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I don't want to lose a single thread from the intricate brocade of this happiness.
I want to remember everything.
Which is why I'm lying awake, sleepy but not sleepy enough to give it up.
Just now, a moment from years ago: the early morning light, the deft, sweet gesture of your hand reaching for me.
-Mary Oliver
—
Sakura knows hatred well.
It lies in the crevices of his rib cage, lines his diaphragm and fills his lungs. It’s in his calloused, bloody hands, and every cut and bruise on his skin.
Hatred, violence, has been intricately woven into his veins since the day he was conceived—an unfortunate day, really.
Sakura believed he was put on earth to suffer. To take every hit and bitter sayings and stuff it deep, deep down into his heart.
It has fossilized, now. It’s dusty, and worn, and frayed around the edges. And he doesn’t think he has any more capacity to care.
The abuse had made it into an indecipherable lump of flesh. Sakura’s heart still somehow beats despite it all.
—
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“It felt—necessary.”
“I don’t think you did anything that I need to forgive, Haruka.”
His heart thumps a little harder, a little louder. It beats against his rib cage, and he feels it against his throat, hears it in his ears, and he thinks that Suo can hear it, too.
Sakura doesn’t respond; it’s a bad habit of his, going silent when he fails to find words. He tears at the edge of his napkin, a nervous tick that he never grew out of. He realizes there’s a lot of things that haven’t changed. Sakura hates the implications of that.
When he looks up, apprehensive, Suo stares back.
He’s smiling, and it’s never felt more suffocating than now. The weight threatens to cave him in, grinding his bones to ash and heart to mush.
“Still, I’m sorry.” Sakura responds, and it’s not really what he wanted to say. Not even close. It comes out anyways, and Suo looks at him like he knows. He’s been by Sakura’s side for three years, so perhaps he does.
He’s able to see through every crack and weakness that are left unsaid. Because Sakura is stubborn. Because he never truly learned how to verbalize his feelings without it having to be pried out of his hands. But it’s what their relationship is built up on; all unspoken words and subtle touches.
“I’ll be back.” Suo says, and Sakura can’t help but to think how fitting of a goodbye it was.
—
“Sakura, do you like chrysanthemums?”
He looks to his side to see Suo motioning towards potted red flowers. They’re bright and in full bloom, standing proudly before a florist’s storefront.
“I don’t know. I guess they’re nice to look at.” Sakura shrugs his shoulders, the long coat of his Furin jacket moving with them. He had liked the color red ever since he’d heard it was a lucky color—it had been around a decade, back when he was naive and believed in superstitions.
“I expected as much.” Suo smiles, glancing between the petals his fingers are holding and Sakura’s signature scowl.
“Hey, at least I answered your question.”
“This will be your first new fact of the day, then. Chrysanthemum’s can have several meanings.”
Already tired of this, he responds, “Oh. Really.”
The sarcasm falls on deaf ears, and Sakura knows that Suo ignores it on purpose.
“It depends on geography, you know. Sometimes color, too.” Suo turns his head to face Sakura, who’s already looking at him. The full sight paints an alluring image—Sakura hates the fact that the flowers compliment Suo in ways that he’d rather not examine too closely.
“Chinese chrysanthemums can mean good fortune and nobility. Sometimes they symbolize death. As for these red ones…”
Suo teeters off, something hidden behind that burgundy eye and a suspiciously bright smile.
“W-what is it?”
Suo plucks a singular flower from the pot, grabbing Sakura’s hand and pulling his fingers to hold onto the stem.
“You’ll have to find out on your own.”
And he can’t help but feel he just missed out on something important, “Hey! Why the hell do I have to do that?”
“Because giving you the answers to everything isn’t very fun.” Suo begins to walk away, leaving behind a stupefied Sakura holding a singular red flower. He registers his words a second too late, and has to jog to catch up.
“You’re super annoying, you know that?”
Suo laughs, the sun hitting him just right, “Of course, I’m reminded everyday.”
