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Summer rolls around with its blazing sun and its festivals, its cloudless sky filled with twinkling stars at night and its ice creams bought at the kombini at dusk, and Sakura blinks when he pushes the door of the rooftop open, his eyes blinded by the not-affable luminosity.
Umemiya wants to see you, said Hiragi, barging in their classroom as soon as homeroom began—summoning Sakura to the top of the world, the place closest to the suns (the one that shines in the sky, and the one that kneels in front of his garden, caring for his vegetables like a father would). Umemiya’s words are law in this school, but even if they weren’t, Sakura knows he would’ve gotten up from his seat, apologising to Kiryu who was explaining how to use a new app Sakura just installed, and would’ve walked out, his heart racing.
There’s no one else on the rooftop. Sakura looks around. Hiragi didn’t tell him it was a gathering of captains, after all. He said nothing, so Sakura walks to the gardens, where he knows he’ll find the older boy.
There he is, squatting in front of a row of what Sakura recognizes as tomatoes. His white shirt is almost too bright under the sun, or perhaps it’s just him, it’s just his presence that takes his breath away, mesmerising. The first time Sakura met Umemiya, he didn’t find him impressive, at least not until Tomiyama broke the peace; then he discovered what Umemiya hides behind his lenient smile.
But, perhaps because they’re alone on the rooftop, with no witness but the plants of the garden, Umemiya’s turned back feels like a wall, an obstacle not impossible to overcome, and yet Sakura has no clue how to.
“Oh, Sakura, you’re here,” Umemiya says, not moving. “Remember what grows on this plant?”
Sakura is caught off guard.
“Tomato.”
“Good. And this one?” Umemiya points to another plant. If not for the flower, with long yellow petals, Sakura wouldn’t have a single idea what it is.
“Zucchini.”
Umemiya raises his head, his eyes glowing. “Tell me about this one, then.”
This time, Sakura has no idea what the plant is. It’s green, it has long stems with a multitude of small flowers, and it’s probably the first time Sakura ever saw it. So he keeps quiet, watching Umemiya who smiles at him, malicious.
“You give in? It’s fennel.”
The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Is that so,”
The gaze Umemiya casts on him is gentle and non-judgmental. “It tastes like anise. Can’t really blame you if you don’t know it, though. Pretty much all the students get it wrong.”
What is it? A test, out of the blue? Sakura stares at Umemiya, trying to decipher its true intentions. But he’s not very good at it, and Umemiya hides his feelings all too well. Sakura knows that he won’t get Umemiya to fight him until the very end—and he doesn’t mind. Umemiya’s strong, and Sakura can’t wait to reach him, to be worthy enough to dethrone him—but there’s now a part of his heart that believes that, maybe, it’s fine if it doesn’t happen, or only in a distant future, because what he has now suits him.
And it’s a disturbing thought, so Sakura barks: “Why did you call me here?”
Umemiya’s smile widens. “I want to teach you how to care for the plants.”
“... Huh?”
“It’d do you good to learn a little about gardening. Of course, I don’t expect you to pick it up as a hobby, but…” And Sakura, incredulous, watches him get up and hands him a pair of gloves. “Here. Let me show you a few things.”
Sakura stays frozen for a couple of seconds, an unmoving block of ice under the summer sun. He ends up complying, though, and puts on the gloves. They feel rough against his skin, and a bit ridiculous too, and he considers walking away, because why is he indulging Umemiya again?
Umemiya’s gaze betrays his happiness, though, so Sakura has no choice but to stay.
He kneels next to him, his shoulder brushing against Umemiya’s. And he feels his face warming up when Umemiya’s eyes follow him like a magnet—the weight on his face is a little too heavy for Sakura to breathe comfortably. “So. What are we doing?”
“Can you guess?”
Another question, again.
But it’s way too hot on this rooftop, and Sakura finds it hard to think about it.
So he stares, deadpan; replies the first that crosses his mind: “I don’t know… we water them?”
“We do, especially when it’s not raining,” confirms Umemiya, “but not right now. The sun is too high in the sky. There are a lot of things you can do to help your vegetables grow. Today, we’re going to weed the garden.”
Without waiting for Sakura’s agreement, Umemiya starts showing him what is a plant and what is a weed. You need to pull out this one, you need to keep this one. And Sakura follows his orders because Umemiya’s words are law in this school—and even if they weren’t, what else is he supposed to do?
