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If there was anyone Sarukawa would refuse to be helped by, even in the worst of situations, it would be Fumiya.
Because Fumiya only meddles. He’s invasive of others while never showing any vulnerability of his own. Only rarely, are there times where he’s like an open book, obvious through the sudden pitch change in his usually monotone voice, or the tremble of his gaze. Something that could be normal and typical, if it were any other guy.
But Sarukawa sees something different. The man is like a mirage, enveloped with a bleary haze. One that hides his intentions, the reality of the things he claims. With cloudy pupils that stare past your own, as if looking to whatever lies behind them. Sweetened with a smile that never reaches the eyes.
It’s unsettling.
And it’s why Sarukawa will never trust him.
He can’t understand Fumiya. And he can’t understand why Fumiya keeps trying to insert himself into his private life, to mend the broken bridges and wipe the fallen tears Saru’s already left behind in his past.
It’s not that he fears the unknown or whatever corny shit like that. No. He’s just looking out for himself.
It’s only natural to be skeptical, after all. He’s not alone in it. Everyone else is too - about Fumiya. But it gets on his nerves, how they tell him he’s being too hard on the guy. Fumiya only ever reacts in two ways regardless.
A blank stare. Or a chuckle.
So, Sarukawa is pretty sure he doesn’t give a fuck either way. Which only makes him more suspicious, obviously.
Anyway, point is.
Sarukawa would never accept help from Fumiya Ito.
Saru’s fist flies through the air and slams into the goon’s jaw with a cloud crack. The man’s back hits the wall, and drags against it as his body slumps weakly. Saru can’t even feel the stinging of his bloodied knuckles as numbing adrenaline pumps through him. His ears are ringing, and they throb with the rhythm of his drumming heartbeat. Even then, he can hear the voices that shout around him as they watch their comrade fall.
A fist comes his way, and he swiftly evades it.
A bat is swung towards him, but he catches it by the barrel and throws it behind him.
Something is coming from his left.
Then his right.
The front, and every side.
Seriously. For how much longer is this fight going to go on for?
Warm sunlight is beaming through the entrance of the dingy alleyway, and the shadows casted lengthen as the sun lowers in the sky. Blood smears the concrete walls, decorated with faded graffiti and weathered posters. Bodies scatter the floor. The calluses on his hand are torn, and he can feel wet droplets from his nosebleed travel to the dip of his lips.
It’s when he snaps his body back to dodge another fist that he’s grabbed, swiftly thrown to the floor like a sandbag. The wind is forced from his lungs in a raspy choke as he’s shoved further into the ground by a thug’s knee pressing into his upper back.
Violently he writhes, trying to take a gulp of air to get rid of the pressure in his throat that won’t let him yell out.
Slow footsteps meet the entrance of the alleyway. Saru can hear a sharp crinkling against the ground, as if a plastic bag has been set down. He can’t turn around to see who’s there, but the thugs seem just as confused. A silence falls over them, as they all turn their head to look in the direction of the interruption.
“Who the fuck are you?” One of the men eventually breaks the tension with a raspy snarl.
An answer doesn’t come, but the footsteps continue. They stop just by Saru’s head, and he has to crane his neck to look at the figure now towering above him. Familiar purple eyes stare back at him.
“Kei. Let’s hang out.”
“...What?”
Out of all people.
It had to be Ito-fucking-Fumiya.
Saru’s mind had to buffer for a second, just to process the ridiculous request. Inconvenient, you know, with the whole context of the situation.
“See, I would. But I’m kind of a little busy kicking the asses of a dozen guys in a fight right now.” Sarukawa barks back, each word laced with a hissing sarcasm. “Dipshit.” He adds on, just for good measure.
“You kind of look like you’re getting the one getting your ass kicked, though?”
“You motherfucker-” Saru starts kicking wildly, agitating the growingly impatient man pinning him down. A hand dives into his styled locks, gripping them by the roots as it yanks his head up with a swift movement. Saru only has a second to wince at the sharp ache from his scalp before his face is smashed into the ground. His teeth clash with a loud clack, and there’s a stinging across his jawline from the skin that’s been shredded by the grit of the concrete.
