Taro Sakurai:
The stink of pot wafts through Taro’s bedroom, curling up to the ceiling where a faint residue gleams in the light. Heedless of anything more than his next snack, Taro reaches into a bag of Cheetos and snags a few between dust-stained fingers. He leaves a trail of crumbs across his bed as he shoves them into his mouth haphazardly, his eyes little more than slits in their half-open state. Cheesy goodness explodes in his mouth and Taro belches loudly in appreciation, the sound ferocious enough to curdle Miho’s stomach.
Taro rolls his eyes as he considers his uptight brother’s disapproval, another burp enthusiastically slipping from his lips out of spite. No one, not even Miho, gets to tell him how he should enjoy his munchies. Rolling onto his back (and halfway across his bag of Cheetos), Taro flicks the ash off his blunt and takes a deep drag. He holds his breath until the tickle in his chest expands and exhales the fumes into the smoke of the room. “I should open a window,” Taro says to himself around a giggle, dropping his blunt onto an ashtray. “It looks almost foggy in here.”
Balanced precariously on his knees around the collection of games and food, Taro crawls across the bed. He winces when he hears the telltale crack of something snapping, but fuck it. It’s already broken, and he’s almost there. “Aah,” Taro sighs, throwing the window open. Fresh, cool air drifts inside, washing away the worst of the stink. Goosebumps rise on his arms, but despite the chill, it feels good. Taro smiles goofily into the night, the distant lights of the city beautiful in a strange, almost eerie sort of way.
Bah-doop! Taro’s head jerks up as his instant messenger notifies him that a friend has opened a chat. His head swivels around to look at his laptop; it’d cost two thousand dollars, and it’s resting halfway off the side of the bed due to Taro’s particularly careless handling. “Shit,” he says, resting back against the wall. Reaching a hand deep into his pants pocket, Taro pulls out his phone and opens the same chat application. His eyes jump to the screen name and a smile tugs his lips. He leaves a smear of Cheeto dust as his fingers zigzag across the screen, swiping up a response.
RT: you want my help?
RT: well shit
RT: it’s not often someone wants my unique brand of help
RT: so sure, come climb into my lap
RT: spill your heart to uncle taro
* * *
Taro squints at the screen when Heli sends a screenshot of her flight info. He immediately saves it to his phone, frowning at the newly smeared Cheetos dust on the screen. Crawling to the edge of the bed, his phone tucked between his teeth, Taro slides off the edge of the mattress to his bare feet. He’s going to have to clean his room, he realizes as he carefully steps his way past piles of crap scattered across the floor. It’s mostly not dirty, just cluttered with heaps of clothes and discarded games on the ground. Maybe, Taro thinks with dismay, I can pay someone else to do it for me.
RT: we’ll go shopping for that then
RT: i don’t know where pregnant people get their clothes
RT: but i’ll figure it out
RT: i’ve never met you before
RT: but you have a kind of… fancy… energy
RT: i think you vibe with fru fru frilly shit so we’ll aim for that
“Taro?” Miho says from down the hall. Taro jerks upright from where he’s hunching over his phone, sliding the dirty thing into his pocket as he whirls around to face his bro.
“Miho?” Taro mocks, high-pitched and drawing his bro’s name out in a whine. A shuttered, irritated expression flickers across Miho’s face and his left eye twitches. He looks Taro up and down, his eyes lingering on the Cheetos dust staining his pants, his fingers, his hair, and face. Disgust clashes with annoyance, and he immediately points a finger at the bathroom.
“Bathroom. Now.” There’s a bite to his voice, and Taro just knows he’s thinking about the last time he’d dusted the walls in orange with his fingers. Okay, so maybe Cheetos are a messy food, but he shouldn’t be banned from eating them. It’s not Taro’s fault that he forgets to get a paper towel or a rag or something every time he eats it. Well, okay, maybe it is, but Taro thinks he shouldn’t be blamed for something so superficial.
“I was already on my way there,” Taro says, defiance a defining presence in his voice. He doesn’t mention that he’d only been planning to take a piss, but he guesses a shower doesn’t sound too bad either. He just needs to respond to Heli first.
“Move faster,” Miho demands and, oh god, his foot is already beginning to tap with impatience. Taro hates it when he does that. Why’s his brother got to be so aggravating all the time? What a stick-in-the-mud.
Grumbling beneath his breath, Taro spins on his heel and stalks off towards the bathroom. He makes sure to leave Cheetos gunk on the door knob as he opens the door, much to the displeased sigh of his brother. Shutting the door behind him, Taro yanks off his crop top and fishnet, wincing at the small holes filled with the moist residue of Cheetos. Yeah, okay, maybe it is a little gross.
RT: it’ll never be a worst-case scenario so long as i’m involved
RT: i’ve got all the irons in the fire
RT: so much fire, too much iron
RT: what i’m saying is that i take care of my friends, heli
RT: and i’m sure kyo will want to meet you once you get here
RT: she’s got a sharp tongue, but i’m sure you’ll get on with her
RT: she knows my friends mean everything to me
Taro gives a full-body wiggle after he undoes the zip and button for his pants. They loosen and he knocks them off. He steps out of them and when he’s butt naked, he turns his phone on loud for future notifications and sets it at the edge of the tub. He’s playing a dangerous game, and he knows it. It wouldn’t be the first or even fourth time he’s knocked his water-resistant phone into the tub and then needed a new one subsequently. Only, he’s impatient, and so what if he gets it a little wet popping out of the shower to respond before going back to cleaning himself? It’s a risk he’s willing to take.
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