Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

    Naturally, things have changed since Sakura and Suou began –

    Since they –

    Since a few weeks ago.

    Things have changed, but Sakura does his best to pretend they haven’t.

    They’d agreed not to tell anyone – yet – but the secret hangs over him like storm clouds, heavy and unavoidable. It colors everything: the way Sakura notices Suou’s voice first when their crew gathers, the way his skin prickles whenever Suou drifts too close, the way his eyes search for that flash of reddish-brown hair in a crowd. His senses stay on alert, but not just for trouble around town.

    At lunch, Suou twists open a chilled bottle of water, graceful hands making the motion look like a performance. Condensation beads along his fingers. He catches Sakura watching and tips the bottle back, chasing droplets with his tongue before they can spill. When he hands it over, his grin is light, teasing, but his heavy-lidded eye implies something more. The spell breaks when Sakura slaps the bottle away on instinct, splashing them both before Suou can recover it. Suou only laughs.

    Was Suou’s flirting always this obvious? Or has Sakura only just learned to recognize it for what it is?

    Later, after the afternoon meeting, their patrol assignments split them up like usual – they try to split up the heavy hitters to keep the groups balanced. But when the meeting is dismissed they still drift toward the classroom door at the same time. Sakura can feel Suou’s presence before he sees him, the brush of a shoulder through the crowd of their classmates as they make their way down the hall. Their hands bump, a soft, deliberate nudge that makes Sakura’s pulse stutter. He jerks away so quickly the strap of his bag slips down his arm.

    Now the space between them feels strange; it’s too wide, like they’re strangers. But before, when it was too narrow, it felt like being caught. What amount was normal, again?

    Suou tilts his head as though he’s solving a puzzle only he can see. He clasps his hands behind his back, falling a half-step behind, the picture of a dutiful vice-captain. “Sakura-kun,” he says, voice warm enough to fog glass, pitched for Sakura’s ears only, “can I walk you home again today? I’ll meet you by the gates.”

    Did they used to say things like that? Did it always sound so heavy, like a promise of something more?

    Down the hall, Kiryu leans against the windowsill, arms folded, wearing a smirk that could mean anything - or nothing. Maybe he’s just being Kiryu. Maybe he knows. Sakura can’t tell, and that uncertainty gnaws like a canker sore he can’t leave alone. He really needs to start paying more attention to assignments so he can stop himself from getting stuck patrolling with Kiryu, at least until he figures out what he’s going to do with… this.

    As they reach the stairwell, Suou steps close to let a group of second-years pass. For a second the crowd blocks them in. Suou’s palm finds the small of Sakura’s back – a barely-there touch, steadying him so he doesn’t get jostled. It’s warm and familiar, and Sakura lets himself lean back into it ever so slightly. This close, he can smell the slightest hint of incense that always clings to Suou’s uniform. On his other side a shock of pink hair floats into view, waiting patiently for the stream of students to pass.

    Sakura’s heart slams back into his chest. He yanks forward as if burned, mumbling insincere apologies and he pushes into the crowd and down the stairs. He doesn’t look back, but he can feel Suou and Kiryu’s quiet amusement behind him like a second heartbeat.

    The hallway air feels suddenly thin. One more moment like that – one more careless touch – and somebody’s going to notice. There’s no way Kiryu, their self-appointed classroom relationship expert, hasn’t started putting pieces together.

    He collects Nirei at the gate and together they head out on their route, but the streets are already sedate in the setting sun. Plenty of neighbors out doing errands wave hello as they pass, but there’s not even so much as an elderly lady needing help putting her groceries away.

    “Maybe we should review for tomorrow’s quiz while we walk?” Nirei says around a yawn. “Gotta keep our minds sharp.”

    “That’s more mind-numbing than mind-sharpening, in my opinion,” Kiryu says. “Here.” He digs into a pocket to reveal a convenience-store pastry, plastic wrap crinkling. “Sugar. Way better than math.”

    “Isn’t eating on patrol a distraction?” Nirei replies, but he’s reaching for it anyway.

    “Like that’s ever stopped us.” Kiryu wags the pastry like a teacher’s pointer, keeping it just out of reach before finally tossing it to Sakura, who fumbles it. “This is tactical carb-loading. For emergencies.”

    Before Nirei can answer, a stray cat darts out from an alley, tail bottle-brushed, spooked by the sound of the plastic-wrapped pastry striking the ground right in front of its hiding spot. Kiryu puts on a show of leaping back dramatically, arms in the air. “Enemy combatant," he declares.

    “It’s a cat,” Sakura deadpanned, crouching to scratch the animal behind the ears. The tiny engine in the cat’s chest rumbles to life slowly at first, but the purr picks up in volume once Nirei approaches with a cautious hand held out to be sniffed.

    “Could be a spy,” Kiryu said, though he crouches beside Sakura a moment later, offering the cat a piece of the reclaimed pastry. “Reconnaissance feline.”

    “I have some warm tea. Would tea be okay for cats, you think? It’s caffeine free.”

    “Probably not,” Sakura said, but the cat noses at Nirei’s thermos anyway.

    They stay like that for a while – three allegedly tough fighters squatting on the sidewalk, coaxing a stray into accepting crumbs and sniffing tea.

    Finally Sakura stands, brushing off his knees. “This is the most action we’ve had all night.”

    Kiryu stretches and grins. “Hey, we neutralized a high-level spy. I’d call that a successful patrol.” He shoots Sakura a sideways glance, sly. “Bet Suou-chan is gonna be jealous when he hears I kept you safe from deadly cat-ninjas.”

    Sakura chokes gracelessly on his own spit, head whipping around to see if anyone overheard. Nirei is distracted, peering into the alley to see if there are any more cats, and doesn’t seem to be paying attention. “Wh-what does Suou have to do with anything?” he hisses.

    “Nothing,” Kiryu says, the innocent lilt his voice the complete opposite of his smirk. “Just figured you’d want to text your… vice-captain… the heroic details.”

    Sakura rolls his eyes and stomps ahead, ears warm and heart racing. He can hear Kiryu laughing behind him when Nirei asks what he missed, and he yanks at his shirt collar in annoyance, as if it will cool the burning on his face.

    He knows. He has to, right? That’s not how Kiyru normally teases.

    Sakura is really going to have to have some words with Suou about taking this more seriously.

    The anxiety of it makes Sakura itch for a fight more than usual, and he’s left jittery and unsettled when the day’s patrol ends as quietly as it started. For his group, at least.

    “We caught two kids tagging the drug store,” Kurita reports. “But they ran before we could get a look at them. They hadn’t gotten very far when we found them, but there’s a bunch of big, black marks on the one wall.”

    “Tch, Umemiya’s gonna make us do another day of painting at this rate,” Sakura grumbles. It’s the third time this week they’ve had new reports of graffiti; yesterday, it was the old lady at the manju stall.

    “Did you get a picture of it?” Nirei asks, probably so he can make a note of it in his book, but Kurita shakes his head.

    “It didn’t seem to be any kinda message so I didn’t think to get a pic.”

  Sakura waves groups home even as his fingers tap an uneven rhythm against his thigh. Suou’s squad isn’t back yet, and the sun is bleeding into the horizon. Nirei waits quietly beside him. His fingers tap an uneven tattoo against his thigh. Sometimes he swears Suou can read his mind, even from a distance; as if on cue, that’s when his phone chimes. Nirei pulls his out as well – it’s a text to their class group chat.

    “Suou-san and Tsugeura-san ran after some muggers, they’re fine, going to head straight home,” Nirei summarizes before Sakura can even get his chat app open, the soft lines of his face thrown into harsh relief by the glare of the screen. “That’s everyone accounted for, right? I guess we can go home, too, then.”

    “I’m gonna wait here,” Sakura says. “You go on ahead. See ya tomorrow.”

    “Huh? What for?”

    “Y’know. Suou,” Sakura mumbles, casting his eyes away in embarrassment. He can feel a flush rising up his neck despite himself.

    They’d decided not to tell anyone – except Nirei, since it felt wrong to keep their fellow grade vice captain out of the loop. Annoyingly, he’s been perfect at pretending he doesn’t know. Outside of acting aggressively normal the day or two after being told, it seemed like he’d been able to slot this information into the vast trove of knowledge in his head and accept it as the new normal. Even so, he blushes at the reminder.

    “Right! Have fun, then. N-not too much fun – I mean, uh, bye!” Nirei stumbles over his words and his feet as he scrambles away, having thoroughly embarrassed them both.

