Chapter Text
Only a scant nine days after they officially become a couple (the word “boyfriends” still feels too hot, too sticky on their lips and tongues), their relationship just hatched, still warm and tottering around on shaky legs, Sakura is invited to the Sugishita household for dinner.
“You don’t have to go,” Sugishita tells him.
“OK, then I’m not going,” replies Sakura.
“You are going,” says Kotoha with her hands on her hips.
And so Sakura goes.
It’s a little funny how much more embarrassed — dare Sakura say (and oh does he dare), shy — Sugishita obviously is about the whole thing. In the days leading up to the fateful dinner, he insists a few more times (always out of earshot of Kotoha, of course) that it’s fine, it’s not a big deal, Sakura really doesn’t have to come, really, his grandparents aren’t serious about it at all, they’re just being polite.
It’s tempting to take all the outs Sakura’s being offered; as if he’d want to hang out with two random old people on a Friday night when he already has to deal with a bunch of old people every day as part of his Bofurin duties. And it’s not like he’s nervous about meeting Sugishita… his boyfriend’s family or anything, no no, nothing like that, not at all; whether they like him, or at the very least approve of him, doesn’t matter to him at all — is what he tells himself, over and over again while he lies on his futon, staring wide-awake at the ceiling. It’s just that he could be… looking at his phone during that time instead, or… taking a walk. Or — or sleeping. Sleeping, snoring away, blissfully unconcerned about how he may be perceived by two of the most important people in the life of one of the most important people in Sakura’s own life.
(The thought makes him blush. It’s so sappy. So true. And the thought of that makes the inside of his belly flip and fly and flutter and float.)
Because it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care; he’s taught himself a long time ago how not to.
It doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter. He repeats this to himself, a silent, almost desperate mantra, as he rings the bell underneath the wooden nameplate with Sugishita written in an elegant brush script. Almost immediately, as if his arrival were being so eagerly anticipated, the entire front entrance is lit up, and Sakura hurries to pull at the front of his shirt, hands shaking a little, and check to make sure his fly isn’t down.
When the door slides open, he’s not so much greeted as he is bombarded.
“Oh Haruka-kun, welcome, welcome! It’s so wonderful to finally meet you in person!”
“There you are, Haruka! Finally decided to show up, eh my boy?
“Oh my, look at you, you’re even more handsome than how Kyo-chan described you!”
“Well come on in, why’re you just standin’ there lookin’ so scared!”
Sugishita’s grandparents are both standing in the entranceway waiting for him, both placing a hand on each of his shoulders and flanking him on both sides to usher him into the embodiment of what Sakura always imagined a “home” to look and feel like. There are smiles and bright noises and closeness, warm voices saying many words very loudly; weathered but pristine shoji doors and tatami mats; and floating underneath it all, the aroma of what Sakura knows is unmistakably omurice. A whirlwind of things that still feel oversized and a little itchy, that most people would probably never imagine could be related to Sugishita Kyoutarou, he of so few words, brooding, aloof and detached from most things around him unless it involved Umemiya (and recently, Sakura); but to Sakura, it makes sense. Still waters run deep — so goes an expression Kotoha taught him a while ago. He didn’t really understand what it meant at the time despite Kotoha’s patient explanation; how was it any different from the coffee bean story she told him the first day he came to Makochi? Couldn’t he just look through the surface of the water to see what’s underneath? It wasn’t until he started spending time with Sugishita, actually talking to him, getting to truly know the person behind that signature sullen scowl, that it made sense.
On his left side, Sugishita’s grandmother — “Please, call me Kumiko, dear,” she tells Sakura, who becomes so flustered that he vows to not address her directly for the rest of the evening, possibly for the rest of his life — fusses over him while she leads him through another set of sliding doors and into a modest but cozy room; the low, lacquered table is almost completely covered with what seems to Sakura like a banquet one would prepare for an emperor, an array of pickled vegetables and stewed meats displayed in ceramic dishes, most of which he’s never seen before, but all looking equally mouth-watering, clearly prepared with great care and an abundance of love.
