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Haruka had met Iruma one fatefully ironic day in the least savoury parts of town. Somehow, Iruma had gotten himself a job as the gopher of some gangsters, and…
“Come on, Iruma-kun,” the guys waved the envelope of his day’s wages over his head, “I really need this money. My poor dog’s sick at home, I need to bring him to the vet. So give it to me, please?”
Iruma’s stomach growled. His hands were thin and ragged from the day’s rough work, covered in scabs and half-healed cuts.
Still, he smiled and assured, “oh, really? Then I guess you need it more than me right now. Please, take it! I hope your dog gets better soon.”
Haruka had only witnessed this in passing, but he already knew what this looked like. He was already in a horrid mood, and he wasn’t in the mood to tolerate this.
So, he lunged right in footfirst and the brawl quickly got out of control.
Looking back, it was utterly pathetic. He was hardly eleven or twelve back then, charging straight into a fight against high-schoolers who had a whole gang backing them up. The moment their backup got here, there was no way Haruka could’ve won even on the best of days.
So, Iruma lost his money, Haruka got hurt, and no one gained anything.
Laughable.
“Are you okay?” Iruma, who was only ten at the time, stayed with Haruka as he lay there, feeling stupid and sorry for himself. “You’re so hurt! And oh dear, it’s raining… hold on, I’ll get us under the shade.”
He had, clumsily, dragged Haruka’s deadweight through the grass under the bridge before it started pouring for real. And from there, he treated his injuries, nursed him back to health, and got him food.
“Why am I helping you?” Iruma had looked at him confused, when Haruka asked after his intentions. Naively, like an oblivious fool, he wondered, “do I need a reason to help someone? Oh! Did you have a reason to help me?”
Haruka scoffs. “I wasn’t helping you. I was just annoyed at them.”
Iruma chuckles disbelievingly and assures, “then, I’m only helping you, because I want to. Is that enough of a reason?”
It’s foolish. Bizarre.
Iruma went to work, day after day. Apparently, he had his parents’ debts to pay off, and since he’s so cute and naive, plenty were willing to hire him under the table for some pennies. He was the polar opposite of Haruka, whose appearance was so off-putting to many that no one gave him a second glance before chasing him away for disrupting business.
Haruka hated him. He envied him, with a sour vengeance.
But Iruma, whether he knew about that ugly anger or not, would always meet Haruka under that bridge every day when he had a break, promising food or supplies or gifts. Haruka didn’t have a reason to stay, but Iruma always waited until he came to receive the gifts.
“Just go home,” Haruka had told him, one bitter day.
Iruma had admitted, bashfully, “but even if I go home, there’s no one there. At least you’re always here… I thought that if I’d give you some food, you wouldn’t turn me away. And, you really let me stay. So, I like it here.”
Haruka sighs. “I don’t need your stupid food gifts.”
“But,” Iruma’s conviction and shameless confidence is followed by a mischievous grin, “you won’t say no, right? And you’re always there when I’m in trouble. I’m just repaying your kindness. And then you’ll save me. And then I’ll get you food. And then you’ll save me. And then I’ll get you food. We could go on forever like this!” he beams, proudly.
Haruka fumbles, “fuckin’ hell,” realizing he’s fallen for this brat’s schemes, “you’re a little devil.”
They were two naive children failed by the system of adult society. But akin to a bird that feeds a starving cat, they’ve managed to form an absurd form of codependence against the world.
Against the seasons, the alliance of bread and protection persisted.
“Haruka-kun! Look at all this I got for free, you should take them!”
It wasn’t uncommon for Haruka and Iruma to spend cold winter nights in the shelter of the bridge, with cardboard a pale border against the damp grass and deeply stained blankets curled between them for warmth.
“Stop giving me shit, you moron,” Haruka snarls at him, face flushed from the cold, temper worn thin from the day’s worth of exhaustion. “Eat it yourself. And go home, dammit.”
Iruma’s nervous smile doesn’t even seem to register the crude language. Instead, he settles beside Haruka, so close they’re leaning on each other with the blankets folded over both their shoulders.
And he carefully breaks the bread into sections.
“I can’t eat this much. Mom and Dad aren’t coming back anyways, I can always eat more tomorrow. Come on. Aaah!”
Iruma pokes the bread to Haruka’s mouth, until he reluctantly takes a bite.
“See? It’s yummy bread, right?”
Haruka had to admit. It was.
The bread wrappers are tucked into a worn-out metal box, together with the collection of loose pigeon feathers picked up on the ground.
There was no rhyme and reason to this secret collection.
“See?” Iruma would stuff the little bags full of feathers and fasten them together proudly, “it’s like a little pillow. Do you think if we had a hundred of them, we could stitch it all together into a biiiig warm blanket?”
Silly and stupid, it was a foolish endeavour that Haruka didn’t have the patience for. And yet, he indulged in him anyways.
“Aren’t our thin blankets enough?” Haruka huffs. “We have three of them. That’s a lot.”
