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“Come on in,” Momijikawa opens the door, greeting Sakura with a smile, stepping back to let the shorter boy inside.
Being invited to Momijikawa’s apartment for meals had become somewhat of a daily occurrence. Admittedly, it was a nice break from eating at Pothos all the time. Sometimes, Sakura would receive a message on LINE telling him to come over for dinner, other times, he’d show up at the taller’s door, unannounced. Whenever he did turn up at Momijikawa’s apartment without prior notice, he would always be welcomed. Obviously, he’d had his inhibitions of showing up uninvited initially, but Momijikawa had soon destroyed that because Sakura, no matter the timing, would be allowed inside.
An hour earlier, around the time where Sakura had been debating whether he should eat at Pothos, get something from the konbini, or go over to Momijikawa’s place for dinner, his phone had lit up with a notification from LINE.
楓川栄 今日 17:24 PM
夕飯作ったからこいよ
And Sakura had hurried over to the younger’s apartment without a second thought.
He was inside Momijikawa’s apartment now, helping out with washing the vessels piled up in the sink while the taller boy prepared the vegetables for that night’s dinner. The younger had apparently taken it upon himself to get Sakura to try all sorts of dishes other than omurice.
If Sakura were being honest, anything cooked by Momijikawa automatically became his favorite—omurice or not.
The food at Pothos is undoubtedly good; Kotoha is a great cook. But there’s just something about home-cooked meals that are just… better, as Sakura had come to learn and appreciate with each visit.
Anything made by Momijikawa’s hands had an infinite amount of tenderness inside it.
Beside him, an amused chuckle sounds. “You can switch off the tap if you’re done washing the dishes.”
It isn’t meant to be a jab, yet Sakura flinches, only slightly and barely visible. It isn’t said in a tone used to make light of his unusual absent-mindedness.
“I guess I was lost in thought,” he mutters, switching off the tap.
Momijikawa is right: at some point, the dual-toned-haired boy had finished washing all of the plates and utensils that’d been stuffed in the kitchen sink. It’s actually surprising how many dishes tend to end up in there even if only one person is using the kitchen on a daily basis.
“That’s okay,” Momijikawa says, setting aside the knife he’d been using on the countertop. “Thanks for the help.”
“Least I could do,” Sakura huffs, glancing curiously towards the part of the kitchen occupied by the taller. “What’re you makin’?”
At first, Momijikawa had refused any sort of help from Sakura, stating that he was a guest and it was the duty of the host to take care of them. Sakura, of course, had not let that slide after the first couple of times—he was the one intruding so it was only fair of him to offer his help.
Though that isn’t the real reason.
Momijikawa is the first time Sakura has experienced any sort of domesticity or even what can be considered to be a familial bond. He knows that the possibility that he’s taking advantage of the taller’s kindness of hosting and spoiling him exists. Regardless, he wants to see more, feel more of this strange warmth contained inside the small, kind, world encased within these four walls, even if it’s selfish.
“Tomato saar,” Momijikawa answers, picking up the chopping board to cleanly slide the neat tomato slices into the pot that was being heated on the stove. “I think you might like it.”
Sakura will like anything if Momijikawa is the one cooking it.
“I’ve never even heard of it…” Sakura says, watching as the dark haired boy cooks the dish with ease.
“Then I guess this’ll be your first time,” there’s a relaxed smile on Momijikawa’s face as he ladles the liquid into the two bowls Sakura had filled with rice while the saar was simmering.
Sakura is looking forward to it.
As with all of Momijikawa’s home-cooked dishes, the tomato saar is great. It’s spicy and sweet at the same time while retaining the tomato’s natural taste, and there’s even bay leaves—Sakura did finish those, much to Momijikawa’s surprise, because technically, bay leaves aren’t meant to be eaten.