—
Umemiya was always too much for him to handle. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, or how often he received eccentric phone calls and spontaneous invites—he never really got used to it. He wasn’t ever a good conversationalist, but he guesses that Umemiya is enough for the both of them.
“So, anything special happen recently?” Umemiya is tending to the garden on the roof, pulling weeds with gloved hands. He still comes despite having graduated 2 years ago—Sakura thinks it’s a hassle, but he doesn’t stop Umemiya from coming here nonetheless.
Sakura takes a moment to respond.
“No, not really. Just the usual stuff.” He huffs, the faint smell of dirt travels through his nose as the sun starts to beat down a little too heavily for his liking. It makes the concrete underneath his feet hard to look at. It makes Umemiya’s hair light up like fresh snow.
“That title must be bearing it’s weight on you now.” A pause. “But I was asking more about your personal life, Sakura.”
Umemiya cranes his head to look up at Sakura, a smile pasted on his face. It’s genuine, and Sakura feels his face getting warm.
“My answer would be the same. I don’t really do anything outside of my job—you of all people should know that already.”
“That’s true, but it’s important to take time for yourself too. You’ll wear yourself out faster like that.”
The more time that passes, the more he gets used to being looked through like glass. Sakura deflects, because he’s a coward, and maybe he’s just as sharp and easy to break—though he’d rather die than admit to it.
“Talking from experience?”
“Heh. Was it that obvious?” And he says it with no hesitation, though maybe with a bit of bashfulness. Sakura almost wants to ask the how’s, the when’s, and the why’s.
How can you admit it so easily?
When does being honest stop feeling like needles under your skin?
The third question fades away like a fleeting memory—or maybe, he just couldn’t think of one. Sakura was never good at articulating his words, after all. Suo is good at that. Nirei is, too.
Instead, he says, “I can take care of myself. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Wind picks up from his left, blowing his hair into different directions. He still manages to hear Umemiya over the distant wind chimes.
“I know you can, I was just saying. There’s no harm in caring, right?”
They sing, and then eventually, die down again.
“Mm. I know.”
“Start looking at the people around you, Sakura. That’s the best advice I can give you.”
—
Self-hatred is a funny concept. Sakura is familiar with this, too—just as much as the hatred he holds for others, and the hatred people hold for him. Sakura is not kind. He never claimed he was, and he doesn’t think he ever will be.
Somewhere between the glares and mean words about his personality and appearance, he began to agree. That maybe, they were right.
There was once a time where he would avoid every single mirror. He found that every time he’d look into one, his heart would do something weird. Sometimes it’d lodge into his throat, or sink to the bottom of his stomach like a rock in the sea. He disliked the look in his eyes even more.
He would hide his hair behind hoodies, his eyes behind sunglasses. He hid his heart, caged it within his chest and threw out the key.
Sakura doesn’t do that anymore. One: because it’s a sign of weakness. Two: because he’d be giving every person who talked down on him the satisfaction, and he refuses to ever let them win again.
Three: because there are people now that look at him with love rather than disgust.
—
The day after apologies bled from Sakura’s lips, Suo left.
It was a planned arrangement. Something that was inevitable and expected; Suo would leave once they graduated. It wouldn’t be for very long. Six months, or a year, at the latest.
Six months was two seasons. One year was all four. Right now, they’re in spring. Suo had told him he would miss the cherry blossoms in Makochi. To that, Sakura had asked, “But you’ll be in China. Cherry blossoms bloom there, right?”
“It’s not the same, I’m afraid.”
“Why?” he asked, again, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.
“Because you’re not there.”
—
At two months without Suo, Sakura finds himself working at a local bakery—he also moved out of his old apartment and got a place with Nirei.
He had sat Sakura down one day at Pothos, looking scarily serious. For a solid moment, Sakura had assumed the worst. Maybe Nirei was leaving now, too. Maybe he found bigger and better things; a dream that wouldn’t be achievable as long as he stayed.
