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Subaru often found himself tracing the phrase etched onto his arm with no real reason for doing so.
You like cherry blossoms, don’t you?
The words that had left an indent not only on his skin, but on his entire existence. Subaru Sumeragi would not be who he was today without those six horrible, terrible words.
And although he loathed them, although he loved them, he was starting to accept the fact that they would be with him forever.
He didn’t have a reason to hide them anymore, anyway: the one person still in his life that he really cared about had already read them.
“I’m sorry,” Kamui had said. “It must hurt to be reminded of him all the time.”
“It’s fine, really,” Subaru replied. “Usually I forget they’re even there.”
That was a lie.
There was not a single passing day that he failed to replay those memories.
Each time they resurfaced, the scenes would not end in their true conclusion, but instead with Subaru’s blood all over the hands of the man he’d held so dear all those years ago.
He wished he could forget everything. Seishiro; Hokuto. It didn’t matter. The letters on his forearm were a constant reminder of the demons he faced.
That was why he decided the only solution was to find acceptance in what he was given.
The soulmate conversation had come up in one of his study sessions with Kamui. The warmer months were approaching, and as such, CLAMP School had switched to its summer uniforms. These featured shorter sleeved shirts.
Kamui saw the words on Subaru’s arm and instantly knew who they belonged to. Of course, he felt pity. Who wouldn’t? It was a little while longer before Subaru thought to ask about Kamui’s.
The boy said nothing; he only had to show Subaru his arms.
They bore no words at all.
“I guess when you have to save the world, there’s no time for soulmates,” Kamui said sadly.
Subaru nodded.
They sat in silence for a few more moments. Subaru returned to his work to diffuse the tense atmosphere.
“What if,” continued Kamui, “your soulmate isn’t the person that’s best for you after all?”
Subaru looked up from the paper he was working on.
“What do you mean?”
Kamui twined his fingers together.
“It’s unfair that people like Sorata and Arashi get to be happy together and you get the short end of the stick! I know soulmates aren’t just for love, but. . .” He looked down at the table in front of him. “You should be able to. . . let them go. There’s no reason you should be stuck with this bad memory forever.”
Were those. . . tears in his eyes?
Kamui was trying to navigate the world without having a soulmate of his own.
The poor boy.
“Kamui,” Subaru said.
Kamui blinked in a fruitless attempt to get rid of the tears.
“What?”
“Your soulmate does not define you or your worth. I’ve been trying to learn that myself.”
As Subaru said that, he once again found himself tracing over the words on his arm. A fidget, perhaps.
Kamui seemed to accept this and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Though there was no spoken resolution, the soulmate conversation did not continue, and they returned to their normal schoolwork.
Somehow, Kamui’s soulmate issue gave Subaru comfort. The other Dragons of Heaven were all so content with their soulmate situations. He’d had no idea that Kamui was hiding the absence of one.
He wasn’t alone.
And if there’s anyone to be kin with, it’s the well-meaning teenager who’s supposedly going to save the world, not some deceiving serial killer.
The next day, Kamui and Subaru met again to study. As Kamui approached the table that they always sat at, he pulled something from his bag and offered it to Subaru.
After accepting it, Subaru could see that it was a crudely-sewn white half-sleeve. There was no design on it save for a small red embroidered heart, which was crafted with the same level of skill as the rest.
“It’s so you don’t have to think about him all the time,” Kamui said as he sat down opposite Subaru. “Sorry if it’s bad, I’ve never sewn before.”
Subaru slid the sleeve onto his arm. “No, it’s great, thank you.”
He’d never expected Kamui to give him anything, especially not a gift like this. Kamui had put work into this with the explicit goal of giving it to Subaru.
Subaru only wished he could do the same for Kamui.
“Did you know,” Kamui began, “Sorata is just as bad at sewing as he is at everything else? He’s even worse than me. Arashi’s mastery was no match for his failure. . .”
He continued into a rant about Sorata’s extreme talent (or lack thereof).
Subaru smiled.
As he listened to Kamui’s ramblings, he subconsciously began tracing on his arm, though this time it was not the words that pained him so; it was the heart that concealed them.