    It’s only a few minutes more before Suou rounds the corner, but it’s long enough that Sakura is mostly certain his face has returned to its normal color. As usual, Suou looks almost exactly as he had when they split up for the afternoon, not a hair out of place. But even if he hadn’t gotten the report, he would have guessed Suou’d run into trouble. There’s a spark in his eye he only gets when he’s been able to toss around and humiliate a wannabe thug. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” he says.

    “I said I would, didn’t I?” Sakura snaps back, though without much heat behind it.

     “Mm, you’re so sweet, Sakura-kun,” Suou replies, but it sounds unserious in the way words often do when they come out of Suou’s mouth.

     They used to hang out at Pothos or play games after patrol. They still do, sometimes, especially with the others, but tonight they’re both too keyed up for that. They walk the streets in familiar silence until they end up at Sakura’s apartment. Sakura barely has a chance to close the door before Suou’s hands are on him – to take off his jacket, which he hangs neatly on the drapery rod together with his own.

    Sakura knew it was going to be one of these kinds of evenings before they even got here. It’s always more intense if they run into trouble when patrolling, as Suou had tonight, adrenaline tearing down inhibition. But even still, Suou says the same thing he always does before crowding Sakura against one of the dingy walls of his studio: “Please tell me if I do anything you don’t like. We can stop at any time.”

    It’s been weeks since – since that day in Suou’s room – and Sakura screws his eyes shut still, every time. His face and ears burn hot and his breath comes in shallow pants. Suou fills his senses: the puff of air against his cheek, the tickle of his tasseled earrings against his neck, the warmth that radiates from him. There’s only the slightest hint of space between them, and Sakura’s hands grip Suou’s arms, both keeping him from coming closer and holding him back.

    “Sakura-kun,” Suou murmurs against his lips, “try to relax.”

    How is he supposed to relax when Suou is so close?

    It’s one of those times that Suou feels like toying with him, so he hovers there, lips just shy from pressing against Sakura’s, waiting for Sakura to make the first move. His head buzzes with the need to talk warring with the need to move, to close that distance, fingers digging into the soft silk of Suou’s fancy shirt, and that little sharp intake of breath it elicits makes the decision for him.  Sakura presses a tentative kiss to Suou’s mouth; Suou smiles against him and cups his face.

    That smile makes him do a lot of stupid things, like put off the conversation they need to have, and that’s the last he can think about it for now as Suou pulls back just long enough to whisper, “Remember not to bite,” before tracing the seam of Sakura’s lips with his tongue, seeking access.

    Sakura’s breath hitches. He can taste the faint sweetness of Suou’s tea on the tip of his own tongue and it sends a dizzy pulse through him. Every sound in the apartment sharpens – the hum of the neighbor’s air conditioner, the soft rasp of Suou’s earrings brushing his cheek – until it feels like the room is holding its breath right alongside them.

    Suou trails kisses along his jaw, nips an earlobe, then laves the inner shell with his tongue. It feels kinda gross but it also sends a spark of heat straight to his gut, and Sakura squirms under the attention. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands but hold on tight as Suou moves to suck at a tender spot on Sakura’s neck, making him gasp – and Suou surges forward, inhaling sharply, bridging that sliver of space between them to press their bodies together from chest to hip, a long line of blazing heat. 

    It feels strange. It feels good. And then it curdles in Sakura’s stomach. And then Suou shifts ever so slightly to continue chasing down the curve of his neck, and Sakura can feel something pressing against him under the clean lines of Suou’s slacks when their thighs slot between each other – 

    Before he even realizes what’s happened, Sakura has Suou at an arm’s length, heat quickly leeching out of him with the lack of contact. He can’t look, because no matter how many times Suou tells him that it’s okay, that they’ll go at his pace, he knows it’s gotta be frustrating, and he can’t handle the idea of being a disappointment.

    “Sakura-kun, look at me,” Suou says gently.

    “‘m sorry,” Sakura mumbles, still looking down between them, letting his arms drop listlessly to his sides.

    “No, you’re right,” Suou muses. It’s not the answer Sakura expected, so he peeks up under his bangs to see Suou looking toward the small window at the back of the room. “We should definitely wait for you to get curtains before going any farther than that.”

    When Suou turns back to him, there’s a tilt of mischief to his lips, but his eye – 

    Nobody – he’s never – it isn’t – nobody has ever looked at him like that after he’s failed them, with an eye so soft and full of affection. He can’t hold that gaze for more than a few seconds, looking away and scoffing. “Pfft, like anyone is watching anyway.”

    Suou only smiles, the quiet kind that folds at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe not,” he says, “but we did say we wanted to keep this just between us for now.”

    He always does have a way of knowing the best way to smooth things over, so it never feels like Sakura’s fault when they inevitably stop just as things heat up.

    Suou brushes a thumb over the spot he’d kissed, a light touch that makes Sakura’s skin prickle, then steps back far enough to give him room to breathe. The sudden space feels colder than the draft from the cracked window. If slamming the brakes had cooled off the moment, the reminder of the anxiety that’d been gnawing at his mind all day dumps a bucket of ice water on it.

    “Uh, about that…” Sakura starts hesitantly. “I think Kiryu suspects that we’re…”

    “Mm, yes, I did guess he’d be the first one to figure it out,” Suou says cheerfully, without an ounce of shame.

    “Yeah, because you make it too obvious!”

    Some of the light fades from Suou’s face as he folds his hands behind his back, though his tone is gentle as ever. “When we said we wouldn’t tell anyone for now, it came with the understanding that we would tell them eventually.”

    “I know that! Just – just not yet,” Sakura bites out, flinching in preparation for what he knows will come next: If not now, then when?

    But when he opens his eyes, Suou is still regarding him silently. There’s something stony shadowing his eyes for the briefest second - but then it’s replaced by his usual kind smile, so quickly Sakura begins to doubt he’d seen anything else at all. “Okay.”

    “Okay?” Sakura parrots in surprise.

    “I said I don’t want to push you into anything that makes you uncomfortable, and I meant it. Want to watch the newest episode of that show we were watching at Kiryu’s place last week?”

    Before he can even respond, Suou is tugging him down to the floor, cozying up next to him and holding his phone up between them. He has to slump a bit more than his usual perfect posture to get Sakura to rest his head on his shoulder, but –

    It’s nice. Embarrassing, sure – it always grinds at him to be the smaller one – but nice.

    He shifts a bit to get his arm out from between them and wraps it around Suou’s waist. Suou sighs gently and nestles in even closer.

    They watch in silence until the credits roll. Neither of them move except to place the phone on the ground. “Sakura-kun,” Suou says softly.

    “Yeah?” He can feel more than see the one-eyed gaze land on him.

    “I really like you.”

    “Sh-shut up! I know you do,” Sakura grouses, his face going from zero to burning in record time. Suou is still looking down at him, expectantly.

    Don’t disappoint him again.

    “I – I, uh… It’s getting late,” Sakura finishes lamely. Suou smiles indulgently at him as he gets to his feet and stretches.

    “I’ll text when I’m home,” Suou says, already slipping his jacket on as though the night hasn’t rattled him at all. “Have a good night.”

    Sakura nods, throat tight, and listens to the soft click of the door closing. The apartment settles into its usual creaks and hums. 

    After readying for bed, he lies on his futon, arms folded over his chest as if that can hold everything in.

    He can still feel it: the weight of Suou’s body, the warmth seeping through layers of fabric, the slow, deliberate press of a thigh between his legs - and something else against his hip. It wasn’t – Suou wasn’t – y’know, not really. But Sakura had felt something – soft yet certain – and the hot coal of that memory burns low in his stomach.

    He flips onto his side and drags the blanket higher, as if the extra heat will smother the thought.

    It doesn’t.

    Because the problem isn’t Suou.

    It's Sakura. It’s that he’d liked it. How much he liked it, being held down and feeling the heat of a body against his. Suou’s body.

    It’s one thing to like someone. But this is real and unavoidable in a way feelings can never be. He’d thought the hardest thing he’d ever face would be to make the leap of faith into trusting his classmates, but this is something else entirely. It’s foreign and frightening in its unfamiliarity. He’s always been aware of that delicate balancing game he’s been playing his entire life, pretending like he didn’t want or need friends while desperately wanting to belong deep down inside.

    But wanting this feels dangerous, like hurtling toward a cliff he’s spent years pretending isn’t there.

