hayato suo x bankoku-gai!reader, wc: 2.7k, req? no
note from sunnie: warning! this contains major spoilers for the current arc! (suo backstory chapters)
The dojo is quiet at night.
All the children are asleep, after some coaxing on your end. Soft noises from the rowdier parts of the city beyond the dojo’s walls filter in, music and talking, but nothing distinguishable. It’s late, far later than you had intended to stay awake.
But Sun Fei still hasn’t come home yet.
You’re lingering on the dojo’s second story balcony overlooking the courtyard when he does make an appearance. Hidden in the shadows, you watch his steady steps inside as if to convince yourself that he’s really back and you can breathe a little easier.
“You shouldn’t be awake, spymaster.”
Sun Fei’s calm voice cuts through the night like a well honed blade. You don’t know why you startle in surprise; he never has been one to miss details and certainly not when they come to you.
Still, you roll your eyes at him anyways.
“Rakta sparred with the kids this evening.” You offer in place of an explanation. Stepping closer to the railing, you can see him clearer now. You’re glad you stayed up for his arrival because he looks a mess in the put together way only he could manage. “Vuvu is sporting a very large bruise to his ego that needed my attention.”
“How unfortunate.” But he’s smiling, which doesn’t match his words. You don’t think the smile is honest, either. Having known Sun Fei for as long as you have, you’ve learned to pick apart his expressions in a way that you know unnerves him. “You spoil them, you know.”
“With what I can offer, yes.” You shrug one shoulder, then lean against the railing. You prop your chin in your hand and let your attention laze over his figure from top to bottom. Standing on the ground floor, arms folded neatly behind his back and chin tilted up to smile at you, he looks the picture of perfection. You know that’s not true. “Are you going to keep pretending that I can’t see how your nose is swollen?”
You noticed it the moment he walked in. He’s clearly taken a hit, and Sun Fei doesn’t take hits. Worry bites at the tips of your fingers, and you tap them inelegantly against the railing to fight the feeling.
“Preferably, yes.” He tries to joke with a charming smile. But you know what he’s really doing, and you know it’s truly deflecting. Pulling an honest answer from him—and not just an answer he twists the truth from to give someone what they want to hear—is a skill you’ve been honing for ages.
And still you rarely get it to work.
“I suffer through Bacchus and the kids enough.” You sigh, dropping your chin from your palm to press both arms against the railing, leaning forward slightly, imploringly. “Don’t make me drag this out when we both know how this ends.”
Sun Fei cuts his stare to the side, and you know you’ve won. If you weren’t so anxious about what’s going on in his mind, you’d celebrate with a smile.
“Very well.” He sighs, and you know he’s putting on a show. You don’t know why he insists on performing for you when you’ve shown him time and time again that you’re only interested in the real version of him. You’ve seen glimpses of him, you think, at the very least. “And where do you wish to torment me this time?”
You roll your eyes. Torment being his word of choice is ridiculous. You know he’s well aware all you intend to do is look after him. His nose doesn’t seem broken, but you’d like a closer look.
“In the kitchen. I saved your portion from dinner.” You stand straight from against the railing, but you don’t take your eye off of him. “Don’t even try to argue, because I know you haven’t eaten yet.”
He looks away, but he doesn’t argue. You think that’s the best you could hope for with the state he’s in.
“I’ll meet you there.”
The kitchen is dark at night, but just as barren as always.
Food is a scarce resource, carefully rationed throughout the dojo and the kids from the city that come searching for help. Few have access to the dojo’s kitchen, and you are one of the lucky handful that have a key to enter. One of your duties to the dojo, alongside assisting in overseeing the young children, is to aid in the kitchens. You know intimately well what’s there—and how little can be spared.
Sun Fei is waiting by the doors by the time you get there. He’s silent, and you know you need to wait to question him if you want any chance of getting a straight answer.
You do, however, touch his jaw to bring his chin lower, letting you get a better look at his nose. He lets you angle his face side to side without complaint, dutifully complacent with your fussing in a way he only ever is with you, alone.
Your initial observation was correct: his nose is swollen but not broken. A bit of ice will do him good but he won’t need much more attention beyond that. Still, even once you’ve finished your assessment, you keep hold of his chin and search his eye for any hint of what could have happened.