“Let’s move in together”, is what he had said instead.
“Huh?” he replied, mouth slightly agape.
Hours of signing documents and apartment hunting later, Sakura and Nirei moved in together, not far from Makochi. Neither of them wanted to go too far away from the place that built them up.
“Make sure it has three rooms,” Nirei had said. “We wouldn’t want Suo to be homeless when he gets back.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Sakura cracked a smile at that, glimpses of memories passing through his mind like a movie tape—it was one of the few times where Sakura’s heart didn’t hurt, where his body didn’t wrack with an ache that went down to his skeleton. Nostalgia was a double-edged sword, he realized.
“Okay.”
Their apartment had three rooms. One left empty, waiting patiently for its owner to come home.
—
Back when he was barely tall enough to reach the kitchen counters, Sakura had believed in bad luck. That, maybe, the bullying and the cuts and bruises were because he saw too many black cats, or because he opened his umbrella inside.
If he started looking towards the sky for a shooting star, crossing his fingers, looking for repetitive numbers and wishing, he would get what he wanted. There was a possibility, and that’s all that mattered to him.
It never worked, of course. There’s still a part of him that hoped it did.
—
The green leaves on trees eventually become brown, some withering off its branches to be crushed underneath the soles of peoples shoes.
Sakura and Nirei had taken their scarves out of the closet, the ones that Suo had gifted them before he left. “For when I’m not here,” he said, a cheeky smile lining his lips, golden tassels swaying in spring air.
Soon, it’ll be four months.
Sakura walks on his way to work, alone, since Nirei works in the evenings. He steps on the crunchy leaves lining the sidewalk, avoids the cracks and uneven pieces of concrete that have appeared over time. He’s gotten used to seeing the same view, walking the same paths, and counting the same minutes down to make sure he isn’t late. The only difference would be the days. Time slips between his fingers faster than he’d like.
The emptiness at his side is always a dull ache; a lingering sensation that often feels like he’s forgetting something. He misses catching glimpses of burgundy hair and earrings that reflect the sun, the slope of a nose that he’s mapped out countless times in his mind. At times, he feels it much more than what’s comfortable. Like a piece of his heart was taken away with Suo, lying in his pocket or maybe thrown out and forgotten underneath everything else.
He unlocks the bakery’s front door, the jingle of keys a familiar sound. Sakura pushes the thought down until it decides to greet him again, unwelcoming.
—
Suo sends messages often.
Most times it’s through his phone. Sakura started leaving his ringer on, waiting for that familiar chime and buzz that comes along with a notification. Other times, handwritten letters are delivered to his and Nirei’s mailbox. He checks it weekly, even when he knows there’d be nothing inside.
The letters have Suo written all over them. With delicate and neat pen strokes, the fancy envelopes and letter paper that feel coarse underneath the pads of his fingertips.
Nirei and him have made it a habit to sit down and make time to read Suo’s letters together. They write back to him as well, even if Sakura’s penmanship is mediocre.
Sakura keeps every envelope inside his bedside table, and on nights when he feels particularly lonely, he reads them over and over until the lines begin to blur. He swears he can smell Suo’s scent on them, sometimes.
He holds the paper close to his chest, and secretly wishes on it. It comes out more like a shameful confession.
I miss you more than I’d like to admit.
—
“You should stop smoking. Hayato will be mad if he finds out.”
“He’s not here, though.”
Nirei slides the door closed behind him, stepping out onto the patio. He hides a grimace. Sakura knows how much he hates the smell of cigarettes. The bitter taste of guilt lies under his tongue.
“Go back inside.“ He exhales, a cloud of smoke drifts away in the cold autumn air. Sakura knows winter is fast approaching, if his red fingertips are anything to go by.
He puts out his cigarette on the ash tray, “Did you hide my other box already?”
“Who knows.”
“Akihiko—“
Sakura turns, flinches back. He still isn’t used to Nirei’s glare even after all this time.
