Chapter Text
Everytime Sakura thinks he’s hit absolute rock bottom, it’s like some unknown entity gifts him with a shovel and whispers, “Don’t worry, you can dig even deeper.”
And, against Sakura’s will, his own body and brain seem to decide that the unknown entity is right. They make him grab the shovel and dig through another layer of the earth
He really wants to know, at what layer will this all end? Because Sakura’s really starting to think that he’s going to hit the earth’s core soon and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle that.
Or, moreso, doesn’t want to handle it.
He doesn’t want to entertain that thought, either. It’s much too close to him resigning to a dismal fate; where his first instinct is to guess it’s suicide, but a tinier, though no less potent, part of his brain thinks it means his mind is simply going to break.
Sakura doesn’t know how to grapple with that – thus leading himself back to wondering if suicide really is the grave he’s marching towards.
Worse, even, he’s really struggling with the fact that he doesn’t, really, truly, want to die. It’s more of… he just doesn’t know what else to possibly do at this point.
So Sakura just keeps digging. He gets tired and sweaty, hits a tough layer of rock, and gets handed a fucking pickaxe instead.
On a random Wednesday evening, after his sister has slammed open his bedroom door without warning, standing in the doorway for a moment before simply scoffing and walking away, Sakura decides that he wants at least a miniscule chance for survival.
The "unknown" entity is, undoubtedly, his older sister – and his only hope for survival is to get as far away from her as fast as he possibly can.
–
The next morning, he heads to the measly little library in his measly little town and tries to avoid the glare of the lady at the front desk.
It takes Sakura a long time to figure out how to operate one of the computers – long enough that he gets the urge to shake the monitor and body it into the floor – but he eventually finds a town a few train stops over that he thinks he can afford living in.
The apartment building he finds is utterly decrepit, but, based on the money he’s managed to earn, hoard, and, occasionally steal over the years, he should be able to make it work.
Sakura even finds a job offering at a cafe with a suspiciously high payout for a low-responsibility position. He has to flub his age a bit to get offered an interview, but the boss is quick to respond and offers one the following day.
Within a few hours, he’s cultivated a whole new life for himself.
Urged forward by a sudden hope for the future, Sakura creeps home and stumbles across his sister, Yui, at the kitchen table. She looks up at him, eyes lifeless and face devoid of color, and takes another sip of whatever is in her coffee mug.
Judging by the way her mouth slips into a grimace, Sakura doubts it’s actually coffee.
They stare at each other for a moment longer before Yui’s face warps into something vicious and she sneers at him. “Devil child, what do you want?”
“I’m… leaving,” Sakura says, his earlier confidence melting from his chest cavity and dripping into his empty stomach.
Yui looks him up and down, her face still in a state of anger. “To where?” she responds, voice accusatory.
It continues to baffle Sakura that Yui can despise him so much, yet wants him to leave so little. Sure, he’s her punching bag and she’s always poised with metaphorical boxing gloves. Her tongue is sharp and her saliva is venom when she spits on him and slurs out her hatred in unpredictable outbursts.
Yet, it’s as if she doesn’t want him to abandon her; doesn’t want her reason for living in misery to disappear.
Sakura knows it’s not fair that she had his guardianship forced into her hands, but he just can’t fathom why she doesn’t want him gone.
Cautious, Sakura shakes his head and takes a slow step backwards. He’s within throwing distance of her mug and he doesn’t want to deal with an unprovoked physical attack right now.
“Can’t tell you,” he says, unable to stop the anxiousness that shakes the foundation of his words. “Don’t you want me gone? I can take care of myself now. I can take this responsibility off your shoulders.”
His sister slams her mug onto the table and clear liquid sloshes out. A crack forms in the ceramic and a dent forms in the wood below.
The room smells pungent with acetone, and Sakura has to be careful not to wrinkle his nose.
“You’re implying I can’t handle this responsibility? Ungrateful bastard. If I’m so useless to you, why don’t I just strangle myself with the shower curtains?”