It’s quiet in the hallway. Intimate, too, with how close you are to him and your touch on his skin. It reminds you of how much you love him and that seeing him hurt cuts you twice as deep.
He grabs your wrist, a silent command to not look so close. But how can you not, when he kisses the tips of your fingers so gently after tugging them from his face? Of course, you love Sun Fei. You’re two sides of the same avoidant, repressed coin. Neither one of you have spoken of the feelings that burn under either one of your skins, yet it’s universally known truth that you are Sun Fei’s and he is yours.
It’s just not said with so many words.
“It’s late,” He says, breaking the gentle quiet. The lips that had just brushed your skin curve upwards in a smile you know he doesn’t mean or really feel, but you bite down on your tongue when you feel a retort of I know, I was up waiting for you begging to roll past your lips. You want to admonish him for his bit of affection, but you’re so desperate for any edge of him that you could greedily devour, you let him hold your wrist still in one hand.
But you reach your limit when the smooth pad of his thumb brushes over the veins of your inner wrist.
You turn away, his touch falling away from you. It’s easier this way, you try to convince yourself. Easier to do what needs to be done for your struggling city, easier to accept the hand fate has dealt you, easier to unlock the kitchen and make your way inside, confident that he’ll follow you, always.
You don’t turn to face him as you walk further into the kitchen, gathering the stool needed to reach the hidden, covered plate you had stashed away hours earlier in anticipation for this very moment.
The kitchen isn’t very much, to be expected. When the dojo had more members, functioned better, it was a bustling place. You don’t know that version of the dojo kitchen. Instead, it’s a barren place with a few sparse ingredients stretched to their limit to ensure that maybe not everyone’s bellies are full, but there’s no one in need that does without. You’re proud to be part of that version of the kitchen, even if it makes you sick to think too long about.
The center of the room is home to a long island counter, lined with stools that are rarely used for seating now that there’s barely a use for the kitchen. You hear one stool drag across the floor, and know that Sun Fei’s taken a seat there.
“It’s cold.” You tell him when you set his plate and chopsticks in front of him. There’s an edge to your words you know he’s too smart to miss, but his smile doesn’t falter and all you can do is pout.
“That’s alright.” He assures you, lifting the chopsticks slowly. Almost like he’s dreading the meal you know he hasn’t eaten yet. You watch him closely, and he acts like he doesn’t see you.
“No, it isn’t.” It’s not that there’s anything wrong, necessarily, with a cold dinner. But the idea, the symbolism of it all, drives you insane. Sun Fei, such a valued member of Red Chanpuru and your heart should not be eating cold left overs hours later.
Your throat clogs, and you turn away from him to put a kettle on the stove before he has the chance to see through you to your soul.
“Have a bite.” Sun Fei calls out to you, his voice startlingly loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen. And his request is so unbelievably stupid that you can’t help but twist around and glare harshly at him.
“No.” You snap, irritated by the easy way his smile stays as if he isn’t offering up some of the rare food he gets as is. He’s so unendingly self-sacrificial, you hate that you love him for it.
“Why, is it poisoned?” He tilts his head to the side, feigning genuine confusion. You can see right through his act, through the humor he’s coating the night with so as to distract you from something. It’s the same story, different day.
“It’s your dinner. You don’t get enough to eat, as is.” You finish setting the kettle in place and close the distance between you and Sun Fei. The stool next to his becomes your home, and you know you’re sitting entirely too close but Sun Fei’s space has always belonged to you, and yours to him.
“Neither do you.” He counters, and it’s hard to argue the truth. Reality weighs heavy on your shoulders and they slump while you fumble for a response. He must see the conflict in your eyes, because he seizes your hesitation and taps his chopsticks against your pouted lips. “Half your portion is split amongst the kids.”
“That’s my choice.” You murmur. A lame response, but all you have, unfortunately.
“And this is mine.” Sun Fei picks up a bite of his dinner with the chopsticks and holds it out for you. There’s something sharper in his eye now, and you know him well enough that arguing is pointless. “Eat.”
“You’re beyond stubborn.” You don’t go down easily, getting in one last comment before sighing and taking the bite from his chopsticks. You don’t miss the way that it’s the first bite from his dinner, but the way he smiles so softly after feeding you melts some of the annoyance that had welled up over the course of the conversation. At his core, Sun Fei is a caretaker, and you’re high on his priority list.
