Archive of Our Own

Spring in Makochi had the scent of rain clinging to sunbaked pavement. Sweet. Sharp. Heavy.

It was the kind of afternoon that felt suspended in time. Like the world itself had stopped to catch its breath.

The courtyard of Furin High bore the bruises of another fight. Blood smeared the edge of the concrete wall near the vending machines. A shattered broom lay like a corpse by the garden shed. Someone’s gym shoe had landed improbably in a tree.

But the worst of it was over. The thugs who tried to shake down a first-year and extort a shopkeeper nearby had been dealt with—harshly. Bofurin always protected their own. Especially this year’s batch.

Haruka Sakura stood barefoot on the warm pavement, his shoes kicked off somewhere during the chaos. A light breeze tugged at the edge of his shirt. His two-toned hair clung damp to his neck. The blue of his right eye glinted like broken glass; the yellow of his left shimmered like flame.

He didn’t look tired. He looked alive.

Suo watched him from across the courtyard—brow smudged with blood, one sleeve of his changshan torn, his right earring gone. The top three buttons of his uniform shirt were undone, revealing the soft hollow of his throat and a bead of sweat sliding lazily down his collarbone.

Sakura walked toward him.

Not fast. Not slow.

Just certain.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, kneeling beside Suo.

“It’s poetic,” Suo murmured, smiling despite the cut on his jaw. “Don’t you think?”

“No.” Sakura yanked open the med-kit clipped to his waist. “It’s idiotic.”

“I fought for you.”

Sakura rolled his eyes. “You fought because you wanted to.”

“And you didn’t?” Suo’s voice dipped—too low, too soft. “You only get that look in your eyes when you’re mad... or when someone touches me.”

Sakura’s hands stilled on the antiseptic. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?”

Suo tilted his head, leaning in like a secret. “You always touch my throat when you’re angry. You do it like you don’t know you’re doing it.”

“I’m going to punch you.”

“You’re going to kiss me.”

And he did.

Suo kissed him with the kind of pressure that demanded surrender. Not desperate, not greedy—controlled. But hungry in the way only Suo could be: slow fingers curling around Sakura’s collar, tilting his head back, pulling him in like he was fragile and burning and his.

Sakura exhaled against his lips, heat blooming across his cheeks and down his neck. His hand tangled in the fabric at Suo’s chest, twisting hard as if to anchor himself. He hated that it felt good. Too good.

Suo deepened the kiss, coaxing him open with soft movements and the occasional flick of tongue that made Sakura bite down a whimper. He gasped against Suo’s mouth and felt hands slide down his spine, careful, deliberate, mapping every ridge of tension in his body.

“Damn you,” Sakura breathed, breaking away for a second.

Suo chased his mouth with a smile. “You sound mad.”

“You’re such a—”

His words were swallowed by another kiss—hotter, this time. Their teeth clacked once in the middle, and neither cared. Sakura pushed Suo backward until his back hit the bench behind them, then straddled one thigh without thinking, his hand fisting in the back of Suo’s shirt as their mouths moved in a haze of breath and heat and muscle memory.

Suo’s fingers gripped Sakura’s waist, thumbs dipping under his shirt, not bold—just steady. Familiar.

It was too much. It was not enough.

Sakura pulled away to breathe—but Suo’s lips trailed along his jaw, down to the curve of his neck, nipping at the skin there so softly it made Sakura shudder.

“Why are you always so—” Sakura’s voice cracked.

“So what?”

“So calm. So smug.”

Suo pulled back just enough to look at him.

“I’m not smug,” he said, voice roughened now. “I’m in love.”

Sakura blinked.

Too much.

Too fast.

Too—

“OH MY GOD!!!”

Sakura flinched so violently he nearly toppled off Suo’s lap.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL—NIREI!?” he shouted, scrambling to his feet and dragging Suo up with him.

“YOU—YOU—YOU PERVERTS!!” Nirei shrieked, covering his face with both hands. “I BROUGHT YOU GUYS A SPORTS DRINK! AND I WALK IN ON—THAT?! I CAN NEVER UNSEE THAT!!”

Tsuguera strolled in next, chewing on a lollipop. “Damn. You guys really don’t waste time, huh.”

“GET OUT!” Sakura roared.

Sugishita’s monotone followed behind them. “Gross.”

“You weren’t invited!” Sakura barked.

“You were in public,” Kiryu muttered, tapping away on his phone. “Suo, please stop trying to seduce our fighter dog mid-school hours.”

Suo calmly buttoned his shirt. “That’s between me and the fighter dog.”

Sakura shoved him. “Do not say that again.”

Nirei looked like he might pass out. “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS MY LIFE!”

Behind them, the chaos continued.

Tsuguera to Kiryu: “Should we start a betting pool for how many times they get caught?”

Nirei: “THEY SHOULD BE IN JAIL! I’M TRAUMATIZED!”

Suo leaned in close to Sakura, lips brushing his ear. “Rooftop. Five minutes.”

“I hate you,” Sakura muttered.

“No, you don’t.”

And just like that, he turned and walked toward the stairs, his movements smooth, every inch the untouchable calm Suo always was—even with Sakura’s lipbalm smudged faintly at the edge of his mouth.

Across the courtyard, Umemiya watched.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just stood in the lengthening shadow of the school wall, a half-crushed drink in his hand and a muscle ticking in his jaw.

He’d seen the way Sakura clung.

He’d heard the catch in his voice.

He’d watched the way Suo touched him like he knew he was wanted.

And it hurt.

More than any punch.

More than any broken bone he’d ever taken for his team.

Umemiya closed his eyes.

But Sakura’s face burned behind his eyelids anyway.

There was something about Makochi at night that turned quiet into tension—like the silence had teeth.

The streetlights buzzed low, pools of golden light stretching over empty roads. A thin fog had crept in from the port. Sakura pulled his jacket tighter as he and the others walked along the cracked sidewalk behind the shuttered convenience store.

It was a Bofurin patrol night.

After the ambush near the school, tensions had risen again—some outside group was probing for weaknesses in their territory. Nobody knew who yet, but Suo had said it best during the strategy meeting that afternoon:

• “If we wait for trouble to come, we’re not protecting anything.”

So they moved.

Two teams. Hiragi’s orders.

Kiryu, Tsuguera, and Nirei took the east side.

Suo, Umemiya, and Sakura were covering the south.

“I still say I should be with Nirei,” Tsuguera grumbled as he crunched his third candy of the evening. “He’s soft. Like bread left out in the rain.”

“I’m not soft,” Nirei said in a panic. “I’m tactical! If I’m alive after a fight, that’s survival, not cowardice.”

Kiryu didn’t say a word—just gestured for them to move out and vanished down the dark alley with the cold precision of a sleep-deprived cryptid.

Which left the other three in a more awkward silence.

Suo walked ahead, one hand in his pocket, eyes flicking left to right like a cat watching shadows. Sakura followed beside him, tension wound beneath his skin like pulled wire.

Umemiya trailed a step behind.

He hadn’t said much since that afternoon.

Since the rooftop.

Since that kiss.

Sakura couldn’t shake the expression on Umemiya’s face. That slight clench of his jaw. The way he’d smiled, but too tightly. The way he hadn’t laughed with the others.

• He saw us.

The thought kept circling.

Suo, of course, hadn’t looked the least bit ashamed. He’d nuzzled behind Sakura’s ear while the others screamed and grinned like he was winning some long, private game.

Sakura didn’t know what game that was.

Didn’t know the rules.

Didn’t know how to win.

“Yo,” Suo called suddenly, breaking the silence. “Alley up ahead. Movement?”

Sakura narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. At the corner.”

Umemiya caught up instantly, his mood shifting. Focus locked in. His presence felt bigger when he was serious—like he filled the space with calm power.

The three of them crept to the edge of the alley.

They heard voices. Male. Loud. Threatening.

“…Don’t play dumb, brat! You know who we are!”

“Didn’t your dad already pay up?!”

A smaller voice: “Please—I-I didn’t do anything—!”

Sakura moved before Suo could say anything, stepping around the corner with the cold fury he was known for.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing,” he said, voice flat.

There were four of them—older teens, lean muscle, cocky grins. Two had bats. One had brass knuckles. And the last one—the leader, judging by the piercings and bandaged arm—took one look at Sakura and scoffed.

“You lost, pretty boy?”

Suo appeared behind Sakura like a shadow. Calm. Smiling. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Three of you?” the leader laughed. “We’ve handled worse.”

Umemiya stepped forward last. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“You picked the wrong part of town to play gangster.”

