Work Text:
“Sakura.”
That was the first thing his older cousin ever said to him.
“Sakura,” and it wasn’t an onigiri ingredient. Barely adjacent to it, perhaps, but it wasn't a word Inumaki Toge tended to allow himself to say.
But he said it, just that once, so Sakura Haruka could come into being.
The message was clear.
You are no longer an Inumaki. Become someone else— someone that has nothing to do with the clan. Someone who will be more than a trapped puppet, unable to even speak freely because of their legacy as a jujutsu clan.
You are meant for better things.
After years of being restrained in the high-security cell of the Inumaki residence— after fifteen years of supervised confinement simply because he refused to be tamed into the mould of an obedient Inumaki that loyally provided support on the battlefield—
—Haruka was sentenced to death, because they failed to train him, and untrained Inumakis were simply too dangerous to let loose into the world.
But he didn’t die.
Instead, Inumaki Toge spoke his second word to him that very moment, imbued with the incantation of their family’s spell, woven onto their matching tongues. It was a curse that would stay with Haruka forever.
“Run.”
The Serpent and Fang tattooed on his tongue and cheek would never fade. The idea of talking, anything at all, filled him with fear.
(Each time he spoke out of turn in training, he would be bound. He would be shocked, he would be whipped, he would be burned . He couldn’t not associate words with pain anymore.)
He’d never spoken to another individual in his life without the intention to hurt them. He’d never interacted with anyone outside of training before.
Except Toge, but Toge was also the black sheep of the family.
It wasn’t as if Sakura had never been outside. He spent his childhood days outside, like a normal child. Even if he was ostracized, and people called him cursed in the womb for his appearance— he had a place in the Inumaki Family as its weirdest link.
(At least, until they got tired of how rebellious he was.)
He started his training at five years old. Once he was ten, he was never allowed out again. At fifteen, he ran, and saw the sky again. The spring that Sakura Haruka turned sixteen, he arrived in Makochi.
For the few months he’s been out here, life has been hell.
He managed to find himself a space to survive, but even in the jujutsu world his appearance was abnormal. Out here with the commonfolk, it’s worse. At least the jujutsu sorcerers talked shit to his face.
“What’s with that punk? Dyed hair, weird coloured contact, and a mask to boot.”
“He’s obviously a chuuni. Don’t get too close.”
“Did you see his face just now when he pulled the mask down to talk? He had tattoos on his tongue! That kid’s a freak. Definitely gonna get scooped up by yakuza with his violent tendencies, too.”
Haruka tried desperately to stand out less, but nothing quite worked.
At some point, he gave up on all that in just a desperate attempt to survive. And even then, he’s just barely getting by.
It’s still better than death, though. And rotting away in that basement.
“Don’t move!”
He let his guard down. He panicked.
When he saw the lady reaching for his feet, all he could think about were the chains that used to lock him to the wall, the bruises against his malformed bones, the colour of rust so deep they’d seeped under his skin and couldn’t be scrubbed out against the harshly-healed scab of skin.
He knew, instantly, he messed up.
The way the lady’s body tensed in unnatural surprise— but he hushed it out so quickly, it didn’t work for long. And then Kotoha ws reaching for his feet again, asking, carefully this time.
“I would like to treat your wounds. May I?”
She didn’t seem to notice what just happened.
He pulled his mask further over his nose, nervous. He listened to her— and he wanted to believe her. Her and her words of letting people in. Of trusting people.
(People have never trusted him enough to let him say a single word in their presence. They’ve threatened to pull out his tongue, they’ve burned his throat, they’ve torn his oesophagus to pieces for daring to defy anyone, for daring to make the training a little more bearable.)
(They kept him muzzled like a dog, for every moment except mealtimes.)
(Why should he extend any trust toward them?)
“But you haven’t given up on trusting people yet, right?” Kotoha pleads, “won’t you just give us a chance?”
(Why does he want to?)
(They don’t deserve it.)
He whispers, “Don’t move,” as he passes Hiragi’s ear, and uses his shoulder as a brace to launch his feet at the ambusher behind him.
Then he turns back around, heading toward Kotoha again.
He raises his foot, which was now bleeding worse than before because he plunged it into someone’s face literally just now, and coughs.
Kotoha can’t help but burst out laughing, “what are you, stupid?”
People in this town are weird. Sakura notices that somewhere along the line of this day and the next. They don’t point out how he’s wearing a black cloth mask all the time, and they never question how quiet he is.
Instead, they tease him for being shy, and push more gifts and asks him for favours that don’t include talking. They do all the talking for both ends.
“Oh, you’re headed to Pothos, aren’t you?” No he isn’t. “Then bring me there with you too.” Hell no. “I have suuuch a bad back, dear, I will die if you leave me out here in the cold.” No you won’t! “Ohh you cruel young able-bodied boy, you will leave old grammy here who needs critical medical attention?” Why are you getting worse?
So, brooding, Sakura brings the old lady to Pothos.
“Ah, you’re here, Sakura. Come eat. You haven’t eaten breakfast, I bet,” Kotoha greets, like she was expecting him. “I saw your face already when you ate the omurice yesterday. Nothing I haven’t seen already.”
Right, that. He braved it yesterday, because he was hungry. He resigned himself to disgusted looks as he pulled down his mask and ate (and oh, so this is how food tastes like, when you eat it freshly made. When you don’t have to sit in a corner, hide your face, or eat off the floor after the cold food was thrown at you. This is how food is supposed to taste like—)
He knew from past experiences that it was better to tear off the bandage early when it came to letting people see those tattoos (it wasn’t as if they knew the meaning anyways), but he had been so hungry yesterday, he didn’t think straight.
And Kotoha actually says, “they really do look cool.”
Sakura blushes.
She’d said the same thing about his hair, and his eyes. And it must be nonsense, because there’s no way she actually means it, right? He looks like a freak. He’s been marked, accordingly, as a freak.
They don’t push for him to talk. Kotoha doesn't ask him questions he can’t answer with a nod or shake of the head.
It’s bizarre.
“So are you excited? You’re wearing your uniform so early.”
Sakura shook his head, irritated.
“Why did you come to Furin? Don't get me wrong, it’s just unusual that we get outsiders.”
Sakura could just not answer— she won’t mind— but he decided to reach for the napkin and scribble down, Top of the school .
He wants to be strong.
Strong enough he won’t get chained down again. Strong enough no one will command him like a mutt and muzzle him so he’s obedient, strong enough that what’s ahead of him isn’t a death sentence.
She asks him to reconsider.
Which, honestly, is understandable. But he doesn’t care.
“By the way, how’s your leg?” Kotoha changes the subject, to Sakura’s relief. “Can I check? Please?”