He wouldn’t say that weeding a garden is fun. The two of them work in silence, and after a while Sakura’s back starts to hurt. His gloves and knees are full of soil; he doesn’t mind, though, soil is no different from blood. It’s not fun, but it’s not unpleasant either.
He soon loses track of the time, and it’s only when he hears Umemiya’s footsteps behind his back that Sakura looks up from the containers. There’s a relaxed expression on his face now, and Sakura wonders how his own face looks, right now. Has his usual frown disappeared, leaving way to something more laidback?
“Oh, you’re almost done. Good job, Sakura!”
Umemiya’s sincere compliment makes something twist in Sakura’s stomach. He chooses to ignore the feeling, focuses on the few remaining weeds he has to pluck out—trying to ignore Umemiya’s gaze all this time.
When he’s done, he gets up. The sun is a little lower now; a few clouds are now dyeing the sky with white spots. And Umemiya is right beside him, still too close, to the point that Sakura can tell which heat comes from him and which heat comes from the afternoon sun.
“You’ve got dirt on your cheek,” Umemiya points out, and he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe Sakura’s face.
Sakura freezes, flushing. He’s unable to move until Umemiya steps back, unaware of his turmoil.
It’s not the first time Sakura feels small, but it’s the first time he doesn’t feel belittled. Because Umemiya’s back is wider than the horizon line, and his smile warmer than a thousand suns—so it’s easy to fall in orbit around him, to let him wrap you around his finger and follow him to the end of the world. And it’s so hard to resist the pull.
This is a fight, too, but one Sakura is losing.
✿
The next day, Umemiya calls Sakura to the roof of the school. And he does it the day after, too, and the day after this one. It gets a little easier for Sakura to drag himself to the gardens, to put on the gloves without being asked to, and to follow Umemiya’s orders like a good underling.
Sometimes, these moments don’t even last long. Umemiya only teaches him about the vegetables Sakura doesn’t know, and Sakura listens, more invested than he thought possible. He is, perhaps, seeing Umemiya for who he is, and accepting that this lopsided way of asking to spend time together is his way of showing affection. Other times, they spend a couple of hours taking care of the vegetable garden—although they don’t spend hours working on it, but rather they take as many breaks as they can, and Umemiya tells him about his garden plan, about the lines of basil separating the tomatoes and the peppers, and how most of these vegetables can be harvested in July. Sakura learns. He tries to remember as best as he can.
Sakura still doesn’t know the difference between mulch and compost, even though Umemiya did explain them to him. He knows they’re nutrients, because plants, just like humans, need them to grow. They need a lot of things: food, water, sun—and, of course, as Umemiya tells him, love.
The word crawls under Sakura’s skin, takes root in his flesh. Love—that is, the one thing he’s always lacked. And he wonders if he was able to grow properly if he didn’t get it; isn’t he like one of the weeds they’re fighting against together, an unwanted existence causing the other plants to wither?
He is, perhaps, one of the plants forgotten in a corner of an uncared garden, trying its best to grow in spite of everything.
“Today, we’re going to sow new beetroots,” Umemiya announces. He’s standing in front of rows of beetroot plants of various degrees of growing; some are ready to be harvested while others barely got out of the ground. They’re all planted into small boxes whose name Sakura doesn’t remember. “I usually start to sow them in April, all the way to July. That way, we can eat beetroots for months! How about it? Doesn’t it sound exciting?”
Sakura nods, more out of habit than actual agreement. The air feels all too warm today, even though the sun is still low on the horizon.
Umemiya smiles. “Then I’ll let you do it alone, Sakura!”
Following Umemiya’s instructions, he adds compost to the modular trays—these are the names of the nutrients and boxes they’re using and Sakura promises himself he’ll remember them this time—and wet the soil. He sows four seeds per tray, then covers them with soil and waters the trays.
All this time, Umemiya is crouching close to Sakura, watching over his progress but not helping him. Sakura is way too aware of this proximity—yet he does nothing to move away, even though he feels the blood freeze in his veins when Umemiya’s arm accidentally brushes against it.
And then, he’s done. Umemiya gets up first; Sakura stays down, unable to look away from the trays. It’s his first time sowing seeds, and he doesn’t know if any of them will grow; maybe his hands are poisonous and the plants will wither before they can fully bloom.
“Man, I can’t wait to see them grow!” Umemiya breaks the silence, and Sakura nods again, absent-mindedly, once again out of habit.