They end up spending quite a while at the dining table even with their plates empty, exchanging recent events. Sakura talks about his first time going to view cherry blossoms; he hadn’t realized he’d been excited about it until the tale had been told and Momijikawa was chuckling from across the table. The taller’s conversation, on the other hand, is about Kaji becoming a cat magnet and apparently, Umemiya and Hiiragi won’t shut up about it.
Once they’re finally finished, and dishes washed, Momijikawa walks Sakura to the main entrance of the apartment building.
“See you tomorrow, Haruka,” Momijikawa waves a hand as Sakura walks away.
Sakura stops, turns, and says, “see ya, Sakae.”
He leaves, filled to the brim with warmth even the summer wouldn’t dare offer.
He never truly understood his name, or the beauty of it. His name was just the Japanese words for cherry blossoms and distance meshed together: Sakura Haruka. There was nothing special about it.
Kiryu had been the first to suggest that the five of them spend the weekend at Komatsugawa park to view the cherry blossoms; it was spring, after all. “Hanami with everyone will be fun,” he’d said with a lazy grin, though his eyes were bright. Nirei and Tsugeura, of course, had enthusiastically agreed, the ginger suggesting that all of them have a picnic. Suo, too, had been on board.
Sakura had grown used to hang-outs. It had become an event that was inescapable. The concepts of picnics and hanami, conversely, were completely foreign to him. He’d heard of it, only by name and passing, but he had never been given a chance to actually experience—let alone be a part of—it back then, because of his strange appearance. He’d have stood out, ruined the cheerful mood—he wasn’t welcome in those sorts of situations.
So, he had said, gruffly, “I don’t really get the point of it. Cherry blossoms are just flowers; what’re you gonna do just starin’ at them? They’re not even that pretty.”
This had gained him expressions of various degrees directed at him: horror, shock, confusion, and knowing.
To which he’d responded with, his instinct to fight back arising, “what, somethin’ wrong?”
Suo had been the one to answer. “No, nothing’s wrong.” The smile on his face was gentle, regarding the younger with a slightly fond expression. “I suppose I’ll just have to show you how pretty Sakura really can be.”
(Kiryu muttering, “you mean, ‘we,’” with a fake air of offence, went unnoticed.)
Which brings him to the present moment, where he’s currently staring with narrowed eyes, confused, at the flowers blooming on the weeping cherry blossom tree.
“What part of this is supposed to be pretty?” He demands, craning his neck up to try and pinpoint what part of the foliage made it so popular that throngs of people—tourists and citizens alike—flocked the nearest parks to take it all in.
“The whole thing?” Tsugeura suggests while chewing on an onigiri, sitting cross-legged on the picnic mat spread out on the grass, eyes round. “Just look at it!”
So, Sakura, after resting his neck for a brief second, looks again.
All that fills his eyes are varying shades of pink, some green and brown. It’s just a mush of colors with outlines making it easy to distinguish a flower from a leaf and a branch from a trunk.
Nothing about the scenery can be labeled as beautiful or pretty.
“I don’t get it.” He mutters. After all, it was something foreign to him. He’s never had an interest in it.
“You don’t have to get it, Sakura-san,” Nirei assures before Tsugeura can say something. “Just enjoy the moment.”
Kiryu nods. “Nirei-chan’s right,” the pink-haired boy says, carefully tearing the plastic wrapper of a konbini-bought onigiri. “You’re just hanging out with us at a park, which has cherry blossoms.”
Sakura’s eyebrows furrow. “Fine. Whatever.” A sharp exhale leaves his nose—he isn’t sure if he’s annoyed or disappointed at himself. Just as he moves to sit down on the mat, fingers close around his wrist.
His first instinct isn’t to free himself.
There’s a gentle tug and a nano-second later, he’s facing Suo.
“Sakura-kun,” that same gentle smile is on the taller’s face. “Come with me.”
Before the shorter can protest, Suo is leading him towards the back of the tree they’re sheltered under, out of sight and earshot.