And on the other side, also talking non-stop (albeit much more loudly and animatedly) is Sugishita’s grandfather, his hand still gripping Sakura’s shoulder with a surprising (and familiar) strength. He doesn’t tell Sakura to call him Shintaro, his first name, but insists instead on being addressed by “Grandad,” which just might be even more embarrassing. Shuffling along closely behind the three of them, not saying a word but clearly expressing his embarrassment on his face, is Sugishita — Sugishita Kyoutarou, that is, or rather — Sakura doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the shock of hearing him called this — Kyo-chan.
"Sit, dear, sit! Make yourself comfortable; our home is your home," Kumiko urges him; the words taste like a strange, foreign food and sit heavy in his chest. “Would you like green tea or black tea, Haruka-kun? We also have barley tea if that’s what you prefer?”
"Uh," Sakura replies as he takes a seat, plopping onto a floor pillow with all the grace of newborn giraffe.
“Aw, come on now Kumiko, ya don’t gotta be so formal with the kid!” Shintaro barks out a laugh, making Sugishita wince. Both grandfather and grandson sit down on either side of Sakura — he won't be able to avoid being boxed in by Sugishitas this evening, it seems. It’s strange to see Sugishita — or rather, Kyo-chan — so proper in the seiza position, his long legs folded under him and the tops of his thighs just barely fitting into the narrow space beneath the bottom of the table. “Why don’t you get the kid a beer! Ya know, t’ give him a proper welcome, he is family now after all!, ain’t you, kid!”
Sakura never thought he’d ever hear the words “kid” and “beer” uttered in the same sentence with such enthusiasm — and more than once at that. Kumiko smiles and disappears through a nearby doorway — the kitchen, presumably; he half expects Kumiko to actually come back with a beer for him, as it seems nothing that’s happened so far this evening is what he expected or could call “normal,” but when she returns, it’s with a teapot and four cups balanced on a wooden tray. No drinking for Shintaro either, it looks like, for which Sakura is a bit relieved, considering how rambunctious the old man is already while completely sober.
It's the noisiest, liveliest dinner Sakura's ever had, and this is including all the times he's eaten at Cafe Pothos with his classmates. Shintaro is like five people in one, never seeming to need to breathe as he eats and talks and laugh with more vigor than Sakura thought could be physically possible in a single person. Kumiko interjects here and there, mostly to gently scold her husband or ask Sakura if he wants more rice, or more tea, or if the food is to his liking, and would he like a cup of coffee, and which flavor of cake would he like, strawberry or chocolate, or both.
As for Sugishita, he sits and eats in utter silence, laser focused on his food and barely looking up from his bowl. Not that Sakura minds — not too much, anyways. It's already all he can do just to keep up with Kumiko and Shintaro, not to mention Shintaro's barrage of truly blush-inducing questions: Is Shintaro's grandon taking Sakura on nice dates? What's Sakura's favorite thing about him? Isn't he so handsome? But doesn't Sakura think he would be even more handsome with his hair pulled back? Is Kyo-chan a good kisser? It would be pretty nice to get a little emotional support during this verbal and emotional onslaught; but Sakura is also sure that if he were to meet Sugishita's eyes, he would surely combust into white hot flames right then and there.
Eventually, even Shintaro's energy starts to flag, and the four of them are all stifling yawns as they poke at the remaining bits and pieces of the best meal Sakura has ever been lucky enough to experience. The day's birdsong has been replaced by the nighttime melodies of crickets — the loveliest of background music for the moon and stars to shine through the windows in all their silver glory.
With a glance at the clock hanging above the doorway, Kumiko suddenly gasps with a hand over her mouth. “Oh my. Is it that late already?” she says. “Haruka-kun, you’re welcome to stay the night. Our neighborhood is safe, of course, but I can’t have you walking the streets at this hour.”
“It’s fine," Sakura replies. "I walk around at night all the time, I can handle myself."
“I’m sure you can, dear, but I must insist. You never know what might be out there, and when it’s so dark too! And on a Friday night! What if you get lost!”
“It's seriously not a problem, I’ll be fine —”
“No need to be shy now, Haruka m'boy!” Shintaro slaps him on the back a few times, making him jump and splutter. “We ain’t the stuffy sort who’ll make you stay in the guest room, ya know; you go ahead and sleep in Kyotaro’s room! In fact, you can share his bed, we don’t mind at all!”