You watch him eat in silence, watching him closely. It’s more for your own sanity than anything, and you think he knows that. He doesn’t barter anymore of his meal away, but you’re fairly sure it’s only because he knows you’re liable to strangle him if he pushes you too far.
But it’s not like him to not try and push any of your buttons.
Something’s wrong, you know that much for sure. But it’s just a matter of how bad and what it is. There’s a sadness to him that sometimes you think you’re the only one who can see it.
You have to wait him out, you know. He’ll tell you, whether he wants to or not, because you can always drag the answer out from him. Bacchus calls it your superpower, but something about the weight of the evening tells you that not even you might be able to if he’s resistant.
He confesses once his plate is empty and the tea you brewed is in cups between the two of you.
“I withdrew from Furin.” He says it so casually, you almost miss the meaning behind those words.
“Sun Fei.” You hiss, quietly. He’s not looking at you, which is a bad sign. Your stomach is in knots, and you can’t even really do anything about it.
“It’s already done, so no use discussing it.” You hate how definitive he is about it all. Dismissing your concern over him in order to seem unaffected. It’s sort of his M.O., but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.
“I don’t like this.” Your face twists as though the tea has soured on your tongue. Silence bleeds through the moment, and your stare is fixed on the side of his face. He’s doing a damn good job ignoring you and pretending none of it matters, which leaves you to break the quiet first, voice soft. “Though, selfishly I will be happy to have you back here more.”
“I don’t believe that’s selfish.” At least he’s gazing at you, now. He looks gentle, fragile, but you don’t point that out. Instead, your hands search out one of his, pulling it into your lap to thread your fingers together and entwine yourself physically with him.
“It is.” You nod, solemn. You squeeze his hand and are comforted when he returns the action. It emboldens you to keep talking, though you’ve never bothered to censor yourself around him, anyways. “I know how much you enjoyed your time with those guys, even if you’d never admit it. And to me, I see myself being happy that you’re back while you miss your friends as selfish.”
“You know I needed to return.”
“I know.” Your head tilts to the side, just barely. No use arguing facts, once again. “Doesn’t mean I need to think it’s fair. I hate seeing you like this.”
“Strong words. Like what? Everything is fine.” He goes for a smile and an easy chuckle but instead all you see is a wince and all you hear is a choked breath fighting to seem even.
“Lie to the others as much as you’d like,” Your words turn sharp but your expression is as soft and as open as it’s been since you’ve sat down. His hand in yours twitches at the accusation, but he doesn’t pull away. “But not with me. You owe me that much, Sun Fei.”
His head tilts towards yours, and for a terrifying second you think he’s going to try and derail the conversation with the one bit of affection that’s eluded the two of you. The one boundary that’s never been crossed, as if that means either one of you could possibly deny what’s been building for years.
You’re both cowards and neither one of you will admit it.
“I’d rather avoid worrying you.” He says on a breath that sounds like it’s been punched out of him. Your frown twists into something deeper, something you know will linger for hours, especially while you’re tossing in bed, unable to sleep.
“And that worries me.”
Your counter argument frays the last of his patience. He’s out of excuses, of ways to evade your questions and dodge the important topic.
“I’m heading to bed.” He stands, though his hand is still wrapped around yours. “Don’t wake yourself early on my account. I’ll be staying in the city tomorrow.”
He tries to leave without looking you in the eye, and you won’t have that.
“Sun Fei,” You murmur, tugging on his hand connected with yours. You pull him back to your seat, but you know it’s only because he let you. If he hadn’t wanted to return to your side, he would’ve pulled himself free. “Please don’t forget your happiness is as important to me as mine is to you. You’re my person.”
It’s as close to I love you as you’ve ever gotten, and he knows it.
He doesn’t answer, at first. Instead, he sets the warm hand not encased around yours on your jaw, tilting your head up a fraction of an inch and pulling you towards him. His lips graze your forehead, the kiss as much a declaration as your words.
“Goodnight.”
He’s gone before your heart slows enough to form words.
I don't know what this is or what it's going to become by I simply could not refrain from posting because the current arc is eating my brain alive.
warning: major spoilers for the current manga arc (ch 208 & beyond)
The dojo is quiet at night.