Kotoha’s seen the stab wound. She’s also seen the cuff marks.
She tenderly cares for his wounds, and doesn’t ask about the other leg.
Nirei Akihiko sees his tattoos and asks, “did that hurt?” with a wince. He did also say they were cool (what’s with the weirdos here. What’s so cool about it? It fucking hurt. It was made almost like a symbol of a muzzle.)
Of a reminder of the chain to keep them down when they’re not needed.
(Did that hurt? Of course.)
(Why would anyone do this willingly?)
At least the kid showed some guts later, and, well— said he was going to lead the way to the top and everything. Which was new.
Someone was willing to put themselves in a supporting position. For him .
(He’s stupid, probably, that’s why.)
“Ehh, you’re covering them up, Sakura-san?” Nirei pouts, when Sakura pulls his mask over his face again. “But they’re so pretty.”
Sakura blushes and smacks his face away, snarling incomprehensibly. Nirei only giggles fondly at that reaction, which is honestly infuriating.
Bofurin is, well, weird.
Suou apparently has a demon sealed in his left eye (well, that’s a weirdass curse you’ve got, but Sakura isn’t qualified to deal with it and Suou seems to have it under control so why prod a sleeping dragon, right?) and Sugishita picks a fight with him at any indication of less than worship for Umemiya.
And then, Umemiya, who is so lackadaisical, yet commands everyone’s respect—
—huh. What a grand contrast from Gojo Satoru. That guy’s also easygoing, but very few people up above and below give him respect for situations other than battle. Umemiya has their adoration even outside of fighting prowess. Actually, to the townsfolk and to Bofurin, his strength might be the footnote to the sense of belonging and air of reliability he emanates.
(Sakura hates how he feels at ease around the guy.)
Sakura hates that everyone’s staring, so he wolfs down his omurice in as little bites he can manage (quick, quick, before they stomp on it, before they take it away, before—) and pulls his mask over his face again.
“Did you even taste it?” Suou sighs placatingly, “no one’s going to take it away from you, okay? You can take your time.”
That’s a lie, obviously, Sakura’s not so stupid as to fall for it.
“You’re eating way too fast!” Nirei hasn’t even started eating yet. Sasaki is digging in comfortably, but Sakura supposes they’ve never had the rug pulled out from under them before. He’ll leave them to it.
He hears them say ‘thanks for the food’ and he only offers a silent prayer, like what he was taught. He can’t be arsed to figure out if the kanji in those words are safe or not.
(He knows, okay. He knows the words that aren’t safe.)
(That’s why, instead of saying that Shishitoren was lame as fuck , he pulled his mask down and mouthed it at him soundlessly instead.)
(The way Togame’s eyes just lit up with fascination still annoyed him so much.)
(“Those are so cool! Woah! They’re on your tongue too!” he says, in his frustratingly slow and steady pace, “must’a hurt. They kinda match the whole Othello-kun aesthetic you got going on there.”)
(If Nirei hadn’t been there and his leg didn’t hurt like that, Sakura would’ve lunged over and bit the damn guy’s head off.)
“Stop scowling at everyone please ,” Nirei has a panic attack into the pages of his notebook, “the amount of fights you’ve picked in one day…”
Suou laughs fondly, “amazing for someone who doesn’t say a thing, huh?”
“Small mercies,” Kotoha teases, moving over to clear Sakura’s plate. “Sugishita-kun’s pretty quiet too, so I thought you two would at least sit nicely together. Too bad.”
“Kotoha-sannn!” Nirei mourns when Sugishita and Sakura zero in on each other across the cafe with the predatory snarl of two wolves in the wrong territory.
Suou chuckles fondly again.
Kotoha sets down a glass of water, and Sakura picks it up with a hum of affirmation. He chugs it.
Sasaki perks over, the noise brightening up his nervous demeanor.
“That’s the same sound my cat makes…” he whispers in awe, and Sakura hisses at him, “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t say anything! Sorry!”
“You’re just proving his point, Sakura-kun,” Suou chides, when Sasaki uses him as a shield. “Play nice.”
It was like some kind of switch flipped in everyone, after Shishitoren.
Even before then, everyone thought Sakura’s whole ‘grunts and hums’ language was endearing on its own (because clearly, everyone in Tonpu Shopping District is insane) but after Sasaki first pointed it out, they began to find it cute .
Sakura snarled at the Cactus bread shop owner for giving him bread for today’s lunch out of their freebies, and he had just beamed.
“You sound just like Tama-chan when we first got her,” he had said so fondly. “Come here, have another on us.”
He sits with Tama-chan, the local street cat who technically lives upstairs at Cactus Bakery, and shares the odd cat-shaped milk bread with her as they sit on the roadside. It was delicious.
(Wait, what did the guy mean—?)
There’s onigiri in Pothos.
“Oh, Sakura. Take one,” Kotoha tells him, like it’s normal to expect Sakura to drop in just to steal some of the food she’s prepared. He’s still not sure how to feel about it.
But it’s onigiri.
(The only productive conversations he has with anyone, conversation that doesn’t hurt— it’s with Toge, when he brought a whole bunch in his lunchbox to share. And that was also when he taught him all the different ingredients.)
(They would share the onigiri, taking bites of each others’. When Sakura started being locked in the cellar all the time, he craved the distant memory of that onigiri like nothing else.)
“Tuna Mayo,” Sakura says, when he bites into the first one.
And Kotoha’s head whips to him so abruptly that Sakura wolfs it down and points at the next one with a grunt.
She seemed to have something to say— but instead, she just giggles, and nods. “Go ahead, Sakura, there’s plenty to go around.”
She seems to be frying the onigiri, for some reason. Probably for the actual customer.
“Bonito flakes,” his eyes light up at the next one. He can’t help but sound out the words— he still remembers them. He still remembers what they mean, the language that Toge created and tried to impose on Sakura.
Sakura found them something so unique to his older cousin, he could never bring himself to use them. It’s not like a lot of people wanted to talk to Sakura, anyways. Grunts and huffs got the message through.
“And what’s this?” Kotoha prompts, setting a new one down. This time it’s been fried in oil, and the oil, soy sauce crusted on the outside lit his eyes right up with fascination at how delicious it was.
Sakura takes a bite.
“Salmon!” he declares, and Kotoha looked so proud of herself that his face heated up instantly, suddenly remembering where he was.
He hightails it out of there, ignoring Kotoha’s delighted, “come back to get your lunch, okay?”
They were having a class meeting about the schedules for patrol or something. It was raining so heavily today, so the class had to stay in. Instead, all the grade captains were going to go out at once with a member of their class, which left the debate of ‘who should go with him?’