Sakura stands there in silence. This isn’t the first time she’s threatened suicide. It stirs something deep within him; something he has to tamp down fast to avoid throwing the threat back at her.
He’s no stranger to standing in the bathroom in the middle of the night, body pulsing with adrenaline and brain rotting into mush, heart pounding with desperation, lungs contracting with fear.
Staring into a mirror is a terrifying thing, his hideous eyes reflected back at him, thinking about all the ways he could die in that room. Sakura’s never managed to figure out how serious the actual extent of Yui’s threats go, though.
How much does he even care at this point? So what if she really plans to go through with it?
Guilt throttles inside his throat and he swallows uncomfortably. He really must be a demon child for having intrusive thoughts like that.
“Unless you’re strong enough to pull my body down from the ceiling fan, I suggest you let me leave,” he whispers, fists clenched tight and conviction wavering.
The vitriol smeared across Yui’s face glacially morphs into a look of indifference. She can probably tell he’s serious – he hopes that’s enough to let him escape in peace.
“Fine,” she says after a beat. “Go do whatever the hell you think you want to do. Go be whatever the hell you want to be. I hope you feel buried under the guilt of how fast you’ve forced me to age.”
And Sakura gets it. He agrees with her. She’s only twenty four, but her entire being screams like she’s involuntarily gained an extra fifty-something years in the six-something years she’s taken care of him.
‘Taken care of him’ being a very loose, stretch-of-the-imagination statement.
Shoving down his pride, Sakura takes a breath, exhales, and says, “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I’m sorry. You deserve to live your life freely now.”
It seems his sister has finally resigned to her new fate. She nods solemnly and dips a finger in the vodka on the table, bringing it up to her mouth and darting her tongue out to take a lick.
Sakura feels bile start to rise and he has to take a deep breath again to force it back down. “I’ll pack and head out now,” he announces, trying to summon back some of the brief confidence he’d felt earlier.
Yui just nods again, bringing the cracked mug up to her lips and taking a long drink. Not waiting around for any further argument, Sakura speeds off to his bedroom and shoves all that he can into his backpack and a duffle bag.
He can fit everything he owns, with extra space to spare. It makes him feel even more pathetic. And lonely.
Sakura shuffles out of his room, not sparing it a single final glance, but he does find himself pausing at the doorway of their bathroom. There’s still a pinkish stain on some of the tiles. His arms and thighs and ankles itch.
As he makes it to the kitchen, Yui is still sitting there; mug cupped in both hands, staring at the new dent in the table; room engulfed in silence.
“Heading out now,” Sakura says softly, waiting for her to acknowledge him.
Yui’s head remains tilted down, eyes overcast and face once again blank. She just shrugs, eventually reaching up a hand to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“You’re not subtle,” is what she murmurs back. “If you ever decide to go through with it, do it in the river or on the train tracks or something. It’s not fair to other people to have to clean up your dead body.”
She sounds hurt by his earlier ultimatum. Unease works its way up his spine like each disk is part of a ring ladder. Guilt, ever-present, has his eyes misting over.
All he can manage is an, “Ok,” before turning and heading to the door. Yui doesn’t respond; and, when he glances back, he sees that she’s already disappeared from the table.
As Sakura takes a step outside, he contemplates smashing his head into the ground out of spite. It’d be her responsibility to brush away his brain matter and powerwash away his blood, wouldn’t it?
He shakes his head quickly, clearing away as much of the impulsive urge as he possibly can, and heads towards the train station.
–
His new apartment has a roof, a door, a single hot plate, and a bathroom. The roof has some holes in it, the door doesn’t close properly, and the bathroom looks like a miniature prison cell. But it’s a place to set down his stuff; a place to settle down in each night; and that’s enough for him.
It’s dark out now, otherwise he’d take a stroll of the town and try to find the cafe he’s supposed to be interviewing at. Sakura is too restless to sleep, but he still rolls out his ratty futon and curls up underneath it.
