On the way to the Nakamuras' house, Kazuha updates her parents about her injury, her tone sounding way too cheerful for such a serious topic, making Sakura smile as she sits beside her listening. Then her parents apologize to her repeatedly for not being able to attend any of her matches this season so far, but Kazuha assures them that it’s not a big deal and that there'll still be plenty of occasions for them to attend since the season just began. After that, they switch their conversation to more lighthearted topics. Kazuha laughs at her dad’s lame joke and promises her mom to dress warmly and eat her meals regularly.

While silently observing their interactions, Sakura can’t help but think about her own parents and how she misses moments like these, them just talking while spending their time together in the most mundane of ways, as a family. She supposes it’s one of those things people only learn to appreciate once they lose it. That simple sense of belonging. The reassuring presence of one's parents. She wonders whether they sometimes think about this, too. Do they miss each other? Does her mom ever miss her? Wishes she and dad would come back?

Probably not…

“We’re here,” Mrs. Nakamura’s announcement pulls her out of her thoughts.

The woman parks the car on a driveway outside a two-story house. It’s much larger than Sakura has imagined, modern in its design with sharp angles and expansive glass panels. The S-class Mercedes in which they arrived should have clued her in that they weren’t going to some old, tiny house. It’s just that from what Kazuha had mentioned about her parents, Sakura assumed they were mid-level employees at some small company, while clearly they were anything but. 

“Please make yourself at home,” Mrs. Nakamura tells her when they enter the spacious hallway. 

She takes off her shoes and, following Kazuha, steps further inside, taking in the expensive-looking yet still somewhat cozy decor with wooden floors in warm brown hues and family photos hanging on the walls, bathed in soft ambient light. To the right, past the entryway, there’s a large kitchen with gray marble counters and dark cabinets.

“I’ll prepare us something to eat. You girls must be starving,” Mrs. Nakamura says.

“I-I can help,” Sakura offers, still feeling like she isn’t really supposed to be here and trying to compensate for the fact.

“It’s okay. I’ve got this. You can go with Kazuha to see her room.” Mr. Nakamura smiles at her warmly before he follows his wife into the kitchen.

Kazuha doesn’t seem too thrilled about the idea, judging by the grimace her dad’s words elicit, but tells Sakura to follow her anyway. They go upstairs, and Sakura smiles at the photos lining the wall, showing Kazuha at various stages of her life. 

A tiny Kazuha posing with what Sakura guesses is her first medal; a slightly older Kazuha cheering with her dad at a stadium; a teenage Kazuha with grime on her cheeks and a ball under her arm, sporting a jersey of her middle-school soccer team. But her favorite must be the one where Kazuha sits cross-legged on a picnic blanket between her parents in a park under the cherry blossom trees, grinning toothily at the camera with the familiar blue Nike ball lying in her lap.

They reach the door to Kazuha’s room and stop. “Can you give me a moment? There’s probably a mess in there,” the girl says, avoiding Sakura’s gaze.

Sakura casts her a doubtful glance. “Zuha, when was the last time you’ve been here? And also, you and a mess? Come on.”

Kazuha sighs in defeat and opens the door, letting Sakura enter first. 

For the most part, it’s a regular room. There’s a neatly made bed, a desk with a computer monitor, a closet, and a bookshelf. Nothing out of the ordinary—if not for the amount of Sakura’s posters on the walls.

“Oh…” 

When Mr. Nakamura insisted on Kazuha showing Sakura her room, she somehow assumed it was because he wanted to brag about his daughter's trophies, or something along those lines. She most certainly wasn’t expecting to enter what felt like an art gallery dedicated to her. 

“Is that a standee?” She points to an acrylic miniature version of herself standing on a shelf above the desk. “I don’t remember our team’s merch shop ever selling these.”

“It’s custom made,” Kazuha mumbles behind her.   

Sakura looks at her, amused. “What was that again about not liking useless stuff cluttering your space?”

“I bought most of this stuff when I was like 14, 15?” Kazuha makes her way to the bed and plops on it dejectedly. “You must think I’m some kind of freak,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on the gray, fluffy carpet under her feet.

Sakura goes to sit beside her. “Hey, you’ve already told me you’re my fan. Granted, I maybe wasn’t entirely aware to what extent...” she pauses, counts nine posters in total, and says, “but it’s kind of endearing?”

Kazuha’s eyebrow quirks upward in doubt. “You really think so?”

Sakura glances towards the golden trophies on the shelf behind that standee. There’s only three of them; the rest must be still in that cardboard box that Kazuha keeps in her closet.

"Well, you aren’t just any fan, are you? I mean, you worked hard to play on the same level as me. And now we play together. It’s commendable, really. I’m proud to have you as my fan.” She turns to Kazuha with a smile, noticing a blush creeping up the girl’s cheeks as she bites on her lip. 

Sakura’s heart flutters, and she looks back to the posters to distract herself from thoughts about lip-bruising kisses. Some of them she recognizes as taken during the U-20 World Cup matches, and several others are from her early beginnings at F.C. Tokyo.