It was such a simple problem, but the class was having such a serious debate that it was infuriating. Suou and Nirei needed to stay in school, all vice leaders had to. Kiryu was the next best choice, but he didn’t want to get wet in this rain. Tsugeura was so willing to go that everyone decided he shouldn’t. He’s the worst at communicating with the nonverbal Sakura.
So, Sakura got frustrated.
He grumbled a frustrated, “Mentaiko!” and grabbed a chalk.
By the time he’s written [I’m going alone!] on the blackboard and headed out with an umbrella, he finally realizes the classroom’s dead silent. Everyone was staring slack-jawed at him.
Ah crap.
“Mentaiko!!” Nirei declares with a bright, enlightened look in his eyes to match that raging vigour he’s just discovered.
“Mentaiko indeed,” Kiryu nods, sagely.
Suou chuckles, “don’t tease him, everyone,” he warns, and it’s very serious. “He’s trying to tell us to get on with it already, so let’s just settle this with rock-paper-scissors, alright? He’ll go alone if we delay any more.”
“Ehhhh!!” Tsugeura groans.
With a bundle of groans and sighs, the rock-paper-scissors tournament begins. Sakura is left flabbergasted. Nirei wrote something in his book, but otherwise, no one even lingers on the whole speech thing.
They don’t make a big deal of the fact that this is the first thing he’s ever spoken to them and it’s incomprehensible. They just… accepted it.
What’s wrong with them?
Tsugeura does yell “MENTAIKOO!!” in despair when he loses, though.
“How about you start with their names?”
When Kotoha suggests that, it’s like his world’s coming crumbling down around him again. Of course he can’t use names.
But he asks Nirei anyways, and Nirei’s more than happy to give him a rundown of the names of everyone in class. And in school. And in town, he’s more than happy to give him a reminder. Sakura studies the names, and the words he can’t say stack up higher and higher inside of him, and he knows one day they’ll asphyxiate him.
(He wonders if that’ll be a nice way to go.)
“Oh, you know my name, right?” Kiryu teases.
“And mine?” Tsugeura adds.
“You don’t type or write names often,” Suou says, “do you know our first names too? Mine’s Hayato.”
Sakura snarls at them wordlessly. He does, but— oh.
(Hayato has the word fly in it. It’s obviously off limits. Mitsuki has the word shine in it. It’s off limits. Akihiko’s hiko is an accompaniment away from the kanji for speak , so he doesn’t want to risk it. Taiga has the word large in it, so it’s also…)
Well, that’s just unfair.
He just never knows what’s okay. He’s never had to actually consider it so far before— it was just don’t speak, don’t do anything we don’t tell you to.
He doesn’t notice the lull in the conversation as the four of them notice his expressions falling into something that’s genuinely upset . The teasing stops, and as their eyes meet, and Suou is first to approach.
“Hey, Sakura-kun,” Suou assures him, “you can tell us anything you want, alright? We’ll wait as long as you need.”
“Yeah. We’re your vices, after all,” Nirei assures. “We’ll all be here for you, every step of the way!”
(Sakura trusts them. He does, he really does. So much, the words are heavier on his tongue than ever, and his throat tightens with every breath he takes that tastes like their genuine desire to connect with him.)
(It’s poison, but he can’t stop chugging it down every day like it’s his morning coffee.)
Maybe anger really is his downfall. Maybe a muzzle really belongs on his face.
It's when the fight with KEEL happens.
When Kaji yelled at him— don’t get distracted , “if you can’t even save your own classmates, then you can’t call yourself their grade captain!” Why is he getting distracted by small fry? Why’s he losing his head when his classmates need his help? Why’s he charging for something so much higher, when he’s so frazzled he’s gotten his head split open by someone that shouldn’t be a problem at all?
(When is he going to realize that he can’t handle this on his own?)
Focus on what you have to do.
Focus on what you can do.
Kaji heads up to face that bastard at the top— and Sakura’s opponent comes back toward him. Sakura wonders why it’s so nice to be able to rely on others. He never wants to— he doesn’t need anyone’s help.
(He’s not a supporter. He’s not an Inumaki, that needs others to open the path before he goes in for the kill. He can do it by himself, he’ll prove that he can—)
(So why did he hesitate?)
(When he saw Nirei on the ground, blood spilled all over his face, broken and defeated, why did he hesitate? Nirei’s weak, but Nirei wouldn’t hesitate for him.)
(Nirei wouldn’t hesitate.)
(So why is Sakura hesitating?)
“Nice! Now I don’t have to face that monster,” his opponent jeers, and Sakura’s blood boils. His pipe smashes loud and clanging against the ground. The sounds of battle ring in his ears. Punches and bodies clutter. Bones are breaking, people are screaming. Metal on metal clangs.
You want to see a monster?
They flinch back. The guy at the center commands, “hey, don’t freak out now! Jump him together, you guys!”
They lunge for him in all directions.
Sakura pulls down his mask and breathes.
“Get blown away!”
The silence that consumes the shipyard right then is spine-chilling. The shatter of the rubble as some dozen people go violently flying across the crowd, crashing unceremoniously into their allies, painfully colliding with the wall—
—just the one in front of him crumbles to the ground after hitting the wall just a few paces ahead.
Gasping, he jerks up, “what the hell was tha—?!”
“Stay down.”
His head smashes straight onto the ground. He screams, nose crushing against the earth, blood sputtering as he fights, arms trembling, unable to push himself upright again, but desperately trying.
Sakura kicks him into the air then, smashing his head against the wall in a way that he knows it’ll keep him out of the rest of the fight.
Sakura’s throat burns. A cough escapes him, and then another, and then it doesn’t stop. His hand comes off bloody after it, and his trachea feels shredded. He brushes the sickening red against his pants, because it’s not as if it’ll be visible against the rest of the blood he’s spilled today.
The KEEL members are looking at him in horror. His classmates, in confusion. Nirei’s gaze is full of shock as he stares from his spot at the entrance. Kusumi and Enomoto have their eyes wide, as if they were looking at something so familiarly monstrous—
—Sakura averts his eyes. He can’t handle this right now.
“Fight.”
He regrets the pain that shoots up his throat at that, but at least now, the noise continues.
He wakes up feeling like shit anyways.
The burn of chains on his wrists and ankles are cold (that doesn't sound right. He can feel their weight but he can't touch them), and the trembling in his hands doesn't help. He’s sweaty, breathing is hard, his throat aches so badly he wants to scream with every attempt at making it a little less than sandpaper against his breath. He coughs and the taste of iron fills his mouth.