“Yes, Kyo-chan does already have that extra pillow,” says Kumiko, nodding. “And extra toothbrushes and clean towel, I remember, I put them in there for him just a few days ago. What else, what else…" She taps her chin in thought. "Kyo-chan, you can give Haruka-kun one of your old T-shirts and pajama pants to sleep in. I remember seeing them when I did the laundry the other day, so they’ll be clean and fresh for you, Haruka-kun!”
Oh goody. How lucky. How so very absolutely mortifying. There’s no way Sakura can’t not go home now. He opens his mouth to protest more, and strongly, manners be damned, but he’s rendered speechless — and quite literally breathless — by another thunderous clap to the back that sends him flying forward, his face inches from being smashed into the table.
“Just make sure you two keep it down, got it?" Shintaro chuckles. "Kumiko and I may be old geezers now, but we ain't totally deaf yet! I still remember what it was like to be a healthy young teenage boy, y'know!”
Shintaro then winks at him, as if Sakura is in on this knee-slapper of a half-joke. He can’t imagine what expression Sugishita must have on his face right now, nor does he have the will, desire, or strength to look over and find out.
“G’night,” he hears Sugishita mumble from beside him as he stands up, hurriedly bobbing his head twice in the general direction of his grandparents — ever respectful, or to some people at least. And then seconds later, the world drops, and Sakura is flying; he feels himself being hauled to his feet and shoved up the stairs before crash landing in what he can only assume is Sugishita's bedroom.
It's both not what Sakura would expect while also being exactly what he expected: Not exactly spartan, but… efficient, with a few surprises. There's a low table in the middle of the modestly-sized room; Sugishita must study here, which makes sense, considering that sitting in the vast majority of chairs must be terribly uncomfortable. A closet, Sugishita's comically large school uniform hanging from the front, the pants being so long that they very nearly brush the floor. A bed — specially made for Sugishita, it seems, with what looks to be a homemade extension at the foot — with plain blue bedcovers. And next to it a nightstand, simple, utilitarian, and bare, except for an outdated-looking electric alarm clock that fits well with the old-fashioned style of the home, one that makes Sakura feel like he's stepped back in time.
And underneath the nightstand, Sakura sees a crate filled with — he takes a step closer because he can't believe what he thinks he's seeing — yes, those are definitely plushies stuffed inside. Plushies? Kitties and vegetables and goofy-looking cartoon hamsters? Sugishita?
Ten days ago, Sakura would have laughed, probably loud enough for Sugishita to hear, and also probably on purpose, thus sparking yet another one of their signature spats. But instead of laughter, there's something else bubbling up from Sakura's throat, his entire chest warm and full as if soaking in a hot spring.
"Here." Sakura's chest is suddenly full of clothing: Sugishita has shoved a T-shirt and shorts not so much at him than into him, with a wash towel and toothbrush following soon after. "The bathroom is down the hall on the left. You can use whatever you want in there."
"Uh, sure. Thanks," mumbles Sakura, he whose own bathroom has nothing but a manky bar of soap and a bottle of the cheapest shampoo from the conbini around the corner.
Entering the Sugishita family's bathroom — the thing has its very own entryway — is like entering another world. It's a world that Sakura has seen from far away but was never allowed in; what it's like, he could only imagine based on the vague scenes of happy families going about their happy family lives that he would gaze at, face pressed against a tiny rectangular window.
He eyes the array of toiletries spread out on the shelves, utterly fascinated and also bewildered. Bottles and jars and sprays and almost nauseatingly floral tubes of creams, like an entire drugstore in a single bathroom. Leaning over, he takes an experimental sniff at something labeled as "toner," whatever the hell that is; a faint floral scent — roses, maybe — hits his nose, and he sniffs at it a few more times with great curiosity, finding that the smell is actually quite pleasant. Is this the secret to Sugishita's flawless moonlight skin? His silky twilight hair? And it's no wonder he always smells so nice, tantalizingly so, just daring Sakura to reach out and touch him, feel him, to see he feels as beautiful as he looks.
Shit.
With a full-body chill of absolute mortification, Sakura is suddenly aware of the ache that's bloomed between his legs. How pathetic is he, getting hard at just the thought of his — of Sugishita? Not even the thought of him, but the thought of how he smells? He considers taking a cold shower, but a bath towel wasn't one of the things that Sugishita had given him. And taking care of it with his right hand is absolutely out of the question.