“I know, but I heard from the bar owner that there are these big, heavy blankets too! They’re so warm, just one of them’s enough to endure the whole winter, isn’t that amazing?”
“Who put that bullshit into your head?” Haruka groans, “there’s no way a blanket like that exists.”
Iruma giggles, even when Haruka flicks his forehead.
“Aaaanyways! Mom and Dad aren’t coming back until the snow stops, so you can sneak into my window!” Iruma suggests, beaming, “they turned off the heating yesterday, but it’d be warmer inside than out here.”
Haruka already knew it’d be impossible to say no to him.
So he relents, “you’d freeze to death without me, so sure.”
“The hell do you mean, he’s not here? He got on the fucking boat with you guys!”
Blood stained the port after the storm, washed out shades of red against the fish guts and rotten mesh— it was the kind of carnage no one would be able to determine at first glance. One could almost mistake this as a common sight for the fishermen, if not for the adults cowering, terrified and bruised.
And in the middle of this the police surround the perpetrator— a single teenager holding the captain of the ship by the collar, demanding,
“Where is Iruma?”
There was no record of a worker called Suzuki Iruma on that boat. Even though he’d worked there for months at a time, dozens of voyages with them under his belt— they never wrote his name in their logs, because he was a minor.
No one would admit they’d illegally hired an underage worker, especially after they’ve lost him at sea.
With one delusional, violence-prone teenager’s word against a team of certified and trustworthy fishmongers, the scene of horror spelled Sakura Haruka’s fate.
Suzuki Iruma died at sea.
And Sakura Haruka could do nothing.
As Haruka turned fifteen, he pulled out of the gates of juvenile detention, and wandered aimlessly. He scoured the world for clues, for closure— and came up empty.
Not a single article or search result came up with Iruma’s name.
His parents never claimed his body— never even reported him missing. The apartment was cleared out for a completely new family, because without Iruma’s salary, no one ever paid rent. The landlady assumed they’d run off.
Until the end, no one even cared for Iruma.
He lived such a righteous, obliviously kind life, all just to be erased. But he existed— people remembered him around the alleys, wondered where he went, but never pursued further.
In the end, Iruma was only a passing bird flying over the skylines of other people’s lives. Without a perch and without shelter, no one questions that the bird simply never came back this way.
Lost as a stray cat without a food source, there was no longer a reason for Haruka to stay, either.
Haruka’s anger simply had nowhere to go, so he wandered. He wandered, aimless and broken, until he found himself stranded in the notorious delinquent town of Makochi.
Even without Iruma, he ate to live.
He got an apartment in a sketchy part of town, didn’t bother with the upkeep, and lived how he remembered to. But he couldn’t forget.
He picked up feathers he found on the ground, and he couldn’t bear to throw them away, so he brought them home. It started with a row of feathers absent-mindedly arranged at the entranceway.
I’ll throw them away tomorrow, he’d always promise himself. And now they sat in one of the drawers of his closet, his collection far bigger than he’d ever been able to gather as two. He didn’t even know what to do with them anymore.
He lived like how Iruma taught him to.
Folding the futon even though no one needed the space, arranged newspapers and magazines to be used as spare paper and rags. He kept track of the perishables in his fridge the way Iruma taught him how to organize them, and bought food that would last rather than the good things.
He mended holes in the walls, floors, and windows the same way Iruma taught him how to. He cleaned, using old tricks and secrets Iruma showed him.
No matter how hard he tried to forget, traces of Iruma remained in his life. No matter how much he tried to sweep, he could always find more stray feathers from the bluebird in his life he’d never get back again.
He lived, and breathed, and came home each day and night— yet, there would never be warm bread and a smiling face when he opened the door again.
It was frustrating that he struggled with this.
“I lived just fine without him before. I should be fine going back to that.”
He lived just fine in juvenile detention without Iruma.
And yet, living ached without him.
(Was this grief? That was laughable in itself. What right did they have, as codependently unwanted strays, to mourn for each other?)
“I’m busy enough trying to get by, dammit.”
He slams his door shut, knowing well that this town rife with battle and violence would rate the fury in his soul. Nothing else would.
In life and in this town, only the strong lived.
The weak and the kind had no place in this world.
Makochi was a reflection. A tapestry, held together in appearance. Inevitably it would all soon die and disappear— he knew that.
So, he tried his best not to believe.
But everything was different from what he’d imagined.
Furin changed from the rumours— it was a place the weak could live, and the kindness came in such overwhelming droves he felt himself suffocating. Smothered in their warmth, he fell for the trap he already knew was laid out to trap unsuspecting fools like him.
Was it stupid of him, to let himself be lured in by this again?
(It felt like betrayal, to appreciate anything after Iruma. It felt ungrateful, to simply turn his paw to the next naive bowl of food in the corner. It felt like disrespect, to try and live knowing he was inevitably going to make the same mistake again.)
(He wasn’t even there for Iruma.)
(He wouldn’t be close enough to protect this town, either. He just knew. Even if he tried his hardest, he was powerless.)
“Sakura, you always act like you’re terrified to accept people’s kindness.”
