#SAKURA'S ISSUES AND DAI'S ISSUES AND 💥💥💥💥

[dnangelic]

he knows that subtle twitch well , doesn't he ? or at least , he thinks he does . it's the stranded limb of an animal trapped in quicksand , the viscous mud of second doubts clinging to their legs and their waist , the same dense and weighty tar that sometimes swallowed him up and spat him out feeling changed , but only for the worse : grotesque and monstrous . it's a sharp cry for help , self-smothered behind claws and fangs and fur and feathers , and the faint recognition alone briefly shocks him , leaving daisuke to take a single anxious half-step backwards , suddenly afraid that if he were to be too suddenly touched and clung to , then the unbearable pound of his heart would finally tip over its meek limit , and he'd only be left with even more to explain and apologize for .

( and what would he do then , if sakura's terror too turned into betrayed horror , and the desperate clutch became a disgusted shove --- ? )

it's painful --- this tense gap , this hollow , empty-space chasm suddenly ripping itself wide and enormous between their feet , their arms too short to reach across . daisuke's fists clench and his brows furrow even more as he looks on and tries to listen to the other : when had he ever seen sakura so scared ... ? in his mind , if not his memory , the other had always been practically invincible , if not unstoppable . someone who knew how to fight should have likewise known how to protect themselves , if not others alongside with them . but the innocent sentiments split and rupture like the skin on the back of bloody knuckles , sharply stinging all the same .

at first , he doesn't know what to say , and so he merely does the only thing that he felt he could .

a slow and gentle touch , still summer warm , greets sakura's fallen free hand . the flush on the niwa's cheeks grows , but he disallows it to blister ; pools all of his might into just this single moment and its excruciating meanings . should he have done something like this , tamer than a pat on the head instead in the first place ? or would sakura throw another blow to let ... whatever it was , out again ? at him , at the concrete , or at his own face for another round --- he knows he should be saying something , anything , to carry on and helplessly try to distract them so that he might not have to try to hold the other outright back , but the cicada cries merely echo and rattle about the intense numbness of his thoughts , thawing nothing . if only dark were awake right now , then maybe he might have known what to say ...

and yet , the niwa doesn't rouse what second self that he could . instead , his words are simple .

' ... are you okay , sakura-san ? ' maybe , just maybe , the resonant space and sound of the question alone mattered more than the answer . bruises could heal , but worse habits and unpleasant sides always had a nasty , so often secretive way of knowing how to linger . no matter his hopes and staggering faith in the other , he still couldn't bring himself to lie and smile while sakura suffered . so he stuffs his worry into his whisper , the sound of it becoming even more soft and phantasmal --- it isn't just that he's afraid .

' are you going to be okay ... ? ' what can i do ? what should i do ... ? ( --- it's the way he's afraid for the other , too . )

He really wants to speak. He really does. But—

His throat is tight, closed by a fear that tells him the moment he opens his mouth, he’ll screw shit up again. His mind doesn’t grant him such mercy; all he can hear, all he can think, is That should’a never happened, I fucked up, I’ve scared the shit out of him and now he—

And, gods above, he’s apologizing. Daisuke’s apologizing like he’s the one who threw his hand into his face, like he’s the one who made Haruka clench his fist, and it hurts. He’s pressing the ice bag into his cheek like he’s got a grudge against it—and he does, he hates the stupid fucking thing and he hates that he did this in the first place, hates that he couldn’t just react normally—but the ice against the growing bruise is nothing compared to the ice in his blood.

He’s not the one who should be looking like guilt’s eating him alive. Dai should—Dai shouldn’t feel like he did anything wrong. And he, he really needs to know that, he really needs to know that Haruka isn’t mad at him, that he didn’t screw up like he seems to think he did. But he just can’t speak. The words are jumbled in his throat and even if they came out, he isn’t sure what they’d be. He’s not even sure he’d be able to get sound out if his mouth were able to open.