Everything’s a blur. The cold draft through the window reminds him of his cage. The fan overhead doesn’t look real.
Red shadows his eyelids. If he closes his eyes he can see the dark cellars. He can hear the screams. He can feel the squelch of the aftermath of his kill sunder his nails. He can feel the lash of the whips. He can’t move, as the force of the curse holds him down and reminds him, who exactly he belongs to .
It’s too quiet, when he breaks free. So he sinks in again and he regrets it.
He doesn’t want to be on either side of reality. He wants out. He wants to be free. The tightness in his mouth, against his face, it’s suffocating. Get it off , he doesn’t want to be muzzled any longer. Everything hurts , he can’t stand straight. He stumbles and collapses back onto the ground. He wants to throw up. Blood fills his palms. Spills.
(Why is he gasping for breath? No one wants him to go on.)
(You were supposed to be executed anyways. If you stopped breathing, everyone would be so relieved. It would be better for all of us if you just stopped struggling so hard.)
(It’s not like anything’s waiting for you out there in the wild. Where do you think you can go?)
“Saku… Sakura-san?!”
The voice breaks through the fog so loudly Sakura jerks back in alarm, dragging his hand through the rug of his worn out tatami. The pain of that friction burn doesn’t matter.
“Sakura-san… Sakura-san, please—”
The hands reach for his face and Sakura panics . No. No more. He doesn’t want to be muzzled anymore. Anything but that—
“Get back!”
Ah.
It’s like someone’s shanking through his throat with a fishing hook, somehow avoiding the lethal points, just extending the agony. He wheezed into his hand, muffling the agonized whimpers from the pain that pierced through him with every single sound he makes. But he can’t stop coughing, and it hurts, but the pain makes him scream, and the cycle continues.
He hates this. So much. By the time he manages to force himself to stop and take a breath, there’s a mess of tears on his face, and an utter bloodbath he’s made of his hands and his front.
It’s embarrassing. Like a child that’s thrown up all his food over himself.
“Sakura-kun.”
He jumps.
Suou’s there. He doesn’t know when. Nirei is, too. When did he get out of the cellar, he thought in his fog of ache, how are they here? Why?
They’re sitting a pace away, brows knitted, Nirei’s eyes brimmed with tears, and— and Sakura remembers. He remembers he’s no longer in that cellar, there’s no muzzle on his face, no chains tying him to the ground. He’s in Makochi now, and here, they don’t tie down their beasts.
There’s a basin of water. (Are they going to press his head in it?)
And a wet cloth. (It’s okay. He’s been trained to endure that kind of torture.)
“Sakura-kun,” Suou’s voice is so calming, Sakura wants to believe it. But he knows better than to. “You’re hurt. Would you let us help? I promise I’ll stop the second you want me to, so please… may we come closer?”
I promise I’ll stop the second you want me to .
What an idiot. When it comes to an Inumaki, that’s not even a consideration. When an Inumaki wants you to stop, you will. That promise means nothing.
But the question puts him at ease.
Maybe he’s an idiot, too.
It didn’t hurt. The cloth runs through his old scars, and though Suou and Nirei work through his skin like they’re being shredded through the same pain with each new one they find— they get through it, and Sakura wants to apologize for subjecting them to this disgusting sight.
He feels like a toddler, being cleaned and wiped down like this. But it does feel much better when the blood is off him, once he’s dressed in fresh clothing. (He does remember Toge doing this for him, long long ago when they were kids and no one else would give them the time of day. But it all went away after the training and strict supervision for them quadrupled.)
When Suou’s careful hands come too close to Sakura’s face, he flinches— and Suou steps back immediately.
Sakura didn’t say no. He didn’t say to step back, and yet, Suou did, anyways.
“I got some medicine,” Nirei comes back in, having made a run to the pharmacist. “I got the soluble ones… Sakura-kun, I know it’s going to hurt, but can you drink some?”
He has an option.
(He’s not usually asked so politely to consume drugs that will debilitate him. It throws him off, a little, but it’s Nirei.)
It’s Nirei. He’s not there anymore.
It’s Suou. He’s safe here.
(There’s no muzzle on his face, and yet, he still can’t find the words to say. And yet again, he’s reminded that he doesn’t need any.)
(They’ll understand.)
“Why I’m not afraid of you?” Nirei asks that question, like it’s odd on his tongue. “Why should I be?”
They’re foolish. Ridiculous. Stupid. Naive. Dumb.
(They don’t know what an Inumaki can do. Don’t you know that if I tell you to die, you will?)
They should kill him while he sleeps. While he’s down like this, sick and tired and sluggish, because when else are they going to have a chance to take down an Inumaki? Everything hurts. His throat is burning and he doesn’t want to do anything. He doesn’t want to eat, drink, breathe. It all feels like agony for daring to be alive. For daring to speak. It’s his punishment.
(They know he’s a monster.)
“Sakura-kun,” Suou’s voice is careful. “Remember during the KEEL fight, when you stopped me from beating down that guy?”
Sakura remembers. It was a terrifying sight to behold, as much as the guy deserved it. Sakura had been mildly spooked by the mere thought of Suou actually losing his temper, but considering Nirei’s state… well. He had stopped Suou then, because the guy was already knocked out cold anyways.
Until then, Sakura had never seen Suou actually land a blow on someone. He had always deflected and worn his opponents down with his martial arts. Actually landing a full-bodied kick to the sternum? Sakura heard something shatter in there. Merciless. It wasn’t like him at all.
(Sakura didn’t want to see him like that.)
“Why didn’t you stop me with your words?”
Sakura’s fist tightens on his sheets.
He could’ve. If he really wanted to. But he didn’t need to. He didn’t have to. He would never use it against Suou, he’d rather throw himself into the line of that kick instead if he had to, he would never—
Suou is kind as he continues, “your power may be scary. It may be more dangerous than we can fathom. But you never want to hurt us, and we all know that very well. We all trust you, just as we want you to trust us.”
“Sakura-san,” Nirei takes his hand and promises, on his knees, “don’t ever think we’ll be afraid of you, okay? We’ll always be here. We’ll never be afraid of you.”
Nirei says it, twice. Because maybe he knows. Maybe he knows that Sakura is, at most, afraid of himself. He’s afraid of what he can do, so much more than he’s afraid of everyone hating him. He’s afraid. He’s never been allowed to be anything except terrified, so he doesn’t know what other emotions he can have.
You won’t be alone again.
I wish you would be able to understand that.
(Sakura closes his eyes, because he’s so afraid of things that are too good to be true. Maybe one day he’ll wake up again in that cellar, limbs chained to the ground and muzzle locked over his face. It’ll be cold and humid there, and he’ll realize bitterly that everything that happened starting from Furin was just one long dream.)