    The flash of wanting, quick and undeniable, sits in his chest like a bruise.

    A few weeks ago, Suou confessed his feelings, and Sakura – reciprocated. Does reciprocate. They agreed at the time to keep it a secret – for now – and so they pretend everything is normal during the day, only to have awkward make out sessions in Sakura’s shitty apartment that always end up with Sakura getting cold feet.

    Sakura presses the heel of his hand to his eyes as the fire in his belly refuses to go out, and the guilt of it makes him sick.

Chapter Text

    Sakura can’t help but think he’s walked into a trap the moment he enters the classroom the next morning.

    Suou is sitting at his desk, the picture of perfect composure, while Kiryu is hiding a smirk behind his over-long sleeve, Nirei is blushing bright enough to put Sakura to shame, and Tsugeura is guffawing loud enough he’d been audible halfway down the hall, slapping a hand on Anzai’s back, who’s snickering as well. At the sound of the classroom door sliding open, they all pivot to stare at him.

    ”The fuck you lookin’ at?” he bites at them, which annoyingly just sets them all off again. That’s when he notices a plastic bag on Suou’s desk, though he can’t quite make out what’s inside.

    “I brought you a gift,” Suou says with a sparkle in his eye that makes Sakura’s hackles raise, gesturing at the bag. Nothing good ever follows when Suou looks that pleased with himself.

    Sakura stomps over and pulls the bag open. It takes him a moment to register what’s inside; he tugs the article of cloth out and looks at the tag. “Blackout curtains,” he reads. “What the fuck for?”

    The words come out of his mouth at roughly the same time he remembers what Suou’d said to him last night. We should definitely wait for you to get curtains before going any farther than that. He tugs at his jacket collar in a futile effort to hide the steam rising from his ears.

    “I don’t think it’s a virtue to flash people who walk by your apartment,” Tsugeura chokes out, still winded from his laughing fit.

    “Wow, Sakura-chan, I never would have thought you had an exhibitionist streak,” Kiryu chimes in.

    Nirei remains silent, eyes flicking between Suou’s cat-who-got-the-cream smile and Sakura’s winding fist. He smartly steps back just before the strike lands – where Suou used to be. True to form, Suou had slithered out of his seat like an eel to dodge the blow.

    “I – I don’t change in front of the window! And no one’s out there, anyway!” Sakura huffs, chucking the curtains back on the bag before crashing into his own seat. 

    It’s not like it’s the first gift he’s been given for his empty apartment; for a while, it was as if every day  someone brought him something they had no more use for or had found for cheap in town. And it’s not like curtains aren’t a good idea, since it meant he wouldn’t always have to get up to the sun in his eyes. But it also came with the unspoken promise that Suou wanted to do more. Sakura crosses his arms, first, then his legs, trying to banish the thought of a solid thigh between his own.

    When lunch rolls around, Sakura is still riled up; he has to remind himself to unclench his jaw, rubbing the joints loose until they pop back into place. 

    “Sakura-chan, you look stressed. Here, check out this new game I’ve been playing, it’ll help you relax.” Kiryu shuffles his chair over until their shoulders bump, passing his phone over to Sakura. This is as close to an apology as he’s going to get; he accepts the peace offering, letting Kiryu crowd into his space to show him how the game works. 

    “What are you playing?” 

    Suou, on the other hand, doesn’t sound contrite in the slightest. He comes up on Sakura’s other side, bending down to peer at the screen. The long tassel of his earring slides against Sakura’s ear as a hand lands on his shoulder – the tickling sensation brings him right back to last night. Before he realizes it, Sakura gets to his feet with a clatter, leaving Kiryu scrambling to catch his phone before it falls.

    “I gotta go to the bathroom,” Sakura mumbles after a beat of silence. He can’t even bring himself to turn back and see what kind of face Suou is making before he slams the door open and stomps down the hall.

    By the time he makes it to the bathroom the knee-jerk anger has drained, leaving only embarrassment at his own overreaction. He splashes water on his face, glaring at his own reflection in the mirror.

    He sees the same punk-ass kid that used to get tossed around by the older teens. The mismatched eyes that most people found disturbing – but sometimes, instead, they liked them too much.

    “Oh, how pretty. I almost thought you were a girl. Do you want uncle to walk you home?”

    And of course someone at school overheard that sleaze bag before Sakura kicked him in the nuts, and after that the bullying took a decisively different turn –

    You gotta get a hold of yourself. 

    It’s one thing to rebuff Suou’s flirting in public, but now he’s strung so tight even regular interactions threaten to snap his composure. No one is going to think twice about Suou putting a friendly hand on his shoulder – hell, the other day Tsugeura had slung an arm around him and Kakiuchi in a pseudo-group hug when they finally acquiesced to visit Muscle Power with him for once.

    Maybe Suou was right, back when they’d first started – doing this stuff. Sakura just needs some desensitization training.

    It takes a few more minutes for the flush to leave his face again. He stops by the vending machine to grab a sweetened coffee and a green tea, passing them wordlessly to Kiryu and Suou when he gets back to class. There’s something icy behind Suou’s eye that melts a little bit at the contrite hike of Sakura’s shoulders, and he accepts the offering without a word.

    None of them have patrol that day, but Nirei has to run home to do some errands. “After dinner, then?” he’s saying to Suou as they pack their bags.

    “If you’re not too tired. Don’t push yourself too hard,” Suou says.

    Sakura hasn’t joined them for training outside of the one afternoon some weeks ago, and he’s not eager to get manhandled in public again, so he waits awkwardly on the periphery of their conversation as they hash out the details. Nirei waves them both goodbye as he runs out the door ahead of them.

    The softness leaves Suou’s gaze as he turns to Sakura, leaving only the ice from earlier. Sakura scuffs the floor with his tie for a moment before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Wanna walk for a bit?”

    Suou regards him coolly for a moment before slowly bending to pick up that damned plastic bag; when he straightens, his expression has thawed somewhat, though his voice is as airy as ever. “I’d love nothing more, Sakura-kun. Though I’m afraid I can’t stay over this time.”

    “Like I asked you to!” Sakura huffs, but he can’t help but smile, relieved that Suou isn’t actually angry with him.

    At least not as much as before.

    Like he always does when it’s just the two of them, Suou walks on Sakura’s left. When asked, he’d said, “Because I trust you to watch my blind spot,” which Sakura doesn’t doubt – but he also knows it’s because Suou doesn’t get tired of using it as an excuse to bump into him, always pretending as if he’d forgotten Sakura was there.

    They walked down the narrow street just a little closer than perhaps classmates normally do, plastic bag hanging from Suou’s hand swinging between them. Sakura eyes the graceful curl of his fingers around the handle. He waits until they turn the corner into a relatively empty part of town and lets his hand drift toward Suou’s.

    Why is this more frightening than staring down a crowd of thugs?

    Sakura keeps his gaze suddenly forward, so he hears rather than sees the slight hitch of breath beside him as he wraps his hand around Suou’s. At first Suou makes to let go of the bag – probably thinking Sakura means to take it from him – but Sakura tightens his grip. It’s awkward; their fingers aren’t intertwined but rather Sakura’s larger hand has enveloped Suou’s smaller, more delicate one, so it’s hard to say they’re actually holding hands, and the bag is bouncing annoyingly between their thighs. But when he sneaks a peek, he swears he can see the slightest tinge of pink on Suou’s cheeks, so maybe it’s worth it anyway.

    It feels better to be the one initiating contact, Sakura thinks. Maybe that’s what’s been wrong this whole time –

    Movement to his right catches his eye and he jerks his hand away as if burned. Suou turns to him, surprise coloring his face for a moment before it fades into his usual placid façade.

    “You don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable,” he says gently. 

    Sakura’s throat works around a lump he can’t swallow. “I’m not,” he blurts, but it comes out too fast, and it sounds like a lie even to him.

    Suou tilts his head, eye narrowing in a way that always makes Sakura feel like he’s being read cover to cover. But instead of pressing, Suou simply adjusts his grip on the bag. “Then why do you look like you’re about to bolt?” he says, voice light as the evening breeze.

     The words settle between them, half a tease, half an invitation.

     They walk another block like that, their shoulders almost touching. Streetlamps pool soft gold across the cracked pavement; the only sound is the slow, even tap of their footsteps and the distant hum of a vending machine.

    “I just…” Sakura starts, then stops. Explaining feels impossible when he doesn’t even know what his problem is.