This is what he gets, he thinks; this is the retribution for all the shit he’s ever done. He knows it is because he knows that, if anyone from Furin’d been the ones to do it, he could’ve reacted the way he usually does—getting all flustered, getting a little mad and shoving them off and away from him, and then maybe duking it out with whoever did it, depending on who it could’a been. Again, Umemiya doing it when he was still that nebulous stranger to Haruka was one thing, but even if he did it now, he’d never hit the guy over it; he’d never hit himself in front of him over it. There’d be too much context behind it for him to get as riled up as he just had, if only because everyone in Furin was the same brand of weird and it meant that Haruka’d never intentionally give himself away like that. They’d have to work to get that kinda reaction outta him.

But, fuck, Dai—he isn’t Furin. He isn’t even from Makochi. He was weird, too, in that way that he cares about every little fucking thing that ever happens in front of him, in that way that he cares about Haruka (as if he’s ever given him a reason to, as if he’s ever given anyone a reason to), but he was still different in ways that mattered. The context of him in Haruka’s mind was different. Which means he couldn’t protect Dai (or himself) from the worst of him.

And that really, really hurts. He tried to leave the worst of himself back where he came from. He should’ve known it’d never leave easy.

(That’s probably the worst realization for him to have right then.)

“Butyoudidn’t—”

There’s his voice; he doesn’t know when the ball in his throat left, but it’s gone and he can speak again. The words tumble out of him, desperation and fear so obvious it makes him wanna gag, but he pushes them out and away and gone quick. The ice bag sags—maybe it’s melting already, or maybe he’s finally letting up on it. He can’t tell.

What in the fuck’s wrong with me?

“I-It, it wasn’t—and you didn’t, so—don’t apologize.”

Crumbling sentences that wont leave him, even without obstruction. He feels terrible. He wants to go home. He wants to make sure Dai goes with him because if he doesn’t, Haruka isn’t sure he’ll see him again (and miserably, before he can even stop himself, his free hand’s raising and he’s reaching for him, reaching out to grab Dai and just—just hold on or something; but then that same arm twitches and his gut churns violent, and he forces the limb to fall back to his side). He really wants Dai to stay the hell away from him, to turn on his heel and head straight the fuck back to Azumano because there’s no guarantee that he can stop this from happening again, not with the way that he is and that they are, but if he isn’t here than Haruka can’t scare hurt react like that near him again.

Miserable.

[dnangelic]

would he ? would he really ?

' ... yeah . '

ugh , geeze !! if it had been anyone else , this would have been exactly where he threw a fit and told them to shut up already ! how many times would sakura make him say it ?! even if his heart was starting to go just a little out of control --- i like you , i like you , i like you , so ... !

' why wouldn't i ?! '

he lets out a laugh , as if the decision had been the simplest and most obvious thing in the world . moving around , going anywhere , it was never traveling itself that had any sort of meaning . what truly mattered were the reasons for each venture , makochi itself having been nothing more than an unfamiliar city and robbing escapade at first , now turned into something else .

' didn't you say that people only ever bothered to come here because they had other people to visit ? ' he flusters just before he starts to verbally stagger ; daisuke's cheeks tinge their usual red-pink . ' so ... it's something like that . you're like that to me now . '

moreover , any idea that sakura could have come over to azumano seemed entirely out of the water .

how come the idea had never even been considered before ? was it because sakura seemed immovably comfortable here , already surrounded by people she knew and that knew her ? the air was warm , and despite the beatings that took place under bridges , behind empty buildings and in the shade of various alleyways day-in , day-out , within the city itself the sound of chimes and each fresh wind racing past them still left the air feeling full of a welcome vitality .

or maybe it was because a phantom thief was already used to coming and going , a bird pecking at sakura's windowsill after a long hour's migration . he's helped himself eagerly to sakura's presence already , and he knows this --- boring , lonesome nights wherein his heart , ( his very tamer , ) dreamed quietly of having someone to speak with and visit had been fulfilled of their want one after another , because there was something so grand and infinitely precious about having one , even just one person to speak with , whether or not they knew everything about him ; whether or not they understood .

