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When Yuusaku knocks on his hotel room door, Ogata is on his third cigarette in a row. He's not nervous, he reminds himself, it's just that the day has been a lot. He waits just long enough so his brother would assume he's out, and then another knock, quieter, more unsure, after which he begrudgingly swings the door open, blowing smoke directly in Yuusaku's face.
His brother makes a face, suppressing a cough. He looks disheveled, or what disheveled is for the always camera-ready Hanazawa family - hair too hastily smoothed, eyes ringed in red, blood vessels angry in the corners, tie askew just enough to notice.
It's nice to see, the perfect, trimmed, primped and pressed image of his brother in such disarray. Although he can't figure out, why Yuusaku is even here, he knew from the first knock. No one else would care to seek him out. And the authorities are not the knocking type.
And so Ogata waits on the threshold, just taking his brother in. He looks pitiful, as usual, too kind and open of a face for the weight their shared ancestry brings, now looking as crushed as he ever was, he seems to regain his bearings, slowly raising his eyes to meet Ogata's.
"Why?", he seems to be pleading with his entire being, and Ogata would lie if he didn't note how that look really suits his brother.
He takes another drag, makes sure the smoke goes into Yuusaku's face, gets stuck in his eyelashes, curls around his hair, staining it with the stench, and only then Ogata makes way for Yuusaku to enter. Talking about murder in the public space is unadvisable after all.
Yuusaku doesn't collapse, more like snaps in half, sitting down in one of the chairs by the window. Wrinkles his nose at the overflowing ashtray and unfinished greasy takeout boxes. Then, his eyes fix, somewhere in the middle distance between the window and Ogata's face. Lost. Before snapping right back to Ogata, as if remembering why he's even here.
"Why what?", Ogata drawls, impatient to get this over with. He wasn't supposed to be here anyway, except the invitation did come for him, for some reason. Too many old wounds reopened, it seems, when Kojiro took his last breath, and Ogata, it seems, was required to make some tearful amends to his father, forgiving him and making peace with his "newfound" family, or to humiliate himself in some way and be ousted from the family yet again, "officially" this time.
He did neither, really, maybe that's what the question was about, why he doesn't, couldn't follow any script prepared for him by his oh so kind and very publically grieving family. Why he can't be a normal person, a good son or a willing sacrificial pawn of the scandal. Or maybe it's about the murder. Multiple. Probably that.
"Why did you have to tell me?", is not a question Ogata is ready for. Yuusaku's fingers are trembling when he reaches for the pitcher of water to pour himself a glass. His lower lip was bitten bloody at some point, Ogata notices. He releases the thought of flicking away the piece of crusted over skin as soon as he catches it.
And what can he say, really. He never intended to make it known, a dangerous and stupid mistake to make, one that could cost him his life and surely his freedom. The job was perfectly executed, no traces left, no suspicions entertained, and yet he still had to find a place to exercise additional cruelty. Childish, really, in his line of work, to feel anything at all for his marks or their relatives.
But that was his family. And the thought makes bitter bile bubble up to his throat again. Stupid, childish, dangerous. Every feeling he couldn't get rid of his entire life. A cruelty impacted on itself.
And the last tender thing to inflict that cruelty on, too, sitting in front of him with flat hair and trembling hands.
"Because I wanted to", is all Ogata says, and Yuusaku is crumpling in front of him, picture perfect image overexposed until chemicals eat away at the film.
"I know your mother was very sick, ani-sama. I know he hurt you. I know he hurt many, many people, enough to deserve it", he doesn't hiccup or sob, as Ogata expected, the words and the tears just seem to pour out, while he clutches at the glass of water like it's the only real thing left in the world, a tether, "But I didn't do anything to you. I wanted to... Just be around you. Catch up. Maybe be normal again, maybe for the first time in my life..."
"And I ruined it, didn't I? The brother you wanted so desperately is an awful person, turns out. So what?", the bitterness in Ogata's mouth overflowing, taste of cigarettes, liquor and frying grease.
"I wanted to...", Yuusaku trails off again, looking at him with filmy unseeing eyes.
Ogata snaps. "Your mother wanted me to cause a scene to finally get rid of me. Your father wanted me dead. And you wanted to play happy family, be a good little brother, despite that. Why should I care? I said that to get it through your thick skull. I don't want any part of this..."
"Then why did you even show up?", a desperate cry, tears overflowing, interrupts his outburst. "Just to gloat? To hurt me, push me away?"
Ogata would hate to admit his brother is right. Ever since Yuusaku has known he has a sibling, which wasn't even that long. Ogata has been receiving letters, calls, each one unanswered, straight to voicemail, only to read or listen when he was blind drunk. He didn't even know how Yuusaku found him each time, he made damn sure he's careful about his whereabouts, but money opens many doors. As long the contact he uses is the one for his supposed day job, Yuusaku will inevitably show up.
Words, endless words, a vomitous barrage of the life he could lead, could have led, if he only gave his brother a chance of making it right. Childish, hopeful words hurled out into the empty void, never even asking for a reply, just promises, something to change his mind, Ogata figures, idiotic flowery drivel about something that was taken from him never to be given back.
"If you didn't want to see me, you shouldn't have come. Just like m- our father never did. It would only be fair", endless words still, a bright future, a comfortable life, a promise made for the sake of the maker, it all makes Ogata sick to his core, "I already told you before, I don't care. I want you to be here. With me. You're still my brother. I still love you".
Ogata doesn't know what to answer to that. He never did really, what he told himself about not answering any attempts of reaching him, what is there to say? He hoped his disdain was obvious, but there's undeniable curiosity there too now. What a weird creature fate has dropped into his lap.
"Are you, perhaps, insane, Yuusaku-san? I just told you I killed your father. And you know less of me than a random passerby on the street, surely not well enough to invite into your life, even without the murder part."
The clink of the glass returned to the table, sounds like a gunshot to Ogata. For every cruelty, an undeserved kindness.
"I always wanted a brother".