“It’s—temporary. I just had a bad day.”
“You’ve been doing it since our third year. I still remember finding all the empty boxes in your trash.”
“You know I stopped after. You sat me down and nagged me for three hours.”
“But you started again.”
Sakura opens his mouth, doesn’t find the words he’s searching for, and clamps it shut. He sighs.
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing you need to apologize for—not to me.”
Suo said the same thing. “Why not?”
“I think you should try to forgive yourself instead.”
Nirei smiles.
Sakura ends up throwing away the cigarette box in his pocket; he likes to think it’s a step closer to what everyone keeps telling him.
—
A year ago, six months before graduating, Sakura came to the startling realization that he was running out of time.
In six months, he would no longer be the leader of Furin. In six months, Suo would leave, and the rest of his classmates would go their separate ways, too. In six months, his own future is a blank canvas.
There were many things he didn’t get to say, words that would lodge in his throat and simmer away like they never existed.
In his last six months, Sakura set plans, because he doesn’t like to regret.
He told Kiryu how much he liked his pink hair and strength, Tsuge for his endless resolve, Sugishita for being a fighter he can rely on.
Nirei hugged Sakura with tears streaming down his face, gripping onto him like he never wanted to let go, and for the very few times that it’s happened—Sakura hugged back.
Suo was a special case. When it came down to it, Sakura had so many things to say that none of it ended up coming out at all.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
—For not being honest. For all the missed opportunities and wasted time. For being afraid of letting you in.
Say it, say it, say it.
Suo had always been the exception.
—
At times, Sakura’s dreams are in the shapes of nightmares—a reminder that he’ll never be able to fully escape their clutches.
He feels his mouth moving, his vocal chords scraping against his throat like a bow being put to violin strings; but nothing comes out.
He screams, thrashes, digs his nails into his palms, because Sakura is full of anger, and envy, and love in the most tarnished way possible.
In his mind, he curses the sky, the void that threatens to consume him. He curses time itself, for being a thief who takes, takes, and takes. It laughs at his inability to grab hold. It never gives.
Sakura curses himself, for not being strong enough.
(He lies awake, hands fisted into his blanket—tries to convince himself that he’s safe. Imagines familiar hands reaching for him, tapping his fingers and caressing the nape of his neck.
On the nights when his thoughts are too loud, spiraling and spinning with no end, he lets himself be comforted.
“Can I sleep with you?”, he asks, and it comes out as a whisper—frail, like glass. It reminds him of how a child would act, when they were haunted by nightmares and scared of monsters under their bed. Except, Sakura is almost twenty, far too old to believe in superstitions and fictional beings, and scary dreams that he knows aren’t real.
Somehow, the darkness makes him shameless—or maybe because it’s Nirei he’s talking to, and Sakura would give him every inch of his trust along with his ugly, bruised heart served on a silver platter if Nirei asked.
“Of course”, he always answers, and it’s never been different. Sakura still asks anyways.
Nirei lifts his blanket, offers Sakura the spot on the bed next to him. It’s a routine, a reflex he’s adapted ever since Sakura first knocked on his door in the middle of the night, all erratic breathing and shaky hands.
Sakura still sleeps on his side. He still curls up and clenches his hands, keeps them close to his heart. He’s still scared of the things that have hurt him, and the things that eventually will.
Nirei hugs him, puts his head in the juncture of Sakura’s neck.
Nothing is said, not really. At least, not with words.
Sakura falls asleep to Nirei’s steady breathing and the slight beat of his heart against his spine. He finds it easier to breathe.
He thinks he’ll be okay, just for tonight.)
—
Six months, in retrospect, is not a long time compared to the average lifespan. It’s almost nothing next to the last 19 years of Sakura’s life, a small portion of memories that will probably get lost amongst the sea of the rest of his experiences.