    Suou doesn’t ask him to finish. Instead, he lets the silence stretch until they reach the corner where their routes split. He stops and turns, the plastic bag rustling softly. “This is you,” he says.

    “Yeah.” Sakura scuffs his shoe against the curb. For a heartbeat he thinks about reaching for Suou’s hand again, but the night air has already cooled where their palms touched.

    Suou gives him that small, knowing smile – the one that feels like both a promise and a challenge. “Text me when you’re home?” he asks, hand extending to offer the bag.

    “Yeah,” Sakura repeats, quieter this time, reaching to take the curtains. Somehow, their fingers don’t even so much as brush against each other.

    Suou lingers a moment longer, as though he might say something else, then lifts a hand in a tiny wave and heads off down the opposite street. Sakura watches until the soft glow of the streetlamps swallows him, the memory of that warm, delicate hand still burning in his own.

    He takes the curtains out of the bag and places them by the wall beneath his window. He eyes the unopened package propped against the wall, the heavy folds of dark fabric spilling just enough from the plastic to hint at how completely they’ll blot out the streetlight. Suou had treated it as if it were nothing more than a spare grocery bag. But it sits there like a question he’s not ready to answer. Installing them would mean admitting he wants the privacy. It would mean admitting he’s thinking about what happens once the window goes dark. He traces the edge of the cardboard with his toe, heart ticking fast. It’s such a small thing, curtains. Yet Suou’s quiet patience is stitched into every inch of that fabric, waiting for Sakura to decide when he’s ready to draw them across the glass.

    Some time later, he gets a text that makes his blood run cold. His fingers fumble his jacket so he runs out the door without it, legs guiding him through the streets without much thought beyond – get me there now.

    He skids around the corner into the little park only to catch a pipe right on his brow. The white-hot pain scrambles his brain a bit, but instinct takes over; he grabs the pipe as it swings toward him again, using it as a guide to sock the wielder right in the stomach before tossing it away.

    “Shit, man, I didn’t see you coming, I woulda warned you –“

    His vision clears enough to make out an apologetic Anzai, who’s looking worse for wear but still standing. The same can’t be said for the scattered thugs, most groaning, some unmoving. A glint of metal flashes here and there; these guys had been armed.

    “Where’s Nirei? What the fuck happened?” Sakura asks, waving away Anzai’s concern, scanning the park for the fluffy blond head.

    “I’m over here, Sakura-san!” Nirei pops up from a bench hidden by trees. “Sorry if my text scared you, I just wanted to get the SOS out – what happened to you?”

    “‘m fine,” Sakura says, wincing a bit at the volume and swiping the back of his hand over his brow. It comes back covered in blood.

    “I have my first aid kit, let me get something for you!” Nirei starts, but Sakura grabs him by the wrist.

    “First, what happened to you? I thought you weren’t on patrol today.”

    Nirei chuckles awkwardly with a hand on the back of his neck that does nothing to hide his split lip and blooming black eye. “It’s kind of a funny story…”

    He explains he’d been on his way to the park to meet Suou for training, but ended up smack in the middle of a brawl.  Anzai and Kurita – the actual ones on patrol duty – help to fill in the gaps.

    “We were chasin’ off some guys that were hassling girls near the corner store, and they led us right to this park where they had a buncha backup waiting,” explains Kurita.

    “We got totally baited,” Anzai sighs.

    “I thought we could handle it, but then Nirei took some hits, so we told him to call for backup.”

    “Next time something like this happens, you call for backup right away,” Sakura huffs. “They coulda had more on the way.”

    “Yessir, grade captain, sir,” Anzai says with a lazy salute. Sakura gives him a swat on the head but without any real heat behind it.

    “Sakura-kun, you should let someone take a look at that cut,” Nirei says once it’s clear the debrief is over. He frets over his first aid kit while Sakura sits on the nearby bench.

    “You should get some ice on that eye,” Sakura points out.

    “Who knows where they got that pipe, though! It could turn into some nasty infection. Here, let me see.”

    Sakura tries not to flinch as Nirei’s hand reaches for his head. Nirei’s touch is gentle, pulling hair out of the drying blood with more care than necessary. He hisses a sympathetic breath. “This might –“

    Before Nirei could finish his thought, they’re interrupted by a familiar voice. “Is everyone alright?”

    Suou looks winded, as if he’d run the entire way from his house to the park. Which, in retrospect, he probably had; Suou’s home was quite a ways downhill from where he meets Nirei for training. His eye flits across the scenery, first taking in the groaning bodies on the ground, Anzai and Kurita standing to the side clearly roughed up but fine, before landing on Nirei’s black eye and Sakura’s bloody face.

    He crosses the park in long, purposeful strides to grab Nirei by the chin, turning his face side to side and tutting. “That’s going to swell by tomorrow. We’ll skip training until it’s better, since it seems like you’ve gotten enough hands-on experience for now, hmm?”

    Suou’s words are as light as ever, but Sakura can see the tension in his shoulders as he pulls a water bottle from his bag and directs Nirei to hold it over his eye. He’s definitely pissed; the others may not be able to see it, but his anger seeps from him like miasma. At least he doesn’t seem like he’s going to tear into one of the unconscious goons around them this time.

    That steely gaze turns to Sakura. “And what happened to you?”

    “One of ‘em had a pipe,” Sakura mumbles. The two on patrol sum up the events again for Suou, who taps his foot as he listens.

    “It’s concerning that they thought to lure you two like that. They must be part of some sort of team,” he says thoughtfully. “Though if they are, they don’t seem to have any sort of uniform.”

    “Let me see if I have anything like that in my notes,” Nirei says, already digging out one of his books and flipping through the pages.

    Suou nods, then turns to Sakura, kneeling in front of him. “Let me see that. We should at least get it cleaned up.”

    Cold fingers hold his chin in place as the other sweeps away his bangs. Unlike with Nirei, the touch is intimate, tender – familiar. Sakura stiffens, heart hammering, aware of how exposed he is.

    There’s an audience right there and he’s holding Sakura’s face like he does when they kiss.

    The sound of his hand slapping Suou’s away almost seems to echo in the quiet evening. All four of them turn to him in shock. Or he thinks they do; he’s stammering out some sort of excuse as he hightails it out of there. The feeling of blood rushing to his face just makes his head pound harder and he grits his teeth.

    He half-expects Suou to follow him, but he walks the streets back to his home alone. His phone dings just as he closes his door. There’s a text from Suou.

    Don’t forget to disinfect that cut before bandaging it.

    Sakura types out a response only to quickly delete it, one after another.

    Sorry about

    I didnt mean

    I was afr

    Finally, he exhales and sends a single, simple reply:

    Ok.

—

    When he arrives at school the next day, he’s greeted by a declaration of war.

    Painted across the front doors of Furin in dripping black spray paint is a large V with a line crossing horizontally. The mark almost looks like random scribbling if there weren’t identical marks sprayed all over the walls as well.

    That explains why the class group chat had been flying by faster than Sakura could read this morning. He did at least have one helpful text from Nirei.

    Everyone turns to look at him when he slides open the door to the classroom. Reactions across the other students varied from anxiety, to anger, to determination, and they clamored for his input on the situation, but his eyes went straight to the figure by the window.

    Suou stood there, haloed by the weak morning sun, hands clasped behind his back as if he were a general awaiting orders. His lips press into a thin smile when he makes eye contact with Sakura, but he doesn’t come over for his usual morning greeting.

    He has to wrangle the class and discuss the plan going forward, which is almost a relief, since it means a distraction. When he goes up to the front of the class, everyone quiets before he even says a word. Nirei and Suou take their places behind him.

    It's something he’s not sure he will ever get used to, everyone’s unwavering respect. 

    “So, we got a problem. Things have been happening lately and it turns out they’re probably related.” It’s a clunky start, but everyone is hanging on his words.

    In retrospect, Sakura should have started to pay attention sooner. But this sorta thing – thinking – had never been his strong suit. That’s why he leaves it to Suou and Nirei. It’s not their fault – it’s Sakura, the grade captain, the one who collected the patrol reports but never took it seriously enough.

    He wonders how long he’s let it fester, allowing them to gain enough confidence to make their presence known and lay a trap for Bofurin. He nods to Nirei, who props his notebook on the desk before reading from it.

    “So they call themselves The Verge. They don’t really have a single leader, and they don’t claim any turf – they just like to cause havoc and increase their ranks. Since it’s basically a license to do whatever you want, they tend to get a lot of outcasts from the social system. Their only unifying symbols are those V grafittis we've been seeing around town, and they tend to wear all black.