He’d looked into a few other things at the library – like the cost of a cell phone and bill (way too much), nearby schools (though he’d rather throw himself down the stairs than go back to that kind of hell), and any hardware or convenience stores in his new town, Makochi.
All Sakura can pray for is a fresh start, a job that affords him the luxury of keeping this apartment; enough money left over for a few bites of food and essentials; townsfolk and neighbors that don’t hate his very existence.
Just the basics.
With that thought, Sakura curls up tighter and tries to convince his brain to quiet down. Earlier, he noticed some cracks in the bathroom tiles and a mysterious pinkish hue to the rim of the sink, and it makes his thighs itch.
Sakura indulges himself enough to scratch at them, fingers pressing down and carving around ridges and grooves beneath his thin linen pajamas. He rubs his ankles together – those itch too. He’s not sure if there’s a uniform requirement for the cafe position, so he leaves his arms alone.
His analog clock ticks softly behind him, alarm set for eight, though he doubts he’ll get a single lick of sleep. A few minutes seem to pass before he realizes his fingertips are now starting to get stuck to the fabric of his pants.
Sitting up, Sakura rolls up one of the legs and sees a cut has been torn open by his nails. His pants already have various rust-colored stains on them, not like anyone would ever see him in them, so he doesn’t bother worrying about the fabric.
His skin, though, needs some attention. Sakura wanders into the bathroom, careful of the blood trailing down his leg so it doesn’t mess up his flooring.
In the bathroom, Sakura shuts the toilet seat and rests on top, rummaging under the pipes of the sink where he shoved away his first aid kit. As he pops it open, his shoulders droop inwards.
Ah, that’s why he’d been looking up convenience stores. He shuffles through the last three bandaids he has, gauging their size versus the wound he needs to cover, and huffs upon realizing he’ll need to use all three.
He wipes up the blood with a damp rag, one that’s definitely seen better days, stacks the three bandaids strategically so they cover the whole cut, and slaps his hand over it to make sure they stick.
Or to feel the sharp sting of his hand connecting harshly with his skin. Maybe.
Sakura walks lazily back to bed, wishing he’d looked up any 24/7 marts, but decides, again, he’s not in the mood to go out while it’s dark.
–
Sakura probably got an hour’s worth of sleep by the time his alarm is ringing. Groaning, he flops his arm around until he can grasp the clock and turn it off.
His interview’s at ten, but he’s unfamiliar with the town, so he’s ready and out the door by half past eight.
Immediately, he senses something different about Makochi. From the very first shop he passes by, the shopkeepers wave at him. All he can do is stare back at them, confused, and a bit terrified, about why he’s received nothing but smiles from everyone.
Sakura passes by a very home-owned-looking mart and tries to check the hours on the door. Before he can even read a single line, the door opens and an older woman is greeting him with a cheerful, “Good morning! We don’t open until ten, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Do you need to come in and get some supplies? I’d be happy to open the register for you now.”
She’s so damn genuine that it leaves Sakura standing there in utter awe. He opens and closes his mouth, like a goldfish blowing bubbles, before stuttering out a “No,” and speed walking away.
From behind him comes a pleasant, “You can come back anytime, dear! I’ll make sure the register is open for you.”
Sakura clenches his jaw and continues his brisk walk, nearly dashing past a bakery that tries to offer him some free pastries. He keeps an eye out for any sign that says “Cafe Something,” because, embarrassingly, he’s already forgotten what it’s called.
It might have started with a ‘P’? Sakura starts to panic when he realizes he’s forgotten the name of the person that’s supposed to interview him, too.
Chest tightening, empty stomach clenching in unease, ankles itching, Sakura ducks behind the menu display of the nearest building. He squats down to make sure he’s hidden, putting a hand to his chest and coaxing his lungs to function like they’re meant to.
