Archive of Our Own ^beta

Outside the summer clouds are drifting by, all of them with vague and beautiful faces.

And there are the pines that bush out spicy and ambitious, although they do not even know their names.

And there is the mockingbird; over and over he rises from his thorn-tree and dances--he actually dances, in the air.

And there are days I wish I owned nothing, like the grass.

-Mary Oliver, I Own a House

—

Suo’s hands lie in his lap, fingers picking at the fraying threads on his sleeve. He feels pathetic, and perhaps he is. 

“Why did you do that?”

Sakura stands on the left side of his bed. The setting sun doesn’t quite reach him from there, casting him in shadows that make him look more intimidating than usual.

“Do what, Sakura?”

The light dips a bit lower.

“Don’t act stupid. You took the hit for me, why—!“

Rhythmic beeping and the steady sound of his breathing fills his ears. He doesn’t look into Sakura’s eyes. He finds that he can’t.

“I don’t know.”

“…Huh?”

And then, quieter, a shameful confession— “I don’t know why I did it either.”

—

Suo’s time at the hospital was spent mainly staring out the window and studying needlessly. The lines of text eventually appeared even with his eye closed, as if written behind his eyelid in fine ink.

His friends had visited him everyday without fail, a cycle that he got used to quickly. His bedside table was filled with flowers, get well messages, and assortments of snacks and drinks.

The sentiment was appreciated, though a bit wasted on him. Suo gave away every food item to the other patients and nurses—an act that earned him good favor within the hospital.

There was an uncomfortable nagging that laid in the back of his mind, in the bottom of his stomach that was steadily eating away. Suo wasn’t used to all the attention being on him. It’s worse when he can see it clearly in their eyes; worry, pity, something mixed with guilt and regret. It feels a little like he’s under a microscope. A lot like he’s weak—only a shadow of his former strength. A patient that needs to be taken care of, rather than taking care of others.

He’s still not sure if he prefers that over being alone. When the visiting hours are over and he’s left with nothing but the sound of his heartbeat reverberating in his ears and the distant beeping of the machine that slowly became white noise. When all he can think about is his regrets, his mistakes, and the fact that he could’ve done a lot of things differently.

The hospital bed is stiff. The blanket laid over him acting as a false sense of security. It’s cold, so he curls into himself a little more.

Suo finally falls asleep at 3 in the morning, his thoughts becoming a distant buzz rather than a loud cacophony of voices.

—

Sakura was mad at him. He hadn’t come to visit Suo since the first day, leaving the sterilized room with heavy footsteps and a forceful slam of the door.

Nirei had come the next day donning a nervous expression, attempting to explain why Sakura hadn’t come with him in sugarcoated excuses. Suo knew that he was doing his best, so he didn’t ask any further questions.

Though the revelation still stung, Suo surprisingly noted. He thought that he could brush it off like always, like all the other times Sakura blew up in his face and sputtered insults with a bright red blush, or when they happened to disagree over a mundane topic that Suo could hardly remember now. But it hurt. It was a wound being opened over and over, not even given time to scab over.

Ah, he thought. That’s what it is.

Sakura had Suo’s heart in the palm of his hand and didn’t even know.

He squeezes—and squeezes, until he thinks there’s hardly anything left.

—

His shortcomings had confronted him on a regular summer day.

After all, he still had only half of his vision, the instinctive nature to defend, and happenings that were out of his control. 

Suo tries to protect. He fails because, ultimately, and disappointedly, he is still human.

The group of delinquents were small, they were weak, and nor Suo or Sakura had any particular reason to call for backup. He watches the scene unravel before him similar to a movie—a film roll with a beginning, climax, and an untimely end.

It goes like this: a glint of silver reflects the sunlight, bright and almost mocking in nature. He didn’t know when the other person had gotten up, or where he was hiding a knife. All he knew was that he was aiming straight for Sakura, distracted by an opponent in front of him.

Suo ran towards him at full speed, ignoring the man he was fighting, and yelled, “Sakura!”—his voice sounded foreign to his own ears.

His hand touches a shoulder, skin touching familiar fabric. Sakura is pushed out of the way now, safe and sound, and all that’s left is the climax.

The sun beats down on him heavily. His bangs slowly begin to stick to his forehead—he’s broken out into a cold sweat.

A knife protrudes out of his side, staining his white shirt an unsightly red.