Having the fact laid out for him was mortifying. He wasn’t the best at hiding it— it was quite the opposite. He desperately didn’t want to grow close to anyone— if only because he didn’t see the point in it. If strength was the hierarchy here, then at least, he could be good at something.
“It’s okay to take advantage of me, you know?” It was Kotoha that teased him that day. “Here you are, eating anything I lay out in front of you. Except the broccoli.”
Haruka scowls at the broccoli and tomatoes when she points it out.
She smiles, fond and endeared. “As long as you’re in Furin, I'll feed you when you come. You don’t have to pay— after all, you kids protect our town. It’s the same for everyone in this shopping district— we all appreciate you, just for being one of us. Just try and let some of us help you sometimes. Okay?”
And those words linger, like the breathless clarity that comes after a nightmare.
Would it be fair for Haruka to find a new place here? He couldn’t even hold onto the only other place he’d ever felt belonged in.
In many ways, Nirei reminded him of Iruma. From the way they tried their best to live with their kindness, to the way they could live as disadvantaged as they were simply because there was something about him inevitably treasured by the monsters.
Before Haruka had even realized, he’d grown attached.
(It’s like you’re desperate to replace him.)
He hated how rapidly his own resolve crumbled. Here he was, living on the kindness of the weak again. It’s like he never learns his lesson.
“Sakura-san, here! Have some bread, it’s from Cactus,” Nirei had handed him the small loaf like it was an obvious thing to do. Like the gesture was just a matter of fact of their lives, that when he had two, one naturally came his way. “Their bread’s amazing! And it’s hot right now, so you can’t miss out.”
Haruka never wasted food.
He would always eat every last bite, with a ravenous hunger, because food was scarce and precious and never to be discarded in any circumstances. He knew in the bleakness of starvation how vital it was.
That’s why he wolfed it all down.
Food never betrayed him. Gluttony was never a crime— Iruma taught him that, and Haruka lived to the mercy of this hunger. It was just in his nature.
“So you do like it!” Nirei blooms, like a small victory, “Mister, do we have more?”
Haruka was similar to Iruma, in an absurd, stupid way— he hated the burden of kindness, but he just could never say no when it was presented to him.
“Eat as much as you want, Sakura-kun! There’s plenty to go around.”
Until the other shoe drops, he’ll survive.
“Is it true that you killed a whole group of adults at a port town?”
It’s after KEEL, when he’s talking with Kaji, that someone finally mentions it. Even Nirei didn’t seem to know about the incident, but it seems there’s been speculations around the Class Captains.
Haruka knew it’d come to light eventually. His name was hidden (to the world’s behest) because he was a minor, but people never stopped talking about the monster with his unique hair and eye colourings.
He’d even heard that online, there were Youtube videos exposing his first name and whereabouts. (Something about how his identity didn’t deserve to be hidden after such a heinous crime.)
“I didn’t kill them,” Haruka says, the nonchalance in his voice surprising even himself. “Beat them up, maybe. But they deserved it.”
Kaji seems to doubt that, but he doesn’t question further.
Instead, he comes with an intrigued, “you against how many, like, twenty of those bulky fishermen adults? You’re crazy.”
Haruka scoffs. “And I’d do it again.”
“Damn. What’d they do to you?”
What did they do to him? Nothing, perhaps, except look at him a little wrong. Strictly speaking, they were all strangers, they weren’t even acquainted. Haruka didn’t even have any obligation to care for Iruma.
But there had been so many of those strong men, and they were nothing. They couldn’t even protect one child in their midst.
(And neither could Haruka.)
And it pissed him off. So Haruka fought them, destroyed their livelihoods, broke a few limbs and made sure some of them couldn’t work out in the sea again. For his own self satisfaction.
The sin of Wrath was never pretty.
“Was it at least worth the fight?” Kaji asks.
Was it worth juvenile detention? Was it worth the blood on his hands? Did he even gain any satisfaction from it?
Of course, the answer is, “no.”
Because,
“Even if I killed them, the dead won’t come back to life.”
He hated how easily he got accustomed to being around these people.
They were strong, in their own ways. They were weird, and they had their own troubles on their plates that Haruka would likely never be able to understand in his life. And he’s come to realize that in a way, that’s how it is to be human.
Suou was always undaunted, capable, and composed. With him around, even Haruka felt like he had someone reliable watching his blind spot— it was the first time he’d ever realized how companionship felt, and it ached sorely in a way only loneliness could ever bite.
It was frustrating. Being with them reminded him of how loneliness felt.
Kiryu was confident, adaptable and compassionate in the cruelest of ways. The overpowering scent of flowers and fruits followed him everywhere, and he always had on enough layers to seem so warm and cosy, and so eager to share that heat with others.
It was frustrating, that Haruka had to be reminded of how cold it could be without them.
Tsugeura was loud. Pushy. A bit much, at times, with how obsessed he is with bodybuilding and protein and virtues. But he was always honest— he never lied, he never deceived, and he always looked out for everyone with the furor of a bear. It was smothering.
It made the noise so much worse, (and the silence, so much louder.)