All the children are asleep, after some coaxing on your end. Soft noises from the rowdier parts of the city beyond the dojo’s walls filter in, music and talking, but nothing distinguishable. It’s late, far later than you had intended to stay awake.
But Sunfei still hasn’t come home yet.
You’re lingering on the dojo’s second story balcony overlooking the courtyard when he does make an appearance. Hidden in the shadows, you watch his steady steps inside as if to convince yourself that he’s really back and you can breathe a little easier.
“You shouldn’t be awake, spymaster.”
Sunfei’s calm voice cuts through the night like a well honed blade. You don’t know why you startle in surprise; he never has been one to miss details and certainly not when they come to you.
Still, you roll your eyes at him anyways.
“Rakta sparred with the kids this evening.” You offer in place of an explanation. Stepping closer to the railing, you can see him clearer now. You’re glad you stayed up for his arrival because he looks a mess in the put together way only he could manage. “Vuvu is sporting a very large bruise to his ego that needed my attention.”
“How unfortunate.” But he’s smiling, which doesn’t match his words. You don’t think the smile is honest, either. Having known Sunfei for as long as you have, you’ve learned to pick apart his expressions in a way that you know unnerves him. “You spoil them, you know.”
“With what I can offer, yes.” You shrug one shoulder, then lean against the railing. You prop your chin in your hand and let your attention laze over his figure from top to bottom. Standing on the ground floor, arms folded neatly behind his back and chin tilted up to smile at you, he looks the picture of perfection. You know that’s not true. “Are you going to keep pretending that I can’t see how your nose is swollen?”
You noticed it the moment he walked in. He’s clearly taken a hit, and Sunfei doesn’t take hits. Worry bites at the tips of your fingers, and you tap them inelegantly against the railing to fight the feeling.
“Preferably, yes.” He tries to joke with a charming smile. But you know what he’s really doing, and you know it’s truly deflecting. Pulling an honest answer from him—and not just an answer he twists the truth from to give someone what they want to hear—is a skill you’ve been honing for ages.
And still you rarely get it to work.
“I suffer through Bacchus and the kids enough.” You sigh, dropping your chin from your palm to press both arms against the railing, leaning forward slightly, imploringly. “Don’t make me drag this out when we both know how this ends.”
Sunfei cuts his stare to the side, and you know you’ve won. If you weren’t so anxious about what’s going on in his mind, you’d celebrate with a smile.
“Very well.” He sighs, and you know he’s putting on a show. You don’t know why he insists on performing for you when you’ve shown him time and time again that you’re only interested in the real version of him. You’ve seen glimpses of him, you think, at the very least. “And where do you wish to torment me this time?”
You roll your eyes. Torment being his word of choice is ridiculous. You know he’s well aware all you intend to do is look after him. His nose doesn’t seem broken, but you’d like a closer look.
“In the kitchen. I saved your portion from dinner.” You stand straight from against the railing, but you don’t take your eye off of him. “Don’t even try to argue, because I know you haven’t eaten yet.”
He looks away, but he doesn’t argue. You think that’s the best you could hope for with the state he’s in.
genuinely my fav chapter yet omfg i could write a ten page essay about why it’s so good and how it managed to show development/beliefs of literally ALL the characters!!!!
oh and i included all my fav rakta panels from the ch
rakta please ONE CHANCE THATS ALL I NEED
also suck it @ the people that were characterizing rakta as someone violent who was going to immediately attack them
ok i’m doing this bc it was too silly goofy of an idea in my head. i’m thinking sakura, ume, suo, kaji, hiragi and I think one more if anyone has any opinions
my 25th bday is off to a fantastic start my favorite gay baker (it’s his brand) sang to me at the farmers market and now i’m day drinking my fav wine at the pool while reading manga
there’s no getting over hajime umemiya. there’s moving on, and everything that follows, but you can never forget a smile as bright as his. but you’re older now—a mother—and suddenly you’re not the only one that can’t get over him.
note from sunnie: I wrote this so quick and just in time for my bday tmrw!! (3.7k)
series landing page
3RD YEAR, HIGH SCHOOL
You rarely invite Hajime to your house.