The leader lunged first, swinging with the bat.

Sakura moved like lightning—low dodge, sweep to the ankle, elbow to the chin. The guy hit the wall and crumpled.

Suo took on the second, his hands never balled into fists—open palms, pressure points, graceful spins. He sidestepped a knuckle punch, slipped behind his attacker, and slammed him to the ground with one fluid movement.

The third thug went for the shopkeeper’s kid.

“Hey!” Sakura shouted.

The thug ignored him.

But Umemiya didn’t.

He caught the guy mid-charge—just caught him, like it was nothing, and drove a knee into his gut before flipping him to the ground.

The fourth attacker, panicked, swung a metal pipe wildly.

Toward Sakura’s exposed back.

“Sakura, move—!”

But it was too late.

Umemiya shoved forward.

The pipe cracked against his ribs with a hollow, awful sound.

“Ume—!” Sakura spun, eyes wide.

Umemiya gritted his teeth, but didn’t cry out. He turned, grabbed the pipe mid-swing, and ripped it from the thug’s hands with enough force to send him sprawling.

Then he dropped it with a clang and leaned back against the wall, breathing shallow.

“Shit,” Sakura hissed. “You took that for me—”

“I’m fine,” Umemiya said through clenched teeth.

“You’re not—”

“Kid’s safe. Let’s go.”

---

They ducked into the stairwell behind the closed bakery on Third Street. Sakura shut the heavy door behind them, muffling the sound of traffic and the distant bark of a dog. The outside world vanished. Only the hum of the emergency light above them remained, casting Umemiya’s silhouette in low amber.

He leaned against the cement wall with a shaky exhale.

Sakura stood a few steps away, staring. The way he always did when he didn’t know where to put the rising tide in his chest.

“I said I’m fine,” Umemiya muttered.

“You’re not,” Sakura shot back. “You took a metal pipe to the ribs. I heard the hit.”

Umemiya chuckled softly, but it was half-strained. “You should’ve seen what I took last week when Tsubakino threw me during training. That guy fights like a damn earthquake.”

“Stop talking.” Sakura dropped the med-kit on the dusty stair and moved forward, hands already out. “Let me see.”

“Sakura…”

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Umemiya sighed, surrendering in silence.

He shrugged off the bomber jacket, wincing with the motion, then peeled off the damp shirt beneath, teeth clenched. The movement revealed muscle sculpted through years of brawling and bad decisions—powerful, yes, but worn-in and a little bruised. The bruises were everywhere—most small and fading—but the new one stretched from his lower ribs to just above his hipbone, sickening in its depth and color.

Sakura’s breath caught.

He dropped to one knee without thinking.

“Jesus…” he whispered. “You really don’t care if you get hurt, do you?”

“I do care,” Umemiya said. His voice was quiet. “Just not when it’s you.”

That made Sakura freeze, just for a second.

He didn’t respond right away. Just reached into the kit, pulling out a disinfectant pad, gauze, tape. His hands trembled faintly. He didn’t want to press too hard, but the urge to fix, to do something clawed at his throat like fire.

Umemiya stayed still as Sakura cleaned the skin around the bruise. He didn’t flinch when the alcohol stung. Just looked down at the boy kneeling before him with eyes that held something too raw to name.

“I hate it,” Sakura said after a while.

“Hate what?”

“That you take hits like that. That you don’t hesitate.” He paused. “That you… that you look at me like that afterward. Like I was worth it.”

“You are worth it.”

“Why?”

Umemiya didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached out, slowly, and brushed Sakura’s white bangs behind his ear.

That simple touch broke something open inside Sakura’s chest.

He stood suddenly—too fast—and Umemiya instinctively straightened, his eyes sharp.

“I’m not…” Sakura’s voice wavered. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.”

“You don’t,” he snapped. “You don’t get it. I—Suo and I—”

“Are dating,” Umemiya finished quietly. “Yeah. I know.”

Sakura turned away, breathing hard.

“I’m not trying to get between you,” Umemiya said, stepping forward once, carefully. “I just… I see you. And I can’t unsee you. Not anymore.”

Sakura squeezed his eyes shut. “You’ve always looked at me like that?”

Umemiya didn’t answer.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint whir of the exit light.

“I noticed it,” Sakura admitted, voice smaller now. “That you remembered what I liked. That you knew when I was tired. That you stood closer when I was cold.”

“I couldn’t help it.”

“That’s the problem.”

Umemiya’s voice broke the space gently, like water parting around stone.

“Then yell at me.”

Sakura turned.

“Tell me I crossed a line,” Umemiya said. “Tell me to stop looking at you like you’re everything. I’ll try. I promise. Just say it.”

Sakura stared at him. At the bruise on his ribs, the shallow breath, the stupid way he always smiled even when he was hurting.

And he couldn’t say it.

Because it wasn’t true.

Because part of him liked it.

Because there was a tiny, terrible part of him that wanted Umemiya to keep looking.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

Umemiya nodded, like he’d expected it. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“I know,” he murmured.

The light above flickered once.

Sakura stepped closer.

“I’m not yours,” he said, but it wasn’t harsh. It was quiet. Like he was trying to remind himself, too.

“I know,” Umemiya said again.

“You’re not mine either.”

“No.”

Sakura hesitated.

Then lifted his hand—slowly, deliberately—and rested his fingers just above the bruise on Umemiya’s side. Not pressing. Just… there.

“I hate that you keep doing this,” he said.

“I hate that I don’t know how to stop.”

Sakura didn’t move.

And neither did he.

In another world, another timeline, Sakura might’ve kissed him. Might’ve buried his face in Umemiya’s chest and said the things he wasn’t brave enough to say now.

But this wasn’t that world.

And they weren’t those people.

So instead, he stepped back.

Picked up the med-kit.

And left without another word.

Café Pothos had already closed for the night.

The chairs were stacked. The lights dimmed. Outside, the street was empty except for a single streetlamp flickering lazily, casting soft gold through the café’s windows.

Umemiya sat alone at the far booth, nursing a cooling mug of ginger tea. One hand rested against his side, pressing faintly into the dull ache left behind by the fight. He’d cleaned the cut himself. Bandaged the bruise. But nothing dulled the weight in his chest.

Kotoha walked out from the kitchen, apron half-loosened, her curls slightly frizzy from the heat.

She didn’t say anything. Just sat across from him with two spoons and a small dish of lemon cake—his favorite.

Umemiya didn’t move.

Kotoha took the first bite. Watched him.

“You’re too quiet,” she said after a long stretch of silence.

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not with me.” Her tone was soft, but firm. “Not when you’re okay.”

He didn’t respond.

She slid the cake across to his side.

“I saw the bruise,” she added. “Sakura?”

Umemiya flinched almost imperceptibly.

Kotoha didn’t tease. Didn’t prod. She just looked at him with eyes that had watched him bleed and heal more times than she could count. She saw through the grin. The loyalty. The sacrifice.

She saw the truth he didn’t say out loud.

“You love him.”

Umemiya inhaled slowly. Let it out in a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

He didn’t answer.

Kotoha nodded to herself. “Long enough to feel it every time he picks someone else.”

He didn’t deny it.

She leaned back in her seat, arms crossed. “You know, you’re not subtle. Every time he walks into the café, your entire spine straightens.”

“Do not start psychoanalyzing me,” he muttered.

“Don’t need to. You do the same thing when someone else touches him.”

His jaw clenched.

“Like Suo,” she added.

“Kotoha—”

“He’s not hurting him,” she continued. “But he’s not yours, either. And you keep trying to live with that like it doesn’t kill you.”

Umemiya stared down at the cake. He hadn’t touched it.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

Kotoha’s voice softened.

“No, you’re not.”

He finally looked up. The pain in his gaze was sharp. And unguarded.

“I don’t want to ruin what they have,” he said. “But… I want him to look at me the way he looks at Suo. Just once.”

Kotoha reached across the table, her fingers closing gently over his.

“Maybe he already does. He’s just not ready to see it yet.”

Umemiya’s voice cracked.

“I’m scared that if I ask for more, I’ll lose the little I already have.”

Kotoha squeezed his hand. “Then take your time. But don’t stay in the doorway forever, Hajime. At some point… you have to either walk in, or walk away.”

He didn’t speak again.

Not for a long while.

Scene 5: A Rooftop, A Bedroom

Later that night, after the patrol was over, Sakura returned home.

His body still ached from the fight. His fingers were sore from the grip of the pipe. But it wasn’t the bruises that kept him awake—it was the echo of Umemiya’s words.