Mind over matter. Mind over matter. He's in control of his body, not his hormones, or his libido. Gazing once again at the toiletries around him, Sakura tries to conjure in his mind images of Shintaro, not Sugishita, using them instead: Splashing rose-scented toner onto his leathery, wrinkly body, rubbing oil into the wisps of white hair that remain on his head, slathering lotion on the withered twigs that are his old, old arms and legs…
Well. That does the trick.
He changes quickly, aware that he's already taken an inordinate amount of time in here and has yet to do what he was supposed to come to the bathroom to do. Teeth are brushed and face is washed in record speed; he considers trying some of the toiletries — Sugishita did give him permission to use whatever he wanted, didn't he? — but Sakura ends up deciding against it, using just the (very nice) soap on his face instead.
Now freshly cleaned, ready to face what can't be anything but an awkward, sleepless night, he flushes the toilet for good measure, in case Sugishita asks why he was in the bathroom for so long. Stomach issues, he'll say, but he's fine now, which wouldn't be a complete lie; his stomach is still twisting itself into sailor knots of terror, as if everyone in the Sugishita family could not only see through walls but also read minds, and they'd know all the indecent things that Sakura was imagining. In fact, they were probably coming to kick him out right now, with Sugishita waiting right outside the bathroom door to break up with him.
But either Sugishita didn't notice Sakura's prolonged absence, or he didn't find anything odd about it. He's not there waiting for him as Sakura imagined when he finally exits the bathroom; and he returns to the bedroom to see Sugishita dressed in his own sleep clothes, crawling under the covers of a futon already spread out on the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?" Sakura asks. His stomach performs a triple backflip of guilt worthy of the Olympics — that question is exactly what Sugishita could have asked of him.
Sugishita looks up at him, his face slowly turning into something that disappears just as Sakura was trying to read it, closing in on itself and slamming the door shut. "Going to sleep," Sugishita replies bluntly, emphasizing the words by burrowing his way completely under the blanket and pulling them over his shoulders.
"I thought I was sleeping on the floor," Sakura says, glancing over at the unused bed.
Sugishita simply closes his eyes. "Well, you're not. I am."
"But —! " Sakura manages to catch himself in time, lowering his voice from the almost shriek he was about to hit Sugishita back with. Having Shintaro and Kumiko barging in to see what all the commotion is about is one of the last things on Earth that Sakura wants to happen, second only to sleeping in Sugishita's bed while the actual owner of the bed is banished to the floor. "But this is your room, and we're in your house! Go sleep in your own bed!"
"Nope. You're a guest."
"Yeah? And?"
"And guests don't sleep on the floor or tell the host what to do. So you get the bed. Now get in it and go to sleep, I'm tired."
"No way in hell, you jerk. If I'm the guest, then you have to respect what I want; and what I want is for you to sleep in the bed."
"I already said you're sleeping in the bed."
"Nuh-uh! You are!"
"No."
"Yes!"
"You."
"You!"
Throwing off the blanket and pushing himself into a sitting position, Sugishita stares at him for a beat before saying in something in between a sigh and a growl, "Fine. Then neither of us will sleep in it; we'll both be on the floor. Happy?"
"Yup!" Sakura all but yells.
"There's only one futon," Sugishita says slowly, almost as a challenge, his eyes narrowing.
"Great! What, you think I'm scared to share a futon with you?"
Sakura pratically throws himself onto the ground, as if to prove just how not scared he is, but rather how happy he is and how great he thinks this is; that it's all just so, so great that he's gone from sleeping in a bed for the first time in his life to sharing a futon for the first time in his life with the first boyfriend he's ever had in his entire life.
There's a first time for everything, so people say. (Who these people are, Sakura does not know.) Sakura just thinks it would be nice if all of these firsts could be a little more courteous and refrain from happening all at the same time.
Sugishita rolls his eyes but doesn't argue back, wordlessly shifting himself backwards to make room for this sudden extra body; either he's as tired as he said he is, or he doesn't mind having to share a sleeping space with Sakura as much as Sakura thinks he does. He doesn't give Sakura a chance to weigh the possibilities any further, though; not even waiting for Sakura to crawl underneath the blanket, Sugishita's already rolled over onto his side, his back facing Sakura.
"Good night," he growls, and closes his eyes so hard Sakura can hear it.
"…'Night," Sakura mumbles back, mirroring his boyfriend and rolling over onto his side.