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i think the fact suo showed up in sakura's black space means that the "i recognize you as someone who has gone through abandonment the same way i did" thing might be a two way street.
sakura might see himself in suo, too. it might not have just been suo.
Summary: You’ve always kept your distance from Furin’s top fighter. But when you get caught in a street fight you never meant to be part of, Sakura shows up to save you.
⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺
It was stupid, honestly. You didn’t even know the guys you bumped into were part of a gang.
You’d just been walking home from work, hoodie up, headphones in, hands stuffed into your coat. You barely registered the shouts until someone shoved you, and you staggered backwards, almost falling.
“You got a death wish, brat?”
You pulled your headphones down, heart hammering.
“I didn’t mean to—”
One of them grabbed your wrist. “Think a sorry’s gonna fix it?”
Before you could answer, a figure stepped between you.
Leaning forward, black jacket slung loose on his frame, a silver chain swaying with each lazy movement. The moment he turned his head just enough for you to see his face, your breath caught.
Haruka Sakura.
You knew him by reputation. Everyone did. Top dog at Furin. Short-tempered. Dangerous.
You’d seen him in the hallways. He never looked at anyone. You never thought he even knew your name.
But now?
Now he was standing in front of you, radiating barely leashed violence.
“Touch her again,” he said, voice flat, “and I’ll break all five of your fingers.”
The man scoffed. “The hell are you, her boyfriend?”
Sakura didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
It happened fast. A blur of fists, the dull thud of knuckles against bone, the sound of bodies hitting pavement. By the time it was over, the group had scattered, leaving Sakura standing alone in the street, knuckles raw and bleeding.
You swallowed hard as he turned back to you.
“You good?”
You nodded quickly. “Y-yeah. I didn’t know they were gonna—”
“I saw.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bandage — a single, crumpled wrapper — and began wrapping it haphazardly around his knuckles.
“Here.” You stepped forward. “Let me.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“You’re bleeding. Sit.”
He stared at you for a long second… then dropped onto the nearby curb with a grunt, long legs sprawled out like he couldn’t care less.
You knelt in front of him, taking his hand carefully.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“They touched you.”
You looked up.
His eyes were sharp, unreadable. But under the streetlight, you could see the tremble in his jaw.
“I’m not yours,” you said quietly.
“I know.”
“But you acted like it.”
He didn’t answer.
You tied the last of the bandage and smoothed your fingers over his palm.
His hand was warm.
“…You noticed me,” you whispered.
Sakura’s gaze flickered. “How could I not?”
You froze.
“I see you in the hall. You always look so far away.” His voice lowered. “I hate it.”
“Hate what?”
“That you never look at me.”
“I didn’t think you’d care.”
His jaw clenched. “I shouldn’t.”
But when he leaned in—close enough that you could see the shadow of his lashes, feel the heat of his skin—it was like the whole world paused.
His lips brushed yours, uncertain but burning with something fierce.
When he pulled back, his hand lingered on your cheek.
“You’re not mine,” he repeated, his voice rough. “But I want you to be.”
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Summary: Umemiya’s hands were made for fighting, but when it came to you, all he wanted was to hold on tighter.
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The first time you met Umemiya, it was pure chaos.
You had tripped outside the café you worked at, sending coffee cups crashing to the sidewalk and before you could even panic, a flash of green caught your eye.
A boy with messy hair, a wide grin, you’d ever seen had crouched down and started helping you pick everything up like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Whoa, you okay there, Sunshine?" he asked, flashing you a smile so bright it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.
You’d blushed like an idiot and nodded.
He’d laughed, a warm, easy sound that stuck to your ribs even after he left.
You didn’t expect to see him again.
You definitely didn’t expect him to become a regular.
At first, he just came for the coffee.
Always the same order, black, no sugar. Always leaned on the counter with that same crooked smile, tapping his fingers on the wood like he had too much energy bottled up inside him.
Then it became different.
He’d start asking about your day.
He’d bring you random things—like a little cactus in a cracked pot "Thought it looked lonely like you sometimes," he said, winking or a keychain shaped like a cat, "Matched your vibe.".
