Archive of Our Own

“Well, this isn’t a view we get every day,” Bacchus says with a low whistle.

Rakta looks over. Slumped against one of the outer pillars of the Red Chanpuru compound is a boy in a black school uniform. His head is bowed, his breathing shallow enough that, for one cold second, Rakta thinks he may not be breathing at all.

The most striking thing about him is his hair. White, Bacchus thinks at first. Brilliant white, stark against the dirt on his cheek and the dried blood at his knuckles.

Then Bacchus crouches in front of him, tilts his head slightly, and realizes only half of it is white.

“He looks like a chessboard,” he says.

Rakta sighs. “Stop being uncouth about an injured person and start doing something actually useful.” He kneels beside the boy, fingers already moving to check his pulse. “Also, isn’t that who I think it is?”

“Hm?” Bacchus leans closer, his grin fading into something more alert. “Oh. Hold on, yeah.”

The boy’s face is bruised. There is a split at the corner of his mouth and dirt beneath his nails, like he has dragged himself here after falling more than once. His uniform is creased, his collar loose.

And just beneath the line of his hair, half-hidden where the nape meets the curve of his shoulder, is a faded mark.

A bite.

While Bacchus doesn’t seem to notice the bite, his face does light up in recognition. 

“Come to think of it,” he says slowly, “isn’t this—”

“Get Park,” Rakta cuts in.

“But—”

“Now.”

Bacchus goes. 

Rakta stays crouched beside the unconscious boy, one hand hovering close but not touching unless necessary.

He knows this boy. Not well, but enough. Everyone in Red Chanpuru knows about the Furin boy Sunfei looked at like a man pretending not to want water while standing in the desert.

Rakta looks down at the bite again.

The mark is really much too faint. 

Whatever else is going on here, that cannot be good.

Suo Hayato is the name Furin knows. Sunfei is the name he’s born with, and the name Red Chanpuru never stopped using.

He has always thought of them as two separate lives, divided cleanly down the middle by choice, duty, and all the things he never said out loud.

Suo smiles. Suo listens. Suo keeps his hands folded and his tone mild.

Sunfei commands. Sunfei calculates. Sunfei does not allow himself the luxury of surprise.

As the youngest officer in Red Chanpuru, and the youngest alpha in its leadership, control is not simply expected of him. It is necessary. There are older men who still look at him and see youth before they see rank. There are enemies who would mistake softness for weakness if he allowed even one crack to show.

So Sunfei does not crack. He does not flinch. He does not freeze.

At least, not usually.

Then he steps into the medical bay for his daily report and finds Sakura Haruka lying unconscious on one of the beds.

For one brief, impossible moment, the world goes silent. Then something in him splinters, Sunfei retreating back and allowing Suo to come through. 

“Sakura-kun?”

His own voice sounds strange to him, too thin for him to recognise. 

Bacchus, who has been sitting by the bed with his arms crossed, snaps his fingers triumphantly.

“I knew it was him!” he announces. “That boy from Furin that Sunfei likes so much.”

“Keep your voice down, you fool,” Rakta says from the other side of the room. “And that’s his mate you’re talking about.”

“His mate?” Bacchus looks back at Sakura, startled. “Really? I don’t see a bite mark or any—oh, wait. There it is.” He whistles again, quieter this time. “Dang. When did his hair get so long?”

Suo does not look at them, his eyes fixed on his sleeping mate on the bed. 

He looks at  the pallor of his skin. At the chapped line of his lips. At the bandages wrapped around his scraped hands. At the faint tremor running through his body even in unconsciousness, as if something inside him is fighting hard to keep him there.

“You two,” Suo says, turning his head towards his two subordinates.  “Would you mind explaining to me what exactly is going on? Why is Sakura-kun here?”

Rakta straightens. “We found him unconscious near the outer gate during patrol. Park checked him over. Aside from dehydration, exhaustion, and some surface injuries, there’s nothing immediately life-threatening.”

“Immediately,” Suo repeats. 

Rakta’s expression tightens. “He was asking for you in his sleep.”

Bacchus scratches the back of his head, less careless now. “Doctor Park said he wanted to speak to you later.” He glances back at the sleeping Sakura. “No idea how this kid got this far on his own. Sunfei, you should’ve told us your mate was coming. If we knew, we would have sent someone to bring him in properly.”