Your parents can be flaky and you never can be sure how they’ll feel about Hajime each day. It’s easier to visit him at the group home, even if there’s more kids than you can remember and privacy is basically impossible. None of that truly matters when you’re with Hajime, though.
But your parents are out of town for the night.
“You took too long,” You frown at Hajime, watching from deep in the covers on your bed as he strolls back into your bedroom. You know you’re being dramatic, considering he only left to get the glass of water you requested, but you like to torment him.
“You know I’d never leave you, sweetheart.”
“Cornball,” The frown melts away into a smile as you sit up enough to sip the water. By the time Hajime is back under the covers with you where he belongs, the glass is on the nightstand beside you and you’re back to clinging to your boyfriend. “It was cold without you.”
“C’mere, then.” Hajime grins wide enough he shows teeth, and a surge of affection bubbles up in you. He spreads his arms in a silent invitation you don’t hesitate to accept, launching yourself at him so you’re tucked against his side, one leg tossed over his hips. Hajime’s arms are wrapped around you, and a flurry of kisses is pressed to the top of your head.
“Haji,” You giggle, pinching his side when the brush of his lips turns into a tickle. He doesn’t stop, so you’re forced to take drastic measures—you push yourself up on one elbow and squeeze the lower half of his face with your free hand. He’s still smiling, and you can’t help but press a kiss to his squished lips. “Do you ever think about the future?”
The question feels like it comes out of nowhere, but you had been contemplating it while Hajime was off waiting on your every whim. It made you think about life with him, in a handful of years. How nothing feels more right than having him with you, always.
“I do.” His words are muffled, and you finally let go of the lower half of his face. Now freed, he takes advantage and brushes the pads of his fingers over your cheekbone and down your jaw, capturing your chin between his index and thumb so he can pull you down for another kiss. You don’t think he’ll ever stop giving you butterflies. “Wanna hear what I think about?”
“Mhm,” You hum, settling back down on his chest, hands folded under your chin so you can prop your head up and watch him closely. He keeps hand on your cheek, thumb tracing the outline of your lips.
“We’ll get a house on the outskirts of town. Close enough to the orphanage, but someplace quiet for just the two of us.” He starts, and you already feel your heart swelling with want. Every word from his lips sounds like utter heaven. “There should be a patio with garden beds for you. And we can get a cat. A couple bedrooms so the guys or Kotoha can stay whenever. And maybe, when we’re ready, we’ll have one or two children.”
Your cheeks hurt from smiling so wide, and you swear you can feel emotion starting to clog your throat. You want what Hajime just described so badly it hurts, and once more you’re second guessing leaving for college.
“I love it. I love you.” You kiss his palm and Hajime’s smile grows softer.
“Mhm, I love you, too.” He murmurs, blue eyes studying your face so gently you know he’s telling the truth. And maybe that means it’s time for you to tell the truth, too.
Drawing in a deep breath, you let your gaze drift to the side so it’s easier to speak.
“What if… if we move up the timeline?” You ask, not even daring to breathe while you wait for his response. You feel him still from where he’s laying underneath you, and you know you have to harden your resolve if you’re going to get out what you need to say.
“What do you mean?” Hajime asks, gently turning your face back towards him and keeping his voice careful but quiet. You think it’s the same way he talks to the underclassmen, like he’s actually listening to you, and a rush of confidence burns through you.
“What if I stay here, with you?” You push yourself up so that you’re straddling Hajime, hands pressed to his chest. The covers fall from around you, pooling at your waist, but the cool air lathing against your skin doesn’t slow you down. “A house with garden beds and a cat sounds perfect. Especially if it’s with you.”
There’s a beat of silence. You watch with your heart both in your throat and on your sleeve as his expression shifts from surprise to something far more gentle.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He hums, hands running soothingly up and down the tops of your thighs. “You’ve always wanted to leave town. And if it’s only for a few years while you’re studying, then I would want nothing more than to build a life here, with you. But you will never know if you’ll like it or not if you don’t go.”
You expected him to say something like that. He’s always been too good of a man. Convincing him that you truly do think that dropping out of university before you even actually attend to stay in Makochi with him was never going to be an easy task.
“I think I’ll miss you too much.” You admit, voice a whisper.
