To love Miyawaki Sakura is to be patient.

And understanding.

And selfless.

Not because Miyawaki Sakura is a dense and oblivious protagonist like the cliché old romantic stories people liked to read. No, because Miyawaki Sakura had always known about love and uality and the freedom and consequence that came with it since she debuted.

She's not an idiot. Nor blind or deaf.

She's seen the way people look at her. Heard confessions of white and black. She knows what it means to be desired, wanted, hated, loved. She can have anyone and anything, and everyone and everything, yet Miyawaki Sakura is nothing but professional. Her goals come first. Connection comes second. Fans come first, other priorities come second. That's the rule of their industry, and any deviations from it often leaves painful reminders why there should never be in the first place.

To love Miyawaki Sakura is to be patient.

Her thoughts and words are centered around her principles and values. Always the dutiful granddaughter, daughter, and sister. Always a reliable member, senior, and friend.

Freedom in home is much sweeter. But the human's survival instincts activate in a place where different is isolated and hated. Distance had always been the best defense, not allowing a drop of fault to reach the sensitive noses of bloodthirsty hyenas. Phrases and quotes and advice are formed from years of experience and mistakes, only filtered and cut in outlandish manners for opportunistic vultures to feast on them, hoping for an imminent fall of grace from heaven. Touches are much more restricted, only when necessary as sudden approaches will scare her off like a frightful kitten. Clever remarks and witty banters are timed perfectly, a perfect lesson from learning under the one and only Sashihara Rino.

And yet, behind closed doors and the faint illumination of streetlights and the sky, faint whispers of love and affirmation comes out from her usually tight-lipped smiles. Hands that hold mics and water bottles and grips gaming mouses or glides along the keycaps of her mechanical keyboard leaves a trail of shivers and goosebumps along smooth skin. Gentle caresses and rough scratches combine to engrave her name from one place to the other. Sighs and careful whines and rustling of blankets and little squeaks of the bed fills the unusually quiet room of their dorm.

Miyawaki Sakura captivates attention when she walks in a room full of people, knows how to let this attention stay on her until she doesn't want it to. Her eyes always shouts the burning determination and skillful abilities forged for years, and so to be the sole receiver of these captivating fires, the darkest part of the embers (the hottest, most painful part of the fire) predominates like fire born of dark magic.

To finally have the undivided focus of Miyawaki Sakura, the overwhelming gaze of curiosity and mirth, is to stare at a large wildfire and wait as it consumes everything along its path.

To love Miyawaki Sakura is to be understanding.

Respect is not and never will be one-sided.

As a member of an industry where people consume the temporary relief you give them as hopes of finding something- someone to hold onto while escaping the bounds of reality for a moment, each and