Chapter Text
The dojo smelled like sweat, polished wood, and the faint sweetness of the plum blossoms Suo had insisted on planting along the back fence eight years ago. Sakura Haruka wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, white-and-black hair sticking to his temples, and glared at the empty training hall like it had personally offended him.
“Stop looking so damn smug,” he muttered.
Suo Hayato didn’t even glance up from where he was stacking the last of the practice pads. The eyepatch was still there—some things never changed—but the smile he wore these days was softer, less calculated, more *real*. “I’m not smug. I’m proud. You had three new students sign up today. Word’s finally getting around that the strongest man in Makochi runs the best dojo in the prefecture.”
Sakura’s ears burned. He turned away fast, kicking off his shoes harder than necessary. “Tch. They’re just here because you keep handing out those stupid herbal teas and acting all mysterious. Not because of me.”
Suo’s footsteps were quiet on the tatami. Always had been. One second he was across the room, the next his chest was pressed to Sakura’s back, arms sliding around his waist like they belonged there. Eight years, and Sakura still jolted at the casual touch. Still waited for the punchline that never came.
“You’re an idiot,” Suo murmured against his ear, breath warm. “They come for you. Everyone comes for you.”
Sakura’s hands clenched at his sides. He could feel the heat of Suo’s body through both their thin shirts, the steady thump of his heartbeat against his spine. Touch-starved. That was the word Nirei had written in that stupid notebook of his once, back when they were still first-years and Sakura had punched him for saying it out loud. Eight years later and the word still fit like a glove he couldn’t take off.
“Shut up,” Sakura growled, but he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Not when Suo’s fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt and traced the old scar along his ribs—the one from that rooftop fight that had decided everything.
The door to the dojo slid open with a familiar rattle.
Sugishita Kyotaro stepped inside without knocking, tall frame ducking under the lintel, dark hair longer now and tied back in a loose knot. He didn’t say a word. Never did much. Just closed the door behind him, kicked off his shoes, and crossed the floor in three long strides. His eyes flicked to Suo’s arms around Sakura, then to Sakura’s flushed face, and something like satisfaction settled in his expression.
“Late,” Sugishita rumbled. One word. That was all he needed.
Sakura tried to glare, but Suo’s hand had slid lower, palm flat against his stomach, thumb brushing the waistband of his track pants. “I wasn’t waiting for you, Sugishita.”
“Liar,” Sugishita said, stepping close enough that Sakura was bracketed between them now—Suo at his back, solid and teasing, Sugishita at his front, all quiet intensity and calloused hands that knew exactly how to pin him down without bruising.
Suo chuckled softly. “He’s been twitchy since the last student left. You know how he gets when the hall empties out.”
Sugishita’s big hand came up to cup Sakura’s jaw, thumb pressing lightly against his lower lip. “Yeah. I know.”
Sakura’s breath hitched. This was the part he still wasn’t used to—the part where they talked about it. Where they didn’t make him choose. Where the door stayed open and the others just… came. No jealousy. No fighting. Just this. Just them. Wanting him. All of them.
He grabbed Sugishita’s wrist, not to push him away but to hold on. “You two are annoying as hell.”
“Mm,” Suo hummed, lips brushing the shell of Sakura’s ear. “Yet here you are, hard already and we’ve barely touched you.”
Sakura’s face flamed. He was hard. Had been since Suo first pressed up behind him. Eight years of learning that he didn’t have to fight for scraps of affection anymore—that he could have this, greedy and open and filthy, and no one would call him weak for it.
Sugishita leaned in and kissed him like he was starving for it. No hesitation. Just the heavy press of mouth and tongue, the faint taste of the lemon candy he still sucked on after every patrol. Sakura made a broken noise into it, the kind he hated hearing himself make, and Sugishita swallowed it down like it was payment.
Suo’s hand finally slipped under the waistband, fingers wrapping around Sakura’s cock with the easy confidence of someone who’d done this a hundred times. “There we go,” Suo whispered, stroking slow and firm. “Let us take care of you, Sakura. You’ve been holding everything up all day. Time to let the wind blow through.”
Sakura’s head fell back against Suo’s shoulder, hips jerking into the touch. Sugishita’s mouth moved to his throat, sucking a mark right where his collar would hide it tomorrow. They worked him open between them—Suo’s hand on his dick, Sugishita’s fingers tugging his shirt up and off, mouths everywhere. No rush. No shame.
The door rattled again.
Nirei Akihiko poked his head in, notebook tucked under one arm, glasses slightly fogged from the cool night air outside. His eyes widened for half a second at the scene—Sakura flushed and panting between Suo and Sugishita—then his expression melted into that soft, knowing smile he’d perfected somewhere around year four.
“Am I late?” Nirei asked, stepping inside and sliding the door shut behind him with a quiet click. He set the notebook on the low shelf by the entrance like it belonged there. It did. It had pages and pages of their history now. Not just fights. Not just Bofurin. Them.
Suo didn’t stop stroking. “Right on time, Nirei. He’s been asking about you all afternoon.”
“I have not—” Sakura started, but Sugishita bit down on his collarbone and the protest turned into a groan.
Nirei’s cheeks went pink, but he crossed the room anyway, shedding his jacket as he came. “Liar,” he said gently, echoing Sugishita from earlier. He reached up and brushed Sakura’s damp bangs out of his eyes. “You always get that look when you want all of us. The one that says you’re scared we’ll disappear if you ask.”
Sakura’s throat clicked. He hated how right they were. Hated it and needed it in equal measure.
Nirei leaned in and kissed him—soft where Sugishita had been rough, reverent where Suo had been teasing. “We’re not going anywhere,” he whispered against Sakura’s lips. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the plum blossoms against the fence. Inside, the dojo felt warmer than it had any right to. Sakura closed his eyes and let himself be held—Suo’s hand still working him slow and perfect, Sugishita’s mouth on his neck, Nirei’s fingers threading through his hair like he was something precious.
His phone buzzed on the shelf. Once. Twice. A third time.
Kiryu’s name flashed on the screen with a string of teasing emojis. Then a single text preview:
On my way. Save some for me, princess.
Sakura didn’t even have the energy to snarl at the nickname anymore.
He just let the door stay open.
Because they were all coming.
And for once, Sakura Haruka wasn’t running from any of it.