(If this is a dream, maybe it’s fine to never wake up.)
When he wakes up, they’re gone. He asked them to, so he’s not surprised.
The sound of a wind chime at his window, which he didn’t remember hanging up, soothes him. The silence of the night doesn’t consume him, and the cold evening wind is soothing accompanied by the clear, ringing sound.
Maybe dreams do go on.
(He doesn’t have a nightmare again.)
[My words hurt people], he writes on a board when they’re in Pothos, eating together after the whole KEEL debacle. He admits to the class something no one will understand, no one will believe.
But they should understand.
Because they saw it happen with their own eyes.
(He doesn’t understand why Nirei hugged him so tight that day, thanking him with those incoherent sobs into his shoulders, for telling them.)
(It’s stupid that they’re crying about this. That they’re happy about this.)
(But he looks into everyone’s eyes that day, all cramped into Pothos, and not a single one of them has hatred or fear in their eyes.)
He still hated typing. But they waited for him to finish writing each time.
“People say I talk too much, get too heated all the time,” Kaji had divulged. “Isn’t it nice that we can still be quiet and have people who understand us anyway?”
Sakura did think it was nice. Having Nirei and Suou around— Nirei, who always deciphered his grunts and hums down to the very last intonation like some freak, and Suou who just tended to understand by instinct. But he still hated the whole much be nice, to be able to live without your words spiel.
Kaji enjoys it. When Kaji tells Sakura his story, his own monstrous side that freaks people out, that’s so dangerous he hates more than anything else— he likes it, now, that he can live with people that will protect him from what he fears.
(They’re just two monsters, afraid of themselves.)
(Isn’t that pathetic? And isn’t it amazing, that even as pathetic as they are, their friends still stay?)
Sakura wants, more than anyone, to yell. He knows firsthand, how annoying it is to have to wait. To not be fast enough to express himself.
He always sees the messages flicker by the group chats so quickly, one after another. He can’t get his questions through because the speed of it all overwhelms him. But he can’t just go find them in person and yell at them to explain things to him instead— so he ends up not saying a thing.
He always has to be content with not saying things.
Sometimes they’ll notice and ask him what’s wrong, but that’s taking two steps back just for him. He’s slowing everyone down.
(Why can’t he just ask ?)
Everyone pushed him to become the grade captain, but he can’t even say anything. He can’t give orders. He can’t do anything that requires his words.
“Don’t worry about dumb things,” Kaji says. “That’s what your vice captains are there for. And you got some real good ones. Make sure they know that.”
Sakura gets it, okay? They’re too good for him. He knows that more than anything else in the world. They like him.
They like him .
“It’s not a crime to be liked,” Kaji says. “Some people just have weird tastes. Maybe we’ll never understand those freaks.”
Huh.
So they’re the freaks?
(Thinking that way, for some reason, makes Sakura’s chest all light and relieved. Because he’s right. They’re the ones that want to live with this monster. They’re the ones that want to match his freak. Might as well indulge them.)
“I have lozenges, lemon tea packets, and a thermos of hot water to brew it,” Anzai declares in class. “Get your Vitamin C, bitch.”
“Stop! Don’t your cuts sting?!” Takanashi retorts in the midst of his uncontrolled giggling. Later he steals a karaage from his lunchbox and gets chased by Anzai with a lemon for his transgressions.
“Enough! Even Sakura got sick! Stay healthy, you asshats!”
Sakura has never heard someone get threatened into being healthy before. He stares the lemon candy skeptically and Nirei freaks out when he swallows it.
“Ack. Sakura-san,” Nirei winces, “you keep it in your mouth like a sucker, okay? It’ll make your throat feel better.”
Sakura frowns. If it’s supposed to be eaten like a sucker, why isn’t it shaped like one or have a stick like one? And he always crunches them anyways… It was faster like that.
But it did alleviate the constant burning in his throat. The instinct to swallow was hard to resist, but when he got the hang of it, it was nice.
Anzai looked so obnoxiously proud of himself the rest of the day that Kakiuchi smacked him in the face at least three times.
“Uhh… so far Sakura-san’s safe words that we’ve heard before are Salmon, Bonito Flakes, Mentaiko, and Konbu,” Nirei reads off his notebook. Because of course he has a list of that.
“Konbu?”
“Yeah… I haven’t heard it myself, but I heard from Kiryu-san,” Nirei says.
Kiryu chuckles, “I said hi, Sakura-chan , and he just said Konbu back at me!” He recalls it like it was a cute encounter with a cat on the streets. “Then when I was frozen, Tsuge-chan said konbu to you too! Back at him. He got punched.”
Tsugeura laughs.
Anzai stares judgmentally at the bloke. “Wait, is that why you say Konbu, everyone! Every morning now?”
“Yeah!”
Sakura wishes they’d forget that. Please.
“Why is it all sushi?” Takanashi wonders. “Is food names okay? How about karaage?”
Sakura sighs, reaching for the blackboard. He’s always near the front of the class, so it’s become a habit now when conversing to just go for the blackboard instead of finding a pen and paper.
[It’s not morally acceptable to fry a man.]
There’s silence. Sakura mildly regrets it, wonders if that’s too morbid, a tasteless threat— but then Anzai bursts out laughing, followed immediately by Takanashi and Kiryu, and then Suou and Nirei are stifling laughter too.
“Is it the same thing for teriyaki?” Suou asks, amused.
[The incinerator behind the school leaves less evidence.]
The classroom erupts into renewed laughter at that. Someone’s on the ground, doubled over clutching their stomach.
“Come one guys, don’t go for the obviously bad ones,” Nirei says between chuckles, “uhh, like, Ramen! Ramen should be fine, right?”
Everyone looks at Sakura for answers. Sakura just looks increasingly exasperated. Instead of finding a quip back for the question he thought was ridiculous, he reaches for Nirei— grabs his cheek, and pulls.
“Owowow! Sakura-san! Ow!”
He lets go.
The class dissolves into uncontrolled giggles again by the time he’s done giving Nirei the you’re an idiot treatment. He then decides to enlighten him by writing 拉麺 on the blackboard and underlining the first kanji twice.
“Ehh, a word like ‘pull’ isn’t okay either?!”
It takes a while for everyone to sort it out. They start writing on the board and Sakura circles or crosses out words that are either fine or not. He’s not sure about some of them, so he leaves them be.
“Uh. Most of them are sushi,” Nirei says. “Probably because it’s just seafood varieties. And pork belly.”
“No wonder most of the ones we’ve found were all from the onigiri variety,” Anzai observes Nirei’s notes as he collects the safe words.