In another six months, he’ll still remember the days drifting by, Nirei almost burning their apartment down with his baking, the cat that he had saved from getting ran over in the street, and that one awkward encounter he had with a customer.
In a year, he’ll probably forget most of those things, and in five, he’ll have other people bringing them up, reigniting his memories anew. Eventually, they’ll also forget it ever happened—a story lost due to the passing of time.
Sakura, for some reason, believes he’ll remember the last six months for more than just five years. Maybe a decade, maybe two, will pass, and he’ll still remember the emptiness that Suo left—the bundle of letters at his bedside will wear a yellow tint, the edges of the paper will crumble, and the ink will fade.
The weight in his chest, the Suo-sized crack in his ribs that he personally chiseled, a hole in his heart where his adoration should’ve been. He’ll remember. This, he knows.
—
Eight months later, on the cusp of winter, Suo comes back. It was an unexpected and spontaneous arrival; much in Suo-fashion.
A single message, not written in ink, but rather pixels on a screen. It read, “Meet me at the park”, and it didn’t take long for Sakura to process it, the grip on his coffee cup going lax.
Nirei had gotten the same message, already up and off of the couch in their living room. They both grabbed their coats, put on their shoes with practiced clumsiness, nearly tripping over themselves in the process. It would’ve made for a comedic sight if the adrenaline wasn’t actively pumping through Sakura’s veins.
The cold air fills his lungs, stinging his nose and numbing his hands as he runs through familiar streets—uncaring of the people passing by, of the growing tiredness seeping into his bones. And it feels a lot like the past, when he was fifteen and immature, running towards nothing in particular, or everything at once. Right now, it’s the latter. Right now, his lungs and legs burn, but he can’t find it in himself to stop.
Shades of brown, yellow, and the pale blue, almost white sky fill his vision. It’s cold, clouds misting over the risen sun that half-heartedly does its job. A rich mahogany stands in the middle of it all, turning into a dark, almost fiery red when the light hits. It’s the color Sakura has grown to be fond of; the color he associates with love, warmth, annoyance, and the sweet, sometimes bitter smell of tea.
Nirei walks up first, hesitant. Sakura is stuck to the ground, he feels as if time has stopped—but it hasn’t, because he hears Nirei’s voice, sees him look at Suo with the same care and affection that’s reflected in his own eyes.
“Suo…Are you—are you real?”
“I think I am.” Suo responds, a teasing lilt to his voice, his signature smile lining his lips.
The weight of it all seemingly comes crashing down on the both of them. He’s real, he’s here, only the shortest of feet away.
Nirei encapsulates him in one of the tightest hugs Sakura has seen, and it reminds him of that one day in late winter, when the flowers were beginning to bloom, the snow melting off of the pavement. Nirei had held him like that, too. Sakura knows—has known, of the immeasurable love Nirei is filled with. He holds on like he never plans to let go.
“Sakura? What about you?”
Suo is looking at him, one hand wrapped around Nirei, the other held outwards. An invitation.
Did you miss me?
Sakura remembers how to move his legs, slowly. His shoes scuff against the ground.
He doesn’t know how to show his emotions, or how to act in important situations, or how to express his love in ways that aren’t reckless and inexperienced.
He goes into Suo’s waiting arms, anyways; feels the way Suo’s palm rests on the nape of his neck, the way his own fingers splay against the soft surface of Suo’s coat. He feels a heart beating in rhythm, and Sakura doesn’t know who’s it is.
The light air from Suo’s lips ghost against his skin, and sends shivers down his spine, “I missed you. Both of you.”
“Don’t leave us again”, Nirei replied, with a slight crack in his voice. Sakura shares the same sentiment, yet can’t find the courage to speak them.
I missed you, too.
Instead, he grips on a little tighter. Instead, he says, “It’s about time.”
Suo laughs. It rings through Sakura’s ears, takes him back to spring, cherry blossoms, tall, bright grass, and comfortable warmth that enveloped him from head to toe.
“I’m home.”
—