Umemiya lived, like he didn’t have a care in the world. He smiled, like how Iruma did— with the ravenous greed of a naive fool who simply wanted everything he could reach, and used everything in his power to protect what he had, even if it was simply a fragile connection built on hopes and dreams.
It was irritating.
(It was irritating, how Iruma haunted Haruka for his sins.)
Haruka hadn’t been back in the red light district since the old days. He remembered having a few bouncer gigs here when the Bar Owners didn’t mind how he looked and appreciated his tendency to hit first and talk never, but that was so long ago it felt like a distant memory at this point.
“Huh? Aren’t you lil’ Haru-chan?”
He didn’t expect to be recognized.
“Huh? Sakura-san, you know the people here?” Nirei’s surprised. They’re all on edge because they didn’t expect to wander in this very age-inappropriate place, but now they seem to have realized that Haruka’s on edge for a different matter.
“Ehhhh, how unexpected,” Suou, the bastard, is teasing already. Haruka can tell from the first syllable that he’s going to be insufferable. “Our Sakura-kun is more sociable than we thought.”
“It was ages ago, okay?!” Haruka snaps, not so sure why he’s annoyed.
“It wasn’t even two or three years ago! You’ve grown so tall since. I remember when you were sooooo tiny—”
“SHUT UP! SCREW OFF!”
Haruka remembered seeing the cliques around here— there were a scant few that would actually make an effort to protect Iruma even here. It used to be easy to get mugged in every other alley, but now, those few good guys in this gutter had gathered together.
They were the Roppo Ichiza now, and like Furin in Makochi and Shishitoren in their own lane, people feared them as a symbol of protection and order.
“What, you don’t remember him, Kanji?” one of the other guys grinned and tease. “This is beanie kid. You know, Iru-boy’s feral guard cat?”
Kanji’s face warps with recognition and bewilderment. “Beanie Kitty?!” he looks Haruka up and down and Haruka wonders if they remember he was most well know for, “you’re the one that bit me! Like, every time I tried to get close!”
Haruka has bitten and punched so many people, he does not remember all of them. Either way, at least he remembers.
“So this is what was under that beanie this whole time…”
Now, they patted him on the head, and he swiped, but they’re quick enough to run off just in time. Now they were seeing ‘pat the kitty’ as a challenge. Haruka’s going to lose his shit.
“I’m surprised! I hadn’t seen you in a while, so I thought for sure you’d run off to another town or got picked up by child services or something.”
“Looks like you got yourself a hamster to guard this time, eh?”
“Hamster?” impervious to the new animal association, Nirei’s eyes glimmered with curiosity, “so how exactly do you guys know Sakura-san?”
Even as they gathered in the bar with food, drinks, and entertainment, the stories of Haruka’s exploits were spread with much fanfare. The red light district fondly remembers the poor, underage kid who earnestly sought work anywhere that would be willing to hire him— as well as the boy’s best friend, who always came running claws bared when he was being taken advantage of. It was a companionship many envied.
“Iru-boy was painfully nice,” one laughed miserably in sympathy, “he couldn’t say no to anyone. He’d give out his whole day’s pay to a beggar if he chanced upon them on his way home.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish I was! I wonder how that kid even survived that long, but I guess he was just too resilient. That’s a battle-hardened boy right there, he’s tougher than most men would ever be. It’s tragic, but at the same time, is he even human?”
“So his situation shaped him to become so terrifyingly resilient, he looped back around to being able to thrive in any situation at all,” Suou observes, amazed.
Haruka stayed out of the conversation.
He didn’t like this topic, and the more they spoke, the more the dread built up inside of him— an emotion so petty and pathetic, he wished it’d stay buried forever. He had kept it so well under his facade of strength and anger for so long, did a single trip to the red light district really have to tear it all down?
“I’m surprised to hear you’re in Furin now,” Kanji finally brings up. “Did you and Iru-boy finally get out of his parents’ house to move nearby? I’m sure living in this place is good for you both, how is he?”
“He’s dead.”
Well, that certainly came out easier than he’d thought.
The silence was deafeningly awkward, though, so Haruka reached for the plate of fruit and took a sip of water. He glances over— oh, they’re looking at him stunned— and avoids their gazes.
As if flustered by the attention, he adds on,
“Oh come on! We all knew that brat wouldn’t make it long in the world with how trusting he is. It would’ve happened eventually!”
He didn’t mean it.
But at least he didn’t have to think about it right after he’d said it, because that was when the attackers came back and they had to go out and fight again.
He sympathizes with Suzuri, in a way he can’t quite describe.
Haruka wasn’t as unfortunate. But he never had anyone to rely on, either. Haruka never had to hold up a crumbling castle with all his might— so, he couldn’t sympathize in the way that matters the most.
But no one expected that of him.
(“A guy like you is better suited alone.”)
Endo was right. But he was also wrong.
Being ripped away from the comfort of a crumbling reality was what made Suzuri realize his mistakes. Perhaps, Haruka had been blind to the way he was meant to live all along.
