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Sanzu is not really the best person, as said by others and himself. He isn’t afraid to admit that, why be scared of the truth. He’s the vice captain of Toman’s 5th division, the division that serves punishments to traitors. You can’t claim to be a good person in the same breath as interrogating a sobbing douche.
But anyone would stop and stare as a group of kids get pummeled by one boy. One boy who is crying, and bruised, and bleeding. It’s an obvious act of self defense, you’d have to be stupid to not see that. But Sanzu sees the cleanliness of the boys, though now turned disheveled, the expensive brand of clothing, and how they demanded everything they wanted. It’s pretty obvious what would happen to this kid once the prissy brats decide to snitch to their mommies and daddies.
A surge of worry and dread goes through his whole being once realizing how much trouble the kid would be in. Sanzu doesn’t understand why, not really. Faint memories of being scolded constantly by his elder brother resurface but he quickly shakes his head, as if it would remove the metaphorical dark cloud forming over his head.
Only one look back at the sound of screams tells him the kid is going overboard, too far. While Sanzu can’t see much, it’s obvious the kid isn’t all there. The harder he goes, the more trouble he’d get into.
Sanzu bites his lip at the plan that starts to form in his head. Sighing, he resigns himself to the fact he’s gone soft for a nobody snot nosed kid. A kid he doesn’t even know.
And with that, he races forward and swoops the kid up and off of the unconscious form under him and into his arms. The boy fights, obviously, he was just taken into a stranger's arms, but with one shushed verbal warning, he goes limp and silent as Sanzu runs off in the opposite direction.
—
Sanzu doesn’t know what the fuck to do with this child. He ran to his own home, with the damn kid in his arms, and once he got there he didn’t know what to do with him. The little man was looking up at him with a very confused, and very scared expression. And he doesn't blame him. A random tall teenager with platinum blond hair and a mask covering half his damn face comes barging into your fight and whisking you away.
“Ahm,,” Sanzu trailed off, holding the kid up so they could both be face to face. Black hair, bright blue eyes, and tan-ish skin. He looked a little too skinny, like he didn’t eat enough. Why did he do this? He just kind of stole a random kid.
“Could you let me down?” The kid spoke, voice raspy. His red-rimmed eyes drooped and he kicked his legs out in an attempt to drop down.
“Sure, but I’m cleaning you up.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“Of course not.”
—
A few hours later, he had a kid wrapped in a blanket sleeping on his couch. His name was Takemichi, Hanagaki Takemichi. And it was quite obvious his parents didn’t give a shit about him. They were neglectful and rarely ever checked in to see if he was still alive, just simply sending money. Like a 10-year old would know how to spend money usefully.
Sanzu sighs, watching the kid from across the room. The bandages across his face and arms, bruised knuckles and wrists, the scratch marks on his neck. He feels a certain kind of grief for the kid. It probably comes from sympathizing with him. He grew up similarly, and couldn’t find the heart to shrug him off.
So, he offered Takemichi a place to stay. A place to feel safe and get his wounds tended to. The kid looked grateful, but also wary. And that’s alright.
—
And it started off small.
Sanzu would be cooking, and he’d hear the door open and peek out of the doorway to see a little raggedy boy, hugging his arm to his chest and looking pitiful.
He’d sigh, as if he was annoyed, and direct the kid to sit on the couch and ask how big he wanted his portion to be. And he’d serve him the food before going to get the supplies needed to fix him up, and rub his leg when he whimpered or cried out due to Sanzu touching an area that hurt too much.
After that, he’d either leave or sleep the night and be gone before Sanzu would wake up.
But then he’d start opening up when coming over. Takemichi would speak of his day at school, or complain about teachers or kids. Speak about his friend Takuya, or his other friend Kakucho.
He’d tell Sanzu when the check his parents gave him came, and they’d go out on the town on a little spending spree. They give him much more than what is needed, to make sure he’s at least comfortable. Don’t get Sanzu wrong, he loathes the thought of Takemichi’s asshole parents, but he does like how they make sure he’d be fine.
Takemichi would start giving Sanzu his homework for assistance, and Sanzu would shrug and just look up the answer on the internet.
Sanzu learned that Takemichi is good at cooking, and they started cooking food together.
Takemichi saw the scars on his mouth and smiled at him brightly, claiming Sanzu was the coolest ever.
—
Eventually, Takemichi rarely ever went to his own house, spending most days at Sanzu’s house. Only going in the afternoons to collect mail and to clean up the place.
And everything was going great. The two boys found solace in one another, a certain kind of peace and quiet and happiness they could only find within each other.
And it was a quiet day at the house when a knock sounded at the door. Sanzu was upstairs looking for a copy of a book he wanted to give Takemichi, as he thought the younger boy might really like it.
Takemichi assumed it might’ve been a salesman or something, and knowing how much Sanzu hates getting interrupted by them, he opened the door to shoo them away himself. He also did it so he can get a headpat from the older boy for scaring away evil.
But when he opened the door, a few unfamiliar faces met him. That’s not to say salesmen aren’t also unfamiliar but these people are special. Why? They’re wearing the same gang uniform Sanzu does.
The guy who knocked has a cool dragon tattoo on the side of his head and right next to him is a shorter boy, about Takemichi’s height, who has a long coat on. Commander, maybe? And right next to him is a guy with long blonde hair and sharp brown eyes.
Takemichi raises an eyebrow at the last guy, who does the same.
“Who’re you, pipsqueek?” Wow, great introduction.
Takemichi glares, “Who’re you ?”
The black haired guy glares right back, “First division captain of Toman, little shit. Now where’s Sanzu? He missed the meeting tonight.”
Takemichi really wants to bite back with a mouthful of teeth and spit, but unfortunately if these guys are the people who Sanzu is around a lot, he’d rather not. So instead he leans back and yells, “SANZU! THERE’S PEOPLE FOR YOU DOWN HERE!”
A second passes, and, “I DON’T WANNA TALK TO SALESFUCKERS TELL THEM TO FUCK OFF!”
“THEY AREN’T SALESMAN, ZU, IT’S THE TOMAN HIGHER-UPS AND THEIR PET PANTHER!” Did he sprinkle in that jab at the first division captain? Yes. Does he regret it? Not with the way the black haired guy is seething.
“OH FUCK!” Sanzu seems to understand right as the guy in front of Takemichi gets ready to start an argument.
-
Sanzu gets downstairs and is immediately met with three very familiar faces and feels very proud of Takemichi at the way Baji is pretty much foaming at the mouth at his little comment.
Mikey perks up at his appearance, “Sanzu you missed the meeting, you bitch.”
Did he? Sanzu pauses and looks at Takemichi who throws his arms up as if to say ‘why the hell are you looking at me?’
A quick glance at the calendar tells him, yes, he did.
“I guess I did, I’m very sorry, I’ll be sure to make it next week.”
“Who’s the little shit?” Baji asks, glaring at Takemichi as Draken was holding him back by the scruff of his neck.
Takemichi glares at Baji, and Sanzu softly shakes his head and goes to wrap an arm around Takemichi’s shoulders.
“This is Takemichi, my little brother.”
Four faces light up in confusion as exclamations ring out.
Takemichi is pleasantly surprised as he hides his face in Sanzu’s chest as Mikey and Baji fire off questions.
This is quite funny, Sanzu thinks, as he tightens an arm around Takemichi.