Sakura never had to explain to anyone the specifics of his coded language before. He’s never used it enough to warrant it, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to start. Everyone was just eager to figure it out with him anyways.
“Ah, but if foods are fine…” Suou recomposed himself, “how about flowers?”
That has everyone turning to him again.
Sakura blushes at the attention, relenting a hesitant, “Sakura.”
Everyone beams so brightly. Sakura doesn’t get the fuss, seriously. Of course Sakura was a safe word. His cousin gave that to him so he could introduce himself once he ran away.
(After all, Inumaki who inherit the curse are given names that they themselves are unable to use. It’s just another way of the clan cursing them with the inability to socialize properly, trying to make sure they die out quickly.) Haruka (distance) is off limits. Toge (thorn) is, too. They’re not allowed to call each other by name. They don’t have that privilege. All they are is a reminder of how dangerous they are, how they harm the people around them.
But “Sakura,” is fine.
The class’ eyes all light up. Nirei’s, especially, his book in his hand like a new, terrifying adversary. “Then that means—”
“KOTOHAAA!!!”
“What?! What?” Kotoha sputters when her door is slammed open in the middle of the day and Umemiya comes charging in with a defeated Sakura held in his hands like child Simba, “what’s on fire?!”
“SAKURA!” he declares. “He just spoke his first words!”
Silence.
Then Kotoha sits down. “I hate to be the breaker of bad news, but you’re literally the last person to hear him speak his first words to you. Even Hiragi’s heard a few on Sakura’s first day here.”
“WHAT? BETRAYAL! IN MY OWN HOUSE!”
Sakura expected Umemiya to have some embarrassing reaction, but come on. All he did was call him ‘Ume-san’ once!
“Ah, Sakura-kun. Good morning,” the man at Cactus greets him today on the way to school.
“Konbu.”
He chuckles, “I don’t have konbu bread, but I have a lot other types.”
Sakura hums. He has eaten a lot of stuffed bread here, but the one he likes the most would be the deep-fried curry bread. He’s kind of craving that today, and he can smell it being freshly sizzled in the back, that’s just what freshly-made curry does to the street.
But, well… curry is a dangerous word. By itself it’s probably fine, but Sakura’s powers were often stronger than average, and so he doesn’t want to go for anything to homonynous to dangerous words. It’s off limits.
…he can’t possibly impose. It’s not on the tray being offered to him. So…
“Oh!” the man seems to have an epiphany. “Hey, dad! Is the curry-pan done?” he turns back to Sakura, “hold on a second, yeah?”
He goes to school with a handful of fresh curry bread. It’s amazing. And piping hot, and it’s really so bizarrely good, the spice just blows his mind. He doesn’t even mind that it burns his mouth, he wolfs it down.
(He wishes he could thank them verbally.)
“Come back for more if you want some, okay?” he assures. “It’s always such a joy in the morning to see you enjoy our bread so much!”
It’s always a joy to see you .
Sakura thinks he’s gotten very used to letting himself believe that. He’s come a long way from being stuck in a cellar so no one would have to deal with him. A long way from trying and failing to blend into society with his unusual appearance.
(The people here were really weird, huh?)
(They see his tattoos and think they’re cool. They don’t think his lack of verbal expressions is impolite. They know what he wants, without him asking, and if they don’t, they’ll give him plenty of time to get his meanings across.)
Sakura’s so glad he came to Makochi.
“There’s a lot of Dagashiya in our territory,” Togame chuckles, mixing up the weird candy concoction that cannot be real or edible and yet, he’s making it. It’s sticky. “Here.”
Sakura stares at it skeptically.
“Just put it in your mouth.”
Togame mixes up the next one and stuffs it in his mouth without hesitation, so Sakura does it too. And his eyes widen. It’s sweet. And sticky. Kind of annoyingly sticky, actually, but it’s really good.
“That’s a nerunerune.”
A nenerunawhat now?
“No I didn’t make that up. That’s what it’s called. Don’t give me that face.”
Ever since that day when Togame found out Sakura didn’t know how to open a ramune bottle, he’s been bringing weird stuff over just to see Sakura’s reactions to it. He must take some kind of sick pleasure with this, but Sakura gets food or drink out of it, so he only moderately minds.
(Except that time with the candy that popped in his mouth multiple times. That was a murder attempt, so Sakura was totally justified in smashing Togame’s glasses that day, no matter what anyone says. Okay?)
“This one’s a whistle. You blow through it and it makes a fun noise.”
Why are you playing with your food? Just eat the damn candy!
But Sakura ends up making weird whistling noises with Togame until Chouji and Umemiya come by later that day to pick them up. It’s a bizarre relationship they have, he’ll begrudgingly admit.
“Okay, everyone gets a garigari-kun to go,” Togame ushers everyone like he’s handling unruly children, and Chouji pulls Sakura forward with a bright ‘yayyy!’ as Umemiya chuckles, following along.
What’s with all these made up words? Just say ice cream normally, dammit!
“Which flavour do you like, Sakura?” Umemiya helps him choose. He goes for red bean, which kind of matches how he once said he liked the anpan from Cactus the most.
Sakura picks the one that’s blue. The one that just says ‘soda’ on it.
“Oh, that’s the classic, huh?” Togame chuckles. “I’m taking that one too.”
“Oh! Sakura-chan, you got a Win!” Chouji peeks over. Sakura’s been trying to figure out why there’s writing on his ice cream stick. “That’s so lucky! I never get those.”
What. It says ‘Atari’. It means ‘correct’. What did he get right?
“It means you get to take another, Sakura,” Umemiya explains.
Huh. For, like, free? No, it’s a trap. They’re messing with him and he’s going to get yelled at for shoplifting. He knows this song and dance, he’s not that naive, okay—
“Hey grammy! Grammyyyy!!!” Chouji hollers across the store, slamming the door open. “We’re taking another okay?”
“What?” from far at the back.
“We got Atarriiii! So we’re taking a seconnddd!” he hollers louder.
“Okay, go ahead, dear.”
“Alrighty!” Chouji beams, “you can try another flavour, Sakura-chan!”
Sakura stares at this freak of nature in front of him, utterly baffled. Chouji single-handedly subverted the rules of nature and before throwing Sakura’s entire world straight out the nearest window into the Antarctic. Terrifying.
“Get oreo, Sakura. It looks like you,” Togame says.
Sakura gets cornered by the Sakaki twins when everyone is on the roof to ‘socialize’ (according to Hiragi).
Specifically, Seiryu is just along for the ride. Uryu is the one that’s interested in him to a degree which Sakura just can’t fathom. If Sakura had to describe the situation, it’s as if Uryu took one look at him, and decided, yep, this is my child now . And he’s been fussing over him since.
