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The top of Kyoutarou’s head warms in the late afternoon sun. Kyoutarou likes it–being close to the sun. Umemiya-san works close by, wrist deep in some soil as he digs out a home for his newest tomato plant.
Next to him, Kyoutarou’s phone dings and he startles. The only person he ever exchanges texts with is sitting a few meters away from him. It’s from Sakura and he can see from the preview that there is an image attached. Kyoutarou opens the message and his stomach cartwheels.
It’s a picture of a fresh bruise, about the size of a fist. It blooms up the side of someone’s rib cage–Sakura’s ribcage. Kyoutarou is familiar–not familiar enough–with the curve of Sakura’s waist, the pale flash of stomach. Dumbass is always flying around and whatnot when he fights. Kyoutarou shakes the thoughts of Sakura from his head, dark hair spilling out around his face.
“Everything okay?” Kyoutarou is suddenly eclipsed by Umemiya-san’s shadow. He hadn’t realized the death grip he had on his phone. Any more pressure and it might crack beneath his fingers. Red hot embarrassment shoots up his spine like he’s been caught doing something indecent and a flush spreads across his face.
Umemiya-san can’t know, Kyoutarou thinks. Can’t know what, though? That Sakura sent him a picture of his bruises? Why did he send him a picture of his bruises?
In this moment, caught in a tangle of thoughts and flustered emotions, Kyoutarou hates Sakura. He doesn’t know what to do with his hand and the words he needs are trapped in his chest. He thinks of Sakura’s cocky grin, the way he always smears the blood on his face with his sleeve.
Kyoutarou grunts an affirmative and Umemiya-san looks at him skeptically for a moment before turning away with a hum. Kyoutarou breathes a sigh of relief and seizes the next opportunity to slip into the stairway.
Angry, confused footsteps echo off the walls as Kyoutarou bounds down the stairs. He knows where Sakura will be– why does he know that? Kyoutarou grimaces. They were all so loud, always blabbering about what they were up to and where they were going while Kyoutarou tried to sleep at his desk.
Sakura is outside the school, squared up against Kaji. He had declined Nirei and Suou’s invitation to clean up some graffiti behind the bakery. Kaji blocks one of Sakura’s punches and takes his own lunge towards Sakura.
It always surprises Kyoutarou how graceful Sakura is. In conversation–if you could call it that–he is all sharp edges and cold shoulders. But when he’s fighting, Sakura flows like water, almost formless. They couldn’t be more different. Where Kyoutarou is a brick wall, Sakura moves with his opponent, crashes around them like river rapids. He is an unstoppable force while Kyoutarou is an immovable object.
When Sakura backflips, his shoe barely misses Kaji’s nose and Kyoutarou gets a glimpse of the bruise along his side. In person, it looks painted on–watercolor strokes up and down his ribs. Kyoutarou imagines running a finger over where it swells and his face immediately burns.
Kyoutarou coughs when neither Kaji nor Sakura notices him. Sakura stops at the sight and takes a blow to the face. When he stands upright again, there is a bead of blood coming from one nostril.
“What are you doing here?”
Sakura wipes the blood with his sleeve and it smears across his cheek. Dumbass . Kyoutarou scowls and looks at Kaji who lingers nearby. He’s not paying them any attention, scrolling through his phone, and his music is loud enough that Kyoutarou can hear it where he’s standing. He pulls out his own phone, opens Sakura’s text message and shoves it into Sakura’s hand with a grunt. Kyoutarou watches in horror as all of the color drains from Sakura’s face.
“That–That wasn’t for you!” Sakura almost shouts. Kyoutarou stills at this realization. The photo wasn’t meant for him. It was good news–he didn’t know what to do with the information if the photo was meant for him.
Did Kaji take the picture? Kyoutarou thinks. He thinks again of Sakura’s exposed stomach, the same stomach he had seen on so many occasions when they fought. He thinks of Sakura pulling his shirt up to give Kaji a better angle.
“I…” He glances at Kaji, who is entirely distracted. “It’s a good one.”
“Hah?”
“Your bruise. It’s a good one.” Kyoutarou looks away so fast he almost misses the way Sakura holds his hand up over his face, the fierce way he blushes.
“Thanks,” Sakura says.
“Do you…” Kyoutarou glances back at him. If Kaji was able to leave such a nice bruise, Kyoutarou wonders what he would be able to do. The thought sends a shiver down his spine. “...Wanna fight?”
The deep red of Sakura’s face is quickly replaced by familiar, effervescent intensity–Kyoutarou has noticed that Sakura is most alive when he is squared up. Kaji remains unbothered nearby.
“You’re on.”