✿
Sakura and the other first-year students don’t see Umemiya every day, but their leader is everywhere in the school. His name is on every lips, his voice resonates through the loudspeakers at least once a day, his kings and captains carry his will with each step they take. And it’s not just them: each smile is imbued with his existence, as though Umemiya has crawled his way into everyone’s heart, reshaped them from the inside, dragged the most beautiful parts of their soul out of the mud. No one can stay the same in Umemiya’s presence; even Tomiyama Choji changed, the fight between the two leaders uncovering the small bits of happiness Tomiyama had buried away.
It’s happening to him, too, Sakura can tell. Not directly, of course, but all these hearts that were altered by Umemiya are starting to alter his too. And it’s not like there’s anything to unveil in him: Sakura doesn’t remember the last time he smiled before he became a member of Bofurin. He doesn’t remember a kind hand stroking his hair, doesn’t remember a hug offered out of volition and not because someone wanted to pretend they cared about him.
But he does remember Umemiya’s affection, how big his hand felt on his head, how warm his body was against his.
Like a ball in Newton’s cradle, Sakura falls into step.
“Rumour has it that Umemiya took a liking to you and is giving you private gardening lessons,” Suou says at lunch, during a lull in the conversation that didn’t need to be filled, in Sakura’s opinion.
Now, all eyes are on him. Sugishita stares at him with his usual mix of envy and hatred, Nirei’s eyes are sparkling with excitement, Kiryuu looks sincerely impressed and Tsugeura is smiling widely.
Suou’s expression is unreadable, and Sakura averts his eyes. “Not private gardening lessons. He just gives me tips from time to time.”
That’s how he sees it, anyway—the way Umemiya sometimes calls him to weed the garden, or when he plans to plant new seeds and wants Sakura to come and see, to learn more about all the plants and vegetables they’re going to eat together later in the year. And, of course, he makes Sakura take care of the beetroot plants all on his own, providing advice but not giving him a hand otherwise. They’re his, Umemiya says, and Sakura anxiously watches them grow.
“Well, Sakura-chan, you’re the only one he gives tips to,” Kiryuu remarks, and Sakura feels his face redden at the thought—he doesn’t want to be the only one, fears what it could mean. “Of course, people are going to talk.”
Sakura groans. Umemiya’s name is on every lips, but it seems that now, his is, too.
And it’d be a lot easier if Sakura could just say no. He doesn’t know why this word refuses to leave his mouth, now. Ever since he came to Makochi, he’s lost the ability to refuse to do what he doesn’t want to. And it’s even worse with Umemiya who, just like the tide, comes and goes in his life as he pleases, threatening to drown Sakura under his attention, then withdrawing, giving Sakura just enough time to catch his breath.
“So, what are you doing together?” Nirei asks, pulling his notebook from his pocket.
“Ask Umemiya.”
“No, no, no, I can’t.” Nirei doesn’t fear Umemiya, but Sakura can’t determine what he’s feeling towards the top of their school. Admiration, perhaps—but the kind that glues your feet to the ground, makes you watch from afar instead of trying to get closer.
“I want to know, too,” Suou adds, and Sakura sees Tsugeura nod out of the corner of his eye.
“... We’re just gardening. Dunno what else to tell you.”
After all, it’s not like Sakura can tell them about everything that happens on this rooftop. He knows, by now, that he can leave the door of his heart open; they see everything about him, his weakness and his pride as a fighter, his inability to understand social cues and his desire to protect them all, and they like him. They like him despite his flaws, because he is Sakura Haruka, and he’s a good guy, a guy worth knowing. He knows all of that.
But the words are failing him, right now, because how is he supposed to describe the quietness of the afternoons spent by Umemiya’s side? It’s not like anything is happening. As he said, they are truly only gardening. Umemiya gives him instructions, Sakura follows them. They never fight. Umemiya treats him like a little brother, praises him, encourages him. So nothing is happening—except that Sakura’s heart is racing for no reason.
“Then, do you like gardening?” Suou asks, and Sakura has the feeling that Suou’s question hides another one.
Sakura can’t say he likes gardening that much, after all. It’s too repetitive, and it takes time before the seeds turn into plants and before the plants bear fruits. The days are so hot he’s often thirsty, and the position makes his back ache. If not for Umemiya, he wouldn’t do it on his own.