Suo thinks his heart is stuck in his throat; he fears that it will try to escape. Maybe the voices coming from some direction aren’t that far away, but it sounds like they are. He can’t really make out what they’re saying, though. He still needs to apologize for pushing Sakura—for becoming a burden and making a mess in the middle of the street.

A distant cicada screeches in a familiar tempo, until, eventually, that goes away too.

He catches a glimpse of gold and gray, an expression that is filled with fear and panic.

That’s not right, he thinks.

It’s all Suo remembers before darkness consumes him. The end.

—

It took two weeks for him to be discharged.

Suo was sent home with a crutch, painkillers, and a new scar on the right side of his abdomen.

He opened his front door and was met with silence. It was appreciated, for the first time in a long while, that he didn’t have to put up a smile or greet anyone back. The wooden floorboards creaked under his weight as he toed off his shoes with slight discomfort. The last thing he wanted to do was open his wound and get sent back to the hospital. He thinks he can still hear the distant cries of other patients and the taste of stale food that took an enormous amount of effort to keep down. But, logically, he knows it’s all placebo— a trick that his mind is playing on him.

Shelves and miscellaneous items are covered in thin layers of dust. No other shoes are left in the genkan besides his. The food in the fridge had long since expired, his bags of tea left untouched in the top left cabinet in the kitchen. Perhaps, if he were a prophet, or an inhuman entity, he wouldn’t have wasted anything.

He contemplates giving the food away to the stray cats, maybe the dogs that go out for afternoon walks. Suo then remembers the raccoons that show up behind the dumpster, picking up scraps and digging through trash because people could care less about them. Either way, he’ll have to decide eventually.

He walks through the dark hallways, the yellow light in the kitchen illuminating off the walls. The house smells of old furniture and rusty pipes. It reeks of emptiness, a hollow shell of what it used to be.

“I’m home”, he says.

Expectedly, his voice echoes back.

—

Suo wakes up early the next morning. He’s met with a familiar wooden ceiling; not a white room with fluorescent lights and the lingering scent of antiseptic.

He remembers to take his pills and change his bandages. He switches out his medical eyepatch to his leather one, makes tea, takes his uniform from his closet, and puts on his shoes. The routine comes to him naturally. A repetitive cycle that he wouldn’t mind having to do forever.

He walks to school using the same route, feeds the stray cats slightly expired onigiri and tuna, and greets the residents.

He meets both Nirei and Sakura at the front gates, as always. It’s the usual, it’s normal—it’s comforting. Except, the moment Sakura sees Suo, he frowns. There’s a furrow between his black and white brows, a wrinkle forming on his otherwise unblemished face.

That wasn’t in his plan. Suo’s heart seems to skip a beat. His palms are sweaty, and before he realizes, he starts to fiddle with the tassels of his earrings.

Suo smiles back, because it’s the only way he knows how to respond.

“Good morning, Nirei, Sakura.”

“Good morning, Suo!” Nirei responds, looks between both him and Sakura, and lets out a nervous laugh.

“Morning”, is all Sakura says before he turns on his heels.

Nirei watches as he slowly walks away, a visible sweat drop on his cheek. “Sorry about him, I don’t really know what’s going on…Did you two fight?”

And it takes Suo a second to answer. He doesn’t really know himself. It feels like they have, yet, he can’t explain over what. Was it the way he underestimated Sakura’s abilities? The fact that he overestimated his own?

“I think so.” It’s unsure—hesitant.

Nirei looks surprised before settling back into his original expression. Something on his face must be giving him away. A strange emptiness lies in the pit of his stomach, and it aches with vigor.

“Let’s go inside, the bell’s about to ring.”  Suo smiles, and he finds it hard to make it genuine.

Nirei winces, a reaction that makes Suo’s heart jump to his throat.

He decides to offer him some saving grace by not mentioning the tautness in his expression, or the forced tone in his voice. Suo appreciates that all he’s met with is silence and a nod of a head. He walks ahead of Nirei and doesn’t find it in him to turn around.

—

That day, when Suo had been stabbed, Nirei ran to the hospital in record speed. Sakura had called him on the phone, speaking between shaky vocal cords and bated breaths. Dread had overtaken his senses without even hearing the full story, making his knees weak and heart pound in his ears.