Suo says nothing.

Because he didn’t know.

Sakura should not be here.

Sakura should be in Furin, surrounded by the people Suo left him with. He should be standing on some rooftop with Umemiya’s garden nearby, joking with Nirei, arguing with Sugishita, pretending not to soften when his friends fuss over him.

He should not be here. He should not have found this place. He should not have come looking.

How did he know? Who told him? How long had he been walking?

Suo’s gaze falls to Sakura’s throat. The collar of his uniform has slipped aside, exposing the old mating mark at the back of his neck.

It looks faded. His stomach turns.

He left Sakura without a proper goodbye. He told himself it was cleaner that way. Safer. Kinder, even, if he could make Sakura hate him quickly enough to stop waiting for him.

He had not told Rakta or Bacchus the details.

Maybe he should have. Maybe then they would understand why Sakura’s presence here feels less like a reunion and more like a punishment.

“Sunfei.”

A voice pulls him back. Park approaches with a clipboard tucked beneath one arm. He is one of Red Chanpuru’s few doctors, old enough to scold officers without caring about rank and tired enough to do it often.

“It’s good that you’re here,” Park says.

“Doctor.” Suo dips his head. “Bacchus said you wanted to speak with me.”

“I do.” Park glances at Sakura, then back at him. “Privately.”

Rakta understands first.

“Bacchus,” he says.

Bacchus looks over at him lazily. “What?”

“Out.”

“Oh.” Bacchus looks between them, then nods. “Right.”

As he passes, Rakta places one hand briefly on Suo’s shoulder. It is warm and steady.  A warning and comfort both.

Suo does not react aside from a miniscule nod. When the door shuts behind them, only then does he ask, “How did you know he is my mate?”

Park raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I know? The boy is marked,” he says, as if explaining something obvious to a child. “And even though it’s faint, your pheromones are still on him. Barely. Which is part of the problem.”

At his sides, Suo’s fingers curl into half-fists.

“You need to scent him when he wakes,” Park continues. “His body is unstable so it will help with his recovery. You’ve been back here early these days, haven’t you? I assume that means you haven’t been spending enough time with him.”

Suo keeps his expression smooth and says nothing. Park mistakes his silence for embarrassment and sighs.

“You’re young, but you’re not stupid. You know better than to neglect your omega, especially when he’s expecting.”

The crack inside Suo’s mind becomes a clean break. For the second time that day, the world goes quiet.

“He’s…” Suo hears himself say. “What?”

“Expecting,” Park repeats. He smiles faintly, unaware of the way Suo’s blood has gone cold.

“You brat. So young and already so eager to become a father,” he continues with a shrug. “Well, that’s how it is with mates sometimes, I suppose. In any case, I suggest keeping him here until he recovers. The dehydration is severe enough that I don’t want him moved unnecessarily, and with the pregnancy—”

Suo barely hears the rest.

Pregnant.

Sakura is pregnant.

His mate is pregnant.

Sakura, whom he left.

Sakura, who came all this way alone.

Sakura, who has been carrying his child for weeks while Suo sat in meetings and told himself distance was the right thing to do. 

“How long?” Suo asks.

Park pauses. “Hm?”

“How long?”

Park studies him properly this time, the smile slowly leaving his face, possibly finally sensing the tension in Suo’s voice. “We would need better equipment to be certain,” he says carefully, “but judging from his condition and what I could examine, around six weeks.”

Six weeks.

Suo closes his eyes.

Six weeks ago, Sakura had still been warm against him.

Six weeks ago, Suo had still been selfish enough to think that leaving afterward would hurt only one of them.

Holy shit.

He really is the worst.

Sakura wakes like he is coming out of a fight.

His eyes snap open. His whole body jerks. One hand flies toward his throat, then to his stomach, then to the mattress beneath him as if he does not understand where the ground has gone.

Suo is beside him before Park can move.

“Sakura-kun.”

Sakura freezes. For one second, something like relief breaks across his face so openly that Suo can hardly bear to look at it.

Then it is gone. He shoves himself upright too fast before crumpling forward a little, the dizziness clearly hitting him hard. 

“Don’t get up right now,” Park warns. “You’re still so weak.”