• “I don’t mind bleeding for you.”

And worse: the fact that part of him hadn’t wanted to leave that stairwell.

His phone buzzed just as he was drying off from a shower.

[Suo]

You’re not sleeping yet, are you?

[Sakura]

No.

[Suo]

Come over.

Sakura hesitated.

Then grabbed his jacket.

The room was dim, lit only by the amber halo of a bedside lamp and the faint city glow slipping through the curtains.

Sakura stood in Suo’s bedroom like he’d wandered into something dangerous.

And wanted to stay.

He still wore the oversized hoodie Suo had handed him earlier—something light, something that smelled like sandalwood and warmth and calm. But under that comfort, his heartbeat thumped like a drumline.

Suo lay stretched out on the bed, bare-armed, hair slightly damp from the quick rinse he’d taken. His gaze drifted lazily up, resting on Sakura with that smile—that unreadable curl at the corner of his mouth that made Sakura feel both seen and flayed open.

Sakura should’ve known the moment Suo licked his lips and said:

“Lie down and don’t move.”

That something had changed.

This wasn’t Suo the smiling classmate. This wasn’t Suo the clever observer. This was a man who knew exactly what he wanted—and that it was currently laid out before him, trembling, flushed, and barely breathing.

Sakura was already wrecked from the way Suo had kissed him earlier. But this—this was different.

He wasn’t being held. He was being claimed.

Suo’s hands were everywhere—cruel and reverent, mapping skin, tracing lines he’d already memorized in dreams. And his mouth—god, his mouth—was insatiable. Every inch of Sakura’s neck and chest was marked, sucked deep and dark, until Sakura squirmed helplessly beneath him.

“I want everyone to see you tomorrow,” Suo growled low in his ear. “I want them to know whose mouth was here.”

Sakura arched. “Suo—”

But Suo just bit down harder, and Sakura gasped—half pain, half pleasure, all surrender.

“You’re shaking,” Suo murmured, dragging his teeth down his throat. “You like being ruined, huh? You want me to use this pretty body until you cry again?”

Sakura whimpered, cheeks flushed to his ears, and Suo laughed—soft but dangerous.

“You should see yourself, Haruka. Skin red. Voice breaking. Begging.”

He kissed down his chest, over already bruised skin, until he reached his waist—then looked up.

“Spread your legs for me.”

Sakura hesitated.

Suo’s eyes narrowed, smiling without warmth now. “Do it, or I stop.”

Sakura obeyed.

The way Suo moaned just from the view made Sakura’s head spin.

“I’m going to eat you alive.”

And he did.

Suo went down on him like a man starved—tongue precise, lips relentless. His grip on Sakura’s thighs was bruising, holding him open, forcing him to feel everything.

Sakura screamed into the sheets. Hands clawing at the mattress. Voice cracking.

“Please—Suo, I—I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can.” Suo’s voice was wet, low, dangerous. “You’re taking it. You’re taking me.”

His rhythm got faster. His tongue crueler.

Tears spilled down Sakura’s face—too much, too good, too full of want. Suo didn’t let up. He wanted this. Wanted to see him break, fall apart, cry.

And when Sakura did—when his entire body arched, sobbing out Suo’s name like a prayer—Suo finally let go, crawling up over his ruined body like a beast satisfied with its meal.

He licked his lips.

Marked with hickeys, breathless and trembling, Sakura looked like sin.

And Suo looked proud of it.

“Say it,” Suo murmured against his ear.

Sakura blinked, dazed. “W-What?”

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m… yours.”

Suo bit his shoulder, hard enough to make him cry out again.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!”

Suo kissed his tear-streaked cheek and whispered, “Good. Now say it again when I make you come the second time.”

Sakura shivered. “You’re insane—”

“No,” Suo whispered. “I’m yours. And you’re never leaving this bed until you forget anyone else ever touched you.”

The air in the room was heavy now—soaked in sweat, moans, and something more primal.

Sakura lay flat on his back, flushed to the chest, tears still drying on his cheeks. His lips were kiss-bruised, his throat a constellation of dark marks. The bedsheets were ruined. His thighs still trembled from the last time Suo had—

He couldn’t even think about it without blushing violently.

But Suo wasn’t done.

He was hovering above him again, shirtless now, hair sticking to his temples, eyes dark with want and something sharper. Something like obsession. His mouth curled into that infuriating, devastating smile.

“I told you,” Suo murmured, brushing Sakura’s bangs from his sweaty forehead, “you’re not leaving this bed until I say so.”

Sakura’s breath hitched.

“I c-can’t—Suo—”

“You can.” Suo kissed the corner of his mouth. “You will.”

He trailed his fingers down Sakura’s chest, tracing every bite mark he’d left behind, admiring his work like an artist. His touch was featherlight—taunting. Sakura whimpered as the teasing turned unbearable.

“You’re shaking again,” Suo whispered, voice thick with pleasure. “That cute little whine you make when I don’t let you finish? Drives me insane.”

Sakura tried to twist away. His body was too sensitive. Too raw. But Suo pinned his wrists gently over his head, pressing his mouth against the shell of his ear.

“Be still. Be good. Let me make you forget everything but me.”

Sakura moaned, breath breaking.

“You’ve ruined me already—”

Suo’s laugh was low and feral.

“Oh, Haruka. I’m just getting started.”

The second round was slower. Crueler.

Suo didn’t chase release. He chased Sakura’s limits.

He kissed his stomach, bit along his ribs, mouthed his hips until Sakura was a sobbing mess—arching up, begging, voice wrecked.

“Umemiya never made you cry like this, did he?” Suo murmured as he sucked yet another mark onto his thigh.

“N-No,” Sakura gasped, choking on his own voice.

“Because he never got the chance,” Suo said, pressing a kiss between his legs, “did he ?”

And when Suo’s mouth closed over him again—Sakura screamed.

He couldn’t hold back. His thighs kicked, hands fisting the sheets, body trembling like he’d break apart. Suo held him steady, devouring every sound, dragging his name out like a prayer.

Sakura didn’t stand a chance.

He came hard, crying again—tears spilling freely now, not from pain but from something too good, too overwhelming. His chest heaved with every breath, mouth open in a desperate sob.

Suo kissed his way back up, mouthing over his chest, his throat, his flushed cheeks.

Sakura was too wrecked to speak.

Suo nuzzled his temple, whispering softly, “You did so well. You were perfect.”

Sakura blinked slowly, dizzy. “I… I can’t feel my legs.”

“Good.” Suo kissed his forehead. “Then I did it right.”

He rolled them gently, pulling Sakura into his chest, stroking his hair while his body still shook with aftershocks.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Sakura whispered hoarsely.

Suo smiled into his hair. “Like what?”

“Like... this much. I feel like I’m going to fall apart.”

“You already did.”

Sakura hit him weakly. “You’re the worst.”

“And you came twice because of it.”

Sakura flushed and buried his face in Suo’s chest, mortified.

Suo just laughed.

“I love how honest your body is. You cry when you feel good. You flinch when I bite you. You can’t hide anything from me.”

“Is that why you keep marking me?” Sakura mumbled.

Suo kissed the angry little mark on his collarbone. “Part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

Suo’s voice dropped. “Because I like when people look at you and see something that’s mine.”

They stayed like that for a while.

Sakura breathing softly, heartbeat slowing. Suo running fingers through his hair, humming under his breath. The storm of possession had settled into something warmer now—protective. Worshipful.

But then Suo spoke again.

“Haruka.”

“…Yeah?”

“If I see Umemiya looking at you again like he did today…” His tone sharpened—barely—but enough to sting. “…I might kiss you in front of him.”

Sakura blinked. “You already do that.”

Suo smiled against his neck. “Then I’ll do it rougher. Make him realize just how much he missed his chance.”

“…You’re jealous.”

“I’m possessive,” Suo corrected, pulling him closer. “And I don’t like sharing unless it’s on my terms.”

Sakura shifted a little, finally starting to catch his breath. “And if I do fall for him too?”

Suo was quiet for a moment.

Then kissed his temple.

“Then he’ll have to prove he’s worthy of touching what I already broke in.”

Sakura’s cheeks flamed.

“You’re insane.”

Suo just smiled. “And you’re beautiful when you’re wrecked.”

Light bled through the curtains in soft gold, warm and slow like honey.

Sakura stirred with a groan, face half-buried in Suo’s pillow, breath warm against the fabric. Everything hurt. Not painfully—but achingly, in the way you remember pleasure with your bones. His thighs felt like water. His chest was raw with faint bruises. His mouth—

Still tasted like Suo.