    “I’ve been looking through some of our patrol reports, and there’s definitely a pattern if you look for it. They’ve been ramping up in both frequency and intensity. They started with some vandalism, and lately they’ve started robbing people.”

    Sakura turns to Suou as if it were the natural next step, but he realizes they haven’t actually talked about it yet. But Suou is already stepping up as if it were part of the plan all along.

    “They’ve also started baiting patrols into ambushes,” Suou continues smoothly, though his gaze drifted toward Sakura more often than the rest of the room, “which is why, until this is resolved, all patrols will have an additional person. Assignments will also make sure at least one heavy hitter is present.” He lifts a finger for each name as he lists them off. “So that would include… Sakura-kun, of course, Sugishita-kun, Kiryu-kun, Tsugeura-kun, and myself. Of course, if there are any scheduling issues –”

    “Not you,” Sakura blurts out.

   The air goes taut. A few people shifted in their seats, eyes darting between them like spectators waiting for the first blow to land. Suou turns to him, expression perfectly composed, though his tone has a clear sharpness to it. “I’m sorry. Did you say I won’t be doing patrols?”

    Sakura’s mouth goes dry. He’d thought about it last night, how Suou seems poised to snap lately, and how Nirei being hurt could be the catalyst that pushes him over the edge, but he hadn’t planned to say it in front of everyone. But now that it’s out in the open, he can’t take it back. “You’ve been… too distracted,” he mutters. “We need someone to keep an eye on the school in case they come again, anyway.”

    “Distracted?” Suou repeats, one brow arching. “Or is it that you think I can’t control myself?”

    “That ain’t what I said.”

    “But it’s what you meant.” Suou’s voice stays even, patient – almost too patient, which only makes Sakura’s pulse hammer harder. The weight of everyone’s attention presses down on him, but he can’t back down now.

    “It’s about the team,” Sakura insists. “We can’t afford risks right now.”

    A flicker of something passes through Suou’s eye, softer and more pointed than the rest of the exchange. He leans just slightly forward into Sakura’s space. “So you don’t trust me to be discreet?”

    The room shifted again with that word, most of the class probably hearing it as a comment on patrol strategy. But it lands differently on Sakura, heavy and deliberate, knocking the air from his lungs. They weren’t just talking about patrol any more.

    His cheeks heat and he pulls his jacket collar up over his ears. He forces himself to look away, ending the meeting before Suou could press further. “We’ll finalize the patrol groups by end of day. That’s all.”

    There’s an immediate buzz of conversation from the class overlaid by scraping chairs. Suou catches him by the wrist before he can so much as think about moving. “Why don’t we go somewhere quieter to discuss… strategy?”

     The stubborn streak deep in Sakura wants to pull away, but he can’t keep putting this off, not after the very public display they just put on. He nods, letting himself be led out of the classroom.

    “Mom and dad are fighting,” Kiryu says with barely-hidden hilarity in his voice as they walk past him, and Sakura flips him off out of principle.

    Suou lets go of his wrist once they’re out the door and walks down the hall, not even looking back, confident Sakura would follow. It’s not until they’re in an old, unused classroom that he even turns to look at him.

    He’s never had this particular expression pointed at him before, and he spares a pang of sympathy for all the unlucky fuckers who’ve had to face him in a real fight; it’s frozen-over with clear anger seeping out of the cracks. Not even since the first day they met has Sakura felt so far away from Suou.

    And he kind of hates how much he likes seeing that look directed at him. If nothing else, he wants Suou to relieve his frustration with him instead of anyone else.

    “Sakura-kun, I feel like I’ve done something lately to break your trust in me, but I’m not sure what that is. Even I have feelings that can be hurt.”

    Sakura feels off-balance, not having expected those words. He expected anger, questioning his ability as a captain – anything but questioning their very friendship. Despite the chill of his face, he sounds more sad than anything else.

    “What? That’s not – that’s not what I meant at all!”

    “I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to think when you constantly push me away. We agreed to keep things a secret – but it seems like you don’t think I take that agreement seriously. And now you take me off of patrol?”

    Sakura tackles the easier topic first. “I know how you get when Nirei is hurt. You don’t fight with your fists for a reason, and I don’t want to put you in the kinda situation where you have to cross that line.” Suou crooks a brow at him, but gestures at him to continue. The next words don’t come as easily, and Sakura struggles to spit them out. “And the… other stuff… it’s… it’s not you, it’s – everyone else.”

     Suou’s expression softens just a fraction, though his voice remains steady. “Everyone else? You mean you don’t trust them not to notice, or you don’t trust me not to give it away?”

    Sakura flinches. He hates that it sounds like the second one, even though it isn’t. “That’s not fair. I told you I don’t mean it like that. It’s just...”

    “Then how did you mean it?” Suou steps closer, not threatening, but insistent. His eye searches Sakura’s face like he’s trying to catch a lie in the open. “Because it feels like I’m the only one here who actually wants this.”

    Sakura opens his mouth, but no excuse comes out right away. He wants to say it’s not true, that he wants it too – he’s the one who pushed Suou to confess in the first place – but all he can think about is Kiryu’s smirk, or the way people glance at him when Suou stands too close. The things people used to say about him in his old town.

    “I do, it’s just… I don’t want people to look at me like that,” he mutters at last, unable to find the words without sounding pathetic.

    When he doesn’t say anything more, Suou takes a step forward, bending slightly into Sakura’s space. “Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks, voice teasing, as if the concept were laughable. He lifts a hand as if to cup his cheek but Sakura flinches just enough that the touch stalls midair. Suou lets it fall back to his side, his expression shuttering into something unreadable, and suddenly that yawning distance is growing out between them again.

    The silence stretches thin. Sakura shifts his weight, uncomfortable, but Suou just exhales a humorless laugh and turns toward the door.

    “Forget it,” he says, quiet and clipped, as though he’s resigning himself to disappointment. “I think we should stop here for today. Before either of us says something we regret.”

    And before Sakura can figure out how to stop him, Suou is already walking away. For the first time since this whole thing started, he’s not sure Suou will be waiting at the gates for him at the end of the day.

Chapter Text

    The rest of the school day crawls by like torture. Sakura can barely focus on the blackboard, let alone the words spilling out of the teachers. Every tick of the clock seems to grind at his nerves. By the time lunch rolls around, he’s too knotted up with anxiety to eat. He tells himself he’s just not hungry, but the emptiness in his stomach makes him irritable on top of everything else, souring his mood further.

    The afternoon brings patrol assignments. Names are rattled off, pairings shuffled, cautions repeated about Verge sightings and ambushes. He’s glad he already has a habit of leaving this part to his vice captains, because he’s in no state to be doing this himself. His head feels stuffed with cotton, every detail slipping through like water. Everyone else is nodding along, and he forces himself to mimic the motion, but his chest is too tight, his thoughts circling back to only one thing: Suou. What if he’s already decided he’s had enough? What if today is the day he calls it quits?

    When the final bell finally rings, Sakura drags his feet toward the gate, heart pounding like a drum. He tells himself not to hope, not to expect anything –

    And then he sees him. Suou, waiting there, leaning casually against the rail like he’s been standing guard.

    Sakura freezes, struck dumb. For a moment he thinks about turning around, pretending he forgot something, anything to delay this. But Suou notices him instantly, sighs, and waves him over with that mix of exasperation and patience only he can pull off.

    This is it, Sakura thinks, throat dry. He’s going to end things. Because he can’t get his shit together –

    “Before you assume the worst,” Suou says evenly, “can I start by saying that everything will be okay?”

    Sakura blinks. The words don’t compute right away. “You’re… not mad?”

    “Mm, no, I’m quite angry,”  Suou answers with a too-bright smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eye. “But I didn’t exactly handle things gracefully either. So let’s not pretend this is all on you.”

    “Oh.” Sakura’s voice comes out small, and he scuffs the toe of his shoe against the pavement. “I guess that’s fair.”

    Suou takes a step closer, voice dropping low. “Something’s clearly been bothering you. I’m not going to try to force it any more – but in return, I need you to tell me when you’re ready. Can you do that for me, Sakura-kun?”

    “Yeah,” Sakura says. This is turning out better than he could have imagined, but something about it just isn’t sitting right. “I need you to do something too.”

    Suou tilts his head. “Oh?”