Eventually, he manages to get in a few proper breaths, and glances up at the sign in front of him. “Cafe Pothos,” he says quietly. Huh. Did he nearly have a panic attack right at the building he’s trying to get a job at?
Suddenly, a bell chimes as the door next to him opens and he stands up as fast as he can – nearly knocking his head into a hanging plant.
“Oh!” the young woman says. “I was just coming to check on you. I could see you from the window. Everything ok?”
She too sounds so damn genuine that Sakura’s heart constricts and threatens to explode and fill his lungs with blood.
He clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. I was just trying to find a certain building, and I couldn’t really read the sign from far away, so I just got closer to take a look.” The excuse is so lame, even he can admit it, and the woman raises an eyebrow in question.
Perhaps taking pity on Sakura, her face morphs back into something kind – so unlike his sister’s – and she replies, “Ah, got it.” Then, a pause before not-so-subtly looking him up and down. “Are you Sakura by any chance?”
Her onceover of him felt more curious than it did invasive, but it still makes his skin crawl. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m here for an interview at ten, I know I’m early. I’ll be sure to be back on time when the boss is ready.”
The woman laughs in good nature and sticks out a hand, likely waiting for Sakura to reach out and shake it. “Well, I’m the boss, Kotoha, and I don’t mind that you’re early. I remember we messaged briefly yesterday. We can do the interview now, if you want.”
Sakura is positively mortified. “I’m so sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t in charge or anything, I just–”
Kotoha waves her hand and Sakura’s lips snap shut. “No worries, I can tell you’re new to town. You couldn’t have known who I was.” Her eyes have a nice shine to them – he’s yet again struck by how different Kotoha is from Yui, despite probably being around the same age – and she even winks at him.
“Don’t be nervous. You seem like a good kid. Let’s go in, shall we?” Her use of ‘kid’ strikes him as a little bit accusatory, like she knows on sight that he may have accidentally added a year or four to his age in the application.
Inside the cafe is quaint and cozy. It smells faintly of coffee – genuine coffee, unlike the shit his sister would drink from a mug – and the abundance of plants, whether a placebo effect or not, has the air around him feeling fresh and clean.
He probably stands there for a moment too long, cataloging the entire space, and blushes when he realizes Kotoha is standing by the counter waiting for him.
“Sorry,” he says quietly, scuttling over to her.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” Kotoha says with a smile. “It’s a cute place, isn’t it? Took me ages to set everything up.”
“Yes, I really like it,” Sakura replies, hoping the honesty in his voice is well-received.
Based on the way Kotoha’s smile widens, it worked. “We can go in the back and do the interview. I have some regulars who may wander in early, but I let them know I’d be preoccupied this morning.”
Sakura nods, following her behind a counter and through a curtain into a lavish backroom with more stovetops and supplies stocked neatly along tall shelves.
She gestures to some comfy seats in the corner and he waddles behind her like a duckling. When he makes it to the chair, he does his best to sit up straight and keeps his hands from fidgeting.
His old boss’ biggest complaint was that Sakura was always in motion, one way or another. Which, apparently, was an annoyance to him and every other person that entered the herb store despite the fact that Sakura’s job was to restock the fucking shelves.
Kotoha flops down onto the chair across from him, crosses her legs, and leans back contently. “I appreciate the professional posture, but you don’t have to sit like that if you don’t want to.”
Allowing his shoulders to droop inwards and his fists to unclench from his knees, Sakura hums in agreement.
“Cool,” Kotoha says, like they’re two friends chatting rather than an employer deciding Sakura’s fate. “So, let’s cut to the chase. And of course, correct me if I’m wrong, but I really doubt you’re actually 18 like your application says.”
Sakura gulps, splaying a hand out and clutching tight to his thigh. “I may have… accidentally… typed an eight instead of a four.”
Eyebrows shooting up to her hairline, Kotoha looks him up and down again and says, “Oh, so you’re like a baby baby. Don’t give me that look,” she waggles a finger at him, “14 is a baby in my eyes. And you said you already had another job previously?”