Suo was already awake, propped on one elbow, lazily watching him.

“You’re still alive,” he said with a small grin.

Sakura blinked. “Barely.”

“I did say I wasn’t letting you leave the bed.”

“You weren’t kidding.”

Suo leaned down, lips brushing Sakura’s temple. “You slept like the dead. Even when I moved you.”

“You moved me?”

“You were all twisted. Couldn’t have your back cramping up when I want to put you on it again.”

Sakura flushed deep. “Suo…”

“Relax,” Suo said, dragging a lazy hand down his spine. “We’ll go slow.”

Sakura trembled.

Suo’s voice dipped. “You’re still shaking. I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“You’re impossible,” Sakura muttered, hiding his face.

Suo chuckled, kissed his shoulder, then began kissing down—slowly. Reverently. His mouth moved over old marks and made new ones. This time it wasn’t possessive like last night.

It was devotional.

Sakura sighed into the pillow, boneless. “You’re going to ruin me all over again, aren’t you?”

“That’s the idea.”

Suo’s hands slid under the blanket, pulling Sakura close until their skin pressed again, warm and smooth. He rolled them gently so Sakura was straddling him, loose-limbed and dazed.

Their lips met—softer now. Less hungry. More… claiming.

Suo’s hands moved over his hips, guiding him gently.

“Let me inside you slowly,” Suo whispered, voice low and tender. “Let me feel how wrecked I made you.”

Sakura gasped, eyes fluttering. His body pulsed with memory, already too aware.

“I’m still sensitive,” he said shakily.

“Good,” Suo breathed against his jaw. “I want to feel every twitch.”

They moved slow. Maddeningly so.

The blankets fell around them in soft folds as Sakura sank down, moaning quietly, his head bowed, his hands splayed over Suo’s chest like he was praying.

He rocked, gentle at first. Then with more urgency. His breath broke into hiccups. His eyes glassed over.

Suo watched it all, silent, worshipful.

“Look at you,” he murmured, gripping Sakura’s hips. “Riding me slow, like you were made for this.”

Sakura whimpered, hips stuttering. “I hate you.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

He sobbed the words as he came, collapsing against Suo’s chest, overwhelmed.

Suo followed soon after, arms locked tight around him, groaning into his shoulder.

They stayed like that. Entangled. Shaking.

“I should be mad at you,” Sakura murmured into his chest.

“For what?”

“For turning me into this.”

Suo kissed his hair. “You’re welcome.”

They didn’t leave bed until noon.

Sakura clung to Suo like he was trying to soak in his warmth, barely able to lift his head. He let Suo feed him bits of fruit from the fridge, mock him for how he flinched every time Suo brushed a thigh.

“You limping already?”

“Shut up.”

“You cried again, you know.”

Sakura shoved him weakly. “I didn’t.”

“You did.” Suo kissed his neck again. “Like a pretty thing being broken in.”

“I can’t go to class like this.”

Suo smirked. “Then skip. I’ll write your excuse.”

“You’ll say what?”

“That your boyfriend ruined you.”

“Suo!”

Suo just smiled, biting another hickey into the curve of Sakura’s neck. “Let everyone see.”

Sakura slapped a pillow over his face and groaned.

The morning felt ordinary.

Too ordinary.

Umemiya stood outside the school gates, arms crossed, half-listening to Subakino ramble about the new Café Pothos menu. Hiragi had just called him an idiot, and Ren was sitting on the stone fence yawning into his sleeve. The usual crowd. The usual buzz.

But something was off.

Maybe it was the sharp breeze that made his skin prickle. Maybe it was the shift in chatter—the way Nirei’s voice suddenly cut off mid-sentence.

Then Umemiya looked up.

And there they were.

Suo and Sakura.

Walking side by side.

Late.

Together.

Suo looked like he’d walked out of a damn painting. Calm. Regal. That curtain of brown hair perfectly tousled, eyes lazy and pleased in a way that made Umemiya’s stomach knot. His hand brushed against Sakura’s shoulder lightly—but it was the way Sakura flinched that caught him.

Like his body remembered something.

Like it had been touched too deeply to forget.

Sakura looked—

Wrecked.

He tried to hide it, but Umemiya saw everything.

The stiffness in his walk. The rawness around his throat. The faint redness at the corner of his mouth. His tie was crooked—rare for him—and one side of his uniform collar was slightly askew.

And then, when Sakura turned his head to speak to Suo, Umemiya saw the mark.

Dark. Deep. Circular. A hickey.

No—several.

Clustered high on the side of his throat, just barely hidden by the fabric of his shirt. His pale skin was bruised—claimed. Like someone had taken their time sinking teeth into him. Over. And over. And over.

Umemiya’s throat dried.

His stomach turned cold. Then hot. Then burned.

Sakura didn’t even glance his way.

He walked past like Umemiya didn’t exist.

And Suo?

Suo looked him straight in the eyes.

Smiled.

It wasn’t friendly.

It wasn’t taunting either—not exactly.

It was worse.

It was deliberate.

As if to say: I touched him first. He’s mine now.

Umemiya’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

Something inside him snapped quietly, like a hairline fracture finally giving way.

He looked down at the white knuckles of his hand, then at the place where Sakura’s neck disappeared beneath his collar.

The image wouldn’t leave him.

Suo’s mouth. Sakura’s gasps. The way his thighs must’ve trembled. The way his voice must’ve cracked. The way he must’ve looked after.

He had seen Sakura vulnerable before—after fights, after arguments, once or twice during late night talks when he let down his guard.

But this?

This was intimacy.

This was sacred.

And Umemiya had never touched even the edge of it.

He’d loved Sakura in quiet.

In steady, wordless ways.

A hand to his shoulder after patrol. A cup of warm tea pushed across the table when Sakura was too sore to stand. A lingering glance when no one else noticed.

He thought maybe one day that would be enough.

That if he loved him right, from a distance, Sakura would turn to him.

But now he saw it.

Too late.

The bite marks on Sakura’s neck told a different story.

The pink flush in his ears. The soreness in his steps. The way he hovered subtly near Suo like the man was both anchor and gravity.

And that goddamn smile on Suo’s lips.

He’s proud, Umemiya thought. He wanted me to see it. Wanted everyone to know he got there first.

He tried to breathe through it.

Tried to smile as Hiragi made a joke about being late.

Tried to nod when Subakino asked him about training tonight.

But the air around him felt thin.

Like Sakura had been taken from him in the night. Quietly. Thoroughly. And all he had now were second-hand glances and the phantom of something that never got to be his.

He stared at the spot Suo had just been standing.

If he touched him like that, kissed him like that... does Haruka still laugh the same? Does he still cry when it’s good?

His hand twitched.

Not from violence. But longing.

A desperate ache.

For everything Suo had seen.

And he hadn’t.

Later, when the others were distracted and the courtyard buzzed with the sounds of afternoon,

Umemiya sat on the school rooftop alone.

Head tilted back.

Jaw clenched.

He lit a cigarette, not because he needed it, but because the taste of smoke helped choke down the bitter ache in his throat.

He closed his eyes.

And all he could see was Sakura’s neck.

Marked.

Not by him.

Sakura noticed it the way someone notices a chill in the air when a storm is coming. First subtle, then undeniable.

Umemiya stopped waiting for him.

Not just outside class, or after patrols, but in little ways. The silent ways that meant more than the loud ones. No tap on the shoulder when he looked tired. No warm, easy laughter when he said something awkward. No dumb stickers in the group chat anymore.

The group hadn’t changed. Bofurin still trained. The city still buzzed with noise. But in Sakura’s world, something essential had gone quiet.

He felt it worst when he turned around during training and Umemiya was looking somewhere else. Or worse, not looking at all.

“You good?” Suo asked him one day, tossing a towel after sparring.

Sakura caught it without looking. “Yeah. Just sore.”

“You miss him.”

The words hit too hard for how gently they were said.

Sakura’s fingers clenched around the towel. “He’s still around.”

Suo just watched him quietly, eyes unreadable. “Not where it counts.”

Suo didn’t say anything for two days.

Then he pulled Sakura into the rooftop garden behind Furin’s science building. It was empty, private, and just high enough that the wind could carry a voice far — or keep it close between two people.

“You know he’s watching,” Suo said, wrapping his arms around Sakura’s waist from behind.

Sakura stiffened. “I didn’t come here to—”

“You’re tense.” Suo’s voice dipped, soft and velvet. “Let me fix it.”

He kissed the back of Sakura’s neck.