    “If you’re mad at me, then be mad. Don’t hold back. I’m not the only one hiding things,” Sakura says, lifting his chin like a dare.

    That gets a flicker of surprise – then Suou’s mouth curves into something more genuine and not a little devious, the faintest spark of amusement lighting his eye. “You’re not wrong. So, you want me to be a little meaner, is that it?”

    “That is not what I said,” Sakura huffs, heat rushing to his face. 

    “But you like it when I’m mean, don’t you?” Suou says, leaning in just a bit closer, a smug cant to his face. It’s not unlike how he looked at that Shishitoren guy before he toyed with him in front of everyone like a cat with a mouse.

    Sakura isn’t proud to admit that was the first time he saw Suou differently than the others, and it’s a secret he plans to take to his grave.

    He spins around quickly, sputtering, only to catch Nirei lurking by the door, clearly having witnessed too much already. Sakura freezes in place at the sight, while Suou, unbothered, just waves him over.

    “I couldn’t hear anything,” Nirei says in lieu of greeting.

    “What a pity, then. We had a real grown-up discussion and everything,” Suou says, but the effect is ruined as he fiddles with his phone.

    Nirei looks between them with clear doubt on his face, but relents when Sakura nods and adds,  ”We’re fine.”

    They head off together; their paths home coincide at least part of the way through town. With a pang of guilt, Sakura realizes it’s been a while since the three of them walked home together, and he promises himself he’ll make more time for Nirei. For now, at least, it’s like old times – one of them on each side, chattering away aimlessly with each other and the occasional shopkeep who greets them on their way.

    “This is me,” Nirei says with a wave. “See you guys on Monday!”

    “I think I’ll split off here as well,” Suou says once Nirei is around the corner. “Sakura-kun, what time is it?”

    “Huh? Check your own damn phone,” Sakura grumbles even as he pulls his phone from his pocket. When the screen lights up, he sees a few missed notifications, the most recent one from Suou to their private chat.

    I like you 💖

    Blushing furiously, he jams his phone back in his pocket only to see Suou already halfway down the street. He turns around with a mischievous grin, earrings glinting and ruddy hair set aflame by the sun behind him; Sakura is overcome with a sudden urge to kiss him, witnesses be damned.

    He flips him off instead, which earns him a laugh.

    Back at his apartment, the only thing there to greet him is the hum of his AC unit and those damn curtains. He flops down at his table, deliberately angled so he can’t see the package, and pulls out his phone to check his other notifications. There’s a deluge of stickers and chats from the class that he dismisses without reading – someone will tell him if he misses something important, and he doesn’t have the patience to read all that – and one from Kiryu directly.

    He taps it open, curious; he doesn’t think he’s ever texted Kiryu separately. Sure enough, the message from just after school is the first one in their chat history.

    Everything ok, captain?

    Sakura types a response, edits it, deletes it, starts again – then tosses his phone onto the table with a sigh. He knows he should say something, but he’s too drained to lie and sure as hell isn’t about to tell the truth. Instead, he stretches out on his back, eyes drifting up to trace the cracks on his dingy ceiling.

    He and Suou are still – them. That’s good.

    They have to talk about it. That’s bad.

    Suou is upset. That’s also bad. Actually, that might be the worst part of all.

    Things used to be so easy when he didn’t have to care about anyone else – no, he’s not going to go down that particular path again. Even if it brings its own kind of stress, he can’t imagine giving up this new life he’s somehow managed to claw his way into. He can’t go back, but he also doesn’t know how to go forward. His thoughts are a jumble; if he can’t explain it to himself, how is he supposed to explain it to Suou?

    He stews like that for a while, restless and irritable, until sitting still feels unbearable. Finally, he pushes himself up and grabs his jacket. If Suou was brave enough to put his feelings out there, then Sakura can’t just sit around sulking all weekend. He has to at least try.

    What do people even do when they piss off someone they care about? He’s pretty sure TV dramas always solved it with a gift. And right now, a gift feels easier to handle than his own tangled thoughts.

    The streets are cooler than his apartment, but the walk does little to untie the knot in his stomach. He passes shuttered shops and neon signs flickering on for the night. When he turns the corner toward the tea store, his steps falter: the Verge’s logo is splashed across the wall in thick, dripping paint. It’s fresh.

    The sight snags in his chest like a hook. It’s ugly, slapped on the wall without a care, overpainted lines dripping all over – and it’s invasive. A reminder that even in this part of town, even on a stupid errand to buy tea, their reach is there waiting for him. He swears the paint still smells sharp in the air, and for a moment he’s sure someone is watching from the shadows.

    Sakura forces his feet to move, shoulders hunched, scanning every alley mouth and dark window as he goes. The graffiti stays in his head long after it’s out of sight, burning like a brand. Between the Verge and his class, it feels like there’s nowhere left he can go without being seen.

    On the little box TV in the corner of the tea shop, some overwrought romantic drama was playing. The lead actor had the heroine pressed against a wall, his lips moving at her ear in low, urgent whispers. Sakura froze, heat flooding his face as he realized how much it looked like him and Suou in his apartment the other day – the angle of their heads, even the slight difference in height.

    Except that would make him the girl.

    Scowling at the thought, Sakura spun on his heel and stomped toward the rows of loose-leaf tea, glaring at the wall of identical bins as though it had personally insulted him.

    The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with kind eyes and a cane, shuffled over at his side. “Looking for anything in particular, dear?”

    He squints at the tiny handwritten labels, all in neat brushstrokes he can’t decipher if his life depended on it. “Uh. Something… good?”

    She chuckles and begins scooping samples into little paper packets. “Everyone says that. Fruity? Floral? Bold?”

    Sakura mumbled something incoherent, scratching the back of his neck, and finally just let her keep fussing. She holds up one sample at a time for him to smell, but they all seem the same to him. He thinks back to that time Kotoha made him drink that nasty grass-flavored tea because it was too late for coffee. He doesn’t quite describe it like that, but the shopkeep seems to get the idea.

    She wraps the tin neatly and smiles up at him. “Is this for your girlfriend?”

    “I-I ain’t got a g-girlfriend,” Sakura stammers, thrusting his crumpled bills forward as if shoving the money at her could end the conversation faster.

    Her eyes twinkle. “Ah, so it’s for your boyfriend then?”

    Sakura nearly drops his wallet. “D–do I look like I got a–a–a b–boy– one of those?” he hissed, voice cracking as his gaze darted wildly around the store to see if anyone else had heard. “It’s just for my… f-friend!”

    But the shopkeeper only laughs, unbothered. “Your special friend, then. Don’t worry, son. I may be old, but I’m not old-fashioned. We accept all kinds here in Makochi. And truth be told –” she leans in conspiratorially – “boys dating each other at an all boy’s school isn’t nearly as rare as you’d think. Even back in my day!”

    Mortified, Sakura snatches the tin and stuffs it in his bag. “T-thanks– I gotta go!”

    He bolts out the door, the shop bell clattering behind him. His pulse still won’t settle.

    Why would she say that?

    Does he really give off that kind of vibe?

    His mind slips before he can stop it –

    It’s lunchtime at yet another new school. He’s just transferred again. The kid next to him, Tanaka, had actually smiled when Sakura sat down, so he scoots his desk closer like he’s seen other kids do before before pulling out his convenience store onigiri. That’s how friends eat lunch together, right?

    “Ooh, Tanaka’s got a boyfriend!”

    “You into freaks, huh, Tanaka?”

    The laughter hits fast, sharp, and cruel. Tanaka’s face twists, and he kicks Sakura’s desk away with a loud clatter.

    “Don’t sit so close to me, you freak.”

    The sound echoes in his head longer than the scrape of metal on tile. Sakura just sits there, hands shoved in his pockets, face blank, pretending it doesn’t matter. Pretending his stomach isn’t turning to lead.

    He told himself Makochi would be different – that this place wouldn’t look at him the same way. That here, maybe, he could finally start over. Prove himself as the top of Furin, so no one would ever fuck with him again.

    But walking out of the tea shop, his heart still pounding from one old woman’s teasing, he’s not so sure. Makochi isn’t like those other places, he tries to remind himself.

    If only it were that easy.

    Sometimes it just feels like trading one tightrope for another.

    His stomach growls, breaking the spiral. Since he’s already out, he might as well grab dinner. Pothos should be calm by now; the evening rush is probably already done and cleaned up.

