Chapter Text
Sougo yawns.
The day is dragging on yet again, high school swallowing all his energy, leaving him with sparks of sluggish, pent-up frustration.
The teacher, Umibozu-sensei—the class one day chose to unanimously butcher his real name and transform it into Umibozu, which in the end just stuck—is currently collecting homework, which Sougo of course didn't do.
Thus, he throws up the first excuse he can rack out of his brain.
“My dog ate my homework.”
Snickers of his classmates quietly sweep throughout the classroom.
Umibozu-sensei narrows strict eyes at him. “Huh. You have a dog?”
“Of course I do.”
“Since when?”
Sougo thinks for a second. “Uh, since yesterday.”
Umibozu-sensei crosses his arms imposingly, not phasing Sougo in the least. “How nice. What’s your dog’s name, then?”
Shit. He didn't think that far ahead.
“Uh…Butt Burrito.” Sougo comes up with it on the spot. “Yes. That's his name. Definitely.”
In the background, one of his classmates, Sakamoto, laughs that annoying laugh of his that sounds fake but is actually real.
“Definitely.” Umibozu-sensei echoes unimpressed.
He needs to sell the lie and save himself from the hassle of a harsh reprimand or a bad grade or a negative outcome consequenting his laziness, so Sougo starts prattling about the moment ‘his dog’ ate his homework—which, somehow, morphs into a lengthy story about how Butt Burrito is actually a Space Dog who came to Earth to regain his honor because he was shunned by his family after failing yet again to steal The Ultimate Bone from the arch-nemeses of his ancestors. To find the courage to face his folks again, Butt Burrito vowed to steal all the regular bones he could find on Earth as his special training regime that would lead to The Final Boss, but instead he found a bunch of regular dogs who oh so generously shared his bones with him, teaching him that bones taste best when shared, and that the love of a family isn't earned, but found and cherished.
...or something like that, anyway.
At the end of it, Umibozu-sensei clears his throat. “...nevermind. L-Let's get on with the lesson.” It suspiciously sounds like he hiccups, and is he unsubtly wiping at his eyes?
There are sniffles and lucid eyes all around, Sakata is loudly munching on popcorn whilst twin rivers are flooding down his eyes, and China over there is sobbing pathetically behind her ridiculous glasses—apparently, being the owner of an actual dog, the story must have resonated with her on some sort of level.
Personally, Sougo thought his made-up story was shit, especially since he's never been good at the touchy-feely stuff, but it seems like he landed a few emotional hits. Nice.
Not long after, the bell rings, signalling the end of today’s lessons, finally. Sougo is lethargically throwing his things into the gaping mouth of his backpack, when he happens to catch from the corner of his eye a black shadow falling petal-soft over China, who is sat to his right, one desk away from him.
Kamui, her big brother, hands her a tissue, which she immediately blows her nose in—in a very gross and unlady-like manner, which makes Sougo's nose wrinkle and the walls shake with the force behind it—and he pats her head, probably offering comforting words, but Sougo can't hear the content.
He's only able to focus on the way his mouth is expertly closing around the syllables, shaping them on his lips; soft, pale red, full.
Sougo's gaze latches upward, toward Kamui's own.
Their eyes meet, stares crossing paths across the room.
Sougo abruptly snaps his head the other way, tries in vain to suppress an electric shiver, his spine quivers.
It’s not like Sougo did it on purpose...at first.
It started just like everything else starts: someone does something stupid and he laughs at it, taking sadistic pleasure in twisting their failure out of proportion. How cute of him, huh?
This habit of his got him on Kamui's radar, who apparently took offense at Sougo, who, one random summery afternoon at the park, mocked his little sister for stupidly tripping and falling and landing right on her ice cream. What was Sougo supposed to do, not push her head further into the ground and feed her earth-flavored ice cream while taunting her? Please. How could someone like him pass up such a golden opportunity?
Sougo had never interacted with the guy before that day—he never actually interacted with the guy that day either, China ended up punching his chin and he flew three feet into the air, her brother helping her up while she cried about her ruined dessert, smearing ice cream all across his t-shirt. Kamui looked his way, a thinly veiled glare that had his insides squirming hotly for a fraction of a second. And that was that.
Only, to his utmost surprise, to find himself suddenly sharing a class with him once the new school year began a handful of days after.