Nervous, Sakura can’t help darting his eyes around the room as if he’ll uncover a secret escape route. “Yeah. I come from a pretty small town, so people can’t be too picky about who they hire. I only worked there for two years, and all I did was refill jars and sometimes take herb inventory in the back.”
“And you managed to fit that in with your school schedule?”
Sakura shrugged, hoping it comes off as casual, and that his lying is good enough to slip by. “I was homeschooled, so time wasn’t much of an issue.”
“And your parents were fine with their twelve year old working?” Kotoha’s right eyebrow has gone back to a resting position, but the left one remains raised.
Is she catching on to him? Sakura can’t tell if he’s just being paranoid, if Kotoha is simply too perceptive, or a heavy dose of both.
He has to debate what route he wants to take here. He could go with honesty and tell her that his parents are dead, but then that may refute the homeschooling claim. He could just say ‘yes’ and hope Kotoha lets the subject be.
When he manages to look up at her, she’s staring at him in earnest; and words are flowing past his lips before his brain can stop them. “My parents are dead. My older sister raised me for the past few years. She homeschooled me when she could. She wanted me to work. So I worked.”
The admission appears to not be well received. Kotoha sits up and clasps her hands together, expressive eyebrows now furrowed down low.
Sakura’s wondering if he should skip town and start fresh in another new place. He shouldn’t have said what he said. Now she’s going to get the police involved and they’re going to ship him back to his sister and it’s going to be a shitshow and either he’ll kill himself, Yui will kill herself, or she’ll kill him.
That, or he’s overthinking everything completely. He wants to go press his face into a hot stovetop – but they don’t look like they’re even turned on. Sakura’s heart thumps wild and unsteady. Why’d Kotoha have to remind him of his sister? Why couldn’t she have just been an old dude who told Sakura to stack boxes in a storage closet and pay him for it.
Kotoha sighs then, putting a hand to her forehead. “Your thoughts are way too loud, kid. I appreciate you being honest with me. I can tell you’re desperate for this to work out, and, frankly, I need this to work, too. Everyone in this town is either old enough to already have a steady job, or young enough that they’re fully occupied with school. But I can’t in good conscience hire you if you’re not going to get an education. Can you promise me your sister will continue your homeschooling?”
Well, there goes Sakura’s honesty streak. How can he tell Kotoha that his sister can’t homeschool him because she has no clue how to homeschool him and his sister isn’t even with him anymore?
“Yes, of course,” is how he tells Kotoha, totally truthful and not at all lying through his teeth.
Whether Kotoha believes him or not, it doesn’t seem to matter at this point. She exhales a relieved sigh and starts to tell him about the job position; taking customers’ orders; cleaning up plates; learning how to make coffee drinks; watering the plants. That’s it.
“If that all sounds good to you, we can do a trial period. Can you start tomorrow and work a few hours every other day? I’ll pay you for them, even if it doesn’t work out.”
“I’ll talk to my sister,” Sakura says urgently, “and I’m sure she can figure out a way to schedule lessons so I can work here everyday.”
Kotoha looks like she wants to protest, but must ultimately decide against it. She mumbles something under her breath akin to, “Ummm’s gonna get a kick out of this.”
Which Sakura thinks the first part was actually a name, but he can’t be sure. He just sits up straight again and says, emphatically, “Thank you, I really appreciate this opportunity.”
The grin Kotoha gives him is something soft and a bit too knowing. “I don’t think I have a uniform small enough for you, so just wear whatever you want tomorrow and I’ll try to have one ready before the end of the week.”
Sakura thanks her again, and again, and one more time before she walks him back to the front. There’s already a few people there – spooking Sakura as he heads straight towards the door.
Kotoha calls, “See you tomorrow!”
And Sakura gives an awkward wave in return, rushing out the door as fast as he possibly can. He’s got a lot to think about today. And a lot of stories to perfect. And a lot of lying to practice.