    “Oh, hey, Sakura,” Kotoha calls as he ducks inside. “Feels like it’s been a while since you’ve come by alone. Lemme guess – omurice?”

    He grunts in greeting and slumps into his usual booth, dropping his phone on the counter. He props his chin in his hand and watches her move through the familiar motions – eggs cracking, rice sizzling – until she sets the plate in front of him.

    “You doing okay?” she asks, brow raised. “You’re quieter than usual.”

    “’m fine,” he mutters, digging in. His phone buzzes, lighting up with another message from Kiryu. He ignores it.

    “Well, okay then…” Kotoha says slowly. “Hey, can I borrow your phone? Mine’s dead and I need to text Ume real quick.”

    Wordlessly, Sakura slides it over. She types something quickly, then hands it back with a smug little smile. “You should really put a password on that, you know.”

    “You’re welcome,” Sakura deadpans, shoving it into his pocket.

    He had tried setting one before, but kept forgetting it, and he’s pretty sure there’s a bet running in the classroom on how long until Sakura needs someone to brute force his phone again. Not that he’d ever admit that to Kotoha.

    As he eats, she keeps chattering – about school gossip, about the new regular who orders curry and never finishes it – and somehow, it helps. The noise fills the silence in his head.

    Then he notices her glancing toward the door. Once, twice, again, though the stream of chatter doesn’t stop.

    “You expecting someone?” he asks.

    “Huh? What? No – who would I be expecting?” she stammers, way too fast.

    He narrows his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

    Before he can press further, the bell over the door jingles.

    “Oh, hey, Kiryu-kun!” Kotoha chirps.

    Sakura chokes on his omurice. He looks between them like they’ve conspired against him even though he knows they can’t have – he didn’t tell anyone his plans for tonight. Kiryu lifts his frappuccino with a grin.

    “Yo, Sakura-chan. You wanna stay here or walk around?”

    “What?” Sakura blinks, completely lost.

    Kotoha’s already swiping his plate away. “Go on, get outta here! I’ve got inventory to do!” She waves him off with wet hands, splattering water in his direction until he staggers out of range.

    Bemused, Sakura lets himself be herded outside, Kiryu falling into step beside him.

    “Man,” Kiryu says, voice thick with mock emotion, “I can’t believe the captain actually wants to confide in me.”

    “Wait, what the fuck are you talking about?”

    “You texted me,” Kiryu replies, pulling out his phone. “Said you wanted to talk.”

    “I didn’t –” Sakura stops short. They look at each other for a moment, stopping dead on the sidewalk, and check their screens. Naturally, Kiryu pulls up the conversation faster and holds it out. Not long after Kiryu’s last ignored text, there are two replies from Sakura’s number.

    Im at pothos

    Can we talk?

    “I didn’t send that!” Sakura insists, even as his own phone shows the same. Then it hits him. “Kotoha! She took my phone and set me up!”

    He starts to turn back toward the café, but Kiryu catches him by the collar.

    “Hey, if she’s pulling tricks like that, maybe she figured you needed it. Honestly, I should’ve known it wasn’t you – the reply came way too fast.”

    Sakura scowls, but doesn’t pull away.

    He’s not wrong. And if anyone could help untangle this mess… it’d probably be Kiryu.

    It hits him then that Kotoha must’ve seen the last message from Suou too if she’d opened his chats. Heat rushes to his face all at once. He trusts her, sure – but the idea of someone knowing like that, of finding out behind his back, feels like a guillotine hanging over his neck.

    “Fine,” Sakura mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Let’s go somewhere.”

    “I’ve got an idea – this way.”

    They’re halfway down the street when Kiryu bumps shoulders with a guy coming around the corner, sloshing his frappuccino all over the man’s black sweatshirt, turning it into a tie-dye design of green coffee and whip cream.

    “Ah, crap, sorry!” Kiryu says, taking a handkerchief from his pocket. “I’ll pay for–”

    “Don’t touch me, faggot,” the guy snaps, shoving him back. “Watch where you’re going!”

    “Look, it’s the new transfer student. Hey, I heard you got kicked out of your last school for sucking cock in the bathroom stalls, is it true?”

    “Gross, get away from me, you fag!”

    Something in Sakura snaps.

    Before he can think, his fist connects with the man’s face. The crunch of cartilage is loud, ugly, and satisfying. The guy stumbles back, blood pouring down his nose, tripping over his own stupid baggy pants.

    “Don’t,” Sakura seethes, chest heaving, “call him that.”

    Kiryu’s hand lands on his shoulder, firm and grounding. “Easy, captain.” His tone is calm, too calm. Then he looks at the guy, still on the ground, and adds flatly, “But yeah. Don’t fucking call me that. Or anyone else, for that matter.” He tosses the dregs of his drink – a splash of sticky sweetness right across the man’s face.

    “Why you little –“ Whatever the man was about to call Kiryu now died in his throat when both Sakura and Kiryu turned on him. “I better not see either of you again,” he mutters, scrambling to his feet and staggering away.

    The guy glares, but when both boys turn on him in tandem, he backs off, muttering something unintelligible as he stumbles away.

    Kiryu gives a short laugh, shaking out his hand. “Man, I appreciate you, like, defending my honor and all, but that was a little intense. You okay?”

    “How can you just let him say that shit about you and not even care?” Sakura knows his voice is getting loud, but Kiryu is just so calm and he doesn’t understand why. Kiryu’s smile turns pensive.

    “Hey, I need a new drink. Let’s head to a cafe, ok?”

    The casual tone diffuses the moment like cold water. Sakura exhales, muscles loosening, and follows.

    “Back to Pothos?” Kiryu teases.

    “I am not going back there after what she pulled,” Sakura snaps, but there’s no heat behind it. Kiryu just laughs and steers them into a small café tucked between two shuttered stores.

    Despite the hour, it’s still fairly bustling, mostly with students from a nearby school. Once they’re settled at their table with their drinks – a melon float for Kiryu, black coffee for Sakura – Kiryu lets the awkward atmosphere soak for a bit before taking initiative.

    They sit by the window – melon float for Kiryu, black coffee for Sakura. The hum of chatter around them fills the silence until Kiryu finally says, “You know, it’s not like I like being called names. But people are gonna assume whatever they want. I know who I am, so why waste energy proving it?”

    Sakura grunts, staring into his cup. He kinda wants to ask – even if it’d be the most embarrassing conversation of his life, he really needs to figure his shit out, and out of the small selection of people he could talk to, Kiryu is probably the lesser evil.

    Kiryu takes a sip, then adds, as casually as if he’s mentioning the weather, “For what it’s worth, that guy wasn’t completely wrong. I do like guys. Just… girls too.”

    Sakura promptly chokes, sputtering coffee across the table.

    “I didn’t ask!”

    “You looked like you wanted to,” Kiryu says, grinning.

    Sakura hides his burning face in his hands, wondering how he could have been so transparent. Kiryu chuckles into his straw.

    But come to think of it, this might be his only chance to ask.

    A long silence passes before Sakura mumbles, “How do you… y’know… decide which one is the girl? When it’s two guys.”

    An inelegant snort escapes Kiryu’s mouth before he can stop himself. Sakura immediately starts to stand, mortified, but Kiryu grabs his wrist and tugs him back down. “Sorry, sorry – it’s just," he says, trying to calm the hilarity in his voice, "there isn’t a girl. That’s kind of the point.”

    Sakura picks at the napkin in front of him, tearing it to shreds. “That’s… how they used to talk about it. Back in my old town.”

    Kiryu’s laughter dies off. “Ah.” His voice gentles. “That must’ve been rough.”

    Sakura doesn’t answer. When he finally chances a look, Kiryu is looking at him with puppy-like sympathy, which is almost harder to look at than when he’d been making fun of him earlier.

    Then, quietly, Kiryu asks, “Are you asking me because you like Suou-chan?”

    Sakura’s breath catches. He stares at the shredded paper in his hands, pulse thundering in his ears. Then, after a long moment –

    He nods.

    “I don’t get what the problem is. He clearly likes you too,” Kiryu says after a long sip of his float. He squints at Sakura. “...You don’t even look surprised.”

    SSakura flinches, eyes darting up from his coffee. Kiryu’s expression morphs from suspicious to downright gleeful with alarming speed. “Wait. You already knew! Don’t tell me – oh my god, you’re already dating, aren’t you?! You are!”

    “Shut up!” Sakura hisses, waving frantically as Kiryu starts to cackle.