People here were stronger than Haruka. Everyone was powerful, and while Haruka wanted to get to the top, he knew he wasn’t a match. He didn’t hate being protected— he’s realized now that he didn’t hate being the one sheltered, rather than the one sheltering them.
Their little world under the bridge had been so small, so narrow, so blind.
(Maybe both the bird and the cat had been naive fools all along.)
(And the world had to teach the cat the truth before it was too late, and that is why the bird had to go.)
As much as it was agony to admit, if he and Iruma had continued living like that, there was no way either of them would’ve achieved a happy ending without some kind of miracle. Even if Iruma didn’t die at sea, as they grew older, the world would’ve overwhelmed him.
Haruka knows that, as someone being overwhelmed by the scale of the world right now.
Iruma was not meant to live in this cruel, cutthroat, violent world that refused to protect his kindness, refused to give space for his greed to thrive. He was simply not made for this world, and maybe, that was why destiny took him away.
Haruka still had to survive.
(Haruka had to live on in this world., even without him.)
(With his new friends.)
“It’s an old story,” Umemiya says, after dropping his morbid backstory over an anpan and a pocari like it wasn’t worldview-bending shit on a fine Tuesday morning, “I’m already over it.”
Watching your parents die in front of your eyes is probably a horrific thing to experience. It’s bizarre to remember how bright Umemiya can be, especially considering how jolly and obnoxious he usually acts around Kotoha.
There’s nothing Haruka can say to all of what he’s just learned.
He’s envious. He’s always been envious of Umemiya Hajime— of what he has, what he’s like, and of what he can do.
Does it ever get better? It doesn’t sound like the right question.
He’ll be happy that I’m happy, is the answer that will come.
“Can I even believe that?” is what makes it out of his throat, incomprehensibly, like a fool. It feels dumb just saying it. It feels selfish, just trying to construe it.
Is he even allowed to be happy?
“Of course you can.”
Umemiya’s response is exuberant and doubtless. For a moment, it was as if he were speaking a cardinal truth, rather than the ramblings of a naive fool.
(Maybe, just maybe, Haruka can believe it as his cardinal truth.)
(He’s never been one to easily believe in such dry hopes and cringy dreams. But, if he’d never taken the leap, he’d still be balancing on the tightrope of his world to this day.)
(Is this worth the risk of that leap?)
(Is Furin worth it?)
“You don’t have to forget. You can miss the ones you’ve lost— you’re always allowed to feel how you feel. Of course, you’re allowed to waver, too,” Umemiya assures him, his words coming from somewhere deeper than Haruka may have the space in his heart to fathom. “You’re allowed to live, you know?”
You’re allowed to live.
(Maybe one day, he’ll be able to say that with his heart, too.)
(Iruma would want him to move on and live well.)
“What an unusual guest!”
Changing always involves difficult decisions, and that’s why despite Haruka regretting every single step he takes, he still makes his way to Shishitoren.
Togame listens to him when he talks about the war coming up.
It hasn’t been long since Haruka even had to acknowledge he wasn’t strong enough to protect everything he wanted. Until so recently, he hated that his hands couldn’t reach far enough.
He hated how powerless he was.
“You know, Sakura, there’s just so much more of this world you can see when you let other people have your back,” his voice is full of personal reflection— one that stems from his own powerlessness in the face of what Chouji had to go through when strength simply wasn’t all they needed to stay together. “Like this ramune bottle for example.”
“Shut up about that,” Haruka’s cheeks are flushed, “what kinda bottle doesn’t twist open? How was I supposed to know I was supposed to push it—?”
Togame’s gaze is fond. “The world is much bigger than your fists can take you. And you know, people might come together because of power…. but they almost never stay together because of it.”
Shishitoren came together for companionship as beasts in a cage. Roppo Ichiza came together with their pride for the red light district. Even Gravel came together for mutual survival in their awful circumstances.
The Old Furin fell apart because of that violence. And they united under one flag of Umemiya Hajime’s promise of home.
With Haruka and Iruma, Haruka was the violence, and Iruma was the voice of reason. Even though Iruma was weak and easy to take advantage of, people were always willing to listen to him if he spoke earnestly.
No one ever cared about what Haruka had to say.
(That’s why to this day, the world still comes up with their own narratives for what happened at that shipyard, on that bloody day.)
“Belonging somewhere is amazing, you know?” Togame says, “it can be harder to protect a lot of people, but with a lot of people around, you never have to worry about not being able to save who you love on time. Because someone else will always be there in your stead.”
Everyone knows that Kotoha is Umemiya’s weakness, among other things.
But everyone always runs to protect Kotoha, even when Umemiya’s hands can’t reach her in time. So, he never has anything to fear.
“Isn’t it amazing, being able to protect one thing together?”
It’s a habit, at this point— with the weather growing colder, the local strays have been leaving their feathers and furs all around. It’s not like Haruka seeks them out specifically, but when he spots a bristle that seems too pretty to be stepped on, he picks them up, even in the middle of patrol.
The collection continues to grow.