“It’s because you both don’t talk much,” Seiryu muses, “we don’t meet a lot of people like that. So he’s excited. Don’t mind him.”
Sakura would like to know why that is the explanation for Uryu physically covering him with a head hug and hissing at any Jikoku fellows that come near inquiring about the new creature of interest. He doesn’t even acquiesce Sakura to Tsubakino, and that’s his damn leader.
“He’s saying ‘don’t come over here, you’ll overwhelm him’,” Seiryu translates.
Tsubaki looks crushed.
Suou then offers, “and Sakura-kun is saying ‘you’re smothering me, let go of me!’ in case you’re wondering. But he likes it actually, so you can keep at it a little longer if you don’t mind the biting.”
Sakura wants to hit him. But now Uryu has his arms around Sakura in a nigh comfortable hold so he’ll delay Suou’s retribution for when he’s free.
When Uryu asks him through the notepad on his phone, [do you sign?] Sakura feels an odd jump in his stomach.
Sign language.
Sakura remembers a day, long ago, in the Inumaki house, when the concept was told to him. He was taught a few words when he was born. When he was a toddler, he was taught to communicate with sign language, as would a child born without the ability to speak or hear would.
Those were the few years when he was treated as a normal child. The years before he started questioning why he couldn’t just say things. Years before he became a problem child, before his cursed energy and danger levels grew uncontrollable for them.
Sign language was a privilege he lost a long time ago.
And when he remembered it again, when he was free again— he realized that no one wanted to communicate with him anyways, and sign language just wasn’t something commonfolk understood anyways. Grunts and punches got the message through clearer than any hand signals could, and thus, he forced himself to think of Sign language as just another thing he didn’t need in his pile of necessities to live.
(His hands, however, still vaguely remembered the movements.)
“[A little],” he signs. Clumsily. “[Slow.]”
When Uryu hugs him tighter, Sakura whines. He’s had enough already.
“Ah, now you’ve done it,” Seiryu sighs, fondly, “he’s not going to let you go now. Text Kusumi if you need out, he went through this last year too.”
Dammit!
“Sakura-san’s voice is really pretty too,” Nirei says.
Sakura had been listening to the cacophony, so suddenly hearing that ripped him out of his attention on the food and right into a world where everyone is staring at him in anticipation.
“Really?” Shizuka’s eyes are twinkling.
“Don’t pressure him,” Suou chuckles. And even without the glare from Uryu in the corner, Suou’s gaze is serious. “Sakura’s voice is really pretty and we all wish we could hear more of it, but he doesn’t have to say anything if he doesn’t want to.”
Sakura tries not to sulk at that.
It’s always you don’t have to speak when you want to , and Sakura likes that and all— but it’s not like he doesn’t want to speak. He wants to speak, he just can’t. The temptation is just mean. He wishes he could hum to the music like everyone, he wishes he could greet everyone every morning, he wishes he could call their names for attention. He wishes he could tell them how thankful he is to have them.
But he can’t.
It’s for their sake, not for his.
“A guy like you is better suited alone.”
When Endo says that, he’s dead on the money. He doesn’t know a single thing, but he’s right, and Sakura knows it.
An Inumaki works well in a team as a supporter, once others have cleared their path and he goes in for the kill. But in a team, an Inumaki risks friendly fire, and that’s why an untamed Inumaki is not allowed to live.
That’s why Inumaki works best alone.
He’s heard stories of how Inumaki used to be sent in alone to deal with Special Grades. They would kill the curse, all on their own without backup (without interference, without burdens, without deadweight, just them and their voice as they destroy everything around them without abandon) and succeed. Easily.
That’s why they have to all die. No one wants the Inumaki to grow stronger or larger— as much as they’re useful, just like Gojo Satoru, there will come a time when they can’t tame him, and from there, it’ll be problematic for the higher-ups. Unless you’re Gojo Satoru, how are you going to live in this shitty world with people who don’t want you here?
(But he’s not an Inumaki anymore.)
Even if he’s still bound by those chains, marked by their curse— he’s Sakura Haruka , and he’s going to keep it that way.
“[I belong here,]” he signs, and he doesn’t care if they understand it or not.
He’ll be understood by the people that want to, and that’s enough for him.
“You picking a fight on Bofurin turf? You looking for trouble?”
“This is a public damn street. Why the fuck do I have to tell you why I’m here?”
The ruckus in the morning on Tonpu Shopping street catches the attention of Sakura, Suou, and Nirei on patrol. There’s a pair of outsiders around, and they don’t really look like good news. One of them has the gait of a punk, and the other hides his face and acts all shady.
Furin’s not usually the kind that judges on appearance, but with KEEL not too long ago and Endo’s attack on the horizon, everyone’s on edge.
Ah, no, that’s not a member of Bofurin doing the questioning. He seems to be a middle-schooler.
And the guy being questioned is wearing a gakuran none of them recognize.
“What seems to be the problem here?” Suou and Nirei approach first.
“Ah— Bofurin!” the middle-schooler reacts, “it’s just— this guy!” he points, and the guy with the spiked hair seems fairly close to biting the offending appendage, “I just— he was a huge bully last year! He’s bad news! He stacked bodies and everything after decimating a whole school’s worth of people!”
“That’s because they came at me,” he’s unapologetic.
“There’s no doubt he came here to Furin to pick a fight! He always did that. He was like, a deadly storm that raided local schools, back when I lived in Tokyo. He's definitely aiming for Furin next.”
Now the punk seems sheepish at the accusation, because the shorter guy he’s with is staring judgmentally now. “I’m sorry for beating you up in middle school, but come on! I don’t do that anymore, that was so damn long ago!”
“That was last year!”
Suou chuckles, “now now, let’s all calm down a little,” as Nirei starts sifting through his notebook for any signs.
“Ohh. You’re Fushiguro Megumi-san,” Nirei says, and the guy perks up over. Nirei seems to want to start reading, but he pauses, and stops, and then, he closes his book in defeat. He then lifts his violently trembling hands up, “p- p- please. Tell us you come in peace. Please.”
“I said I don’t do that anymore!” the guy barks, frustrated.
Suou laughs, “to think you freaked out Nire-kun with just your description! Now I’m curious.”
“Please don’t! Suou-san! Let’s settle all this peacefully!”
It’s at this point that his companion, who’s been snickering to himself in amusement, finally has enough. Reaching up a hand, he pushes the guy’s head down, and says, “Sujiko.”
With a click of his tongue, Fushiguro Megumi bows to the middle-schooler and says, “I’m very sorry for what I did to you. But I really am not here for trouble today. We’ll finish our business here and leave, if you’ll allow it.”