Sakura ignores him in favor of glaring at Suo. “You,” he says in a hoarse voice. 

Suo reaches for the cup of water on the side table. “Drink first.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Sakura demands, ignoring even that. His fingers fist in the blanket. His breathing is uneven, but his eyes are sharp despite the exhaustion still dancing on his face. “You disappeared,” he continues. “No explanation. No goodbye. Nothing. You think you can just—”

His voice cracks and he immediately looks angrier for it. 

After a few seconds of silence, Suo breaks it by setting the cup down.

“Sakura-kun,” he says softly, “you shouldn’t have come here.”

Sakura laughs once, its sound both ugly and heartbreaking. Something inside Suo’s heart twists.

Ignore it, Sunfei tells him. Ignore it, ignore it, this is for the best, this is why you left, he shouldn’t know, he shouldn’t—

“That’s what you have to say to me?” Sakura asks. 

“Sakura—”

“You left.”

“I know.” Suo reaches for him. “I know, Sakura-kun—”

“No, you don’t.” Sakura’s scent spikes, bitter and wounded, and Suo feels his own alpha instincts rise hard enough to choke him. “You don’t know anything. You don’t get to stand there looking like that and act like you’re calm. You don’t get to—”

His face suddenly drains of color.

Suo frowns. “Sakura-kun?”

Sakura responds by clamping a hand over his mouth. For one suspended second, his whole body goes rigid.

Then he doubles over.

Beside him, Suo hears Park cursing under his breath. 

Suo catches Sakura before he can fall off the bed. Sakura retches hard, violent enough that his thin shoulders shake with it. There is almost nothing in his stomach, only bile and pain and the awful sound of his body trying to empty itself anyway.

“Sakura-kun.” Suo holds him, one hand braced against his back. “Breathe. Slowly.”

“Don’t—touch me—” Sakura gasps, angry even when sick. 

Despite his words, Sakura doesn’t pull away, his fingers clutching Suo’s sleeve so tightly the fabric strains.

Park is already at his other side, checking his pulse, pressing two fingers beneath his jaw, then against his wrist. His expression tightens.

“His body is rejecting the bond strain.”

Suo looks up sharply. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Park says, voice clipped, “that your pregnant omega dragged himself here dehydrated, exhausted, emotionally distressed, and under-scented. His body is trying to stabilize itself and failing. The mating bond is weak from lack of contact, and the pregnancy is making everything worse.”

Suo’s throat closes. He feels Sakura trembling against him.

“Can you fix it?” Suo asks softly.

Park gives him a hard look. “The only one who can do that is you, Sunfei.”

Suo goes still.

“Your scent is too sharp,” Park says. “You need to calm down.” He holds up a hand just as Suo is about to argue. “Don’t start saying nonsense that you are. Your pheromones are out of control that even an old beta like me can feel. Think about how your omega feels.” 

Suo looks down.

Sakura’s face is pressed against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in broken pulls. The hand on Suo’s sleeve has not loosened. He’s shaking so badly that his teeth have started chattering. 

And Suo, who has spent years teaching his body to obey him, realizes with something close to horror that he is frightening him.

Slowly, Suo exhales, forcing the panic down. 

He softens his scent carefully, smoothing the sharp edge of alpha fear into something warmer, quieter. He lets it settle around them.

Eventually, Sakura’s breathing stutters before little by little, it eases. 

Park watches them both, then grunts. “Better. Keep doing that.”

Suo only nods once. Sakura makes a small, miserable sound into his sleeve, and Suo’s heart twists again. Inside his heart, Sunfei remains silent, knowing that no amount of rationalisation can fix this. 

“I’m here,” Suo says, barely above a whisper. “I’m here, Sakura-kun.”

Sakura’s eyes open halfway, unfocused as he searches for Suo’s face. He’s beginning to lose consciousness again as his shaking eases, his body trying to force him to rest. 

“Why did you leave me?” he mumbles. “You didn’t…even say goodbye.”

Suo nuzzles Sakura’s sweat-damp hair. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“…You bastard,” Sakura murmurs, his voice already thick with sleep. “I hate you so much.”

There is no heat behind it. Suo only holds him closer and hopes, with all the selfishness Sunfei can muster and all the naivety he cannot afford, that it means Sakura does not truly mean it.

