I tried. I really did. I told myself, 'Abby, you are not going to write a Brother's Conflict fanfiction'. And yet here we are.

A few things I wanted to get out of the way before we get started.

1. I know reading Fics with OCs are a bit hard for some people. For me, it's the best way to develop characters that I can honestly create and put feelings into to make the experience more enjoyable for everyone. I find it much better than trying to manipulate a character that already exists, as they don't come from my head and I don't know them. It's just all-around better for everyone.

2. The trouble about writing a Fic about a show/game like BroCon is that there are so many characters to choose from. I know very well by now that I cannot please everybody. That said, of course I welcome constructive criticism with open arms, as I know it helps me later down the road. But if you're just going to hate on and talk spank because things aren't going the way you want, or the character you like best doesn't get chosen? Keep your words to your damn self. There's already enough hatred in the world, wouldn't you say?

3. I, by no means, am an expert on Japan or its culture. So if I get anything wrong or say something offensive, albeit unknowingly, feel free to point it out. As I said before, I welcome constructive criticism.

So that's all the serious stuff out of the way! Honestly, I just want this story to be fun and for people to enjoy it, even if things don't turn out the way they want them to. So don't worry too much about what I said, and I really hope you like it!

Leave a review if ya feel!

~Crimrose

Chapter One

Homecoming

"Juli, would you mind passing some eggs?"

"What?!" He screeches in return, holding his clawed paws over his ears. "I literally cannot understand a word you're saying over this music!"

"Oh!" I had nearly forgotten about the music screaming from the stereo, the bass thumping the hardwood floors and shaking the cabinets containing plates and glassware. I wipe my hands on my apron and rush over to turn the volume knob significantly lower, settling the dishes and earning a relieved sigh from the fidgety squirrel. He levels me with a glare from his almost all-black eyes ringed with blue, tugging on his bow indignantly.

"Do you want to lose your hearing?" He demands of me, and I just grin sheepishly. "Not to mention you're definitely disturbing the neighbours with all that racket."

I let out a giggle and grab the eggs myself since my hands weren't covered with flour any longer. "I doubt that." The neighbours always know when I was in a good mood by myself, since I blare the music with enough power to shatter one's eardrums. In my father's absence, they often invite me over for dinner and the like, share sugar or milk for tea with me – just wholeheartedly good, neighbourly things. I suppose having a seventeen-year-old basically living on their own in the house next to yours would be a cause for anxiety, so they had no issues with taking care of me or checking up on me. There's no way in hell I was going to complain; I'm immensely grateful to them for doing that, especially since nobody had asked them to. They've known me all my life, know how often my father is away, so I consider them something identical to distant family.

Juli makes one big leap from the island to my shoulder, his little sharp talons digging into it, but he's been around my whole life; I am very well used to it by now. "You shouldn't be taking them for granted like that," he chirps, and I roll my eyes a little, a grin still tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Anyone's bound to get irritated with music that loud."

"You're absolutely right," I say, both to appease him and because it's true. "Sorry. I won't do it again." I cop it all off with a cheeky little salute, so he knows I'm being a bit sarcastic. However, I can't help it; Dad is coming home for the first time in months today, so I'm eagerly prepping a special dinner and dessert for him. I sway and sing along with the song now playing softly, and Juli watches me soak the chicken in eggs, flour, then Panko mixed with different seasonings.

He's something akin to a parent – Juli, that is. I can't remember a day without him since I was born, perching at the edge of my crib or doing his best to care for me when I was sick in that miniature rodent body of his. The idea of a completely sentient squirrel capable of speech is definitely off-putting to some, but the problem isn't with him being a product of some strange mutation or magical curse; it's with me. I'm the only one who can understand him, who gets that he prefers sleeping in the bed with me rather than in a tree, or that he loves his magenta and white polkadotted ribbon as a fashion statement. He's the only animal I can understand – it isn't some strange power I was born with. Which, admittedly, makes the situation a whole lot more bizarre, but I won't take it for granted. He's a wonderful companion who refuses to leave my side. He understand how easily I can become lonely, without Dad ever around and all, and there has never been a day where I'd wished not to hear the sound of his high-pitched voice.

Or maybe I'm just completely certifiable. Nonetheless, being with him is still fun, and if I am crazy, I'm going to make the most of it.