Then his jawline.

Then his lips.

It wasn’t gentle. Not this time.

Suo kissed him like he owned him.

Like he wanted someone to see.

Sakura pushed back just slightly, panting. “Don’t—don’t do this just to get a reaction.”

“Too late,” Suo murmured, brushing a thumb under his eye. “He’s already looking.”

Sakura turned, and through the window across the courtyard, he saw him.

Umemiya.

Standing perfectly still in the second-floor corridor, half-shadowed by the frame of a window, his eyes locked on them.

Expressionless.

But Sakura saw the tightness in his jaw. The frozen stance. The fingers curled into fists.

Suo leaned into Sakura’s ear. “You’re not a toy, Haruka. But someone should start playing for keeps.”

The sky was overcast when Sakura walked into Pothos that night.

It was later than usual. Kotoha had clearly sent the part-timers home. The café was quiet, humming only with soft jazz and the smell of roasted beans.

Umemiya was behind the counter, wiping down a mug, head lowered, sleeves rolled up.

He didn’t look up when Sakura entered.

The hurt hit immediately.

Sakura didn’t order anything. Just went to his usual seat near the window and sat. The silence filled everything. Even the warm lamplight felt distant.

Finally, Sakura stood.

Walked to the counter.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Umemiya didn’t answer. Just placed the mug down carefully.

“You don’t text,” Sakura continued. “You don’t even crack a joke anymore.”

Silence.

Then, low: “You’ve got someone else making you laugh now.”

Sakura blinked. “Is that what you think?”

“I saw you, Haruka.”

His name, spoken like that—tight, pained—made Sakura’s chest seize.

“I saw the marks. I saw the way he touched you. I saw how you let him.”

Sakura looked down. “I didn’t think it would hurt you.”

“That’s the worst part.” Umemiya’s voice cracked. “You didn’t even realize.”

“I never wanted to make you a villain in this,” Sakura whispered.

Umemiya turned to him finally, and his eyes were nothing like Sakura remembered. Dull. Guarded. Like someone staring through glass instead of into him.

“You’re not the bad guy,” he said. “You’re just… not mine.”

Sakura took a shaky breath. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Umemiya gave a hollow laugh. “I figured if I kept loving you quietly, it wouldn’t ruin anything.”

“You should’ve ruined something,” Sakura said, tears prickling. “You should’ve said something. Done something.”

Umemiya stepped forward.

For one suspended second, it felt like he might kiss him.

But he didn’t.

His fingers hovered over Sakura’s cheek, shaking, then dropped.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he said softly. “Until then… I’ll keep my distance. Because if I don’t—”

His voice broke. Just for a second.

“I won’t be able to stop.”

Sakura stood alone in the café after Umemiya disappeared into the back. The air still buzzed with words that had finally been said, but not finished.

Kotoha appeared minutes later, setting down tea quietly.

She didn’t ask.

Didn’t speak.

Just looked at him, and placed a napkin beside the cup.

On it was written, in Umemiya’s handwriting:

Be safe. Eat. Call me if you’re in danger. Not because I have to. Because I want to.

Sakura buried his face in his hands.

And finally cried.

The air behind Furin’s rooftop was thick with humidity, the sky bloated with grey clouds threatening rain. The city buzzed far below, but up here, it was quiet—too quiet.

Umemiya stood by the railing, cigarette between his fingers, gaze fixed on the city’s far lights. He didn’t turn when he heard footsteps.

The rooftop wasn’t just a place to smoke. It was a sanctuary—his plants were lined up in mismatched pots along the edge, some thriving, some struggling. Mint, basil, lavender. Little things that didn’t ask much, just water and sun. Maybe that’s why he liked them. They grew quietly, without demanding love.

“You’re not hiding very well,” Suo said, voice calm, measured. “I could see you from the fourth floor.”

Umemiya didn’t move. “Didn’t know I had to hide.”

“Then why are you up here?

Umemiya took a slow drag. “I’m not the ‘rip someone apart in a hallway for love’ type either. We’re all evolving.”

Suo leaned casually against the railing beside him, gaze sweeping over the same skyline. “So. You’re in love with him.”

A beat passed.

“I didn’t come here for this,” Umemiya said.

“Too bad,” Suo replied. “Because I did.”

The silence stretched again.

Then Suo spoke. “You’ve been following him around for months. Holding your breath. Hoping he’d notice you before someone else did.”

Umemiya turned slowly, eyes sharp. “I didn’t realize you needed to be told to back off.”

Suo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “If I thought he was yours, I would’ve.”

“He’s not yours either.”

“No,” Suo said. “But he chose me first.”

That hit hard. Umemiya’s jaw clenched.

“You kissed him where I could see it,” Umemiya said, voice low. “You wanted to hurt me.”

“I wanted you to wake up,” Suo countered. “You love him so quietly, it was starting to sound like silence.”

Umemiya stepped forward, fists curled. “You think you’re noble? You think he needs you to shove me out of the way?”

Suo’s eyes finally sparked. “I think he deserves someone who doesn’t wait until it’s too late.”

Lightning cracked far in the distance. A gust of wind ruffled the basil leaves in their pots.

Umemiya didn’t speak. Just looked away, shoulders rigid.

“I didn’t plan to fall for him,” Suo said more gently. “But I did. And I’m not ashamed of it. But you—? You’re acting like this isn’t killing you.”

“It is,” Umemiya whispered.

Suo blinked.

“I wake up thinking about him. I go to sleep praying he’s safe. Every time he flinches in pain, I want to tear the world apart. And every day I watched him drift closer to you, I died a little more.”

Suo’s breath hitched. It was the first time he saw Umemiya truly break.

“You’re not the only one who hurts,” Suo said softly.

Umemiya shook his head. “Yeah, but you’re the one he cries for.”

Later that night, Umemiya stood behind the café counter at Pothos, unmoving.

The confrontation had left his hands shaking. He’d barely made it home. The rain came down now in sheets outside, wind howling through the narrow alley.

He was still holding his helmet. Still drenched.

Kotoha walked in quietly from the back kitchen, wrapped in a knit cardigan, hair tied up in a loose bun. She stopped when she saw him.

“You saw him again,” she said gently.

Umemiya didn’t answer.

Kotoha stepped closer and plucked the helmet from his hands, setting it aside. “And you saw him with Suo again.”

He sank into the stool behind the counter like a man collapsing into defeat.

Kotoha made tea. Her hands moved gracefully—habitual, steady. She placed the cup in front of him.

They’d done this since they were kids. Tea first, words later.

“Say it,” she urged.

He looked at her.

Kotoha’s gaze didn’t flinch. “Say it out loud, and I’ll believe you haven’t given up.”

He swallowed hard.

Then, finally, in a voice that cracked like glass:

“I’m in love with him.”

Kotoha reached across the counter and took his hand.

“You always have been,” she whispered. “So don’t disappear now.”

He squeezed her hand. Just once. Then let go.

“I went up to the rooftop today,” he said after a while. “You know, the one where I keep my plants.”

“I know.”

“I think I like them because they’re quiet. They don’t ask for things I can’t give. They just… grow. And if you take care of them, they stay.”

“You’re not a plant, Hajime.”

“I know. But I think I was hoping Haruka was.”

Kotoha smiled sadly. “He’s not. He’s wind. You have to let it touch you before it’s gone. Or chase it.”

Umemiya laughed once, bitter. “I’m tired of chasing.”

“Then make him come to you. But don’t vanish. He’ll notice. Eventually.”

The rain didn’t stop that night.

But something in Umemiya’s chest began to move again.

Sakura woke up in warmth.

Not the kind that settled over skin—but the kind that held you too gently. As if afraid you’d disappear.

Suo’s arms were around him.

One draped over his waist, loose but firm. The other tucked beneath Sakura’s head, fingers curled just below his collarbone. He could hear Suo’s slow, even breathing at his back. Each exhale brushing against the nape of his neck.

It should’ve calmed him.

But it didn’t.

He stared at the ceiling, eyes wide, chest hollow.

Umemiya’s voice haunted the quiet.

“You’re not mine.”

“But I love you.”

It played on repeat. Even now. Especially now.

Sakura’s body was sore. The kind of sore he’d once found exhilarating—proof of closeness, of being wanted. But now it weighed heavier than before. Not regret. Not shame. Just something deeper. Something raw and unnamed.

Suo stirred behind him, nose brushing the back of Sakura’s hair.

“You’re not here,” he murmured.

Sakura flinched. “I’m right—”

“You’re with me,” Suo whispered, “but your heart’s pacing somewhere else.”