Yet he likes these moments because they’re spent with Umemiya. It gives him the impression that he understands the leader of Bofurin a lot better now. Umemiya, he now knows, hides a wound inside his heart, and whatever hurt him turned him into the compassionate, easygoing guy he is. He cares for others in a sincere way, and if he’s spending so much time with Sakura, it’s probably because he believes this is what Sakura needs.
“Yeah, it’s fun,” Sakura ends up replying. And the admission clears the air; it’s suddenly easier for him to breathe. “I can tell you about my beetroot plants, if you want.”
“Please tell us!” Nirei asks, so Sakura ends up listing all the summer vegetables on the rooftop.
And even if he doesn’t say anything about the way his heart flickers around Umemiya, he doesn’t have to: he believes the warmth of his voice conveys his feelings better than his own language.
✿
“Sakura, Sakura! It’s time to harvest your beetroots!”
This time, Umemiya doesn’t send a messenger to call for Sakura. He barges in the classroom, unaware of how everyone in the class immediately gets up from his seat to greet him, grabs Sakura’s arm and drags him away. No amount of protests and complaints makes him stop, so Sakura lets himself be taken out of the classroom. If anyone tries to tease him about it, there’ll be hell to pay—that’s what he tells himself, but he’ll probably flout some excuse once he comes back, too embarrassed to actually fight with his classmates.
It’s patrol time soon, but Sakura guesses he’s excused. His vice-captains can take care of everything in his absence, anyway.
A soft wind is blowing across the rooftop and the air feels breathable. A shiver runs down Sakura’s spine when his eyes catch the sights of his beetroots—his, he reminds himself, the only vegetables of this garden that were grown by him alone. He’s thinned out the seeds, he’s watered the plants, he’s added fertiliser to the soil and pulled out the weeds. And now, he’s looking at the result, bright green leaves with purple veins.
Umemiya is beaming.
“How do you know they’re ready?” Sakura asks.
“They should look exactly like this,” Umemiya replies, as though it’s enough for him to tell.
Sakura sighs. “So, what should I do?”
Umemiya gives him a hand fork. And Sakura once again does as he’s told: he uses it to pull out the plants. Umemiya tells him to take the ones that are big enough; the others still need to mature. It takes a lot of time, more than it should, to harvest the very first beetroot; when he finally carries the first ball of pink-red root in his hand, Sakura stares, speechless.
He doesn’t like gardening that much but, at this very moment, he understands why Umemiya likes to grow his own vegetables instead of just buying them. Taking care of plants means taking care of a small life, watching it grow and thrive, until it becomes something you can hold in the palm of your hand. What Umemiya does in his garden is no different from what he does with Furin High.
So Sakura gets it, now, why one would want to bear the weight of the world on their shoulders.
“Congrats, Sakura! You’re doing good!” Umemiya’s words are simple, but Sakura’s heart skips a beat.
He looks up, his lips trembling. Right now, he wants to cry.
Without a word, he continues to harvest his beetroots. He’s not fond of their taste, but he starts to think that, perhaps, they’re becoming his favourite vegetable.
✿
At the end of the day, Sakura is spent, sore, covered in soil—and more alive than he’s felt for a while.
At his feet lies a box of beetroots, the ones harvested by him. A feeling of pride fills his chest as he lets his eyes wander on the garden—to think that a small part of this space also belongs to him, to think that his fists can not only hit and break, but also grow and heal, this is beyond him.
He knows that he wants to go back here, every day. Wants to make this roof his home, the one place in Makochi where he feels the most at ease.
“Don’t you think it’s beautiful?” Umemiya’s voice snatches Sakura from his thoughts. The sunset is turning the sky into a cameo of oranges and roses, dyeing the greens of the garden and the white of Umemiya’s hair and shirt. The song of a bird adorns the silence.
And Sakura’s heart picks up, from exhaustion as much as from something else—something that awakens when Umemiya sets his eyes on him, like a firework ripping through the sky.
You’re afraid of being rejected, Kaji once told him. Everyone can see it.
Sakura thought he was over this fear. But this—whatever he is feeling—is slightly different. What he fears isn’t a complete rejection; it’s the thought that, perhaps, Umemiya will tell him there’s no firework inside his chest, no sunset sky reminding him of Sakura, no flower that bloomed in his heart during the weeks they worked in this garden together.
It’s scary, but Sakura wants to believe he’ll be fine. So, looking at Umemiya, he replies: “Yes, it is beautiful.”