"Great," I say to myself as Juli pulls on the tap to turn on the water for me to wash my hands. "Now all that's left is the soup, salad, and the castella is in the oven! I'm so excited Juli, I haven't seen Dad in forever!" I figure it safe to say that I'm normally someone collected, but I can't keep the girlish squeal out of my voice as I hop up and down a bit. I run over to turn up the music again – not too loud this time – and start gathering ingredients for the miso soup and garden salad. There's a skip in my step as I sing along to the words of Africa – since Dad is an adventurer, it's safe to say that my English is more developed than most kids' my age. I can understand every word, yet still relish in the smooth beats typical to the '80s, and it remains that way until the chorus hits. Then I'm practically screaming out the words as Juli shakes his head, but is unable to keep the smile off of his face. In my good cheer dinner is practically fully prepped by eight o'clock at night, when Dad said he'd be coming in from the airport. I'd gleefully offered to meet him there, but he didn't want me outside by myself that late at night. I had almost said that I'd be fine, because Juli would be with me, but I seriously doubted that he'd be comforted with me only having a squirrel as my defense to fend off attackers. So I let it be.

I press my hands to my cheeks, giddy. The presentation doesn't look too shabby, with a basil paste smeared over the chicken and topped off with fresh leaves, springs of leek floating in the center of the soup, the salad tossed with a balsamic vinaigrette, balanced with the sweetness of chopped strawberries. Even the cake is resting under some very light icing with slight lemon zest, and have the tea all prepped and ready to serve. All that's left is me – I have to change into clothes that look a bit nicer, without spots of flour garnishing them. I quickly whip off my apron and toss it down the stairs to the basement, to mix in with the dirty laundry later, and release my hair from its sloppy bun.

I glide through the spacious living room, decorated with modern furniture, such as a bright white sectional and sleek entertainment unit with a flatscreen resting on top. The Persian rug nearly trips me for the nth time, and I reposition the leg of the couch to hold that annoying flap that keeps sticking up, down. The walls, bookshelves bursting with thick texts and travel magazines, and display units all boast of his travels. Traditional African masks of the humanoid variety grin at visitors, miniature replicas of the Eiffel Tower and Taj Mahal give a worldly view, Indian tapestries conceal the blandness of the eggshell wall – having an adventurer for a father sure gives your house character. 'Adventurer' is his unofficial title; his official one is a journalist for a travel magazine, so instead of being out in an office all day every day, he was gone for weeks or months at a time to foreign countries, always coming back with tales to weave and souvenirs to add to the massive collections.

It's easy to get lonely in a big house like this filled with things that only remind me of him, but it's home. I can't imagine living anywhere else without the slightly peculiar décor, or a room that was almost always empty. This place is a haven for my father when he returns from his adventures, and I plan to keep it that way, spic and span with a warm welcome always awaiting him.

My room is much simpler, done in white and shades of pastel pink and blue. I toss of my old Lion King short-sleeve and jean shorts, and throw on a simple jet long-sleeved dress. I top it off with a looping gold chain necklace, and fluff out my hair a bit, then quickly give up and whip it up into its usual high bun tied off with a scrunchie. As I examine myself in the mirror, Juli squeezing open his treat jar of walnuts in the background, I wonder why I feel a strange anxiety over this particular homecoming. Dad and I are in constant communication when he's away, so I know he's all right. Yet I can't help but feel oddly nervous. Maybe I'd messed up with the food? I mull that over, hear the door slam shut downstairs, and decide that whatever happens, happens. Right now I'm far too excited to see Dad's face to care.

Like I'm five-years-old again, I bound down the stairs in my pink slippers, past the living room, and into the entry hall, where my father is setting down all of his luggage and stepping out of his sleek black loafers. I have to physically restrain myself from throwing myself into his arms by folding my hands in front of me and clenching them together against my abdomen. "Welcome home, Dad," I say, sounding close to tears. Which I am. Just a little.

Rintaro Hinata looks up from toeing off his shoes, and his mouth spreads into a wide boyish grin. His pitch black stubble had grown in again, dusting across his chin and cheeks, accompanied by his surfer dude waves gelled away from his face. His skin had gotten tanned to an almost golden-brown hue, his mahogany eyes crinkling at the corners from his smile, the lines in his face still youthful and not yet wrinkles. He wore a suit jacket and tan pants over a checkered vest and white scarf tied into an elegant knot, seeing as it's much cooler in Europe in May than it is in Japan. He opens his arms wide, and I quickly shuffle forward to squeeze him tight, the comforting smell of his cologne washing over me. It's a cologne different than the kind he normally wears, slightly spicier and fresh. Weird. He said he didn't like scents like that…

"My lovely little girl," he sings, planting a kiss on the top of my head and all is forgiven. We each pick up some of his luggage to cart into the living room, and he keeps one arm wrapped around my shoulders. "Have you been doing okay? I know I asked that earlier today, but-" He cuts himself off and takes a whiff of the air, and gets a knowing glimmer in his eyes. "What is that amazing smell?"

"Dinner, of course," I grin widely as we set down his stuff in the living room. Juli bounds up to us and hops onto Dad's shoulder, snuggling into his cheek. Dad scratches under his chin, something Juli isn't too jonesed about, but he puts up with it anyway for Dad's sake.