“Suo, he—he was bleeding. A lot. I don’t know what to do—“

He still remembers the sharpness in his lungs, the ache in his feet, clothes sticking to skin, his phone long being forgotten in his hand. He doesn’t remember if he ever ended the phone call.

“The patient had to go into surgery”, they said. “We can’t say much on his condition right now.”

Nirei couldn’t feel his legs. It could’ve been the adrenaline finally ending its course, or the fact that he hadn’t ran that fast in his entire life. He drops to his knees in the hallway—a nurse comes up to him with a worried expression, whatever she asks falls on deaf and muffled ears. There’s a lump in his throat now that refuses to go down.

He sees Sakura standing in front of the surgery room, the bright red neon sign reflected in his irises. There’s blood on his uniform, already dried and stained into the fabric. His hands are still shaking, but the rest of his body is scarily still.

Nirei doesn’t find the words he’s meant to say; the tears don’t fall, but the ache in his body never quite leaves.

—

Suo was an engima: this, Nirei had known since the day he met him.

The small amount of information in his notebook was enough to prove it. Everything he had gathered never came from the subject himself, and the more Nirei got to know him, he knew that the rumors were scarily not exaggerated.

Suo fought with extreme precision. He wasted no movements and hit every target without fail—a fighting sense that was almost inhuman. It was one of the many reasons Nirei looked up to him.

So he should’ve expected Suo to bounce right back from his surgery. The first time he was able to see him face to face in his hospital room, it was almost as if nothing ever happened. He smiled and cracked jokes, his demeanor never wavering. An impenetrable stone wall.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nirei had asked.

Suo looks him in the eye, smiles, and Nirei could almost convince himself that it’s true.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The gown Suo’s wearing isn’t the right size, the sleeves go slightly past his knuckles. His black leather eyepatch is replaced with a medical one, and his face looks gaunt; the hospital food must not be treating him well. The uniform that was a constant figure of strength is gone now, too.

It’s then that Nirei realizes how young Suo looks. How, behind all the level headedness and perfection, he’s still human. It’s why he was in this position in the first place, he dumbly notes. How ignorant of him.

“You can lean on us. That’s what we’re here for, Suo.” — Nirei tries to recall if he’s ever said this to him before.

“Mm. I know.”

His smile fails to reach his eyes this time.

If it was one thing Nirei was sure of, it was that Suo had always been a bad liar.

—

They were almost entirely imperceptible, fleeting moments that disappeared as quickly as they came.

Nirei had always been an observer; it was why he noticed Suo’s brief glances, his hesitation, and his doubtfulness. Sakura seemed to be an anomaly for him just as Suo was to Nirei. A piece of a puzzle that never seemed to fit—a mind that he couldn’t predict.

But there was also something deeper. A desire, maybe, that seemed to crack above the surface every now and then.

He would see it in Sakura’s actions too. It was much more apparent; easier to catch. Yet, it never seemed like the object of the attention noticed.

“You’ve been looking at him for a while.”

Suo turns his head in lieu of a response, waiting for him to continue.

“Sakura, I mean.” Nirei can see Umemiya talking to Sakura from a few feet away. Their voices are loud enough to where he can somewhat hear the conversation—something about how Sakura should try eating more vegetables. That earns a scowl from him, and Nirei finds the whole situation humorous. It’s a lot like watching a cat and dog interact.

“Have I?”

Nirei thinks he hears a slight waver. He makes eye contact with Suo, turning away from Sakura, “Mm.”

Silence falls between them, letting the chatter from the rooftop fill in the blanks. When Nirei assumed the conversation was over, Suo speaks.

“Is it that obvious?” It’s unnaturally quiet, barely heard above every other noise.

He takes a moment to respond, “No, not really.”

A sigh, “That’s good.”

“Suo—“

“Sorry, I got caught up with Umemiya”—Sakura walks up to them and shudders, “he tried stuffing tomatoes in my pockets, urgh.”

“Haha, maybe you should listen to him for once. I hear eating them is good for stamina.”

“What!? Are you serious?”

“Nope!”

“Suo!”

Nirei watches as Suo runs off and Sakura chases. His signature blush lines his cheeks, and Nirei isn’t sure if it’s out of anger or embarrassment—probably both.

He doesn’t know exactly what he was going to say before Sakura cut him off. Maybe he should be thankful that it ended there, that he didn’t end up saying something he’d regret.

Nirei watches as Suo prances around the rooftop, teasing Sakura, and wonders how much longer he’ll be able to keep it up.