“I’ll miss you, too.” His hand slips from your thigh to the side of your neck, carefully pulling you down so that he can kiss you sweetly. You know he’s trying to convince you to go, but he’s doing an awful job of it by reminding you just what you’ll be leaving behind. “But I’ll be here, waiting. Don’t give up your chance at college for me.”
“You’re not playing fair.” You mumble against his lips, laying back down with your face pressed into the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around you tightly, and you never want to leave the safety of him.
“I’m being honest.” He kisses the top of your head, one hand tracing shapes on the center of your back. You want to drown in his warmth, but you know you’ll have to settle for what you can get for as long as you can get it. “We’ll make it work. Alright?”
You don’t like his answer. But there’s only one end to this conversation, and you’ve reached the inevitable conclusion you wanted to avoid.
“Alright.”
You might agree, but you don’t think you’re being honest.
PRESENT DAY
Hajime Umemiya is in your apartment, and somehow you’re the one that feels out of place.
He’s in your living room, to be exact, stressing out Hiragi and entertaining Motoki while they all three struggle to build the bookcase you’ve been avoiding. From your post in the kitchen with Tsubaki, finally unpacking all the dishes, mugs, and cookware you’ve brought with you and let live in boxes, you can’t see them.
But you can hear Motoki’s laughter ringing loud through the apartment.
“He really adores Umemiya.” Tsubaki comments, a meaningful look tossed over his shoulder to you while he sorts the silverware drawer you’ve been avoiding. You pretend not to see it, and focus on organizing Motoki’s plastic plates separate from your ceramic ones. “That’s not a bad thing, you know.”
“It’s not preferable.” You counter, voice low to keep the conversation from drifting out into the living room. A beat of silence passes, and you sigh in resignation at the subtle tension that’s built. “It’s not a surprise, either. He’s always been a people person. He won Motoki over quick.”
“How do you feel about that?” Tsubaki has always had a way of pulling the truth from you like a rotten truth, and even now it’s not much different. You keep your attention fixed on your task so it’s easier to talk.
“Umemiya is a good influence on Motoki.” You choose your words carefully, diplomatically. Tsubaki has been friends with him for years, and you would never try and drive a wedge between the two of them. It’s part of the reason you cut all contact back when the break up was still raw and anything tied to Umemiya felt like a knife to the chest. “He and I didn’t work, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be a role model for my son. It hurts to see him still, but I can’t hold it over him forever. Not when he makes Motoki laugh like that.”
As if on cue, shrieking giggles pierce the air, and a smile turns the corners of your lips subtly skyward.
“Would you ever consider getting back together with him?” Tsubaki poses his question carefully, and you can tell by hearing alone that he’s stopped organizing the silverware drawer and instead is focused solely on you. Like a coward, you keep your back to him.
“Umemiya has already broken my heart once.” You explain, hands stilling their work. Something tight builds in your throat, an old ache opening in your chest that you’ve managed to avoid feeling for a long time. “I won’t let him do it twice, and not when Motoki’s already been let down by one man already.”
“The two of you had the kind of love you find once in a lifetime.” He’s not trying to manipulate you, you know him better than that, but still you wince at his observation made in a carelessly wistful tone.
“That’s what I’m worried about.” You whisper. No one knows better than you how committed you were to spending the rest of your life with Umemiya. Late nights are often spent tossing in bed, worrying that maybe you’ll never find anyone you love as much as him again.
“Can I ask about Motoki’s father?” Tsubaki pushes, and you hear in his voice how tentative he’s being. You hesitate, but not because of any annoyance towards him for asking. Still, you know he reads your silence as such and continues on. “Sorry. I’m just—curious. You were gone for so long; I want to know how you’ve been.”
“It’s fine, Tsubaki. Really.” You interrupt, finally turning around and leaning back against the counter with your arms crossed. “We haven’t been together since Motoki was two, and we weren’t even really together before that, either. He’s not involved with Motoki, and the last time I heard from him was a month before we moved here, when he said he wanted better things out of life.”
Safe to say you’re similarly done with Motoki’s father, too.
“Oh, honey.” Tsubaki covers his mouth, but you see the pitiful look he sends you regardless. Your throat clogs once again, but the emotion isn’t for any lingering feelings towards the father of your child. No, you’ve long since been over him. But Motoki still asks about his papa, and each time it’s like a knife to the gut. “That’s horrible. I’m sorry you had to hear that. And for the record, I don’t see how anything could be better than you and Motoki.”
