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Suo often takes the initiative to start touching people, but it doesn’t work the other way round. He pats Sakura on the shoulder when he’s depressed and blaming himself after a fight; he rubs Nirei’s back when he’s crying out of anger and worry; he does similar things for Sasaki and Shizuka – anyone who needs support.
However, in reality, it was never reciprocated—or, at least, rarely so. Suo never showed any vulnerability that might make people feel he needed help; he never displayed any discomfort that might prompt an initiative to comfort him. Then, in fights—whether serious or just for practice—neither Kanuma nor Kaji ever managed to land a single blow.
Kakiuchi and the others once ambushed him with natto pranks, and Suo did indeed panic somewhat at the time. However, on another occasion when Anzai targeted him with a cold bottle, he was alert enough to dodge it perfectly. Even for Tsubakino, who loved to hug people, Sakura and Nirei were always easier to ambush, whilst Suo would slip away smoothly.
And all that distance-keeping attitude of his… didn’t apply in Bankoku-gai.
“…SunFei.”
“I’m home~”
That evening, Rakta was earnestly stirring the curry in the pan when Suo’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind without warning. It startled him, actually, but Rakta rarely showed any obvious reaction. Suo buried his face in Rakta’s back, and the older brother simply sighed in resignation.
“Change your clothes and wash your hands.”
“Okay!"
Rakta finally gave the instruction after hearing the click from the rice cooker, signalling that the rice inside was cooked. Suo finally walked over to the sink, obediently washed his hands and took off his Furin uniform to put it in the washing machine.
“Any trouble at school?” Rakta asked as he poured curry into a large bowl.
“No, no, everything’s fine.” Suo replied quickly, and Rakta didn’t press the matter further. His younger brother tended to be like that—hiding whatever was bothering him and becoming more clingy when he was fed up with something.
Well, Suo would tell him when the time was right, so he wouldn’t press the matter further and make the boy feel uncomfortable.
Then, after eating, Suo moved behind the sofa, covering Bacchus’s eyes from the back with the palm of his hand, so that the young man couldn’t continue looking up the meanings of certain words in the trilingual dictionary he was holding. Bacchus was actually still studying, even though he always found it easier to forget things than Suo and Rakta, who could easily memorise vocabulary without much effort.
“Hey, SunFei, let go!”
“...”
“Bloody hell, SunFei—”
“No, no, it’s Rakta.” Suo whispered softly into Bacchus’s ear. Rakta frowned from the other side of the sofa, and Suo almost giggled at the sight. Bacchus, for his part, clearly didn’t believe it. Their voices were different, and although Suo did his best to imitate him, Bacchus knew full well the difference in the size of their palms.
On other occasions, it was Bacchus and Rakta who teased Suo, and the boy didn’t mind. When winter came and they sat huddled around the heating table, for example, in one of the years when Suo hadn’t yet finished elementary school. Bacchus had just returned from outside—he’d lost at rock-paper-scissors, so it was his turn to buy bread—and suddenly lifted Suo onto his lap, holding him so lightly that he could then be hugged for warmth. Suo let himself be held, undisturbed as he chewed the bread that Rakta had spread with butter.
In the early days after his right eye was injured, Suo’s balance was completely off. It was Rakta who patiently guided his hand down the stairs, and Suo greatly appreciated his calm, unhurried manner. Meanwhile, Bacchus watched from behind or walked ahead, biting his lip in frustration, moved by pity and sympathy. Ah, how he longed to simply carry his little brother so he wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of walking so slowly, but Suo was right that he had to practise so he could do it himself, and watching the process still broke Bacchus’s heart.
Sometimes, there would be little squabbles between Bacchus and Rakta, arguing fiercely over which type of mushroom tasted best or whether soy sauce or sweet soy sauce was more delicious. Suo would usually step in to break it up patiently, but there were times when he was too tired to speak and opted for a more practical approach by slipping between them and elbowing both of them in the stomach. His older siblings would be taken aback, then proceed to pinch his cheeks playfully until they were satisfied.
“SunFei, actually, you really ought to eat more.”
“Hm.”
“On what basis do you make that claim, Bacchus, Rakta?”
“Your cheeks were much more like mochi five years ago.”
“That’s right; now your cheekbones are too close to the surface of your skin.”
Suo shook his head in disagreement. Wouldn’t it be a bit of a problem if, at the age of fifteen, he still had cheeks as round as a volleyball?
Then, as vice-captain, Suo was quite busy, especially during the commotion over the Noroshi issue. He organised his class’s formation until late at night and fell asleep at the table in the living room before he could make it back to his own room. In any case, he woke up on the bed, and his older siblings pointed at each other when Suo asked who had carried him in.
During the summer festival, Bankoku-gai also celebrated in a lively manner. The dojo children dragged their SunFei-nii here and there, before scattering off to buy various snacks and fireworks. Bacchus and Rakta found him sprawled out under a tree by the riverbank, examining his left sandal, one of whose straps had snapped.
“Since when?” asked Bacchus.
“Just now.” Suo gave a brief reply without much explanation, cut short by a startled gasp as Rakta suddenly lifted him up without warning. “Hey… can’t I walk by myself?”
“You’ll trip and sprain your ankle.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll just go barefoot.”
“You might step on broken glass, or get pricked by a nail.”
Rakta’s argument sounded logical and irrefutable, so Suo ran out of excuses, especially as he’d be ignored anyway, even if he brought up the issue of his weight. Bacchus took over Rakta’s bags and Suo’s paper bags as well—gifts from the townspeople, who were keen to share boiled sweet potatoes and warm chips with them.
In the end, Suo might not have been entirely comfortable with physical contact, unless he initiated it himself, but he didn’t mind when it came from his siblings. After all, it was their hands that had applied cold compresses to his forehead when he had a high fever, and those same hands that had steadied his waist to prevent him from falling when he forced himself to walk, even though he was still dizzy and weak in the aftermath of the accident. It was their hands that guided him in the dark, when his eyes were completely covered by a bandage, and it was those very hands that he clung to whilst crying when he was in pain and couldn’t hide it.
Those were certain hands, belonging to those he respected. It was a special exception, reserved for those he cherished with all his heart.