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Suo Hayato had never liked being touched.
It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t trauma. It was simply something in him that resisted. In middle school, whenever classmates reached for him, an arm thrown across his shoulders, a hand tugging at his sleeve, even a casual clap on the back, his body stiffened.
He’d step neatly out of reach, still smiling, his voice smooth as ever as if nothing were wrong.
It became habit. A defense. That signature smile made it hard for anyone to call him cold, but eventually people learned. “Don’t touch Suo.” It wasn’t hostile. It was fact.
And Suo liked it that way.
When high school started, he expected more of the same. New faces, new uniforms, but the same polite distance. He stood with perfect posture with hands clasped neatly behind his back, exchanged greetings with his classmates, attended calls for meetings and listened to every announcement. Politeness and restraint, that was Suo Hayato’s way.
Until he appeared.
Sakura Haruka.
The first time Suo saw him, it was impossible not to notice. His hair was split right down the middle, one side black as ink, the other a snowy white that gleamed in the sunlight pouring through the windows. And his eyes, one black, one gold, were even stranger.
But despite his appearance, Suo finds himself getting intrigued, attracted to the latter.
The rooftop of Furin High was as alive as ever.
The afternoon sun spilled across the concrete, warming the benches and painting the fencing in streaks of gold. A lazy breeze tugged at their uniforms, carrying the faint smell of spring blossoms from the streets below.
Tsugeura had, as usual, claimed the loudest space in the air. He was halfway through recounting how he’d landed a clean hit during a brawl with delinquents from another school, his arms flailing as if sheer enthusiasm could recreate the fight.
“And then—BAM! Right across the jaw!” he roared, slapping his own cheek for emphasis. “Dropped him in one shot. You should’ve seen their faces!”
Nirei let out an awkward but genuine laugh, clutching his stomach. “Tsugeura, you didn’t really knock him out in one hit. I saw him stumbling around before you finished him.”
“Details, details!” Tsugeura shot back, puffing his chest out proudly. “What matters is the others went nuts! Tell me I didn’t look cool, come on!”
Kiryu sighed from across the bench, his arms folded, expression as blank as ever. “You looked loud. That’s about it.”
“HEY!”
Their voices collided in the air, laughter spilling out between sharp jabs and teasing remarks. It was noisy, but a kind of noise Suo had long since gotten used to. Sitting there, legs crossed neatly, he played his part with his usual ease.
“Your volume alone probably scared them off,” Suo said smoothly, his voice calm as water. “I’d almost call it a strategy.”
“See! Suo gets it!” Tsugeura beamed, pounding his chest with pride.
Kiryu’s deadpan stare didn’t waver. “He’s being polite. You’re just annoying.”
“HUH?!”
Nirei burst into another fit of laughter, nearly doubling over. “Ah, you guys never stop.”
Through all of this, Suo wore his usual smile. Polished. Practiced. The one that kept people at ease without ever letting them too close. It had become his mask over the years, a barrier as subtle as it was effective. Because the truth was, he didn’t do closeness. Not really.
He had learned in middle school that people reached for you the moment you let them, and Suo Hayato had no intention of being reached for. Physical touch was something he avoided instinctively, an invisible line he kept between himself and everyone else.
At least, he thought it was everyone.
A weight shifted beside him.
Suo almost didn’t notice at first. He was too busy listening to Tsugeura argue with Kiryu about whether or not his fighting style had “flair.” But then he felt it, a slight pressure against his side, light but undeniably there.
He turned his head.
Sakura Haruka had leaned sideways, his mismatched eyes closed, his breath slow and even. His head rested against Suo’s shoulder, strands of black and white hair brushing against the fabric of Suo’s uniform. The boy’s posture, usually tense and sharp-edged, was now slack with exhaustion.
For a moment, Suo froze. His whole body went taut, his instincts screaming at him to move away, to reclaim the space he never allowed anyone else to touch. His hand twitched in his lap, nails pressing faintly into his palm.
But he didn’t move.
Because for some reason, this wasn’t like before. Sakura wasn’t leaning on him out of expectation, or demand, or casual thoughtlessness. He hadn’t asked for permission. He hadn’t even been awake to. He was simply there, trusting without realizing it.
The boy everyone else had treated like an outcast for years, who had been judged for his strange hair and mismatched eyes, who fought tooth and nail to keep people at arm’s length, was resting against him, vulnerable in a way Suo doubted he ever meant to show.
“You’ll hurt your neck like that,” Suo murmured under his breath.
Carefully, slowly, he moved. His arm lifted from where it rested neatly in his lap, hovering uncertainly for a second. Then, in a decision that made his chest tighten, he slid it behind Sakura’s shoulders. He adjusted the boy’s posture, tilting him slightly so that his head rested more comfortably.
Sakura didn’t stir, except for a faint murmur, something low and unintelligible, as he pressed closer.
Suo’s fingers hesitated, then brushed against Sakura’s hair.
He hadn’t expected the strands to be so soft. His hand lingered there, lightly combing through the black and white mess, watching the way the sunlight caught on it like threads of shadow and light woven together.
He should’ve pulled back. He should’ve been uncomfortable. But instead, he found himself relaxing into the closeness. For the first time in years, he let someone rest against him, and he didn’t feel the urge to flee.
Across from them, Tsugeura still argued, oblivious. “I HAD flair, admit it!”
“You had noise,” Kiryu replied flatly.
Nirei clapped his hands, laughing. “Guys, you’re gonna wake Sakura if you keep shouting like that!”
But Sakura didn’t wake. His breathing stayed steady, his body warm and still against Suo’s side. A small smile evident on his face as he slept.
And Suo, smiling faintly, genuinely, not the polished version, let his hand linger in Sakura’s hair.
“…unfair,” he whispered so softly the wind nearly stole it away.
Because somewhere deep inside, he realized he didn’t just accept the touch. He wanted it.