Silence stretched.

“I saw how you looked at him, Haruka.”

Sakura turned, barely able to meet his gaze. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” Suo agreed softly. “But neither is love.”

Umemiya had been fine.

Really. He was fine.

He helped with deliveries. He stacked bags of beans. He even smiled at the regulars who didn’t realize he was sleep-deprived and heartbreak-hollow.

But then, mid-shift, he dropped an entire crate of glasses.

The crash was deafening.

Kotoha came running from the back. “Hajime?”

He stood frozen, shards of glass surrounding his boots, breath ragged.

Kotoha took one look at his face and said nothing. Just gently took his arm and led him upstairs.

To the rooftop.

To the one place he could breathe.

The wind was sharp, cool. The sky still overcast.

His plants lined the rail like silent companions. He reached for the basil pot instinctively—and froze.

It was cracked.

Barely hanging together.

Maybe it was from the storm last night.

Maybe it was nothing.

But in that moment, it felt like the last thread snapped.

He sank to his knees.

Fingers in the dirt. Shoulders shaking.

Kotoha came out minutes later with a blanket and tea.

She didn’t speak.

Just knelt beside him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.

“It hurts,” he whispered.

“I know,” she replied.

“I didn’t even get to try.”

Kotoha’s hands tightened around the cup.

“You still can.”

Sakura walked the familiar alley leading to Café Pothos, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

He hadn’t texted. Hadn’t called.

He just… came.

It was impulse. Or maybe instinct. The kind of directionless pull that drags you toward something before you’ve even decided.

The café bell jingled softly.

Inside, it was quiet. Warm.

Umemiya was behind the counter, wiping his face with a towel—his cheeks still red, eyes swollen.

Sakura stopped short.

He hadn’t expected to catch him mid-crack.

Umemiya turned. Their eyes met.

For a second, neither moved.

Kotoha stepped out from the back, paused, then quietly disappeared into the hallway without a word.

They were alone.

Sakura approached the counter. Slowly.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Umemiya gave a breathless laugh. “No.”

Sakura sat. Folded his hands.

“I came because…” He hesitated. “I miss you.”

Umemiya looked at him like he didn’t believe it. “You miss being chased.”

“No. I miss you.”

Umemiya’s gaze softened.

“But I’m scared,” Sakura admitted. “Of breaking something. Of hurting both of you.”

“You already are,” Umemiya said quietly. “But so am I. So is he.”

A pause.

“I don’t know how to choose,” Sakura said.

Umemiya leaned in. Eyes low. Voice raw.

“Then don’t choose yet. Just don’t leave me behind.”

The sky was clearing.

The rain had passed, leaving the rooftop damp and fragrant. Umemiya walked to the railing, watering can in hand, checking each plant like a ritual.

He reached the cracked basil pot—and paused.

There was a new one beside it.

Same basil. Same soil. Carefully transplanted.

No note.

No message.

But he knew.

He knew.

He crouched down, fingers brushing the rim.

And for the first time in weeks, he smiled.

It wasn’t bitter.

It wasn’t forced.

It was quiet. Real.

He looked up at the sky, then down at the city.

And said aloud:

“Come to me, Haruka. Just once. Let me lose, if it means I finally get to try.”

The call came just after dusk.

Kotoha’s voice was shaky through the line, but she was trying to stay calm. “The van from Pothos was hit—some guys in dark jackets. One of the newer kids was roughed up. They’re calling themselves Seiryou now. Same bastards as before.”

Umemiya stood dead still in the back hallway of Café Pothos, knuckles white around his phone. A drop of water from a potted fern fell onto his wrist. He barely noticed.

His mind had gone blank, then white-hot.

They’d dared to hurt someone connected to Kotoha. On his turf. Again.

He hung up without a word and dialed the Bofurin group chat.

[Umemiya]: “Emergency. Meet at base. Bring gloves.”

Suo was already lacing his shoes tight when Sakura arrived at the gate.

“You’re not coming,” Suo said evenly, without turning around.

“I am.”

“You’re still sore. You’ll slow us down.”

“I said I’m coming.”

Suo looked at him, eyes unreadable. “You always run headfirst into things that could break you.”

Sakura narrowed his gaze. “So stop trying to protect me like I’m glass.”

From the far side of the courtyard, Umemiya’s voice cut through the tension.

“If he doesn’t come, I don’t go.”

They both turned.

Sakura blinked. “What?”

Umemiya shrugged into his red jacket, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “I want him there. That’s all.”

Suo gave a low chuckle, bitter and dry. “Dangerous strategy, Captain.”

“Yup,” Umemiya muttered. “But he’s not breakable. He’s him.”

The street behind Makochi’s shopping district reeked of smoke and oil. Neon signs from late-night ramen stands flickered, and rain began to fall again in light, intermittent spurts.

The Seiryou gang was waiting—pipes, chains, and brass knuckles in hand.

They hadn’t expected Bofurin to show up this fast. Or this strong.

Umemiya led the charge, eyes blazing, fists clenched, white hair soaked and wild. Tsubakino flanked him, silent but terrifying.

Suo moved to the side with quiet confidence, his changshan fluttering as he struck cleanly, never wasting energy.

Hiragi, Umemiya’s best friend and the Vice-Captain, snapped his fingers. “Kiryu, Nirei, Tsuguera—back flank!”

“Got it!” Nirei yelled, already moving with unexpected fire.

Kiryu cracked his neck. “Been waiting to stretch.”

Tsuguera grinned and leapt into the fray.

Anzai held the backline, guarding injured civilians.

Even Kusumi, Enomoto, Ren, and Shiina from second-year had arrived, each sliding into position like they’d rehearsed it.

The fight erupted.

Seiryou boys charged.

Bofurin hit harder.

Sakura dodged a swing from a chain and retaliated with a clean, brutal punch.

Suo swept three attackers to the ground with calm grace, then stepped in front of Sakura, shielding his back. “Left incoming,” he said casually.

Sakura spun, blocking a pipe with his forearm and retaliating with a punch to the gut.

Umemiya smashed through two thugs, roaring with a mix of fury and something close to desperation.

Then it happened—

One thug broke through the line, sprinting toward Sakura with a knife drawn.

Sakura saw it too late.

Umemiya lunged forward, tackled him aside—

—and the blade sliced across his back.

His grunt of pain cut through the noise like a shot.

Suo’s eyes snapped to him.

Blood hit the pavement.

“Haruka! Take him and go!” Hiragi’s voice rang out like thunder. “We’ll handle the cleanup.”

Suo caught Umemiya as he staggered.

Sakura tried to steady him. “You’re bleeding—”

“No shit,” Umemiya hissed, trying to stand.

Hiragi reached them in two strides. “Don’t argue. I’ve seen that look before. He’s burning out.”

“Hiragi—”

“Take care of him,” Hiragi said to Suo, then looked at Sakura. “You too. You’re the reason he hasn’t gone full feral. Don’t waste it.”

Sakura nodded, heart hammering.

Suo wrapped one of Umemiya’s arms over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

As they left, they could hear Tsubakino shouting in the distance, and Nirei—yes, Nirei—screaming a full war cry.

Makochi would be safe tonight.

But something bigger had cracked open.

The abandoned dojo a few blocks away was silent, dimly lit by the overhead streetlamp outside the window.

Suo stripped off his blood-specked jacket, peeled open the med kit, and gently pressed gauze to the cut on Umemiya’s back.

Umemiya winced, teeth clenched. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re bleeding.”

Sakura sat across from them, still drenched from the rain, pale and shivering.

He looked like he wanted to throw up.

“You okay?” Umemiya rasped.

Sakura didn’t answer at first. “I should be asking you that.”

“I wasn’t gonna let you get stabbed,” Umemiya said. “You’re not made for bleeding.”

“I don’t want you to bleed for me, Hajime!”

Umemiya smiled faintly. “Too late.”

Sakura pressed his fists to his thighs. “You scared me.”

Suo worked quietly, but his eyes flicked up.

“Haruka,” Umemiya said, his voice low. “I’ve loved you since the day you knocked someone down just to protect my sister. Since the night you bandaged my wrist after a fight. Since you let me ramble about basil and didn’t laugh.”

Sakura stared at him.

“I’ve loved you since forever,” Umemiya continued. “And I didn’t say anything because he got to you first.”

Suo didn’t flinch. “I always knew it. I just didn’t know if you’d ever admit it.”

Sakura’s voice cracked. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Then don’t do it perfectly,” Suo said. “Just don’t do it alone.”