You smile, but Tsubaki’s words would’ve held more weight if Umemiya hadn’t also broken your heart by leaving you, too.
“Hey, ‘Baki!” You’re saved from having to answer by Motoki racing into the room. His smile is wide and hair a little messed up from playing with Umemiya and Hiragi. This is the version of your son that you wish everyone could see; when he’s happy and comfortable, and his adorably sweet personality can come out. “Can you help me with my art stuff?”
“Oh, absolutely, sweetheart!” Tsubaki matches his smile, following him as he sprints out of the kitchen. “You know I have an eye for color!”
You’re grinning to yourself, alone in the kitchen, listening to Motoki’s loud voice carry through the apartment. He’s so much more outgoing than when he’s with others, and your heart is swelling at the thought that he’s so comfortable with your old friends.
Well, your old friends and—
“Need help in here?” Umemiya asks, poking his head into the kitchen and effectively making you jump. You turn in place to watch him enter the already cramped room, and his warm small nearly knocks you off your feet. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s alright,” Your voice is quiet as you turn back around, facing the counter. You’re barely able to lift the plates up off of the counter before Umemiya is behind you, taking the heavy stack from your grasp and setting them up onto the shelf for you. “I had it.”
“I know,” He says, steady in calm despite the way you had snapped. He’s close, too close, and you have to force yourself to not think about it to keep your heart from bursting from your chest. “But I wanted to help you.”
You step back, biting your tongue as you dig into another box packed with mugs and glass cups. You’re stubbornly silent for a moment, until a sigh slips past your lips and you hand Umemiya a glass from the box to put on the shelf.
“Thank you,” He tells you quietly, as if he wasn’t the one helping you, and you wish you could hate him so badly but you know at his core he’s so genuinely selfless that doing so would make you hate yourself.
The work goes quicker this way, with you handing various cups and mugs to Umemiya and letting him use his tall reach to stack them carefully on the shelves where they belong. The silence is broken only by conversations from the others filtering in, Motoki’s giggles of delight and Hiragi’s requests for specific tools from the box he brought himself to build your furniture. Once or twice the tips of your fingers brush his, and the same bolt of electricity you’ve felt since you were fifteen crashes through you.
You pretend you feel nothing and hope Umemiya can’t see the red tips of your ears.
Umemiya cracks first. You knew he would, could practically feel all the questions he was dying to ask burning under his skin, so you’re not surprised when he finally talks after the box is emptied.
“Can I ask what made you come back?” The question is carefully worded. He’s giving you a way out, a chance to tell him no, you may not ask and shoot him down. And part of you really, really wants to.
But he’s here, when he doesn’t have to be. But he entertains Motoki and brings out his personality. But part of you, so small and unacknowledged, doesn’t want to shut him out of your life.
“It was always the goal to come back to Makochi.” Your words are pointed, delivered with a sharp edge designed to remind both him and yourself of how wrong things went—and how he was the one to end things. You don’t want to shut him out, but you don’t forgive him. Not yet, at least. And maybe with you being back in town, you can learn to do so. But right now, today, you don’t feel like crossing that bridge yet.
Something flashes in his eyes, shading his baby blues a dark color that you might be the only person able to understand the meaning of. Selfishly, you hope you’re still the only person who can understand him so thoroughly. You’re calling him out for pulling the rug out from underneath the plans for the future the two of you made.
“Plus,” You look away from him, searching helplessly for the confidence to talk to him you had been trying to muster since this whole evening was planned. “The city was too expensive for me. I had to drop out of college when I was pregnant, and there aren’t many high paying jobs without a degree.”
“Have you ever considered going back and finishing your degree?” Umemiya asks, which is weird, because he used to know you better than you knew yourself. You’re not sure why it’s hitting you hard now, but it’s hard to have him in your space and know he doesn’t belong to you anymore.
“I have,” You shrug one shoulder, keeping the gesture light. “But the timing’s never been right. And with Motoki, I don’t have time.”
It’s clear he has more to say. Maybe some motivational speech about finding the time for the things you want, or how you have a support system, now that you’re back, that can help with Motoki while you study. God forbid it’s a question about Motoki’s father, like Tsubaki asked. You don’t think you’re even close to being ready to talk about him with Umemiya.