"Have you been taking good care of my girl, Juli?" He asks my friend fondly, and Juli responds with a snarky "Who do you think I am?", but all Dad can hear is a series of squeaks. He scuttles down his arm and into the kitchen, signalling for us to do the same. "I see you've been listening to the classics," he chuckles, referring to the music streaming from my phone to the stereo. Bohemian Rhapsody was on, Freddie Mercury wailing into the stainless steel kitchen, and I cranked it down a bit so we could have a nice talk without yelling over the music.

"Wow," Dad says, whistling in admiration. "You've outdone yourself this time, Vivi." He wraps me in another bear hug, and the feeling of his warm arms tight around me almost brings me to tears again. I'd missed him so much, and hope that he's going to stay home longer this time. I miss those times when I was younger and we'd just curl up on the couch together and watch a movie, me against his side and a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

The only thing missing from our family picture was a mother. I never knew my mom; Dad says she died giving birth to me. There are no pictures of her in the house, and I'd always supposed that the memory was still too fresh for him. He had never been with anyone since I was born, either, and I often come to wonder if he ever will, if he still loves her even in death. The only thing that strikes me as odd is how we don't even have a shrine or photo to pray to, and I often wish we do. However, I spent my whole life without her, so I can't say that there's much to miss; as far as I'm concerned, all I need is Dad and Juli, and I'd be just fine.

He sits down at the table and I pour tea into his cup, before doing the same to my own. We clap our hands together and quickly say our prayer before digging in; he'd always preferred cutlery to chopsticks, and it's easier to cut the chicken with, so for the first few moments there is only the scrape of silver against the plates and then his sound of approval in the back of his throat. "Oh, how I've missed your cooking, kiddo," he says with a grin, and I return it easily. What I've missed most of all is him just being at the dinner table with me.

From an outside perspective, the moment is probably as perfect as a photo. We eat and laugh together as he tells me stories of his time in Ireland and Scotland, how different the two countries actually are despite their common association, and the difficult situations he'd gotten into comparing the two. Before long we're digging into the castella cake, and the spike of lemon in the frosting perfectly offsets the fluffiness of the simple spongecake. The blinds are up, revealing the streets outside from the bay window in the living room and letting all the streetlights illuminate the night as if magically, warm lights shining from the other houses in the neighbourhood. I'm so happy in this moment, my chest absolutely swelling with joy and something like disbelief, as if I still can't really believe that he's here, in front of me, after two and a half months. Our dining table only seats two, and that's all we need; Juli simply eats on the table with us, and he never has an issue with me sanitizing it afterwards. It truly is perfect, and I swear that nothing can shatter this moment of peace. Not the nights studying alone, or trying to sleep amongst the eerie creaks and squeals in the house, or staring at the normally empty chair now full of my father across from me. I'm so filled with joy it's basically pouring out from my ears.

Suddenly his smile takes on a nervous edge. He takes a sip of his tea, dabs the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin. "Vivi," he says cautiously, and I look up from my cake to him with a smile.

"Yes, papa?" That's how he prefers I call him, when I refer to him more casually to myself. Juli just calls him by name; the squirrel always seems slightly standoffish to anyone but me, and is almost always defensive. Right then he looks slightly taken aback as well, wondering what could be on my father's mind.

"I have something important to say." His smile remains in place, but his eyes take on a serious edge that makes me set down my fork and sit up straighter in my seat. I hope it isn't about his job, or that he's going away for longer next time. I run through everything I'd done in the months he was gone, and figure I don't have anything to be ashamed or wary of. Yet he just seems so… so foreboding. The feeling of anxiety comes back, curling and twisting my stomach like a parasitic worm, clenching and unclenching and making me feel sick. I quell the brief flash of nausea and panic that swims through my torso and head, and resist pressing my fingers to my temples to calm the ache that's rapidly spreading there. The last thing I needed was to have a full-on anxiety attack right when he came home for the first time in months.

"I'm listening," I choke out, and tell myself firmly that there's no reason to be so scared. He stares at me a long while, the music becoming static white noise in the background, until the hard edge leaves his eyes and his eyebrows tilt down apologetically.

"It's nothing," he murmurs, returning to his tea. "I'll tell you later."

"Are you sure?" I ask, the sick feeling still lingering.

"I'm positive. It's really… not that important."

I look at him for a while, gauging on how sincere he's being. Then I shrug to myself and the anxiety washes away like sand being carried by the tides. "If you insist," I chirp, returning to my cake. He asks me about school, and that moment is nearly forgotten until I lay in bed later that night, listening deeply to the night chorus of insects and distant honking of cars further into the city.

I wonder what he'd wanted to say. Well, it couldn't have been too important if he was willing to put it off. Even so, I turn to lay on my back and stare up at my ceiling, and despite Juli's calm breathing and warm little body snuggled up next to me, I find I can't sleep for quite some time.