Either way, the scenery Sakura sees remains the same. Well, Suo is a part of it. He watches as Suo reaches out to bend a branch filled with blooming cherry blossoms, colored a powdery shade of pink.
“What’re you gonna do wi—” Sakura is cut-off with Suo holding the branch to cover his face, effectively shutting him up lest he wants to swallow cherry blossom petals.
The taller boy leans forwards, as if he were breathing in the scent. Yet, Sakura can feel the older’s breath ghost against his exposed face, smelling faintly of green tea and cherry blossoms. Immediately, Sakura can feel his skin beginning to burn up with heat.
Suo steps back and releases the branch, causing it to oscillate up and down for a few seconds, powder pink petals showering around them, fluttering to the ground.
“The hell was that—” Sakura is about to demand.
Suo silences him by gently pressing a cherry blossom—fully bloomed—to his mouth.
Sakura is unable to look anywhere but Suo’s deep red eyes. There’s emotions swirling in those depths, ones that Sakura doesn’t know the names of. Yet, within all of those, the one that stands out most is adoration.
Then, Sakura is free to talk, and finds that he can’t, because Suo is holding the same flower to his own lips, unabashedly, without breaking eye-contact.
“Sakura truly is beautiful,” Suo says calmly, with a light chuckle, not removing the blossom from his lips.
At that moment, Sakura’s face is the exact shade of red belonging to Suo’s earrings.
Sakura still doesn’t get the whole concept of picnics and hanami. But, as he and Suo return to the rest of their group and take a seat on the mat, he knows that he will understand, given time.
And he didn’t despise hanging-out with his friends, either. It's one of the few times he truly feels cherished and wanted.
Sakura Haruka is not a deep sleeper.
He tends to wake at the slightest sound—unless he’s seriously unwell, which is when his instincts are a little dull but not erased. He is what one would call hyper-aware.
Physically, he may be asleep. His senses, however, are awake and active—listening for anything out of place, constantly wondering how long his peace would last, counting down the minutes from nightfall to dawn.
He’s always on his guard, even when he’s supposed to be resting, or in a place that is supposedly free from harm. It had grown to be instinctual, no matter where he was—if he wasn't aware of his surroundings, he’d end up battered and bruised. His constant restlessness, his immediate resort to fighting, had become an automatic response.
Safe, as an adjective, and its meaning, is completely unknown to him. As it so happens, it is the very thing he’s yearned to have for so long, yet, doesn’t allow himself to grasp—for nowhere, in his eyes, can truly be called ‘safe.’
Furin, he learns as time passes, is the very definition of what he’s never had.
His belongings are never messed around with. His space is clean, at least as much as it could be at a so-called delinquent school. The only real harm that ever comes to him is during fights. Sure, sometimes, pranks are played, but the results never amount to anything bad—it’s completely harmless.
It takes him by complete surprise when his first instinct, as he slowly becomes aware of the fingers gently threading through his salt-and-pepper hair, isn’t to slap the hand away, and instead, shifts his head to make it easier, the motions making him even sleepier.
Which is when he comes to realize an important fact: he had fallen asleep, inside his classroom where he’s surrounded by a dozen or so classmates, during school hours.
He’s never slept anywhere besides his own futon—it can’t be called a bed. And even there, within the four walls that belong to him, he remains hyper-aware of his surroundings.
Yet, his instincts had gone dormant within Furin, which is really the one place where it should be constantly active.
A crucial point to note: his guard dropped, involuntarily, because he knew the people at the school; because Furin was familiar; because he trusted them to have his back if anything happened—safe.
It’s something he’s never felt before.
It’s something he can feel now.
It’s a feeling he wants to hold onto, perhaps forever.
The hand movement within his hair stills for a moment. “Nirei-kun and I can wake you up when the bell rings,” a voice, sounding like it belongs to Suo, registers in Sakura’s mind, albeit fuzzy. “Sleep a little longer.”