But you’ll never know for sure, because he doesn’t get the chance to say anything when Motoki comes sprinting in the room, calling for you. You straighten up, looking away from Umemiya like your son has the emotional intelligence to read the body language between you and him.
“Mama!” He shouts, bouncing on his feet in front of you, one hand tugging yours in the direction he just came from. “Come look at what we did!”
You smile, indulging him.
Maybe someday you’ll find the words to thank Umemiya for giving Motoki this evening.
“Y’know, I think we did a pretty good job.”
You’re sitting on the floor of your living room, cold beer in your hand pressed there by Tsubaki the moment you put Motoki down for bed. He fought sleep, wanting to stay up with everyone, but you held strict to his schedule. You have an early morning shift, and you’ll have to take him with you.
“Yeah,” Umemiya agrees with Hiragi, sipping his own drink. “I think we did.”
“You didn’t do shit.” Hiragi fires back. You snort a laugh, leaning back on one palm while watching the pair. You’re glad that their dynamic hasn’t changed, even if everything else changed around you.
“It’s so cute in here!” Tsubaki squeals, and you nudge him with your foot in a silent reprimand about his volume. You really don’t feel like fighting with Motoki about going back to sleep if he wakes up. “Sorry!”
“As sweet as Motoki is, he’s like a tiny angry gremlin when he’s tired.” You joke, smiling at the torment your son has put you through over the years and nap and bedtimes. Countless nights have ended with him crawling in your bed, and you letting it happen because you were too tired to even argue about it.
“Reminds me of you.” Umemiya laughs. “You used to be so cranky if I ever woke you up.”
The room goes tense, and the last one to catch on is Umemiya. Hiragi digs in his pocket for what you think might be a packet of his stomach medicine, and Tsubaki is watching you so close that you feel like a zoo exhibit. You’re frozen, sick with the reminder that you used to be so close with Umemiya that he has the intimate knowledge of what you used to be like sleep deprived.
You think you see the exact moment when Umemiya realizes what he’s said and what it means. The smile melts from his face, and you glance only long enough to see guilt welling up in his eyes. You frown at the drink in your hand, and beer on your tongue turning to ash.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You’ve got a good little life here,” Hiragi interrupts apologies from Umemiya that you don’t want to hear. You lift your eyes to him and smile, so grateful he’s here and still reading your mind.
“Thank you,” You try to keep your voice even, and it helps when you catch a glimpse of the framed photo of you and a newborn Motoki that’s sitting on your newly built bookcase. “I’ve worked hard to give Motoki everything he deserves.”
“Do you get to do the things you want, sometimes?” Tsubaki asks. It’s not a comment directed to make you feel bad, but you know the answer you have to give is not the one he wants to hear. Avoiding the question, you take a swig from your beer and look back at the photo.
It’s enough of an answer.
“Come out with us this weekend.” Umemiya offers. His voice is softer than before. You think he still might be feeling guilty over his careless comment, but you don’t search for the pity in his offer. You know him too well to think he’s only trying to include you because he feels bad.
“I’d have to get a sitter.” You counter. It’s an excuse, you know, but the only one you have. It’s not like you’re swamped with invites out, and Kotoha hasn’t even scheduled you to work the evenings this weekend. She never does, because that’s your time with Motoki, she says.
“Bring him with you,” Umemiya’s eyes are on you, and you find yourself stuck looking at him. It’s almost enough to make you forget about the others in the room, but you can’t let yourself be so foolish. “It’s just dinner with us, Kotoha, and some of the guys from Furin.”
You pout, considering the offer. For a brief moment, you glance at Hiragi, who nods. Assurance of sorts, that this dinner is a safe offer and he would be there to back you up if need be. You’re grateful for him, always.
You love the Furin boys, and you think it would be good to have Motoki see you interact with others. Maybe it could be a chance to model socializing for him, and having the excuse of it being for Motoki makes agreeing seem a little easier.
“I’ll think about it,” You settle on.
Because it might be for Motoki, but it’s been so long since you’ve gone anywhere with Umemiya.
Maybe you just like to torture yourself, a little bit each time you give in to him.
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