' but , if you came over ... ' would sakura have wanted to stay with him ? with daisuke ? with the niwa family as a whole and all their impressive , outlandish quirks ( and artworks ? ) she might not have been able to survive the experience , and then she might not have ever wanted to visit again --- nevermind the stark difference in environment , scenery , and of course the continuous crowd about his other , criminal name .

even so , not wishing to maliciously test her mettle but failing to keep himself from wholly doing so anyways , he blithely agrees .

' --- mm , yeah . sure . you can come over , if you want . have the day and the next or two off ? wanna go right now ? '

“Mm.”

Non-committal sound, mere noise—done more for acknowledgement than any true agreement. She can sense that he really isn’t all that happy to have gotten such simple praise, but hey, that’s not her problem.

Still, as his eyes rise and look away do hers shift and look at him—there’s something clearly on his mind, but she doesn’t even think to press. If it’s something beyond what they’re talking about, or even to do with it, then the choice to tell her about it is all his; if he doesn’t want to, then it’s just something not meant for her to hear. The approach hasn’t failed her so far, and even with the knowledge of secrecy behind him, it doesn’t make her any less trusting of Dai. For someone who has stuck by her despite her own kept secrets, it’s the least she can do.

(Even with the push-and-pull of her gut, even with some of her more in-depth suspicions, Haruka won’t push him—while there’s been times she was tempted, she always backed down. As much as she’s come to hate the sight of him in agony, has learned to recognize, to a degree, that look he gets in his eyes, she has the feeling that, right now, it’d just do more harm than good. The pain is there, but overwhelming detriment of it isn’t, so she’ll hold strong. She won’t force herself anywhere that isn’t her place to walk; not when he’s also done the same for her, not when she just wants to for him. )

For a brief moment, something tender strikes her; despite everything, they’ve endured. She’d once thought that only Furin, only Makochi would be oddball-enough to try and genuinely care for her, to reach out and extend a hand to her so that she could have people to walk beside, but Dai’s done that, too (and, hell, even Dark’s done it; maybe Azumano’s just as weird as Makochi is?), and it just makes her so...happy. Yeah, happy’s a good word for it. She’s happy to know Dai, happy to be able to sit here and be his friend no matter what.

—but, sheesh, who’s she to be gettin’ sentimental? She blinks the thoughts away, shaking her head out to go and stretch her arms above her head.

He ain’t even gone, and here she is missin’ him. Geez.

“You’d... You’d really do somethin’ like that for me? If I just called ya?”

Not that she ever doubted him coming back altogether—he always seems to, but hell if that doesn’t make her get right back to thinking—the amount of times shes called him on the phone has been a grand total of once, after all. She can’t help but feel incredulous.

She gets sheepish.

“But it ain’t like...” I want you to, is her knee-jerk urge to say, but—who knows, maybe that tenderness from a second ago is still gettin’ her, because what comes out is: “...it ain’t like you oughtta burden yourself. Yanno, with doin’ that. I was just askin’ to ask.

“...but if you really do find a way.” Then I’d like it. You comin’ by like that.

She pouts then, though, honest-to-gods pouts, and adds on, “Though, yanno—what about if I ever go over there?”

Not entirely meaning for it to sound like she’s fishing for permission, but not really caring enough to take it back, Haruka raises an eyebrow at him; that’s gotta be an option, right? He’s talked it up enough, and she hasn’t really stepped out of Makochi itself since she got here. He’s always extending himself to get to here, anyway, so isn’t it high-time she tries to put in that same effort...?

(If there’s a reason to not, though, no matter what it is, then she’ll leave it—shes gotta learn how to work this damn phone’a hers, anyway.)