He no longer thinks of throwing them away— because they no longer hurt to see.
He admires the patterns on the feathers, twirling them around his fingers even as he sits in on class meetings. Then when he gets home, they find a spot in the box inside his closet.
It’s not a new thing. He’s been doing that since he moved to Makochi, he’s just less subtle about it now— he was mainly mortified by the rest of Furin noticing.
“Sakura-san, Sakura-san, Look!”
He’s presented with just about the biggest, darkest feather he’s ever seen— pitch black, with such a beautiful sheen it reflects light off its surface. It’s bigger than Nirei’s palm, and he holds it up like a statue of worship, proudly presenting it to Haruka like a pomeranian exhibiting his best catch of the day.
Haruka can’t even deny how excited he personally feels when he exclaims, “where the hell did you get that?!”
“There was this huuuuuge big boss crow!” brightly.
Haruka’s enthusiasm must’ve meant something to the rest of the class, because for some collectively incomprehensible single-braincelled reason, they all came to the same conclusion at once.
Haruka found himself sitting at the front of class as Suou elaborated on the rules and regulations of the newly established ‘Who can collect the Prettiest Feather’ monthly (weekly. They were very adamant about this,) rankings board.
Nirei was so proud of himself for winning the first ever first place on the thing that he lorded it over to the rest of the school on the loudspeaker. This, of course, reached Umemiya’s ears, and every once in a while a senior would drop it off at their classroom like this place was the national feather museum.
Haruka’s box of feathers filled up so fast, he had to get another one. And another, and another— and eventually, there was a whole storage system happening in that closet of his. Some of it ended up around the classroom like trophies on the walls.
(He’s still a long way off from a blanket, but he doesn’t need to make one anymore. And yet, like memories, like connections— he just can’t bear to throw them away.)
(And maybe that’s fine, too. He has plenty of space to keep them now, after all. No one will ever take them away from him again.)
A lot has happened since he joined Furin at the start of the year, and even after fighting to what luckily wasn’t their deaths, Haruka stays.
There’s always a warm spot under the bridges, where rainfall doesn’t come through and snow just peppers their cheeks.
It’s winter again.
The first one he’ll be having since Iruma died.
“Huh? Sakura-chaaan!”
Along the road— Kiryu Mitsuki and Tsubaki-senpai wave at him in greeting. They’re tuckered into their layers of fashionable coats and scarves, carefully meandering their way down the hill to find him.
“Why are you dressed so thin?” Tsubaki-senpai wraps his hands, warm from his cup of coffee, around Haruka’s cheeks, “oh dear, you’re frozen! You can’t be out here like this—”
“Hands off me!” Haruka snarls, embarrassed to be suddenly too quickly.
“Kitty hissed at us,” Kiryu teases, “come on, Sakura-chan, how long have you been out here? Kotoha wondered where you were, she said you didn’t come to Pothos all day.”
That had Haruka blushing to his ears again, “can she stop expecting me to be there for lunch every day?!” What is she, my mom?
“Uncle Cactus also wondered where you were,” Tsubaki-senpai adds, simpering, “they saved a sample curry bread for you because they knew it was your favourite and—”
“STOP!” Haruka groans. “I’ve had enough free shit! Stop giving me more!!”
Maybe this was how it felt like to be Iruma, being able to beg for food so easily it was like he never ran out. (At least, until Iruma gave it to someone else instead of keeping it for himself.)
Tsubaki-senpai wraps his scarf around Haruka in a motion too casual, with a smile so sincerely out of love, and Haruka doesn’t remember what he’d come out here to do anymore.
What did he want here?
(Was he chasing the memory of that old comfort, of that old home, hoping that he’d catch a glimpse of it all again? Maybe he wanted to remember it again. Maybe he wanted an excuse to feel it again— or maybe, he wanted an excuse to finally acknowledge what he’s lost, so he can finally forget it once and for all.)
(Maybe he just wanted to be anywhere that justified the cold that feels like home.)
“Come on, let’s go warm up somewhere indoors,” Kiryu takes his hand, gentle and firm, and leaving no room for refusals. “You definitely haven’t eaten since yesterday, have you?”
Haruka is led away from the bridge, from the cold. From the old collection of feathers he won’t have a use for anymore, but will always be there for him.
To the warmth.
“What do we do? What do we— oh no, I can’t— where am I even— but—”
“Calm down, Iruma. Mephisto’s on his way— we just have to protect ourselves until then.”
“It’s too late for that!” Iruma wails, clinging onto her.
They’re surrounded. By thugs on both ends of this narrow alley. The existence of a Gate to the Human World had been horrifying to begin with, even more the realisation that Iruma accidentally got dragged out of it and he got Ameri caught up in it too, but this was really the worst case scenario.
His hands trembled. His vision blurred. He couldn’t think straight.
It’s been a year and a half since his parents sold his soul to a Demon— and now that he’s felt so belonged in the Netherworld, he never wanted to see the Human World again. He never wanted to go back to that bleak reality again— he didn’t want to lose his new friends, his new family, his new home, and here he was.