“Salmon, Salmon,” the guy nods in approval.
While Nirei is stupefied, Suou regains his composure to turn to the middle schooler that’s ducked behind him.
“He apologized, so let’s let bygones be bygones, alright?” Suou prompts. “We’ll handle the rest. You should go.”
They do manage to send the kid off, but Sakura’s eyes are stuck on the shorter of the two outsiders. Specifically, when he pats the taller boy on the head and earns a whine, he smiles even without his mouth visible.
His gakuran has a high collar just for him to hide his mouth. That’s so convenient.
“So,” Suou prompts, “about your business here, if you do have anything you need help with, we of Bofurin are glad to offer our assistance.”
“Oh…” Fushiguro falters, “in that case… no, maybe it’s better we settle this on our own. We’re glad for the help, but—”
“Uhm. Did you— I’m sorry if this is rude, but did you just say ‘Salmon’?” Nirei begins, once the middle schooler is out of sight. He’s struggling to hide his excitement and failing.
The other points at himself, as if surprised to be addressed. “Takana?”
Fushiguro’s eyes narrow, “you got another problem?”
“No! No, not at all!’ Nirei’s arms wave about frantically in that way when he’s enthusiastic and fumbling yet so erratic, “it’s just— you remind me of—”
He doesn’t have to finish his sentence.
Sakura finally decides to stop hanging back to watch, the words escaping his throat before he thinks better of it.
“Tuna, tuna.”
The way Inumaki Toge’s head whips to him so abruptly makes him jump.
It’s just as jarring as when Suou, Nirei, and Fushiguro all spin to him at once, surprise so evident in their features as they register his initiative, and then carefully glance at each other, as if trying to figure out if this is a good or bad reaction from Sakura, and so they’re quickly observing each other in alarm.
Sakura reaches up and pulls his face mask down, a blush colouring his cheeks as he explains, hoping to ease his two friends, “nii-chan.”
There are seven steps between them. Inumaki Toge makes it three as he captures Sakura’s in his arms, enthusiasm blooming in his entire being, their heads knocking together in the momentum as they barely avoid getting bowled over.
And Sakura catches him, holding on tight, closer than they’ve ever been allowed. Because they’re allowed to, now.
And then, when they pull apart from their hug so they can actually see each other, Toge observes Sakura’s face carefully, reaching for it with gentle hands holding each side of his face. The warmth and tickle of his fingers remind him that there is no muzzle, and the gentle running of his hands through his hair reminds him that they are free.
They’re both taller now. Actually, Sakura’s much taller now, and it’s actually surprising how they stand so similarly tall when Sakura used to be so thin, so malnourished, so—
—Toge pulls down his collar, and their matching symbols suddenly don’t feel like a curse. They don’t feel like chains and muzzles. Suddenly, they look like family.
And then, Toge breathes, full of relief.
The words that mean their freedom, the words that have held Haruka together his entire life. The words that mean it’s fine, we’ll be fine to those whom these kind words have always been taboo. In their coded language that only they understand, this one simply means hope .
“Sakura.”
“We just came to see him in secret,” Fushiguro explains, once they’re in the quiet safety of Pothos. “He’s kind of excommunicated from his family.”
“Well, we can figure,” Suou says, not hiding the bite in his words.
Fushiguro doesn’t take offense, though. “It’s a good thing, shitty as it is. Technically I’m supposed to be out of that shithole too, but I came back in. But at least I managed to change my last name.”
Nirei writes this down, intrigued, so Fushiguro chooses his next words carefully.
“That family is a bit more annoying than mine, though. Mine’s too big for them to focus on me. Theirs is small, so,” Fushiguro hums, “well, he’ll be fine. Inumaki-senpai has it all handled on his end. I think he just regrets not being able to come see him sooner.”
Inumaki’s trying to get Sakura to hold his spoon right.
“Bonito Flakes.”
“Mentaiko!”
“Bonito Flakes,” firmer.
“Mentaikoooo!!” Sakura yells, when Inumaki disallows him from wolfing his food down, insisting he hold it right first. And then Inumaki takes the plate of omurice away. “Ikura!”
“It’s a whole conversation,” Suou observes, impressed. “We never thought it could be used to properly communicate like that…”
“Inumaki-senpai speaks exclusively in onigiri ingredients with us,” Fushiguro says, “is it not the same for you guys?”
Nirei shakes his head. “He doesn’t really talk much at all. This is the most we’ve heard him talk in a while… But he does sign a little with Sakaki-senpai.”
“Sign?” Fushiguro hums, interested. “Inumaki-senpai never uses sign language with us— oh.”
He pauses when Inumaki begins seemingly scolding Sakura in sign language at the table. They can’t tell what it means, but Inumaki’s stern expression and Sakura’s chastised look helps them gather the context.
Well, it seems they’re all learning a little about their friend today.
It’s fascinating, how Sakura soon figures out how to hold the spoon right, and when he eats, Inumaki teaches him to eat slowly. And he does. It’s like watching an older cat teach a younger cat how to behave now that they’ve both become domesticated animals, and as much as Sakura would hate that description, Suou is going to text it into the group chat. Along with a picture of course.
Which is a relief. Nirei had been worried about him upsetting his stomach the other day when he wolfed down all that food at once in an angry fit.
“Are you guys in a rush anywhere?” Fushiguro then asks.
Suou considers that. They have patrol to get to, and then, there’s a captain and vice meeting with the rest of Tamon, then they have to get back into the whole training session in preparation for the upcoming war.
Nirei seems to falter at that understanding too.
So Suou decides, “we can skip a day.”
Sakura’s been stressed out and pushing himself training to fight Endo. He can have a break, even if he’ll be angry about it later.
Fushiguro nods, sipping on his coffee. “Great.”
Somehow, they all understood. Maybe it was just the situation— the bizzarity of those two, to begin with. The clear signs of impending war in the distance. The strain of people who have trained and honed their bodies to protect, they just knew. Or maybe it was the obvious conclusion—
—this will definitely be the first, and likely the last for a long, long time, that these two can meet and interact so lovingly. Like brothers.
A chance like this won’t come again. It’ll take a miracle at least.
So at least for now— it should go on like this. Let Inumaki and Sakura eat their omurice and fried onigiri side by side on the table, slowly, communicating in a language only they know, for as long as they can make it last.
(Because it won’t last forever, even if they want it to.)
Let it last. Because if it was so easy for them to stay together as much as they wanted, they’d never have been separated to begin with. They deserve their happiness, and if it has to be fleeting, then so be it.
As long as they survive, the cherry blossoms will bloom again for them.