Park, who had been watching them both silently, sighs before he straightens.

“He needs rest, fluids, and your scent,” he orders. “No more arguments. No stress. No unnecessary visitors.” His eyes narrow. “And no more disappearing.”

Suo answers with another silence. Park decides to take that as compliance. 

“Good,” he says gruffly, though his expression remains severe. “I’ll prepare something for the nausea. He won’t be able to keep much down yet, so we’ll start slow. Water first. Broth, if he wakes up enough for it.”

Suo nods, his arms still around Sakura.

Park glances at them once more. His gaze lingers briefly on Suo’s hand, where it rests over Sakura’s back, careful despite the strength in it.

Then he sighs. “You can regret later,” he says. “Right now, be useful.”

Suo lowers his eyes. “Yes, Doctor.”

Park leaves them like that.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are Sakura’s uneven breathing and the faint clink of Park moving behind the partition, preparing whatever medicine he thinks Sakura can tolerate. Outside, Red Chanpuru goes on as usual. Footsteps pass in the hall. Someone laughs too loudly and is immediately hushed. The compound breathes around them, alive and indifferent.

Suo remains where he is.

Sakura is half in his lap now, too exhausted to hold himself upright and too stubborn, even unconscious, to fully collapse. His fingers are still clenched in Suo’s sleeve. Every so often, they twitch, as if some part of him is checking that Suo is still there.

Suo watches it happen with a kind of helplessness he does not know what to do with. He is used to solving things with planning. With words chosen carefully enough to bend a room around him. With force, when force is required. 

None of that is useful here.

There is no strategy that can undo abandonment. No clever answer that can make up for Sakura waking day after day with Suo’s scent fading from his skin. No clean explanation that can justify the neglect. 

Sakura had come all this way because of him, and in turn, suffered because of him. 

And still, even after all that, Sakura’s hand refuses to let go.

Suo lets out a long sigh. “You’re very cruel, Sakura-kun,” he whispers.

Sakura does not stir. Suo presses his cheek lightly against Sakura’s hair. 

“You should hate me properly,” he whispers. 

His only answer is Sakura’s faint breath against his collar. 

A few minutes later, the door opens again. Suo looks up to see Rakta standing in the doorway with a folded blanket over one arm and a basin of clean water in his hands. Behind him, Bacchus carries a tray with a kettle, cups, and something that smells faintly of rice and ginger.

Rakta steps inside first. His gaze moves from Sakura to Suo, then down to the way Sakura is gripping him. His expression softens by a fraction.

“Park said he might need cleaning up,” he says. “And that you probably wouldn’t leave him long enough to get these yourself.”

Bacchus sets the tray on the side table with exaggerated care. “There’s hot water. Ginger broth too. Park said to make him drink it slowly or he’ll throw up again.”

“Thank you,” Suo says, grateful. 

Bacchus rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Don’t make that face. It’s weird.”

“I’m not making a face.”

“You are. It’s a horrible face. Like someone kicked a puppy in front of you.”

Rakta sighs. “Bacchus.”

“What?” Bacchus protests. “I’m trying to lighten the mood.”

“Then you’re failing miserably,” 

Despite himself, Suo almost smiles. It barely reaches his mouth, but Rakta notices anyway.

He places the basin on the small table near the bed, then unfolds the blanket and drapes it over Sakura’s legs. He moves slowly, with enough distance that Sakura’s instincts do not stir in distress. Suo gives him another grateful look. 

“Do you need anything else?” Rakta asks.

Suo looks down at Sakura. His skin is still too pale. His lips are dry. Beneath the blanket, one hand has drifted toward his stomach, fingers resting there without awareness.

“No,” he says quietly, speaking through the tightness in his throat. “This is enough.”

Rakta studies him for a moment. Suo can tell he’s waiting for him to say something else, but eventually gives up with a sigh. 

“Call if he worsens,” he says. Then, after a pause, “Call even if he doesn’t.”

Bacchus points at Suo with two fingers as he backs toward the door. “And drink something yourself. If you pass out too, Park’s going to make our lives miserable.”

“I won’t pass out,” Suo smiles. 

“Yeah, that’s what people say before they pass out.”

Rakta grabs the back of Bacchus’s collar and pulls him out before he can say anything else.