There follows a crack and a groan, and for a moment Saru wonders if they were his own. But then he feels a thud against the ground beside him. Other things happen. He’s not sure what, really. More fighting, probably? The knock to his head has already disorientated him enough, he can’t quite grasp what’s happening. Not when he’s suddenly lifted off the ground, dragged by the bend of his arm. Not when yells fade out as he’s dragged away, legs naturally bringing him to a sprint to match the speed of the person that’s taken his hand. And not when the surroundings around him change to a street bathed in dimming sunlight.
Time passes without waiting for him.
The whole situation is embarrassing to look back on when he’s finally able to process it. At one point he had shaken off Fumiya’s grip, who didn’t seem too sad about it in comparison to his utter disappointment that he left his bag back there. Probably, it was another one of his sweet treat hauls. So Saru only feels a little bit guilty.
Mostly, he’s just annoyed. Especially because Fumiya decided to end a fight on his behalf, when Saru still had a few revenge suckerpunches to give out. He doesn’t find it in him to articulate a thank you. After all, anything Fumiya has ever done for him, he’s never asked for. Did the guy expect a thanks for something Saru never wanted in the first place?
Thinking about it pisses him off enough that the question falls off his tongue.
“Why are you always butting into my business?” There’s a pause as he scrambles for something more to say. “Just… Fuck off already, none of this has anything to do with you.”
“I was helping you.”
“Okay, call it that. I still don’t want this fucking ‘help’ from you.”
“...”
“Even back then…”
Saru still doesn’t understand Fumiya. Him, or why he does what he does for Saru. Like with Ryu. Ever since it had been resolved, they hadn’t talked about it.
“You don’t understand?”
“Why else do you think I’m asking?”
“You’ve already chosen a home to come back to.”
“Ha?”
Saru’s eyes widen, before his expression shifts into a scowl. Fumiya’s steps slow to a stop, and he looks over his shoulder. The strong orange light of the sunset casts a rim light on his figure. Saru can see his reflection in the gloss of those sleepy purple eyes.
“It was your choice. Your freedom. That’s…It’s important to you. Right? So they can’t take it.”
“What kind of bullshit are you spewing now?”
“I’m answering your initial question.”
“This is what pisses me off about you- Did I tell you to do any of anything for me? Why do you act like you know what I want, that this unnecessary shit would even help me!?”
“I don’t mean to. But I’m not wrong. And you’re still here, with us. We sleep under that same roof every night. Doesn’t that count for anything?” Fumiya doesn’t say the word, but Saru knows what he’s getting at. Home. The roof they share, the rice cooker they eat from, the bathroom cabinet with all 7 toothbrushes in their place. It’s home.
“And if I end up getting sick of you all, changing my mind and fucking off out of there?”
“I wouldn’t stop you. But…”
“But?”
Fumiya doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t stare either. Instead, his gaze drifts to the side.
“I’d miss you.”
They all would, really.
But Fumiya isn’t saying that.
This isn’t about home, or bonds, or being one cog in a group of others that all need each other to keep running.
It’s about the childish desire to hold onto someone who you’re powerless to stop from leaving. About the man who questions the world, and sees something in the man who acts against it.
Maybe if circumstances were a bit different, he could be more reliable.
But, this is okay too.
He doesn’t have to be selfish right now.
And somehow, strangely, Saru feels more than just sincerity in his words.
Fumiya looks back in front and continues walking, leaving Saru behind just standing there, frozen in his confusion. A soft breeze flutters through his disheveled hair, and cools the warmth of the setting sun’s light cast on his cheeks. Surely, the pink tinge on them is from the heat too.
It's not that Saru trusts the things Fumiya says and does.
But, he’s curious about what motivation lies beneath them. And why no one else seems to get what he means when he complains about it.