The rain beat against the dojo window. Time blurred.

Umemiya sat back against the wall, half-dressed, breath shallow. His bandages were stained but steady.

Sakura crouched in front of him, heart pounding. Then, without thinking, he climbed into Umemiya’s lap.

His smaller frame fit awkwardly at first, knees on either side of Umemiya’s hips, and he had to grab Umemiya’s shoulders to stay steady. But the warmth of it—the solidity of Umemiya’s chest beneath his palms, the quiet strength in his arms bracketing his waist—felt like safety.

“You scared me so much,” Sakura whispered.

“I know.”

“I couldn’t breathe when I saw you fall.”

“I’m still here.”

Sakura’s voice shook. “I’m so fucking tired of pretending.”

He leaned in and kissed him.

It was nothing like the soft teasing kisses Suo gave him. This one was raw, unrestrained. All tongue and heat and salt, rainwater and blood still clinging to their skin. Sakura kissed like he needed to drown in it—one hand threading into Umemiya’s wet hair, the other curled into the back of his neck.

Umemiya groaned into it, arms sliding around Sakura’s waist. His fingers splayed against the small of his back, holding him in place. The feel of Sakura’s smaller body pressed tight to his chest made something primal spark in his gut.

“You should’ve told me,” Sakura murmured, voice cracking between gasps. “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t think I was allowed.”

“You’re allowed. You’re so allowed.”

Sakura deepened the kiss, hips shifting unconsciously. He could feel everything—Umemiya’s size beneath him, the tension coiled in his thighs, the restrained strength in his hands. The sheer difference in their builds sent a shiver through him.

“I want you,” Sakura breathed. “I want you so bad, it makes me sick.”

From the corner, Suo let out a low chuckle.

“Well,” he drawled, “isn’t this ironic.”

Sakura pulled back slightly, flushed and breathless. “What?”

“You’ve never kissed me like that.”

Sakura gaped. “That’s not true!”

Umemiya grinned, lips swollen. “Maybe you’re not his ‘feral’ type.”

Suo smirked. “Tragic. I was the one with him first, after all.”

Sakura grabbed the nearest towel and threw it at Suo’s face.

They stayed in the dojo for a long time.

Wrapped in blankets. Healing in silence.

Eventually, Sakura sat between them, head resting on Suo’s shoulder.

He reached out his right hand.

Suo took it.

His left hand drifted outward.

Umemiya caught it gently, fingers threading through.

Neither spoke.

But for the first time, Sakura didn’t feel torn in half.

He felt held.

Whole.

The rain had quieted, but the storm hadn’t.

Not the one outside — the one inside them.

The dojo was too cold, too damp, too quiet for what had just happened.

So they didn’t stay.

Umemiya led the way to his apartment. Neither Suo nor Sakura said a word. Their hands brushed occasionally, but it wasn’t until the door shut behind them that the tension became unbearable.

Sakura stood just inside the threshold, hair damp, lip bitten, fingers curled tightly at his sides. He didn’t know where to look.

He could still feel Umemiya’s lap under him, Suo’s gaze burning through his skin, his own heart split open and trembling like wet paper.

Umemiya stepped behind him, tall and quiet, fingers brushing his shoulder.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Sakura whispered. “I feel like I’m burning.”

Suo stepped into view, still composed. Always composed. But his eye gleamed — not in mockery, not in smugness — in hunger.

“That’s good,” he said gently. “You’re allowed to burn. We’ve been burning for you too long.”

Sakura opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come. Instead, Umemiya turned him around slowly and cupped his face.

“You tell us to stop, we stop. Yeah?”

Sakura’s lips trembled. “I won’t.”

Umemiya’s breath hitched. “Then don’t blame me for being greedy.”

He kissed him like he’d been starved. There was no hesitation, no slow buildup — just hunger. Tongue, teeth, lips pressing rough and desperate. One hand cradled the back of Sakura’s neck; the other slid to his waist and tugged him flush against his chest.

Sakura whimpered into the kiss. He wasn’t used to this — being handled, being devoured.

Suo came up behind him.

Soft fingers brushed along his collarbone, unbuttoning the top of his shirt slowly, deliberately, dragging the fabric down.

“You’re too pretty to cry alone, Haruka,” Suo murmured.

Sakura didn’t even realize his eyes were wet until Suo kissed the tears at the corner of his eye, soft and reverent.

Umemiya pulled back, breath ragged, lips red. “Can I mark you?”

Sakura’s breath stuttered. “Y-Yeah.”

“Everywhere?”

He nodded.

That was all it took.

Umemiya dropped to his knees, fingers hooked under the waistband of Sakura’s pants.

Suo caught him, lifting Sakura’s arms above his head and stripping the shirt off completely. His hands roamed slowly — like he was reading scripture off Sakura’s skin.

Umemiya’s mouth found the dip between his hip and thigh. His teeth grazed. Sucked.

The first hickey made Sakura gasp.

The second made him cry out.

By the third, he was trembling so hard Suo had to hold him upright.

“Breathe,” Suo whispered in his ear. “Just breathe.”

“I c-can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Suo kissed down his throat, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses. His tongue dipped into the hollow of Sakura’s collarbone, tasting the salt of his skin.

Below, Umemiya looked up at him, flushed, eyes blown wide.

“I’m gonna worship every inch of you,” he said, voice hoarse. “Been dreaming of this for so long, Haruka.”

His mouth moved lower.

Sakura’s gasp was sharp, high, unfiltered.

Suo caught it in his mouth.

He didn’t know whose hands were where anymore. Didn’t care. There were mouths on his skin, teeth grazing places that made him twitch, moan, sob. They whispered his name like a litany — sometimes teasing, sometimes reverent.

He didn’t want it to stop.

But it was too much.

Too much heat, too much pleasure, too much love.

“Please—” he choked, voice breaking. “Please—”

“What do you want?” Umemiya asked, voice wrecked.

“You,” he whispered. “Both of you.”

And they gave it to him.

Umemiya hovered over him, hair falling in damp strands. His grip on Sakura’s thighs was tight, possessive. Every movement was driven by something feral, something old and hungry.

He pressed kisses along Sakura’s chest like a man praying — whispering low, broken praise.

“Perfect. Fuckin’ perfect. You were made for this.”

Behind them, Suo laughed low. “Don’t break him, Hajime.”

“Then help me,” Umemiya growled.

Suo leaned in and kissed Sakura slow, distracting him as Umemiya took his time below. Sakura cried out into Suo’s mouth — wrecked, gasping, overwhelmed.

His legs shook. His hands curled into the sheets.

He sobbed.

Not in pain. In pleasure. In surrender.

He didn’t remember how long it lasted. He just remembered the sound of his own name, over and over, from two voices he trusted more than anyone.

He let them take him apart. And they put him back together, piece by piece.

The room smelled like sex , sweat and lavender. Umemiya’s plants peeked in through the open window.

Sakura was curled between them, marked and limp, breath soft, fingers still tangled with theirs.

Umemiya kissed his shoulder gently, his voice still a little rough. “You okay?”

Sakura nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this close to someone.”

“You weren’t close,” Suo murmured. “You are ours.”

He kissed the corner of Sakura’s mouth. “And now everyone will know.”

The early sun filtered through the half-open curtains, warming the edges of the sheets where Sakura still lay between them. Suo stirred lazily, arms folded beneath the pillow. Umemiya, however, was already up.

Or rather — already in the shower.

Sakura woke to the faint sound of water hitting tile. His body still ached in places that hadn’t been touched so thoroughly in his entire life. He groaned softly and sat up, brushing hair from his eyes. His lips were still sore. His hips — worse. But the sound of water called to him.

He padded into the bathroom quietly, still naked, still flushed. The glass door was slightly ajar.

Umemiya stood inside, head tipped back under the spray, steam curling around his frame like mist around a mountain. His back was broad, pale under the golden wash of light, muscles shifting slowly as he rinsed the soap from his skin.

Sakura’s breath caught.

Then Umemiya opened his eyes — and smiled.

“Well, well,” he rasped. “Didn’t think you’d join me. Still sore?”

“A little,” Sakura said honestly, stepping inside.

“I’ll go easy.”

He didn’t.

But he was slow. Reverent. Feral, but in worship — the kind of intensity that left Sakura breathless and shaking.

Their mouths met again under the water, slow and open, wet and desperate. Umemiya backed him into the tile wall, both hands on Sakura’s waist, pinning him in place but moving like he might fall apart if he let go.