Kamui mostly hangs with the troublemakers, Takasugi, Bansai and the likes. Unlike Sougo, who hangs with the goody-two-shoes, Kondo and Hijikata.
They've never talked, but, sometimes, Sougo thinks he can hear the whispers in his eyes.
So, yes, it's not like he meant to drag it out, taunting China and every other poor soul he encounters is simply a pastime, a clean break from the lonely boredom staining his life. Sougo doesn't actually hate her, there are evil, evil motherfuckers out there he reserves the word hate for, and China is not one of them, she's an annoying little fly on the windshield of his life at most; but now, perhaps, he keeps picking on the girl because, he’s loath to admit...
He wants Kamui’s attention.
Sougo always passes the riverbank on his way home, sometimes taking advantage of a warm afternoon to take a nap.
Someone’s not too keen on that idea, it seems.
“Yo, brat.”
Sougo stops walking, eyeing the riverbank with quiet yearning, before sighing and turning around to face the assholes who dared to ruin his nap of the day.
There are five—no, seven of them. Sougo recognizes them, they’re from his school. Some idiotic, self-proclaimed gang.
Sougo raises a brow. “You talking to me?”
The leader(?) addresses him, barking out a rough laugh. “You see anyone else around, you dipshit?”
Sougo throws a cursory glance around to find that they are, in fact, alone. Is it a simple coincidence or did these bastards wait for the chance to corner him alone?
Not like it matters much anyway.
They start slowly closing in on him, an ugly smugness spreading across their punchable faces.
“Where’s a goody-two shoes like you headed to?”
Sougo almost points out that he is, in fact, the stark opposite of a goody-two shoes, but decides not to waste his breath on this lot.
Someone else from this wall of mofos is eyeing him with malicious intent. “Bet your Mommy gives you a nice allowance, huh?”
Sougo's ‘mommy’ is actually dead, but of course there's no way this moron would know. “Yeah, she does, unlike yours.” He tilts his head back and grins in the way he has perfected, sadistically assholish, face screwing up in (dis)pleasure, eyes dimming with dark mischief. “Do you have to beg your mommy for pennies...or is she the one doing the begging?”
The dude grits his teeth and growls like an outraged animal. Such an easy target.
“You lookin’ for a fight, huh?!” One from the crowd spits at him.
“Actually, I was looking for a nice spot where I could take a dump in peace.” Sougo casually says, schooling his face in a nonchalant display of boredom, save for a shit-eating little grin at the corner of his mouth. “But it seems like this place is already full of shit.”
He successfully gets on their nerves, only paying half a mind to what they're blabbering about amongst themselves, “Aniki, he's totally making fun of us!”, “I say we teach the little shit a lesson!” and so on.
They advance, forming a semi-circle around him, and Sougo shrugs off his backpack, not wanting it to get battered in the skirmish. He may not look like it, but he likes his stuff to be nice and tidy.
“You're a mouthy little thing, aren't ya?” The—probably—self-proclaimed leader asks rhetorically. “Don't worry, homie, we can fix that.”
“Fix your brain first.” Sougo answers on reflex—and dodges the subsequent punch.
And also the kick aimed at his side, leaping back, avoiding a frontal attack and readying to do some damage.
He never gets the chance.
Being so caught up in the fight about to ensue, he failed to hear the, admittedly silent, footsteps running toward them.
Like dominoes, the jerks abruptly go down one by one, their pained groans music to his ears.
Sougo stops. Slowly blinks.
Once the shitty gang is decorating the ground and painting it uglier, does he finally look up.
The other boy is standing before him, relaxed as ever in his modified uniform, which is billowing behind him like a cape, ginger hair set aflame in the blazing, dying rays of the sun, which is haloing him like some sort of superhero.
God, Sougo thinks, chest aching the slightest bit.
It’s rare for Sougo to be short on words, but it seems Kamui has the peculiar ability to drain his reserves.
Kamui bends down to retrieve his school bag and takes care to pat the dust off of it, handing it back to him.
“Instead of wasting your time with these assholes–” Kamui offers, his eyes closed in happy crescents all the while wearing a gleeful smile. “Why don’t you fight me?”
Sougo’s heart skips an exquisitely violent beat.