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Suo is laying on a futon, fingers folded and resting atop his stomach, staring at the ceiling and waiting restlessly for sleep to take him, when his phone rings. He shifts but does not immediately raise his head. It would certainly be bad form to check that notification. He needs his rest, and it’s quite late besides.
Suo reaches for his phone anyway.
Call me, says the little notification, and nothing else.
The words are succinct and give nothing away, no hint of what the situation could possibly be—something dire or merely social, because with their class it could honestly be either—that would necessitate a call. That, and the late hour, would normally cause worry in Suo, had it come from any other person.
This little message, though, is from Sakura.
Suo takes a moment to think—how long had it taken Sakura to work himself up to text him? Had he been like Suo, sleep eluding him, waiting for his eyes to finally close and his mind to finally go quiet? And maybe he’d grown tired of it. Sakura is a man of action, after all. Once he sets his mind to a mission, he completes it. If there was something bothering him, he’d bring it up right away. But—
What if it is the complete opposite? Had Sakura been staring down at his phone, his message painstakingly typed out and reworked until he settled on a simple “call me”, his thumbs hesitant to press the send button? There are matters where he does hesitate. Personal matters. Matters he does not like others seeing, matters that have only ever been painstakingly but lovingly coaxed from him, matters that he has worked long and hard to open up to them about. But he has. He does. And Suo admires that about him, almost as much as he yearns, as he starves, as he shakes at the thought of doing the same.
Suo shifts his head and looks at the time. He has lost a few minutes with his wild and incessant thoughts, a habit he despises. It costs him many things. In this case, in precious time he could have used in other ways. Sleeping, for one. Talking, another.
He does not respond to Sakura’s message directly. Instead, Suo clicks on his contact and presses call.
A few rings, the click of a call connecting, and a breath.
“Hey,” Sakura says after a moment.
He sounds fine, if a little quiet, and his voice is raspy with tiredness. So he’s probably not beaten and bloodied in a ditch somewhere, then. Suo lets out a breath of his own.
“Sakura-kun,” Suo greets. “You sure know how keep someone in suspense.”
“Oh, uh,” Sakura trails, sounding sheepish.
Suo hums lightly. “It’s alright. I’ll just take it as a early morning wake-up call.”
“I guess it’s after midnight, isn’t it,” Sakura says. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You didn’t wake me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Suo tells him firmly. He thinks he rather hates hearing Sakura use that word, especially in situations where it’s unnecessary. “Did you need something?”
A long silence follows, something that Suo’s mind relentlessly tries to fill. Worry comes to him naturally when it concerns the Bofurin boys under his (partial) responsibility. He can imagine the broken and bloody faces of his classmates, as if they were imprinted on the back of his eyelid whenever he blinks, and has to sigh out. The tendency to get into trouble is strong with them. And particularly Sakura, who in equal parts feels everything strongly and has the distressing habit of leaping into a situation head-first.
Given where he is now, Suo would be hard pressed to get to him quickly if that was the case. His chest feels tight with worry and guilt.
“I just—I wanted—” Sakura says, then softly finishes, “I wanted to hear your voice.”
Suo’s mouth parts. Sakura never fails to surprise him. He doesn’t know what to say. Sakura came to him, called Suo, out of everyone he has now. His heart wells with something precious and sad. That’s just…
He thinks it’s rather obscene, just how vulnerable Sakura can make him feel. He feels bare suddenly, and stripped raw. Small. Like he truly is just a boy, on a futon of hay, who has school tomorrow and should really be asleep. Just so ordinary. He makes it sound as if there is a little spot carved into Sakura’s life, that only Suo fits into. A part of him that misses Suo, when he is not there. As if that is appropriate and just. As if Suo is allowed to fit there, stay there, cherish it. As if he is permitted to accept it.
Does he realize just how easily he dismantles Suo? How good, and kind, and sweet he is—in all the ways that is wasted on a person, a thing like Suo. It’s unfair. It’s nearly cruel. Sakura dangles his trust like both the carrot and stick. He makes Suo want to deserve such a thing.
Suo clenches his fingers around his phone tight.