Sakura moaned softly as Umemiya leaned down, mouth sliding down the curve of his neck, pressing teeth just behind his ear — biting lightly, then licking over the sting until Sakura gasped.

“Need to remind you,” Umemiya whispered, voice rough and low, “exactly who got you like this last night.”

Sakura gripped his shoulders. “You’re not subtle.”

“Not trying to be.”

Umemiya’s hands slid down, gripping Sakura’s thighs, lifting him easily. Sakura instinctively wrapped his legs around Umemiya’s waist, clinging to his broad shoulders as hot water rained down around them.

Umemiya didn’t rush. He kissed every inch of skin he could reach — chest, jaw, neck, the faint fading bruises he’d left the night before.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, rolling his hips forward slowly, teasing them both.

Sakura threw his head back, gasping. “Hajime—”

“You’re gonna cry again, aren’t you?” he murmured against Sakura’s skin, grinning now. “Let me see it. Let me have all of you.”

Sakura didn’t answer — just trembled as Umemiya kissed him deeper, grinding against him harder now, pace still deliberate but hungry.

The tile was cold against his back, but everything else burned.

He sobbed, finally, as Umemiya whispered praise directly into his mouth. “So perfect. So damn good for me. Let go, baby. Let go.”

And he did — helpless in his arms, crying out Umemiya’s name, clinging to him like he’d break without it.

They stood there for a long time after, breathing in sync, foreheads pressed together under the steam.

“Don’t ever leave me behind again,” Umemiya said hoarsely.

“I won’t,” Sakura whispered.

By the time they stumbled out of the bathroom, towels barely hanging on, Suo was already at the stove.

The apartment smelled like ginger and miso and something buttery.

Suo didn’t turn. “Had fun without me?”

Sakura blushed instantly. “You should’ve woken up earlier.”

Suo turned slowly, holding a wooden spoon, eyebrow arched. “Oh? Next time I’ll set an alarm for when your voice starts breaking.”

Umemiya laughed, grabbing Sakura by the waist and pulling him close. “Jealous?”

“Terribly,” Suo said flatly. “But also too hungry to act on it.”

He served breakfast like a prince serving a banquet — full of quiet pride and playful irritation — then sat down beside them with all the dignity of a man who could still hear his boyfriend’s sobs echoing in his skull.

Sakura stole a bite from Suo’s bowl. Suo raised a brow. “You’re bold this morning.”

“I’m starving,” Sakura muttered.

“You weren’t starving in the shower.”

Umemiya barked a laugh. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy hearing it.”

“Every second,” Suo smirked. “But I’ll collect my share tonight.”

Sakura groaned into his rice bowl. “I regret everything.”

“No, you don’t,” they both said.

They shouldn’t have gone to HQ together.

They definitely shouldn’t have walked in with Sakura wearing Suo’s earrings, Umemiya’s jacket, and a neck full of fading hickeys.

Kiryu choked on his gum.Sugishita tripped on nothing and fell straight into a wall.

Tsuguera just stared, eyes narrowed. “So… it happened?”

“What?” Suo asked innocently.

Hiragi groaned. “Don’t play dumb. We all have eyes. This is worse than I thought.”

Sakura hid behind Umemiya’s shoulder. “Can we go back home now?”

“Nope,” Suo said, utterly cheerful. “We’re going to own this.”

Nirei rounded the corner with a tray of iced coffees and stopped dead.

he looked at Sakura. Then Suo. Then Umemiya.

Then burst out laughing. “It finally happened? Holy hell, it’s about time.”

“You knew?” Sakura squeaked.

“Haruka,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Umemiya san hasn’t shut up about you since you joined. I’ve known since he installed an extra lock on the greenhouse to keep your dumbass from sneaking in during rainstorms.”

Umemiya flushed. “—”

Everyone else in the room stared at them like they were watching a scandal unfold in real time.

Kiryu muttered, “I need bleach. For my brain.”

Tsuguera just crossed his arms. “So what now? You three just walk around like nothing happened?”

Suo smiled. “Exactly like that.”

Sakura groaned. “Please kill me.”

The sun had barely risen over Makochi, and yet somehow the entire first-year squad of Bofurin — plus a few nosy upperclassmen — had found their way into Café Pothos.

Kotoha didn’t even blink when Suo and Umemiya entered with Sakura sandwiched between them like a blushing apology. She just pointed to a booth in the corner.

“Go on, Love Triangle. Before Nirei trips over a chair again.”

“HEY,” Nirei yelped, halfway through his second iced matcha. “That was one time!”

Kiryu raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure it was four.”

Tsuguera looked over his mug. “And that was just this week.”

Sakura slid into the booth with a face already the color of tomato paste.

Umemiya sat beside him and immediately draped an arm around his shoulders. “Relax, baby. We’re not shy.”

Suo sat on the other side and leaned in, placing a kiss to Sakura’s temple. “You’re glowing, love. I think we broke him.”

Sakura groaned, dropping his head onto the table. “Stop calling me that in public.”

“What, baby?” Umemiya said, voice full of mischief.

“Or love?” Suo added.

“Or sweetheart?”

“Or darling?”

“Or—”

“Okay!” Sakura whined. “I get it!”

The rest of the group was in various states of horror, fascination, and smug amusement.

Nirei was covering his mouth with both hands. “I feel like I’m watching a drama live. Someone pass popcorn.”

Kiryu leaned back, arms crossed. “Honestly, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you, Sakura.”

“He didn’t,” Suo said without missing a beat. “We took the lead.”

Sakura reached across the table to smack his arm. “Hayato!”

“What? You didn’t mind it last night, baby.”

Sakura made a strangled sound and buried his face in his hands.

Anzai added with a snort, “If anyone needs a mop, it’s for the pool of drama forming under this table.”

Kotoha walked by with a tray of espresso and paused only to smirk. “I give it another day before the second-years start betting on how long it takes before Haruka passes out from blushing.”

Training later that day was… ineffective, to say the least.

Every time Sakura tried to focus, someone would whisper, baby behind him, and he’d swing wildly in the wrong direction.

Kiryu nearly lost a tooth. Tsuguera caught a shin to the knee. Nirei ran into a pole.

“You know,” Kotoha said, watching from the edge of the mats with a coffee in hand, “I used to think Suo was the most dangerous chaos element in the group. But I was wrong.”

“Who is it now?” Anzai asked.

“Haruka,” she said, deadpan. “Because he’s got two wild men wrapped around his little finger and no idea how to handle them.”

At the center of the mats, Suo was holding Sakura from behind under the guise of correcting his stance. One arm wrapped around his waist, the other guiding his hand.

“Just like this, baby,” Suo whispered. “Perfect. Look how you move when I touch you.”

Umemiya stepped in from the front, lifting Sakura’s chin with a finger. “He’s already distracted. Maybe we should take him back home and retrain him properly.”

Sakura made an inhuman noise and turned bright red.

Kiryu shouted from across the room. “This is a dojo, not a honeymoon suite!”

“Maybe we should get matching jackets,” Suo mused.

“With BABY stitched on the back,” Umemiya grinned.

“STOP,” Sakura shouted.

“Make us, baby.”

They eventually gave Sakura a break, and he collapsed onto the bench in the corner, breathing hard, face bright pink.

Kotoha passed him a water bottle and patted his head. “You did your best.”

“I didn’t survive,” Sakura muttered.

“But you looked adorable doing it.”

He glared at her half-heartedly and took a sip. “They’re insane.”

“They’re in love,” she corrected gently.

After dinner, the group finally thinned out. The sky had gone soft, colored in pinks and purples.

Sakura stood on the rooftop alone for a few minutes, watching the light fade. He didn’t notice Suo and Umemiya step up beside him until their arms were around him — one from each side.

“You okay?” Umemiya asked gently.

Sakura nodded. “I’m… happy. Embarrassed, but happy.”

“You’re ours,” Suo said simply. “That means we get to embarrass you and love you.”

Umemiya kissed the side of his head. “We’ll tone it down. But not too much.”

“I don’t want you to,” Sakura said softly. “It’s embarrassing, yeah. But it… it makes me feel safe. Wanted.”

Suo and Umemiya both paused.

Then Suo said, “Hey, baby?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna kiss you now. Loudly. In public.”

Sakura gasped. “Don’t you da—”

He was kissed.

And held.

And loved.

Umemiya joined in a beat later, wrapping both arms around them like a wall, warm and solid.

“Let’s stay like this,” he murmured. “Just for a little while.”

The city breathed quietly around them.

And on that rooftop, pressed between two hearts too big for words, Sakura found something deeper than peace. He found home.