The door closes and quiet returns to the room. 

Suo looks at the basin, the cloth folded beside it, the cup of warm water waiting on the table.

Then he looks at Sakura.

His mate.

His omega.

The person he hurt most while trying to hurt him least.

Carefully, Suo shifts Sakura back against the pillows. Sakura makes a small displeased sound, fingers tightening in his sleeve.

“I’m not leaving,” Suo murmurs. “Just let me help you.”

Sakura’s brows draw together, hesitating even in his sleep. Eventually, his grip loosens enough for Suo to reach for the cloth. He dips it into the warm water, wrings it out, then begins wiping the sweat from Sakura’s face.

It’s funny how simple the motion is. Sunfei has faced men with knives. He has negotiated with people twice his age and three times as ruthless. He has stood in rooms where one wrong word would have made him look weak enough to challenge.

None of it has ever made his hands feel as unsteady as this. For both Suo and Sunfei.

He wipes gently around the bruise near Sakura’s cheek. Then the dried sweat at his temple. Then the corner of his mouth, where his lips have cracked.

Sakura shifts.

“Suo…” he murmurs in his sleep. 

“...Yes, Sakura-kun?”

“Don’t go.”

The words are so soft that Suo almost misses them. His hand tightens around the cloth as they sink in. 

“I won’t,” he says with a shaky exhale. “Not anymore.”

“Liar.”

The word is mumbled, half-formed, but it lands with perfect aim.

Suo closes his eyes and smiles in self-mockery. 

“Yes,” he says. “I was.”

Sakura’s lashes flutter. For a moment, Suo thinks he will wake fully, but he only turns his face slightly into Suo’s touch.

Trusting him while calling him a liar. Punishing him and forgiving him in the same breath.

Suo bends forward until his forehead nearly touches Sakura’s.

“I’ll do better,” he whispers. “I don’t think I deserve a second chance but…” He exhales again. “But if you’ll let me stay beside you, even only for tonight, I’ll do better.”

For a moment, he receives no response, not that he expects one from his sleeping mate. 

Then, he feels something touch his wrist. He looks down.

Sakura’s fingers, slowly, clumsily, close there. 

Suo’s breath catches. “Sakura-kun?”

This time, Sakura’s eyes open. They are hazy with exhaustion and sleep, but clearer than before. He looks at Suo for a long moment, as if piecing him together from scent, sound, and memory.

Then his gaze drops to Suo’s wrist in his hand.

Sakura seems to realize what he is doing, his cheeks flushing prettily in embarrassment. 

“Don’t look,” he mutters.

Suo’s mouth softens. “At what?”

“At me.”

“That’s a difficult ask, Sakura-kun,” Suo chuckles. 

“Then close your eyes,” Sakura huffs. 

“No,” Suo says. “I don’t want to miss anything important about you ever again.”

Although his tone is light, Sakura must have sensed the sincerity in his words. He turns to look at him fully, studying his face before his expression shifts into a half-hearted glare. 

“You’re annoying,” he says.

“So I’ve been told,” Suo answers.

“Absolutely nasty. Lacking any kind of kindness,” Sakura huffs, whiny now. “Coward. Runaway. And.. and…”

He falters, his thumb moving across Suo’s wrist once in a faint restless motion. 

“I…heard…a little bit of the conversation that you had with that doctor.” Sakura looks down. “You know, don’t you? About the baby.”

There is a quiet breath. Suo isn’t sure who it belongs to.

“Yes,” he hears himself say. 

Sakura’s hand moves to his stomach again. His fingers curl lightly over the blanket, uncertain and protective all at once.

Suo’s chest aches at the sight.

Sakura keeps his face turned away. “I didn’t know,” he mumbles. “ “I thought I was just…” His jaw tightens. “Weak.” His face tightens with frustration.  “I kept getting sick. I got angry at everyone. Everything smelled wrong. I thought it was because you—”

He stops, swallowing thickly. His eyes shine with unshed tears of frustration.

“Because you left,” he finishes roughly.

Suo lowers his eyes. “Yes.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“No,” Suo says. “But I don’t know what I’m allowed to say yet.”

Sakura looks back at him. For once, Suo does not hide behind a smile.