—

Cicadas make their presence known through loud and repetitive screeches. Suo hones in on it, until the noises become one with the background—and he forgets that they’re there at all.

A clink of a glass brings him back.

“So—what’s going on?”

The question isn’t odd, it’s actually normal, coming from someone like Umemiya. Though it’s a strange sight, Suo and him sitting across from each other in a cafe booth, with no one else to interrupt.

It feels a lot like the one time Suo was forced to speak to a therapist after he lost his eye. He remembers the pasty white walls and the clock that was hung on the wall behind her, counting every tick until he had been allowed to leave. He hadn’t said anything of importance, at least, not what she had wanted. Suo took that as an achievement of sorts.

He still thinks of the air that was trapped into his lungs and the overbearing weight of eyes boring into him, trying to find a weakness.

“Nothing much, why do you ask?”

“I’ve heard some things. Sakura and you are fighting?” He swishes the coffee in his cup, fingers attached to the handle. Suo isn’t sure if he’s avoiding eye contact on purpose.

It takes him a few moments to articulate the proper response, “It's not anything serious. I think the incident may have put a wedge between us. That’s all.”

“Hm. That makes sense. It wasn’t just that simple though, was it?” And then, a pause. “He’s been getting better at letting people in. Initiating conversations, letting people watch his back. It takes a lot of effort.”

That gets a genuine reaction out of Suo, a smile graces his lips, and it’s real. “Yes, he has. It’s nice to see.”

“You care for him.” Umemiya states this as a fact, not a question.

Suo doesn’t respond. He’s looking down at the tea cup in his hands, the liquid reflecting back an image that he wants to pry his eyes away from.

“Suo, maybe you can try too.”

“Try what?” He asks, just for the sake of filling the empty spaces.

“It’s okay to lean on others. It’s not a weakness—it’s a strength.”

He holds into his cup a little tighter, “Nirei said that too.”

Seconds pass. Umemiya turns his head to look towards the setting sun fading into the horizon—the same sight Suo saw from his room’s window. The same sight he saw when Sakura had asked him why he took the knife.

“We care for you, that’s why we’ll keep saying it. We’re only human, Suo. That incident wasn’t your fault.” He takes a breath—“I would’ve done the same.”

The smile on Suo’s face has long since faded, replaced to a blank slate. His eyepatch is beginning to chafe against his scarred skin, and he feels uncomfortably small.

“I’ll remember that. Thank you.”

Umemiya smiles at him like he knows everything. It makes it harder for him to breathe.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he notices his tea has gone lukewarm, the heat long having left his hands.

Suo gets up to leave before he becomes a hindrance to Kotoha. His steps are paused when he feels a hand lightly hold his wrist.

“Take this with you.” She holds up a plastic bag. Suo can see the outline of a container.

He’s tired, so he accepts it without any fuss. “Thank you. I’ll bring back the container tomorrow.” Suo smiles, more out of courtesy and less out of genuineness.

“Mm. It’s no problem, bring it back whenever,” she pauses, and her eyes pin him in place.

“Never mind, just—I hope you enjoy the food.” She says, instead.

Suo can’t make empty promises, so he just nods his head, hoping it’s enough.

Kotoha waves goodbye as Suo leaves, the exhaustion bleeding into his bones as he watches the final dredges of sunlight disappear behind the horizon.

(Suo places down the food at the dinner table, settling into the only chair present.

He pops open the lid—plain omelette rice. The scent fills the room, replacing the smell of old wood with homemade food.

It’s still warm.

For the first time in a long while, Suo willingly picks up his chopsticks.

One bite, and then two.

He slightly misses his mouth on the third, but he continues.

Half of the omelette is gone when a harsh lump begins to grow in his throat. His eye stings. It’s a sensation he hasn’t felt in years; when, once upon a time, emotions were normal rather than a hidden, shameful secret.

“Thank you for the food,” he says, when the rice starts to feel more like tar stuck between his teeth and his chewing turns into something mechanical.

He ignores the wetness that begins to pool in his eye— the half-empty plate now appearing as a blurry mirage. The sight is similar to a faraway memory that he can no longer put a name to.

His heart lies at the bottom of his feet, beating, but awfully heavy.)

—

At seventeen, Suo Hayato learns how to trust.