“Oh,” Suo replies calmly, meticulously masking the tender, almost brittle edge that threatens to burst out. Sakura wants comfort from him; not a new point of anxiety. “If that’s all you need, I can oblige.”
“You’ve already done enough,” Sakura says firmly.
“Did I?” Suo asks, gently amused. “I haven’t said much.”
“You answered,” Sakura says, sounding shy now.
“Of course,” Suo supplies, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and as if the words don’t immediately taste like ash on his tongue. He wants to take it back. But more than that, he wants for it to be true at all times. His back throbs dully.
“What were you doing before I called?” Sakura asks.
Suo hums. “I had just finished performing a ritual to strengthen the seal on my eye-patch. It was getting loose.”
A pause. Then—
“Oh. Does it get loose often?” Sakura questions. Suo can imagine his expression on the other end clearly; his head cocked to one side, his eyes wide and gullible.
“Every once in a while,” Suo responds, just as sincerely. He’s a bit winded—both by Sakura’s innocent acceptance of his prattling, and by his own sudden swirling thoughts on the matter.
It happens a lot more often, he thinks, these days in particular.
“Does it ever… get itchy?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Suo admits, wistfully.
Sakura lets out a little noise, and Suo can tell immediately that he dislikes the answer.
Another piece of the selfless care, the righteous indignation he spares on Suo’s behalf. Suo is unworthy of such a thing. That never stops Sakura. If Suo took a bite out of him, he thinks his core would be sweet and fresh, like a peach. Suo feels starved suddenly.
“You could always get a new one…?” Sakura says hesitantly. “We could find one that doesn’t make you feel itchy.”
“I wonder,” Suo replies.
“You don’t think I can?” Sakura demands.
Ah. That’s…
Suo should’ve known he’d take his noncommittal response as a challenge.
“Don’t underestimate me,” Sakura snaps.
“I won’t,” Suo says, and it comes out gentle, more of a promise than the teasing he was going for. “I know better.”
“Well,” Sakura says. Suo can practically hear the screeching halt of a defensive train on its tracks. He never expects agreement, their Sakura. He repeats himself, “Well. Good, then. Don’t forget it.”
“Yes, captain.”
Sakura scoffs. “And wipe that shitty smile off your face.”
“You can’t even see me,” Suo protests with a shitty grin.
“And you can’t even deny it,” Sakura responds flatly.
“What a pair we make,” Suo says.
A pause. Then a brief, breathless chuckle. Suo feels his heart expand two sizes up, and laughs with him. “Yeah,” Sakura agrees. Suo can imagine him shaking his head, a smirk on his face that he just can’t bite down. That maybe, he doesn’t want to bite down. Suo aches to see him face to face. “It’s so late.”
“Did you just realize that now?”
“I forgot all about the time when we started talking,” Sakura admits. He sounds embarrassed. Suo can’t stand for that.
“I forget a lot of things when I talk with you too, Sakura-kun,” Suo says. Important things. Damning things. All of them are lost to Suo the moment Sakura opens his mouth and demands attention, demands sincerity.
He’s wrapped around Sakura like the moon in orbit. His gravity is all-consuming. He makes it seem as if Suo is right where he is meant to be—not stuck but embraced. Suo can’t get enough of that feeling.
But it’s dangerous, and he knows better.
“It’s not a bad thing, is it?” Sakura asks quietly, “Since you feel it too?”
In all truth, it’s a beautiful, terrible thing. And Suo is terrible for letting them get this far. He can’t stop himself. “No, of course not. Nothing… nothing that involves you is a bad thing.”
“In my eyes, it’s the same for you,” Sakura says.
Don’t say that, Suo thinks, horrified, don’t come too close to me.
“I’m sorry,” Suo says helplessly.
“What?” Sakura asks, sharp and pressing at Suo’s slip, because he is no fool. “Sorry for what?”
Suo clears his throat. “I’m sorry—it’s getting late now. I’m tired. Sorry that we must cut this short.”
“Oh,” Sakura says, scoffing. “Why didn’t you just say so? I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good night, Suo.”
And Suo says, “Good night, Sakura-kun.”