Work Text:
“Sakuraaaa~”
The moment that familiar melodic voice reaches him, Haruka’s soles screech to a halt and his fists ball up on instinct. The back of his neck burns, again, and he briefly considers taking off into a sprint before he can even turn around. He’s started over before...
“Sakura-kuuuun,” The voice says again, something disappointed and slightly needy hanging from every syllable, “Why are you running away from me?”
If he’s honest, Haruka doesn’t even know anymore. It isn’t like he can hide forever, so long as he wants to remain a part of Bofurin…
And he does. More than anything, if he’s honest with himself for once. But the thought of facing him—everyone's favorite leader and his...shameful infatuation—right now in broad daylight, and after what he just did…
A firm hand clasps around his shoulder; warm, big, could only belong to one guy in this town.
“Shut up! I’m sorry!” Haruka shouts into the concrete beneath his feet, “Shouldn’t have- I dunno what got into me, It won't’ happen again, I—”
“Sakura-kun.” He says a third time, softer and more serious than either time before.
Clasping his other palm to Haruka’s free shoulder, Umemiya spins him on his heels until they’re face-to-face. His unwavering smile towers over him, full of optimism and kindness (and maybe something else this time), and then he chuckles, “I wish you'd stop apologizing to me, Sakura.”
Haruka squeezes both eyes shut. How could he? Haruka had been so caught up in his own stupid fantasies, he hadn’t stopped to consider that kissing someone—especially this someone—in relative public (the roof) wasn’t the best impulse to follow. It’s why he ran, why he kept running until Umemiya finally caught up with him, halfway across town.
“Can you not just- forget about it?” Haruka pleads, “Don’t think anyone saw, we can just pretend it never happened...”
Umemiya laughs brightly, in the way he only seems to when he’s tending to his garden—Haruka’s heart nearly seizes in his chest. “What if I don’t want to do that, Sakura?”
Haruka peeks his darker eye open, out of curiosity (in an almost shameless need to just see his face again), and nearly stumbles to the ground. More than the pink dusting he’s seen after fights, Umemiya’s blush rivals Haruka’s own, he's sure. Across the bridge of his nose, over his cheeks, to his ears, and all the way around the nape of his neck: pale skin as flushed as his prized tomatoes, lightly brushed by the tips of his silver hair as it sways in the evening breeze.
He looks like the sun.
“What'd ya want, then?” Haruka asks, completely unsure of the kinda answer he’ll receive. The air hangs thick and he can feel his temperature rise.
But instead of words, in true Bofurin fashion, Umemiya-san responds with action.
With Haruka’s shoulders already captured, Umemiya drags him in, tilts his head, and steals every breath from his lungs. It feels like a gut punch, needy possession, affection he had not expected would be reciprocated in a hundred years. Haruka kisses him back, something rattles in his throat, but Umemiya hums, then slides their mouths into a new position.
While his arms remain plastered at his sides, Haruka bends his elbows and reaches forward, flushed fingertips grasping at the lapels of Umemiya’s duster jacket. Because, despite everything, Haruka worries this isn’t real. It felt like a dream earlier, too.
Umemiya smiles against his lips, briefly breaking their kiss and letting an embarrassing whine slip out into the space between them, “You don’t have to worry about me running, Sakura, that seems to be your job-”
Haruka huffs, pouts.
“-But we should probably get out of the middle of this alley, if you really don’t want anyone to see you.”
“You really don't care who sees? What people may think?” Haruka mutters.
Umemiya ponders for just a single moment, “I don’t care what people think,” He says, “But now that you mention it…”
Haruka shivers as Umemiya’s palms glide down his arms, over his thighs, then he jolts as both arms slip behind his knees and he’s suddenly lifted into the air.
“Hey! Wait, what’re you-” Haruka protests, as he’s tossed over one of his broad shoulders as easily as a bag of potting soil. A thick chuckle echoes from his ribs and through Haruka’s bones.
“You’re right, I don’t care what they think, but I do care if they see,” Umemiya’s cheerful demeanor shifts a little—quieter, darker, almost hushed, “I think I want to keep you all to myself.”
Still hanging over his shoulder, Haruka slaps his hands to his face to cover his embarrassment, “Ya can’t just say things like that!”
And, unphased, Umemiya laughs as he presumably carries them both toward somewhere more private. “Who’s going to stop me, Sakura-kun?”
Haruka may not make it out of this alive.