Here in the Human World again, confronted by everything he feared about it.
(He couldn’t breathe.)
Ameri might be saying something to him, but he held her arm tight, firm, desperate— not to be apart, and for her not to resort to violence.
This wasn’t the Netherworld.
Violence couldn’t solve anything in the Human World. They couldn’t get arrested— what if they realize who Iruma is? What if they figure out Ameri isn’t human? What if they call Iruma’s parents? What if they try to give him back to them?
(What if his parents realize he’s back?)
“Look, I don’t know what you two cosplaying freaks are up to, but this isn’t the kind of place you can just show up and cause trouble in,” the delinquents level them with cringe and judgement.
“Seriously? You’re gonna be in an alley making out in broad daylight? Have some shame, little boy,” another jeers.
“But she is hella hot, though—”
“Look, we’ll cut you a deal,” the one at the front of the pack is still looking Ameri up and down in a way that makes her fists tremble, and Iruma’s breath hitches knowing this is about to get very violent very fast, “don’t make a peep, and we’ll let you go after we’ve had our fun.”
Ameri is rational. Her father works Border Control, after all.
So she knows that if she harms a human, she risks everything in her life, including her new-fangled ranking.
But she’s also temperamental, and a Demon.
Not as much as Iruma, because he’s the one that throws the punch first.
“WHO do you think you’re talking to?!” Iruma’s voice raises, and perhaps, he’s been more indoctrinated by the whole Netherworld thing than he’d thought, because past Iruma could never have imagined this. “Say what you want about me, but you can’t be talking like that to her!”
“Wait, Iruma—” Ameri flusters. Half embarrassed and half enamoured as she realizes she’s, in perfect ironic Azazel fashion, caught up in old-school shoujo romance tropes again.
“What the hell, this kid can throw a punch!”
“He’s wearing rings, too! HOly shit—”
“You wanna go, you brat?!”
They lunge for him. Iruma braces himself, and Ameri’s arms raise to a fighting stance, ready to risk it all— but someone comes flying toward them footfirst, soaring over their shoulders as a sole brings their head slamming into the ground.
Iruma’s eyes widened as hair, a split of black and white flickered past his vision. But Ameri obscures his sight quickly with her body.
The next one is snatched by the arm and promptly flipped out of the alley.
And the one after that is punched so squarely in the face he crumples, blacked out instantly.
“Shit—” the thugs realize, backing up quickly.
“Furin’s here!”
“Where do you think you’re going after causing this trouble on our turf?” the one with the calmest voice, wearing an eyepatch and a uniform distinctly more altered than the others. “After surrounding these two fellows like this, you sure have a lot to complain about having the tables turned on you.”
“Fucking hell— these kids are just first years! We can take them.”
“Oh yeah? Bring it on!” yells the most muscled one, his voice raised so loud they echo off the walls of the alley. “Anyone past this point who causes pain, who bring destruction—”
“Who holds evil in their heart! They will be purged by Bofurin without exception!”
The fight begins, with Ameri pulling Iruma behind her as the uniformed, self-proclaimed protectors of this district make quick work of the assailants. It really didn’t take long, and when it was done, Iruma felt nothing but awe.
“You guys are like heroes!” his eyes twinkled as he thanked them for the help. If only they were around during his life back then… no, he shouldn’t think that way.
Even though his life had been hard in the Human World, he had someone.
“Are you guys new around here? It’s dangerous, so keep to the main streets, okay?” the eyepatched guy— Suou, he was called— informs them kindly, “there’s more of us patrolling around anywhere.”
They’re older than him— high schoolers, it seemed.
(That guy would be in high school now, too.)
“Looks like we didn’t need backup after all,” the muscled one, called Tsugeura, chuckles, “you guys aren’t hurt, right?”
“We are fine,” Ameri takes the initiative to converse with them, clearly fascinated by their strength in coalition, and their modus operandi that seemed so similar to her Disciplinary Committee, yet inevitably more human in nature. So different. “We appreciate your assistance.”
A system designed to protect the weak, rather than hone them.
“No need to be so formal, lady!” they laugh fondly. “It’s our job to take care of them, and honestly, they were complete weaklings for all the bravado they had.”
“So, were you headed anywhere in particular? You folks don’t look like you’re from here.”
“That’s—”
“No—”
Iruma and Ameri spoke over each other.
And then Ameri composes herself first to say, “we’re waiting for someone.”
“To pick us up,” Iruma adds, hastily, “uhm our teacher— should be here soon. We’re trying to wait somewhere inconspicuous and we don’t want to get too far away so—”
“Oh, I get it,” Suou nods, understanding and probably misunderstanding, Iruma honestly didn’t know how to understand this guy’s weighted gaze at all. “Then how about some of us stand guard around here with you until they come?”
“We refuse.” Ameri says. Curt. Too curtly.
“No thanks,” is Iruma’s desperately blunt response.
If a portal opened up here in front of the humans, they would have more than just violence against humans to worry about. They’ve both conveniently forgotten that Iruma clocked a human in the face, but they’re not about to get further involved in humanity until they can be safely extracted and deposited back in hell.
They had been so blunt about it that Suou completely blanked out, stunned like he’d never been so quickly refused before.
“Hey, enough chatting!” the rest of the group— particularly the one that came in feetfirst, yelled at them. “Why am I doing all the work?!”
Iruma’s eyes spun again. He knew that voice.
“Awhh, Sakura-kun,” Suou teases, “but you looked like you had it handled.”
The last of the delinquents go down with a definitive stomp of his foot against his spine. With a firm tug to straighten out his Furin gakuran, Sakura Haruka glares hard enough at the enemies that they pretty much scurry off with their fallen comrades at the sight of him.
Iruma’s breathless, and this time, it’s not in a bad way.
His heart palpitating in his ears, his eyes scanning over the figure— over the enchantingly mismatched eyes— and the first thing he thinks of,
“Woah. You cut your hair!”
He’s embarrassed right after he says it.
But, he can’t stop looking. Haruka’s hair is trimmed neat. His uniform is pristine, clean, and it looks like it fits him in a way hand-me-downs would never. The springtime sky always suits him best, even as shining amber and clear obsidian reflects utter surprise along with recognition.
He wonders, why do you look so horrified to see me?
Then, he remembers.
He realizes.
How long has it been, since I’ve last seen you? He’s taller. He’s stronger. He’s surrounded by so many people and all of them whirl on Iruma for addressing him like protective hawks assessing a target.
They know that Haruka’s been hurt before.
They’re wary of Iruma, because of it.
(Isn’t that so amazing?)
Ameri’s posture is just as sharpened, more than hostile. She takes Iruma into her side and her claws extend, ready to fight if Iruma just so much as says the word.
(Something warps beside them. A haunting energy that feels right, in a way that’s wrong. It’s the energy of Mana, something whirling across the fabric of reality and ripping apart a hole where there shouldn’t be.)
“Our ride’s here,” Ameri says.
“What the hell is that,” the members of Furin gasp in alarm.
Haruka’s eyes widen in alarm— but his feet are planted to the ground. His eyes are wide, terrified, like he’s losing something all over again.
And that’s wrong.
This isn’t supposed to be sad.
This isn’t supposed to be tragic.
(He can’t cry. He can’t cry.)
Iruma manages a smile, instead of the burning tears that fill his eyes and the overwhelming mix of pain and joy in his chest he can’t even begin to understand.
“I’m so glad I got to see you again,” he admits, as loud as his wailing, broken voice can manage past the tears. “I’m doing fine too, Haruka!”
I'm doing fine.
I’m so glad we both found where we really belonged.
Haruka’s eyes melt away from terror into grief. But it’s a foreign movement, like his face can’t quite understand what it means to mount, or to be happy. Like he’s still not used to the happiness they’ve both achieved.
So, he compromises.
“Iruma, you li’l shit!” Haruka snaps, sadness boiling away into anger instead. “Where the fuck have you been?!”
Now Iruma’s laugh is genuine, and it comes so easy it’s like he’s never ever forgotten how to smile in his life. For the only time in the human world that he truly enjoyed, he got a glimpse of the one thing he had left to regret missing.
But now? Now, Haruka’s got a home.
(They no longer need to knit that blanket of connection to keep each other warm in the winter. Now, they’ve got their own thickly-stuffed duvets to themselves, and a bed and belonging full of their own families to keep it toasty.)
“Stay well, Haruka,” Iruma says, full of well wishes and neverending love.
Ameri takes Iruma’s shoulders, just as black, feathered, scale-lined arms reach out from within the portal, grasping them past their shoulders, to drag them into the Netherworld once again.
Iruma accepts it.
He falls into it, with a resignation, with a desperation and hope that only a Demon could feel in the arms of temptation.
Amongst the faces of shock and horror, Haruka’s face is one of relief.
“You too,” is what Haruka chooses to say, in lieu of a goodbye. It’s a rare, gentle smile on his face when he sees him off, one last time, to the darkness.
They don’t say goodbye. Goodbyes are a gesture only the humans would make to each other, and farewells are only for those that will see each other again.
Iruma has ceased to be either of those things.
So, they won’t say goodbye.
“What… was that? We didn’t imagine that crazy thing just happening, right?”
Haruka finds himself scoffing in amusement at everyone’s reactions. It’s to be expected when a portal to hell literally drags away two people in front of your eyes, but Haruka can’t do anything but laugh it off at this point.
“Hell if I know. Back to patrol, everyone!”
Leave it to Iruma to not even be able to have a normal life in literal hell.
(But considering how foolishly resilient, hopelessly naive, and bafflingly honourable he is— it’s probably inevitable that even the demons came to adore that stupid little guy.)
(That’s just how Iruma is, after all.)
(Haruka knows best the effect that fool has on everyone. As long as he’s thriving— then, what else can he be but happy for him?)
Haruka thinks of the feather-shaped earring Iruma wore on one ear. And he thinks of the feathers in the locked box in his closet.
They didn’t share a blanket anymore, but some things never changed.