Sometimes, he’d walk you to the bus stop if it was late.
He never asked for anything.
You didn’t know how to tell him that just seeing him, messy hair, bruised knuckles, heart shining so obviously through his stupid, brilliant smile, was starting to mean more to you than you could handle.
One night, it rained.
Hard.
The streets flooded, the buses stopped, and you were stuck at the café with no way home.
You were standing at the door, staring out miserably at the storm, when you heard a familiar voice:
"Hey. Thought you might need a ride."
You turned, and there he was.
Soaked from head to toe, holding a too-small umbrella, grinning like he’d just conquered the world.
"You’re crazy," you said, laughing, wiping your hands on your apron.
"Maybe," he said, stepping closer, "but only about you."
The words hit you like thunder.
You blinked up at him, heart slamming against your ribs.
He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. "I, uh, figured—y'know, if you wanted... I could walk you home. Or, hell, carry you. Piggyback style. I’m strong, you know. Or, uh, if you hate that idea, I’ll just-"
"Ume," you said softly, cutting him off.
He froze.
You’d never called him that before.
It felt intimate.
"I’d like that," you said. "Walk me home."
You ended up under the tiny umbrella, pressed so close your hands brushed every time you shifted.
His hand kept twitching like he wanted to grab yours, but didn’t know if he could.
Finally, after two blocks of unbearable silence, you slipped your fingers into his.
His hand jerked in surprise, but then squeezed back so tightly you thought he might never let go.
"You’re really warm," you mumbled.
He laughed under his breath. "Yeah, well. Got a lotta heat to share, sunshine."
The rain kept falling, soaking through your shoes.
But it didn’t matter.
Not when he was looking at you like you were the reason he showed up at all.
Not when you realized you were looking at him the same way.
Later that night, after he dropped you off at your door and turned to leave, you tugged on his hand.
He turned back.
You stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, quick and shy.
He stood there frozen, like you’d short-circuited him.
Then he laughed and swept you into a hug so tight it knocked the breath right out of you.
"You’re stuck with me now," he whispered against your hair.
Not a drizzle, real rain. Soaking, cold, insistent.
The kind that clung to your skin and made the world smell like wet concrete and earth.
You didn’t bring an umbrella.
Of course.
You stood at the school gates, staring up at the sky like maybe it would take pity on you. But the clouds just answered with another cold gust of wind.
“Oi.”
The voice came from behind you.
You turned, heart skipping.
Yamato stood a few steps away, watching you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.
His hair was slightly damp, with little drops clinging to his bangs. He wasn’t holding an umbrella either.
But when he stepped forward, he started pulling the hoodie over his head.
You blinked. “Wait, Yamato, what are you-?”
He tugged it off and held it out to you. “Wear it.”
“But you’ll get wet-”
“I said wear it.”
You hesitated for a moment, staring at the hoodie in his hand.
It was warm from his body, soft at the edges, and it smelled like soap and rain and something faintly sweet underneath.
You slid it over your head, sleeves far too long.
He looked away like he was trying not to smile. “Looks better on you.”
Your heart fluttered.
The two of you started walking. There was no umbrella. No rush. Just soft rain and soft silence.
You walked close, shoulder to shoulder.
He kept glancing down at you when he thought you weren’t looking.
And when a car passed by, spraying water across the sidewalk, he instinctively pulled you in front of him, shielding you with his body.
You looked up at him, blinking through raindrops.
“You always this protective?” you teased, voice barely above the rain.
He glanced down at you, and then, without a word, leaned in.
It wasn’t a rushed kiss.
It wasn’t a goodbye, or a desperate gesture like the night before.
It was gentle.
Warm.
It made your breath catch.
His lips lingered against yours, soft and careful. Like he didn’t want to scare you.
Like he was learning what it meant to love.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. Rain dripped from his hair onto your cheeks.
“I’ve always been like this,” he whispered. “You just never saw me before.”
You touched the side of his face, fingers brushing his cheek. “I see you now.”
And under the rainy grey sky, standing in his hoodie with your heart pounding, you knew something had changed.
