Of the warmth of his body, of the faint scent of his jasmine perfume, of the way his sweater slips slightly off one shoulder, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone.
“Alright then,” he says finally. “You don’t have to talk. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here for you. You know that, right?”
You nod, unable to trust your voice.
He’s always been there; through every scraped knee, every schoolyard bully, every moment you felt small or lost. Even when the world judged him, when whispers followed him for his painted nails and long hair and make up or his skirts, he never faltered. He’s always been your rock, your protector. He’s always been your brother.
And now you’re the one threatening to break that bond, to taint it with something forbidden. Tarnishing the sacred bond of siblings with this perversion of yours.
Mockery. Heresy. Betrayal.
The thought makes your chest ache, and you press your lips together, fighting the wave of guilt that threatens to drown you. You shouldn’t feel this way.
You can’t.
Tsubaki is your brother.
He’s gay. He loves Umemiya, and has loved him for years. You’ve seen it in the way he lights up around him; the way his laughter comes easier; the way his touches linger. You’re a girl, and you’re his sister — that’s two strikes against you in a game you were never meant to play in the first place.
But then why does your brother look at you like this?
Why does his hand keep finding reasons to brush against yours tonight? Why does his voice soften when he says your name at this very moment, like it’s something precious?
You risk a glance at him, and your breath catches.
Tsubaki is watching you with an expression that’s both unreadable and intense at the same time — like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with no clear answer. His earrings glint as he tilts his head, and the faint glitter on his eyelids catches the light, making him look almost otherworldly.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
“Brother,” you start, then stop, unsure what you even want to say. His title feels different on your tongue now; heavier; like it carries a secret all its own.
He raises an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What’s up? Are you finally gonna tell me what’s got you so spooked?”
You shake your head, even though the words are there, clawing at the back of your throat.
‘I love you, brother. I love you in a way I shouldn’t. I know you’re my brother and I’m your sister, but I love you anyway. I’m sorry.’
But you can’t say them. You shouldn’t. You won’t. Instead, you force a laugh, thin and shaky. “You’re too pushy, you know that?”
“Guilty,” he teases, and there’s that smile again. The one that makes your heart twist. He leans forward, resting his elbow on his knee, his chin in hand. “But you love me for it.”
The word ‘love’ lands like a stone in your chest, and you freeze. He doesn’t mean it the way you do. You know that. It’s just Tsubaki being Tsubaki, playful and warm. But it hurts, because you want it to mean something else too, something impossible.
“Yeah,” you reply, and it’s barely audible. “I do.”
His smile softens, and for a moment, the room feels too small, too warm.
Tsubaki reaches out, and you think he’s going to touch your face again. But instead, he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear once more, his fingers lingering near your temple. The gesture is so gentle, so familiar, but it sets your skin on fire.
“You’re my favourite person, you know,” he murmurs, almost like an afterthought. Yet his voice is low, serious. “Always have been.”
Your heart stops, then starts again — too fast, too loud. You want to ask what he means, want to grab the words and hold them close to your chest, but fear keeps you silent.
He’s your brother. He’s just being kind. He’s just being a good sibling. He doesn’t know what you’re feeling, doesn’t know the war raging inside you. And you’re sure that you don’t want him to know. Because that would mean losing him forever.
But then his hand doesn’t move.
It stays there. His fingers brush the shell of your ear, then his eyes drop to your lips just for a second, but it’s enough to make your stomach flip. The air shifts, heavy with everything left unspoken, and you wonder, wildly, if he feels it too.
If he’s ever felt it at all.
“Brother,” you whisper, and it’s a warning now. To yourself as much as to him. You need to stop this, need to pull back before you do something you can’t take back.
Yet Tsubaki doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans closer, just a fraction, and his breath is warm against your cheek.
“You keep saying that…” There’s an edge to his voice, something you’ve never heard before; something that sounds almost like frustration. Or desperation. Or both. “Like you’re trying to remind yourself.”
At those words, your eyes widen, and panic surges through you.
Does he know? Has he seen it in your face, in the way you flinch at his touch, in the way you can’t meet his eyes for too long? The thought is horrifying, and you jerk back, putting distance between you two.
“I— I don’t know what you mean,” you stammer, your hands gripping the edge of the sofa like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
Tsubaki just watches you. His expression turns unreadable again, but his eyes are dark, intense. He doesn’t push, doesn’t close the gap you’ve created, but he doesn’t look away either.
“Okay,” he says after a moment, and it’s gentle, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s letting you off the hook. For now.
You stand, too quickly and too abruptly, causing your legs to become unsteady.
“I’m gonna… I-I need to do some homework.” The excuse is flimsy and obvious. You don’t wait for his response; you just grab your bag and bolt out of the living room, fleeing the scene with your heart pounding in your ears.
Afterwards, you collapse onto your bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of everything crashes down. You’re in love with your brother. Your beautiful, kind older brother, who’s gay and in love with someone else. An impossibility wrapped in longing.
And yet, out there, for just a moment, for just a fleeting second, it felt like something else — like the line between you wasn’t as solid as you thought. But you shake your head and bury your face in your pillow, willing the feelings to go away… but they don’t.
They never do.
From the living room, you hear the click of the light being shut off, then the soft padding on the floor. Tsubaki’s footsteps stop outside your door, and for a second, you think he’s going to knock.
You hold your breath, waiting, dreading, hoping.
But he doesn’t. The footsteps retreat, and the house falls silent again.
You’re not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed.