Chapter Text
Sakura’s morning routine is as follows:
Wake up after an hour of sleep, crawl to the bathroom, throw up and pray that it makes it into the toilet, lay on the cold bathroom tiles for another hour, feel pathetic, contemplate death, go to work, go home, go to sleep.
This has been his life for years. And he anticipates this being his life for, well, the rest of his life; however much longer that may or may not be.
Upon waking up this morning, he barely has time to roll off his little twin mattress before coughing up blood all over the fake wooden floorboards. He stares at the mess, bleary-eyed and brain-fogged, and tries to find hidden shapes or messages in the splotches of blood.
If he really squints, he can almost see a crab; or maybe a smiley face, but that’s pushing it. Still tangled up in his sheets, Sakura drops his head down onto the ugly, fake wood and allows himself a moment to breathe – only coughing up blood twice more in the process.
A few flecks get on his sheets, and he can’t even be bothered to groan about it. His sheets are practically polka dotted at this point.
Sakura reaches a noodly arm over his head, groping around until his fingers knock into the bottle of clorox wipes he keeps right by the bed.
After maneuvering out of his bed covers, cleaning up the majority of the blood, and taking another few minutes to stand on his own two feet, Sakura clings to the wall and makes his way to the bathroom.
He’s not going to lie, as much as he prides himself on personal cleanliness, this bathroom looks like the scene of a slaughter. Part of it he can blame on the peeling walls and cracked, yellowy tiles that the apartment came with. But the rest of it is mostly his fault.
The shower curtain is nearly torn in two from that time he almost passed out and slipped in the shower; grabbing onto the plastic lining like it was his lifeline.
The mirror is cracked, which he will also take responsibility for. There’s only so many days he can look into the mirror and not want to murder himself through reflection alone. He’s pretty strong, despite his weakening… everything... so the punch he threw left a large indent with a plethora of spider cracks branching from it.
The mirror likes to sprinkle tiny bits of glass all over the counter every once in a while; and Sakura does not appreciate the amount of times he’s had to rip glass out of his own fingertips.
And, on the poor counter, there’s still a little chip in one corner from when he fainted and accidentally connected his teeth with the laminate. He keeps the tiny tooth piece in a paper cup next to his toothbrush.
If he smiles – which, why would he ever even do that? – in the mirror, the chip is undoubtedly noticeable on his front right tooth.
As if he needed one more thing to make his body look even more asymmetrical.
He doesn’t even bother to turn on the light when he walks in; well aware that, on top of all the other things wrong with the bathroom, there are blood stains all over that he failed to clean up over the years – or didn’t even bother to clean up, on multiple occasions.
Instead, he clutches to the laminate counter and stares into the mirror, eyesight still fuzzy and throat now sore, and knows that his teeth are going to be grossly red or pink. Already off to a bad start of the day, Sakura rolls his eyes – which inevitably leaves him dizzy – and brushes his teeth so violently his gums start to bleed.
He spits into the sink and watches everything struggle to go down his stupid drain. It needs to be fixed, but he doesn’t need maintenance coming into his nightmare of a bathroom. Then again, when was the last time he ever even had maintenance come?
Does maintenance even exist in this building anymore?
Sakura waddles around the bathroom for a little longer, doing his best to maintain his two step skincare routine, before walking back out to his tiny excuse of a kitchen. He glances down at himself, just enough to see that he already fell asleep in acceptable work clothes, and reaches into the only cabinet he keeps stocked.
A couple boxes of tea, some crackers, two granola bars that are so fucking delicious but so fucking expensive that he can only ever splurge on them once in a while, a juice box he forgot to refrigerate, and his suppressents.
He takes one pill from the bottle reverently, deems the juice box shelf-stable enough to be safe, takes the pill, and crouches down on the floor.
Sometimes he passes out. Sometimes he throws up. Sometimes he experiences the glorious sensation of both – Sakura thinks this bitterly, of course – and he’d prefer to not hit his head on the way down. Not again.
When the typical faint and or vomit timeframe has gone by, he rises up to his feet and all the way to his door – the whole whopping two steps it takes to get from there to his kitchen.
Sakura does one last quick check over himself, takes stock of three fingertips wrapped in gauze, his miraculously bloodless work shirt, doesn’t care enough to check his mess of bedhead, pulls on his ratty raincoat – his trusty weather app calls for drizzle – and decides it’s time to start his day.
And isn’t he just absolutely thrilled to do that.
–
Sakura is absolutely not thrilled to start his day.
For one thing, his first task is cleaning up all the dead butterflies in the grand atrium. Not only does it make him ridiculously sad, but it also makes him ridiculously grossed out.
Sometimes they squish when he pokes them with his gloves, sometimes he has to scrape them off surfaces when he uses the net.
Almost always he has to run to the bathroom to throw up during the process.
He once tried pointing out to management that the butterflies should not be dying at such high frequencies, but they just sneered at him and he had to cut his losses. Working in maintenance and cleaning means he already has very little left to lose, and he would like to keep those few things safe and secure by staying on his boss’ good side.
Sakura spends almost two hours combing through the atrium before he gets tasked with working in the botanical garden – outside. Sakura hates being outside. It’s cold and windy – even when it rains, he’s forced to keep working anyways – and the garden is the first thing people pass by to get to the conservatory.
It’s hard to tell whether he’s overly paranoid, or if people genuinely stare at him and his hair as they pass by. He’s short enough to duck behind bushes, but sometimes people see him mid-motion which just makes the whole act of him hiding even more awkward.
As he leans forward due to a particularly harsh gust of wind, his sheers accidentally poke into one of the hedges. A little chunk of leaves puffs out from the motion, and Sakura must exercise transcendent control to not throw up.
It isn’t that bad of a mistake, and his boss isn’t going to skin him alive or anything like that. In fact, are there even any other employees that come out here and do this part of the job?
But Sakura’s boss is an alpha with a moderately god-like complex, so there will no doubt be some sort of reprimanding coming his way if he finds out.
Maybe Sakura can figure out a way to glue the leaves back on? Is the hole even that bad? Will his boss even bother to check?
Probably not, but still… huffing in agitation, he takes the fistful of leaves and stuffs them back into the hole of the shrub. That’ll have to be good enough for now.
Only a few more minutes pass by before the wind turns soggy and little rain droplets start to tap against his raincoat. At least his weather app never fails him.
–
Sakura repeats his dismal routine the following morning. This time, though, he receives a text from his manager asking him to stop by the staff room as soon as his shift starts.
Of course Sakura anticipates getting fired – what else could this possibly be? – but he has no choice but to brace himself against the floor, take a few deep breaths, and check his weather app as he crawls to the door.
Rain again. He pulls his raincoat on and does the walk of shame to the conservatory.
When he makes it to the staff room, his manager is sitting at a table with a goofy-looking, white-haired dude who seems to be mid-laugh. His manager’s alpha musk is intense, and Sakura can’t tell if it’s simply overpowering the white-haired guy’s smell, or if it’s just subdued because he’s a beta.
They both look up as Sakura walks in, and he tentatively shuffles in the door frame before being waved over to the table. His manager doesn’t waste time in pointing to the white-haired guy and stating, “Umemiya. He’s taking over the cleaning and maintenance department. Make yourselves acquainted since he’s your new boss. I’m off to work in a place that doesn’t make me want to jump.”
Bewildered, Sakura watches his manager – old manager – push out from his chair and walk straight to the door. Without looking back, he sticks a hand up in goodbye and says a bland, “See ya.”
Sakura turns to Umemiya and gives him a wary glance; can’t help raising his eyebrow at the goofy smile Umemiya is now sporting.
“You chose to work in cleaning and maintenance?” Sakura asks suspiciously.
Unnervingly, Umemiya laughs. “I did. Why, did you not choose to be here?”
Sakura shrugs, leaning back in his chair wearily. “I interviewed for whatever position they were willing to give me.”
Umemiya nods as if he understands. It agitates Sakura further as he too leans back in his chair – it’s hard to tell if he’s being mocked, or if Umemiya is simply lazy.
“It seems he failed to tell you that the majority of maintenance sent in resignation letters last night. None included a two-week notice.”
Anger throttles at Sakura’s throat, tempting him to growl and storm out of the room. He’s too tired to do that, though, so instead he just crosses his arms and scoffs, “What, did they organize some kind of coup and not tell me?”
To Umemiya’s credit, his shrug does honestly look pretty clueless. “Not sure, I was hired last week before it actually happened. Your manager’s two-week notice was already underway. Sounds like most people are unhappy with the pay – that, or this was just a part time job for them. Doesn’t seem like many people choose to work in cleaning and maintenance, hmm?”
Sakura sighs and puts a hand to his head. “Sorry, guess that was probably rude of me to say. I kind of, like… need this job, so please don’t fire me.”
He has to control his temper when Umemiya laughs again. “You’re allowed to speak your mind, don’t worry about it. A lot is going to fall on you for right now, since I need to get a jump on hiring some new people. But, in the future, I’d appreciate hearing what you do and don’t like to do here. I can take that into account when assigning tasks to everyone.”
“Unless you want to clean up vomit all over the plants, I strongly recommend you keep me away from the butterfly exhibit.”
Making a face that’s hard to decipher – ick, understanding, confusion – Umemiya stills nods and says, “Noted. No butterflies for Sakura.”
They sit in silence for a few moments, Sakura unsure whether it’s time for him to get up and leave or actually wait for some instructions.
“Y’know you can take your raincoat off now. Unless you’re planning to go outside for some reason?”
Sakura shrugs. “Sometimes he’d have me trim bushes outside, even if it was raining. I’d prefer to keep it with me just in case.”
It’s the first time he sees Umemiya make a face that actually looks serious. “He makes you work outside in bad weather? While you’re sick?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sakura bites back, feeling his heart trying to pummel his ribs.
Umemiya holds up his hands in placation, quickly assuring, “No, no, I meant what if you get sick?”
With a poorly thought out eye roll that forces the whole room to start spinning, Sakura moves his crossed arms down to his middle. He gives himself a squeeze to try and pull it together. “Can you just tell me what I need to do today?”
While his vision is still failing him, he takes notice of how stagnant the air in the room is. He knows for certain that he doesn’t smell, but, now that his old boss is no longer here to excrete his stinky alpha scent, he realizes that Umemiya does have a scent.
It’s very dull, to the point where Sakura is pretty certain he is a beta – that, or he’s using scent blockers or something. “You smell like dirt,” he says bluntly, quickly clapping a hand to his mouth in absolute mortification.
He wants to crawl under the table and die at the surprised look from Umemiya. Surprised, but not upset. “Yes, I’m told that quite often! I have a garden at home I like to work in.”
Still thoroughly ashamed, Sakura peeks through a tiny gap in his fingers to try and see if Umemiya is also wearing a patch over his scent gland. It smells like more than just dirt that would get stuck under someone’s fingernails.
Sakura is clearly the opposite of discrete as he watches Umemiya pull back his collar to show that he is, in fact, wearing a scent blocker.
“Not everyone loves the smell of dirt. I always like to be courteous to those around me.”
Pressing both hands against his heated cheeks, Sakura stares down at the table and mumbles some kind of apology. The severe thrum of blood beneath his skin has him feeling even more woozy and light-headed than he was before.
In fact, Sakura thinks he might just pass out.
Umemiya proves to be terrifyingly perceptive as he suddenly says, voice firm, “Put your head down on the table and close your eyes for a moment. You look unwell.”
Sakura does as told, feeling a strange inkling that Umemiya leans more towards alpha than he does beta, but still manages to reply, voice muffled by his arms on the table, “Sorry.”
After a moment, the urge to hiss like a cat is immense when he feels a big hand pat the back of his head. Is Umemiya seriously leaning all the way over the table right now? Sakura tucks his head further into his arms as a signal to stop, what the hell are you doing, get away from me.
Umemiya obeys – the hand leaves his head instantly.
Sakura hears him awkwardly clear his throat. “I can’t in good conscience have you working while you’re sick,” Umemiya says slowly, as if preparing for Sakura’s inevitable fight back.
“I can work just fine,” Sakura says, lifting his head carefully up from the table. “Just had a head rush is all.”
Umemiya’s hum is very unconvincing. “Mhm, sure. Well, as your new boss, what I would like for you to do today is go home.”
“You can’t make me,” Sakura retorts, clenching both his hands into fists. He’s not above banging them on the table to make his point. Or picking a fight – even if Umemiya’s hands are large enough to probably smash Sakura’s head straight to the floor.
When he glares enough to make eye contact, Umemiya stares back at him for a beat, mouth morphing from a frown to a little upcurl of the corner of his lip. “You have very pretty eyes,” he says, all nonchalant as if he wants the blood in Sakura’s face to explode all over again.
Gawking, grasping for the best possible way to express his outrage, Sakura comes up empty when he sees that Umemiya seems very sincere about the compliment. He can’t even grumble before Umemiya is already speaking again.
“You’re right. The only thing I should be telling you to do is work. So I’m going to have you help me look through some applications. The sooner we can hire, the sooner you and I will have less extra work to do. Sound good?”
It does sound good. Getting to stay indoors while sitting still, being near someone whose scent doesn’t make him want to gag, is all very appealing.
“How’s about we move somewhere else? It’s a bit stuffy in here.”
Sakura wants to whine at the thought of moving right now; and then he wants to punch himself in the face for having the urge to whine right now. With a huff, he pushes up from his chair – grabbing tight to the table – and keeps his eyes down until his vision can stabilize.
Umemiya is smooth enough not to mention it, though he gives Sakura the kind of look that hollers, I’m not mad, just disappointed.
Scooping up a backup from the ground, Umemiya exits the room; supposedly assuming Sakura will follow behind him. Which he will but he’ll do so begrudgingly. He can still feel the heated, pink fluster of his cheeks and he tries to press his cold hands against them to tamp it down.
“Do you have a laptop you can use?” Umemiya asks casually, guiding the two down a hall as if he knows exactly where he’s going. Sakura knows the only thing down here is a storage closet, but his self-preservation instincts are so low he doesn’t even care.
Umemiya stops at the door and cocks his head to the side, as if confused why it even says ‘storage.’
“You seemed like you knew where you were going,” Sakura says sarcastically.
“Do you think one of these keys will open it?” Completely ignoring Sakura, Umemiya starts to shuffle through a key ring and test each key in the lock.
Leaning heavily against one wall, Sakura watches him try seven keys before it eventually clicks open. It’s kind of inconvenient that the cleaning and maintenance manager doesn’t have an office, but, then again, there’s not really much paperwork his old boss ever had to do.
Umemiya looks behind himself, a sparkle to his eyes as if he’s waiting for Sakura’s praise or approval. When he gets none, Umemiya sighs dramatically and opens the door – beckoning Sakura to join him.
Once again, Sakura, begrudgingly, does as told.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Umemiya says when they’re both inside. “If you don’t have a laptop, do you have a phone? I can send you some of the applications. I took a quick glance and they mostly look like they’re willing to work in any department as long as they’re hired.”
And so begins the grueling process of sitting on cardboard boxes that feel as if they’re about to cave in beneath him; scrolling through far too many words on his tiny, screen-cracked phone; listing names to Umemiya of people he thinks would work well here.
Sakura’s not even sure what the hell he’s looking for, though, so he just goes based on their names. If they sound cool, he lists them. If they don’t, he just skips them. Is this a legal way to go about things? He hasn’t got a clue and he hasn’t really got a care either.
There’s only twenty applications – some having been tucked into a folder online for at least two years now, so they both come back with just about 4 candidates each who seem to fit the bill.
He’s sure Umemiya’s process of elimination was much more ethical, but who cares. As long as they get more people to take over the butterfly-cleaning then Sakura’s content.
“Now what?” he asks softly, rubbing at his eyes. They do actually feel pretty dry, what with the stale storage closet air and the tiny text he had to read on his phone.
Umemiya checks the time and lights up. “Ah! Lunch time. Would you like to accompany me? I didn’t pack anything so I’ll just stop by the cafe here.”
Sakura does genuinely debate it for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I’m just going to take a nap. Don’t lock me in here,” he warns Umemiya, who looks affronted by the mere suggestion of it.
When he finally convinces Umemiya to let him sleep here alone, he sighs the biggest sigh he can possibly sigh before closing his eyes. Sakura wraps both arms around his himself and gives his body a little squeeze. His stomach pinches back at him in agony and his ribs threaten to snap inwards and crush his lungs.
He kind of does want to go home now, but figures it’s too late to actually admit it.
–
Sakura wakes up to someone tapping urgently at his shoulder.
His eyes are hard to open, heavy like drapes and his eyelashes droop enough to make his vision fuzzy. His mouth is dry and his heart is pounding.
Sakura really doesn’t feel good.
“Sakura,” he hears someone – Umemiya – call. “Sakura, it’s time to wake up now. I really think you should go home.”
All Sakura can manage to croak out is, “No,” before Umemiya is lifting him up into a sitting position. He’s still shocked that the cardboard beneath him hasn’t caved in.
“You really don’t look well. I don’t want you here if you’re sick, ok? I’m seriously telling you this as your boss now.”
Running his tongue along the grooves of his teeth, wincing when it catches on the sharp corner still missing at the front, Sakura hums and attempts to slip off the cardboard box and stand up. He successfully slips off the box; he is unable to successfully stand up.
It’s embarrassing that Umemiya has to pull him up from the dusty floor, but Sakura feels too tired to care. “I’m going, I’m going,” he mutters, yanking his arms away from Umemiya who smells much more heavily of dirt now.
Petrichor, Sakura thinks magically. It’s not just dirt, it’s… rainy dirt. The fact he can even make any revelation at all right now is cause for praise. “You smell like rain and dirt,” he says, word-to-mouth filter be damned.
It really is incredibly rude to be commenting on someone’s scent – a faux pas, even – but Sakura has rarely cared about manners and social norms.
That being said, Umemiya’s voice sounds genuinely stormy when he says, “Sakura, I said go home.”
Realizing he’s just been standing and swaying on the spot, Sakura huffs and turns towards the door. Umemiya reaches over him to open it, and Sakura stumbles out into the open world. He’s still decked out in his raincoat, and he feels his pockets for both his wallet, phone, and keys.
Yeah, he’s got everything to his name.
Desperately needing a little support, he clutches a hand to his own stomach and curls inwards as he walks – willing himself not to throw up, at least until he gets outside.
Sakura hears the stomp of feet behind him and assumes Umemiya is trailing him. When he glances backwards, he sees Umemiya is typing on his phone – fingers far too fast for Sakura’s exhausted brain to follow.
His eyebrows are furrowed so low they may as well sink all the way down his face. He’s grimacing, too – goofy smirk from earlier long gone now.
“Do you have someone who can get you home? Did you drive here? Do you need someone to drive you home?” Umemiya asks suddenly, still looking down at his phone.
“I walk,” is all Sakura can muster. “You don’t need to babysit me. Go do your job.” He really is acting like a jerk, but Umemiya’s overbearing attitude right now is seriously pissing him off. He’s not some pathetic omega who can’t even manage to get himself home without the help of some stupid alpha – because, yeah, Umemiya’s whole demeanor and smell and the command in his voice is definitely screaming alpha now.
“My job is to look over my employees and make sure they’re doing what they’re supposed to. You’re supposed to go home. Can you really do that?” Umemiya almost sounds snarky now; like he’s angry, but the anger is trying to find something to place blame on other than Sakura himself.
Idiot alpha, Sakura thinks in agitation. “Yes,” he nearly snarls, “I can get myself home, alpha.”
The last word comes out unplanned and he instantly regrets it. Sakura hears Umemiya’s footsteps stop altogether and, when he turns around, Umemiya’s jaw is clenched tight.
“Don’t come into work tomorrow unless you’re fever-free and not looking like you’re an inch away from hitting the ground like a lifeless dummy.” Now, Umemiya sounds cold.
Sakura’s entire body shudders at the tone of his voice. He picks up the pace of his own walking, determined to prove that he can get himself home without help; even increases his speed until he reaches the front stairs, no longer able to see or sense or smell Umemiya behind him.
He brushes past a few patrons who turn to stare at him, a little girl even points at his hair, and he forces himself to keep his eyes forward. He’s not about to lose his job by shouting at a damn child.
When he sluggishly manages to push through the front door, it’s raining outside; just as his weather app said it would be. He stops short, standing beneath the entrance’s overhang, and pulls the hood of his raincoat up over his stupid head with his stupid hair.
As he takes a step outside, he’s pelted by rain that somehow penetrates through his hood and onto his scalp. He reaches up a hand and feels at the large hole in the cheap material, clenching his other hand to a fist when anger starts to brew deep within him.
Today was just so bad and he’s just so damn mad and he finds himself stomping in puddles until he bumps right into a solid object.
Sakura seems to be much lighter than whatever it was, because he bounces back a good bit before he manages to regain his footing. He looks up to glare at whatever tree he probably bumped into, but is met with a very amused smile from some guy wearing a big eyepatch.
Without Sakura’s permission, the guy reaches out and tugs him beneath the umbrella he’s holding. Sakura’s instincts tell him to snap at this dude and bite the fingers that are still touching his arm, but he can’t manage to do so because the guy suddenly smells so good and Sakura is so tired and he’s so thankful he’s no longer being annihilated by the rain.
“Your coat has some holes in it,” the stranger says, still looking amused – even his voice sounds like he’s enjoying an inside joke that no one else is a part of. “Do you want to borrow an umbrella? I have another one in my car.”
Now, Sakura knows you’re not supposed to take candy from a stranger, but that’s just for kids, right? What if he’s a grown adult taking an umbrella from a stranger? Does that still count as stranger danger?
He steals a discreet look at the guy’s neck but it’s covered up with a collar and a neatly tied ribbon instead of a regular bowtie. He smells like roses, and it’s faint, but Sakura’s already been deceived by Umemiya’s scent – he’s not even sure if this guy being an alpha or a beta or an omega would make a difference.
“No, let me go,” Sakura huffs, half-heartedly pulling his arm free. The stranger lets go immediately and puts his hand against the handle of his umbrella.
“Well, alright then,” he says simply, side-stepping Sakura and taking the umbrella with him. The rain beats down on Sakura’s head instantly and he wants to curl up on the ground like a snail ready to drown.
The stranger continues walking towards the conservatory, but his head is still turned enough that he can keep making eye contact with Sakura – eye contact, singular. It’s both a little creepy and a little funny, like an owl with its head stuck mid-turn.
Curling his shoulders inward, again clutching tight to his stomach, Sakura turns around and starts to speed walk back home. The rain seems to hit him harder the faster he goes, and it’s pretty difficult avoiding all the puddles from holes in the parking lot, and he definitely trips over cracks in the sidewalk twice, but he does make it home in one piece.
He makes it into his apartment and slams the door behind him. Water instantly pools at his feet and he can feel himself shaking from the cold and adrenaline. He’s going to have to put money towards a new raincoat, he thinks, forlorn, as he pokes a finger against one of the many holes in the cheap material.
Still, he waddles to the kitchen sink, shoes squishing grossly as he gets there, and rings out his raincoat as much as he can. He waddles back to his coat hook and hangs it up, wrestling off his shoes and socks as well.
With little thought, he makes his way to the bathroom, clothes still dripping water everywhere, and turns his shower on – it makes some scary noises as the pipes struggle to do their job, and it takes a moment before the water actually runs clear, but Sakura just turns the heat handle as far as it will go before stripping all his clothes off and delicately stepping in.
Clearly, his ice cold body was not ready for the scorching heat. His skin can’t decide whether it’s frozen or on fire, and he gasps, reaching out to brace against the shower wall. With zero grace, his palm slips and he falls forward, narrowly avoiding knocking his head on the tile.
All hope lost, Sakura lets his body go limp like a ragdoll – or a ‘lifeless dummy,’ as stupid Umemiya said – and passes out.