He lets Sakura see it. The guilt. The fear. The desperate, ugly tenderness pressing against his ribs.

“I left because I thought it was for the best,” Suo says quietly. “I thought if I made myself disappear, you would be angry, and if you were angry, you would stop waiting for me.”

Sakura’s eyes sharpen with anger. “That’s stupid.”

“Yes,” Suo agrees.

“Really stupid,” Sakura says again. “And here I thought you’re supposed to be the smarter one out of all of us.” 

Suo smiles bitterly. “Perhaps I overestimated myself.”

Sakura looks at him for another long moment. Then, very quietly, he says, “I waited anyway.”

Sakura’s face twists as soon as he says it, as if the confession embarrasses him more than anger ever could. He turns his head away again. “Forget what I said. It’s nothing.”

“No.”

Sakura’s eyes flash back to him. “What?”

Suo reaches for him slowly, giving him time to refuse. When Sakura does not, Suo covers the hand resting over Sakura’s stomach.

“I won’t forget it,” he says. “I don’t want to forget anything you give me.”

Sakura stares at their hands. His scent shifts. While it is still exhausted, still thin from illness and strain, something warm moves beneath it. Something fragile.

His fingers curl beneath Suo’s hand.

“Scent me,” he says. “Please.”

Suo swallows, his heart soaring and aching at the same time at those words. “May I hold you?”

Sakura clicks his tongue, but there is no strength in it. “I just said scent me, didn’t I? Just do it before I change my mind.”

He looks so adorable that Suo moves before he could help it. The mattress dips beneath his weight. Sakura watches him with wary eyes, but he does not pull away. Suo slides one arm behind his shoulders and helps him sit forward just enough to fit against him.

Sakura comes stiffly at first. Then Suo’s scent wraps around him.

His body gives up all at once.

He sinks into Suo with a shuddering breath, forehead dropping against Suo’s collarbone. One hand fists weakly in the front of Suo’s shirt. The other remains trapped beneath Suo’s hand over his stomach.

Suo holds him close as he lowers his face to Sakura’s hair and breathes him in. Beneath the sickness, the fear, the bitterness of hurt, Sakura is still there. Sharp and bright and stubbornly alive.

Suo presses his nose to the side of Sakura’s head. Then lower, to his temple.

Then to the place just beneath his ear, where Sakura’s scent is warmest.

Sakura shivers.

“Is it too much?” Suo asks.

Sakura shakes his head once against him. So Suo continues.

He nuzzles slowly along Sakura’s scent gland, careful not to scrape his teeth near the old bite. Against him, Sakura’s breathing turns uneven for a different reason. His fingers twist tighter in Suo’s shirt.

“Feels weird,” he mumbles.

Suo pauses. “Should I stop?”

“I will kill you if you do.” Sakura answers with no bite. 

Suo smiles. He smiles and smiles so that he doesn’t cry. 

Slowly, Sakura relaxes more fully against him. His body remains warm with fever, but the violent trembling has stopped. Suo reaches for the cup on the table and offers it to Sakura.

“You really should drink a little,” he says softly. “The doctor said you’re really dehydrated.”

Sakura lets out an annoyed huff. “Whose fault do you think that is? No, actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want you to start.” He accepts the cup, holding it against his lips before murmuring. “I just need you to be here with me, okay?”

Suo holds him a little closer. “Okay.”

“Good. You really should just listen to me, since I’m your captain and all.”

Suo laughs, surprised that it sounds less broken than he thought it would. 

His hand returns to his stomach again, hesitant. Suo follows the motion with his eyes.

Neither of them says anything for a while.

Then Sakura asks, “Are you scared?”

Suo thinks about lying. Not because he wants to deceive Sakura again, but because fear feels like another burden he has no right to place on him.

But Sakura is looking at him now. And Suo doesn’t want to lie to him again. 

“Yes,” he says. 

Sakura’s mouth tightens. “Because of me?”

“No.” Suo covers Sakura’s hand again. “I’m scared because I don’t know how to be good enough for you,” he says. “Or for the child.”

Sakura’s fingers twitch beneath his.

“The child,” he repeats softly.

Suo’s hand stills.

“I don’t know if…” Sakura trails off, frustrated, exhausted. “It doesn’t feel real…that something is inside of me.” He bites his bottom lip. “Feels weird.”