Sunday means that Dad and I can have the whole day together, so I get out of bed early to make us some coffee and start breakfast. It isn't like I got the best sleep anyway, so it's more accurate to say I all but dragged myself out of bed and down the stairs, not bothering to put on a robe. When the coffee is brewing, filling the air with the rich, dark scent of earth and the beans, Dad comes shuffling down the stairs, still in his pajamas, as well.

"Good morning," I try to say cheerily, but it comes out more like a croak. He says it in response right before a gaping yawn, then moves to sit at the dining table and cracks open his laptop to work briefly before breakfast is ready.

"Chii," Juli whispers to me, using his random pet name that always reminded me of what they tell you to say so you smile when a picture is being taken. He says he uses it due to the constant little smirk I have on my face. "I wonder what all that was about last night. Think he'll bring it up today?"

I shrug, nearly knocking him off my shoulder. "No idea," I say, because Dad was way more than used to me having a conversation with the light gray little critter. The coffee maker sputters out when both of our mugs are filled, and after I dump our preferred amount of sugar and cream into our cups, I set them on saucers and wipe up the rings they had left on the quartz countertop. "I'll start on breakfast after this," I promise him, setting his mug from England before him and taking my seat.

He smiles warmly at me, then gets a pensive look on his face. After a few moments of me testing how hot it is and burning my tongue slightly, he shuts the laptop abruptly, making me jump. "About what I said last night…" He begins, and I set my mug down on the table, leaving my hands wrapped around its circumference.

"Yes?"

He drags his finger around the rim of his cup, staring into the beige surface of the beverage as if it can offer up all the answers to his troubles. "There's something I haven't told you," he confesses, and I perk up a little in shock. We always told each other everything. "I was planning to when everything settled down and I had a concrete idea of what was going on, but then the timing never seemed right. And then I went on that job…"

"Dad," I say calmly, hoping to soothe that worried line creasing between his brows. "You know you don't have to be nervous or worried about telling me anything. I'm a big girl." I smile encouragingly. "I can handle myself."

This seems to reassure him, judging from the relief in his gaze. "Yes, you are, Vivi. So I'll just leave out all the little details and come out and say it." He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and I suddenly recall that foreboding feeling I'd had right before he'd walked in the door last night. Just as my stomach gives a steep little dive, falling down a roller coaster after a long climb up, he says: "I've been seeing someone."

I practically collapse to the floor in relief. Is he trying to give me a damn heart attack? "That's great!" I cry, honestly enthusiastic. In all honesty, I'd been worried about him seeing no one after mother's death; he couldn't have expected to just live with me his entire life. "I'm honestly so fu-" I cut myself off, reminding myself that he thinks curse words aren't very ladylike. "So freaking happy for you." I scooch closer to the table, a mischievous smirk on my face. "What's their name?"

His eyes obtain a sort of fondness I'd never seen before, one that makes my chest squeeze endearingly. Whoever this person is, they're honestly making him happy. "Miwa Asahina." Asahina… why did that name sound familiar? Before I can ponder about it for too much longer, he barrels through, all of the built-up secrets he'd been keeping bursting out at once. "We met when I was working in China a while back. She's a very nice lady, so kind and loving." He pauses, looking at me hesitantly before continuing. "She has quite a few children, and is well accustomed to being around them. I swear, I've never met a mother with so much spunk in my life." His smile is so tender that I nearly squeal in joy for him.

"That's wonderful," I say sincerely, laying a hand over his. He squeezes mine, a bit clammy from how nervous he must have been. Though I don't understand why; what on earth is so frightening about telling your daughter you got a girlfriend? "When can I meet her?" I ask eagerly, practically bouncing in my seat.

He is, as well, judging from the anticipating smile on his face. "Soon. Probably sometime this week. There's one more thing I have to tell you about her, and this is honestly what intimidated me the most… but to see you so happy…"

"Of course I'm happy, Dad!" I exclaim, swatting him on the shoulder. Honestly, I'm a bit insulted that he thought telling me about her would be like throwing himself into a den of starving lions. "Why wouldn't I be? You deserve to be happy, you know – more than deserve, you have a right to it."

His eyes glisten like the dewy grass outside. "I'm glad you think so." He has to clear his throat before continuing. "Well… I actually came home a day or so before yesterday." My throat closes in surprise. He hadn't come to see me, even when he was home earlier? A feeling of dread suddenly begins curdling in my stomach like sour milk. "I've spent the time with her. And… Vivi, I want you to be the first to know, because your opinion matters the most to me." He takes a deep breath as I stare at him intensely, my heart pounding out of my chest. "I've asked her to marry me."

My breath catches.

All I can think of is the different cologne he wore, how suddenly he feels like a different person to me. Juli drops his walnut and it rolls to the floor, clattering as it bounces and fills the silence.

Dad's sorrel eyes bore into mine. "And she said yes."