   “Dude, no one here is listening.” Kiryu continues so casually that it takes a moment for his next words to sink in. “Hey everyone, my friend is gay dating his vice captai– ouch!”

    Sakura’s eyes are darting around the lobby, but no one is even looking at them – at least not until he kicks Kiryu in the shins to shut him up and the ensuing squawk draws some irritated looks.

    “That was totally uncalled for. Anyway, so what’s your problem?” he asks, popping the cherry from his float into his mouth. “If you’re already going out and all. Wow, I can’t believe I just said that.”

    “The problem is… I’m not – I’m not g-gay,” Sakura chokes out, his voice gradually fading away until he’s practically whispering the last part.

    “So… you like girls, then?” Kiryu asks.

    Sakura thinks for a bit. He doesn’t know many girls – they mostly avoided him like the plague or whispered behind his back, and it’s not like he’d ever had time to think about dating before – but he’s never really noticed them, not like other guys do. No racing pulse, no dumb fantasies. Just... nothing.

    “Never really thought about it,” Sakura admits with a shrug.

    Kiryu props his chin on his hand. “Okay. What about other guys?”

    Sakura shrugs again. It’s only been since he came to Makochi that he’s been able to relax enough to even think about other people, let alone get… crushes.

    “You’re really not making this easy. Maybe you just like Suou-chan. Why does it matter?”

    “Because I’m not – like that,” Sakura hisses. Kiryu raises a brow. “Not that, uh, it’s wrong, I just mean for me – uh,” he says when he realizes how that sounded.

    “Uh-huh.” Kiryu leans back, unimpressed. “Not gonna lie, I think this is beyond my pay grade.” Sakura buries his head in his hands, but Kiryu continues anyway. “Have you told Suou-chan about… this?” he asks, waving his hands vaguely in Sakura’s direction.

     “No,” Sakura says, muffled into his palms.

     Kiryu sits quietly for long enough that Sakura finally pulls his hands away. When he looks up, he sees an uncommonly serious look on Kiryu’s face. “Sakura-chan, I know you don’t think any less of Tsubaki-chan, right?”

    “Of course not,” Sakura insists.

    “And you know we won’t think any differently of you no matter who you like, right?”

    Throat tight, Sakura nods. “But –“

    Kiryu cuts him off gently. “You can’t keep fighting yourself forever. It’s exhausting. At some point you gotta decide what matters more: being safe, or being honest.” Then, smirking, he adds, “And I’m getting real tired of you and Suou-chan giving everyone whiplash in class. Go kiss and make up.”

    “Hah!? What– why would you even –“

    “Fine, then talk to him.” Kiryu rolls his eyes. “He’s probably just as messed up about it as you are, the way you keep pushing him away. How’d that argument go yesterday?”

    Sakura settles back in his seat, the wind abruptly cut from his sails. That is the crux of it, isn’t it?

    Even I have feelings that can be hurt.

    “It wasn’t a fight,” Sakura mumbles, but even he knows it sounds hollow. Kiryu just looks at him knowingly and takes an obnoxiously loud slurp from his float.

     “Sure it wasn’t. Text him now so you don’t chicken out. Tell him you wanna talk.”

    Sakura glares but pulls out his phone anyway, thumbs hovering over the screen. Kiryu unsubtly tries to look at his screen so he tilts it away with a huff.

     Can we talk tomorrow at my place

     “There,” he says, letting it clatter onto the table. He tosses the phone onto the table as if it  burns. The vibration comes almost instantly, his phone lighting up on the table between them.

     I’ll be there after rounds 💖

    Sakura yanks his phone back but it’s too late. Kiryu looks like his birthday came early, shit eating grin on his face. “Aww, cute. Dude, you’re so red right now.”

    “Shut up,” Sakura mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it.

    They sit in companionable silence for a bit, the clatter of dishes filling in where words can’t. Eventually, Kiryu nudges his empty glass toward Sakura. “C’mon. Let’s get you home before you implode.”

    Sakura rolls his eyes, but when he stands, he’s smiling – just a little.

—

    Sakura makes up his mind on the walk home.

    He flicks on the light, toes off his shoes, and stares at the small package by the wall – the one he’d been avoiding since he brought it in. Two curtain panels go up on the rod over his window, blocking out the dull orange streetlight that usually leaks through. The fabric transforms the little apartment; it feels softer now, quieter.

    He hangs his uniform jacket over the end of the curtain rod, steps back, and lets himself imagine what it’ll look like tomorrow, when Suou’s here.

    The thought alone makes his stomach lurch.

    It takes only a minute before he realizes what the curtains mean. What they imply. Privacy. Intimacy. He presses his palms against his face, but his thoughts are already drifting there anyway.

    He can already imagine it. In this imaginary world, everything is fine before Suou even arrives – they don’t even need to have any awkward conversations. Everything is already vaguely settled in that convenient way that happens in dreams. Instead, Suou lingers by the door for a moment, letting a heavy-lidded gaze hold Sakura in place like a bug under a pin.

    “My, what a nice surprise,” the fantasy Suou says, finally sauntering into the room, shedding his jacket. 

    “Yeah, uh, they’re – nice. Thanks.” Even in his fantasies, Sakura is awkward and off kilter, but Suou just laughs and slings his arms over Sakura’s shoulders, drawing him closer.

    “They are, aren’t they?” he says, voice as silky as his high-collared shirt.

    When Suou leans in, the air between them tightens. Everything in Sakura sparks to life – that nervous, impossible mix of wanting to run and wanting to stay. And when he finally lets himself meet Suou halfway, it’s like exhaling after holding his breath for years. He still screws his eyes shut like always, but he can feel the momentary surprise shudder through Suou as he brings his hands up Suou’s sides and over his shoulder blades.

    Suou lets one of his hands crawl up Sakura’s neck into his hair, using it to coax Sakura’s head into tilting just right so their lips slot together better. He does that thing that always drives Sakura crazy – pulling on Sakura’s lower lip with his teeth, tongue swiping after as if to soothe the skin. And Sakura groans into it and pulls Suou in closer, chasing after Suou’s tongue with his own.

    He’s not sure how it happens but he’s braced against the wall right by the window as Suou’s hands slip under his shirt to map the planes of his muscles and skirt just along the waistband of his jeans. Suou is draped over his back, but keeps his hips a polite distance apart.

    Somehow, that inch of space is what keeps this just on the boundary of being okay, what keeps the bile from rising in his throat.

    Suou is mouthing at his neck as one hand inches lower between his legs and the other snakes out from under his shirt to twitch the curtains. “Just think, I could pull these open so everyone could see us right now.”

    “You wouldn’t,” Sakura retorts, but it’s breathy, and he squirms, uncertain if he wants to press forward into the hand now palming him through his jeans or back against Suou or run away entirely.

    “You’re right,” Suou murmurs right in his ear, the hand on the curtains coming back to rest at Sakura’s throat. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. This is all for me.”

    And Sakura can’t help but arch his back, desperate for something he can’t name. It closes that last little bit of distance between them; his breath hitches as he feels something press against the curve of his ass. He fights down that little voice that tells him this is gross, you don’t want this because –

    He does.

    He does.

     Sakura pulls himself out of Suou’s hold and turns around, wrapping his arms around Suou’s lower back and reeling him back in. Suou answers with his own hunger, slipping a thigh between Sakura’s legs except this time Sakura doesn’t push him away – he lets himself rut into it, and it feels so good –

    The click click whirr of his AC turning on surprises him out of his fantasy; Suou melts away and he’s alone again in his dim apartment, embarrassed and very, very hard. The cool air over his face does little to calm him down.

    It isn’t the first time his thoughts have gone there – not since that afternoon training together, when Suou’s hand at the back of his neck had set off a lightning storm under his skin – but it’s the first time he hasn’t immediately recoiled from it. The first time he’s let himself admit what he wants without that cold voice whispering wrong, wrong, wrong in his head.

     He buries his hands in his hair then drags them down his face. “Get a hold of yourself,” he mutters, though it sounds less like a scolding and more like a plea.

    After a while, he forces himself up, showers until the mirror fogs over, and towels off with water still clinging to his hair.

    He checks his phone. No new messages from Suou – but one unread text from Kotoha, asking if he made it home.

    fuck you

    and thanks

    He stares at the screen for a moment before setting it down. The room is quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the faint rustle of the new curtains in the breeze.

    Tomorrow, Suou will be here.

    And maybe – just maybe – Sakura will stop running from himself.