Despite himself, Suo laughs softly.

Sakura’s head snaps up. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re laughing.”

“Only a little.”

“I’ll punch you when I can stand.”

“I’ll deserve it.”

“You’ll let me?”

Suo’s smile fades into something tender.  “Always,” he promises. 

Sakura stares at him. Then, slowly, his anger softens into something quieter. He leans forward again, hiding his face against Suo’s chest.

“I don’t know what to do,” Sakura admits, voice muffled.

Suo rests his cheek against Sakura’s hair. “Neither do I.”

“That’s not comforting,” Sakura whines. 

“No,” Suo says. “But it’s true.”

“You’re supposed to say something smart,” Sakura mutters. “Reassuring or something."

“I can try.”

“Don’t. It’ll piss me off.”

Suo’s smile returns, small and helpless and so very fond. 

“Then I’ll only say this,” he murmurs. “Whatever you decide, I’ll listen. Wherever you want to go when you’re stronger, I’ll take you. If you want me near, I’ll stay. If you want space, I’ll give it. I won’t disappear ever again.”

Against him, Sakura’s breath hitches.

“You’re bad at promises,” he says softly. “If you’re going to give me one again….at least make a better one. Something you won’t break.”

Suo closes his eyes.

He thinks of every version of himself he has tried to be. Suo, who smiles and keeps the peace. Sunfei, who carries duty like a blade. The boy Sakura met. The one who left. The alpha who failed to protect his omega from his own absence.

Then he opens his eyes and presses his lips to Sakura’s temple.

“I promise I’ll come back,” he says. “Every time. Even if I have to leave the room. Even if I have duties. Even if I’m afraid. I’ll come back to you properly. I’ll tell you where I’m going. I’ll tell you why. I’ll never make you wonder if you were abandoned again.”

Sakura’s breath shakes. For a long moment, he says nothing.

Then, very softly, “Okay.”

The moment he hears his response, Suo’s arms tighten around Sakura before he can stop himself. Sakura makes a faint sound of protest, but he doesn’t push him away.

“Too tight,” he mumbles.

Suo loosens his hold immediately. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t say stop.” Sakura remains pressed against him, face hidden, ears red.

“Sorry,” Suo says again, but this time, fondly, gently.

And so deeply in love. 

The room grows quiet around them. After a while, Sakura tilts his face up. His eyes are heavy with sleep again, but clearer. Softer in a way Suo knows he is not meant to comment on.

“Suo.”

“Yes?”

Sakura looks at his mouth, then away. Suo’s heart stumbles.

“Sakura-kun?”

“...Please don’t make me ask this of you,” Sakura mumbles, embarrassed. He looks at Suo again. “If you’re my mate, then…you’d know what I want, right?” 

Suo can feel eyes on his lips again. Sakura lifts his chin the smallest amount.

A cute little demand that neither Suo or Sunfei can never disobey. 

So, he bends slowly. 

This kiss is barely a kiss at first. Just the soft press of lips against lips, warm and careful. Sakura’s mouth trembles under his, then steadies. His fingers tighten in Suo’s shirt as if to keep him there. 

Suo lets him. He lets Sakura decide the pressure. The length. The moment it ends.

When Sakura finally pulls back, his face is flushed and his eyes are half-lidded.

“Still hate you,” he whispers.

Suo brushes Sakura’s bangs away from his face. “That’s an interesting way to say ‘I love you’.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

His voice is fading, sleep starting to pull him in again. Suo gently lowers Sakura back against the pillows, then settles beside him carefully, one arm around his shoulders and one hand resting lightly over Sakura’s stomach. 

“Go sleep,” Suo says softly. “You need more rest.”

Sakura makes a small, sleepy sound, his body turning towards Suo’s warmth.

Suo scents him again, gentle and unhurried, until Sakura’s breathing evens out completely. The bitter edge of distress fades from the air, replaced by something warm, tired, and faintly sweet.

For the first time since Suo walked into the medical bay, Sakura sleeps without trembling.

Suo watches him for a long time. Then he lowers his head, pressing one last kiss to Sakura’s temple.

“Good night, Sakura-kun,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Sakura does not answer. But in his sleep, his fingers lace loosely through Suo’s.

And this time, Suo doesn't let go.