It happens in the classroom that’s filled with the memories of laughter, conversations that never left the confines of the four walls, graffiti and strewn around chairs. The window is slightly cracked open, inviting a breeze that tells autumn is near.

Sakura sits across from him, his all-knowing eyes peering through black and white eyelashes.

“I find it really hard to get a grasp on you.”

His voice rings out amidst silence and a faraway bird, chirping away somewhere. There’s no one else to focus on, or redirect attention to. Suo finds himself completely helpless.

“A lot of people think that. You’re one of the few who’ve said it.”

“Figures.”

A scratch of a pencil. Silence. The numbers on Suo’s paper begin to mush together, not really registering in his brain.

“I’m not mad at you for protecting me,” Sakura looks up, eyes locking onto a deep burgundy, “You throw yourself in danger, you don’t care what happens after, and then you spout bullshit that none of us believe—“

He catches his breath, anger teetering on the edge, and says, finally, “You’re okay as long as everyone else is. Suo, do you realize what that does to me?”

And, truthfully, he doesn’t. Not until now, in this very moment, with Sakura looking at him like he’s the most important person in the world; with eyes similar to how he looked when he fought Endo. When him and his friends had to bring Sakura back down to earth’s soil, wake him up, and tell him that he mattered.

He reckons he mirrors the expression right back. Something inside him churns—but rather than a violent sense of claustrophobia, it feels strangely nostalgic. Like salve over a wound, or going home to home-cooked meals and the sound of his mother in the kitchen. Like being held and rocked to sleep in her arms. She sings, but it’s muffled, and hardly reaches him now.

The answer he wanted was under his nose, obvious, but somehow too far out of reach. It lies in the bottom of the sea, along with every other shameful secret, locked away in a metal box with a rusted key.

“I’m sorry. To you, to everyone. I didn’t mean to make you worry.” His mouth opens, and then closes—opens again, “I haven’t…had anyone to care. For a long time. I guess I forgot how that felt.”

The clouds shift outside, blanketing the sun. They move slowly, out of reach. Time doesn’t stop for anyone, especially not him. Suo tries to recall when the last time was—when he’d look up at the sky in childlike wonder rather than with a single eye full of spite and anger that had nowhere to go. He remembers asking, “Why me?”, “Why don’t you at least give me this?”

“We aren’t used to that kinda stuff, you and me. Nirei always says I’m bad at the whole self-preservation thing, but I think you are too.” Sakura takes in a breath, stares at the sky overhead. The previous frustration has disappeared from his face, instead replaced with resignation; maybe it’s closer to acceptance.

“Can I ask you something?”

And for the first time, Suo replies, “Yes.”

“Do you regret it?”

A heartbeat, “No. I would do it again if it meant protecting you. But—“

“But?”

“I’m glad. I’m viewed so highly, how can I not be happy?” Suo gives himself the opportunity to be selfish.

Sakura blushes, “You always have to say shit like that.”

“I’m right, though. You like me.” Suo grins, canines peaking through.

“Is that bad?”

“No. Not when it feels this good.”

Sakura dips his head down, hides it between his arms. Suo can still see the red tips of his ears, the way his shoulders crumple in.

“You’re annoying,” is mumbled, drowned out by the arm hiding his mouth. “I should send you back to that hospital myself.”

“Haha! How am I going to watch over you and Nirei if I’m stuck there?”

“Hell if I know!” He shouts, scaring the birds off of a nearby tree. The classroom door slides open with a slam to reveal a messy head of bleached hair, uniform slightly out of place.

“Sakura! Suo!”

Sakura jumps back in surprise, “What happened?!”

At the edge of their seats, they hold their breath as Nirei catches his.

“The ice cream shop down the road just got a new flavor!”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“What are we waiting for?” Sakura gets up from his chair, a gleam in his eye.

“Start running!”

“Yes!” Nirei salutes, and is off like the wind.

Suo wonders out loud, “Why are we yelling?”

“Get up! We don’t have all day!” He grabs Suo by the wrist and pulls him from his chair, their homework being long forgotten.

He feels the wind in his hair as Sakura pulls him along, running through graffitied hallways and confused passerby. A smile, big and wide, cracks under the surface.

The sky outside is a bright blue, a shade similar to the water in the sea, a color that reminds him of adoration and childlike innocence.

He looks up, laughs, and holds on a little tighter.

—

At seventeen, Suo Hayato earns a second scar, and learns to love in the process.