“Although I’m not sure if I deserve it,” she blurts out under her breath. “It’s not like I accomplished anything significant.”

“That’s not true,” Kazuha protests. “You play on one of the best teams in the league. You were second last season, and you almost became the league’s top scorer. Not to mention the countless tournaments and MVP titles you won as a teenager.”

"So, like I said, nothing significant–”

Kazuha gently grabs her by the arms, making her look her in the eye. Disappointment and frustration flicker in her scowling gaze.

“You’re an amazing player, Sakura,” she says firmly. “Hardworking, creative, and passionate. I just wish soccer would bring you as much joy and happiness as it used to when you were a kid.”

Sakura scoffs incredulously, despite the corners of her lips tugging upwards.

Kazuha’s shoulders slump, and her hands slide down Sakura’s arms to rest on the bed between them.

“You used to have the brightest smile on your face when you played, but with time it dimmed and then disappeared altogether. After getting to know you, I now understand why, but I hope one day you’ll be able to smile like that again.”

Sakura frowns and looks at the posters again. She isn’t smiling on any of them, not even on the ones taken right after she scored a goal; her expression is always focused, serious, and on some, maybe even grim. But why should it matter if she smiles or not? It’s not like she plays better when she does. Those matches from the posters, she won them anyway. Kazuha is just being a little naive and idealistic, as usual. 

Their conversation is left at that, since Kazuha’s mom calls them to go downstairs for supper. They sit down at a table that’s surprisingly small, having only four seats. Somehow Sakura expected they’d have one of those large ones, which rich families always have in the k-dramas. She’d certainly prefer that was the case, as now she feels even more like an intruder. 

Kazuha must have sensed her discomfort because she gives her palm a gentle squeeze under the table. Sakura forces herself to relax a little, because if anything, she at least knows Kazuha wants her to be here. So it’s fine. She’ll be fine.

They start eating, and Mrs. Nakamura asks her about living with Kazuha, expressing her hope that the girl isn’t bothering her too much. The question catches her off guard at first, before she reminds herself that Kazuha has no reason to hide from her parents the fact that they’re living together, unlike she has.

“Aa-h, no, not at all.” She looks at the girl sitting beside her. “She’s calm and quiet, keeps things clean, joins me for my morning jogs, and sometimes even cooks. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better roommate.” 

A wide grin spreads across Kazuha’s face, her cheeks flushing red. Sakura feels a familiar tug in her chest, and it startles her out of her momentary daze. Her gaze flickers back to the woman.

Mrs. Nakamura leans her elbow on the table and props her chin up on her fist as she regards Sakura with her piercing, brown eyes. “Doesn’t bring over any boyfriends or girlfriends?” she asks, a mixture of curiosity and amusement lilting her voice.

“Mom!” Kazuha shrieks, and the tips of her ears are now also bright red.

Her dad guffaws, but her mom continues, “Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t be upset if you did. You’ve never expressed interest in anyone, well, other than Sakura-chan.” The woman’s lips curl upward in a teasing smile. “I was just wondering whether that maybe has changed.”

“She only brought a cat once,” Sakura says, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Hana-chan, yes, she told us. She always wanted to have a pet, but Kaoru is terribly allergic.” The woman reaches to touch her husband’s arm, as if she’s trying to comfort him. “So, you aren’t dating anyone?”

Despite the question not being directed at her, Sakura feels her stomach twist into knots. In her peripheral vision, she notices Kazuha’s parted lips and knitted eyebrows, her hesitance palpable. 

And Sakura knows exactly what’s at the forefront of her mind right now—their connected lips and intertwined palms. She’s probably asking herself what all of it meant and what’s the correct answer here. But that’s the thing—they don’t know this yet themselves. Everything’s happening so fast. Too fast.

Swallowing the lump in , Sakura schools her expression into a neutral one and lifts her gaze from above her plate. 

“We don’t really have time for dating,” she says. “The training schedule is quite hectic, and we both aim to make it into the national team, right, Zuha?” She casts a quick glance at the girl, offering what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

“R-right, yeah,” the girl stammers and lowers her head, stuffing with rice.

“That’s a shame,” Mr. Nakamura remarks, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re young; you should enjoy life.” 

“Karou is right. Your career is  important, of course, but it’s not everything that counts in life. Don’t forget that,”  Kazuha’s mom tells them, and Sakura resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Anyway, I’m glad to hear that you two get along well. Kazuha was always a rather shy kid, could only talk about soccer, and never had many friends. But I’m happy that she seems to have found one now.”

Sakura imagines the blush on her cheeks could be taken as her being bashful, but really, all she feels right now is just shame. Surely, the woman’s opinion of her would change if she knew what she had done today. 

After they finish their meal, Sakura, politely but firmly, insists on helping with cleaning and doing the dishes. It’s the least she can do to repay them for all the hospitality. Kazuha’s parents don’t want to agree at first, but they relent once Kazuha offers to help as well. 

“I’m sorry about my parents,” the girl mutters as they stand next to each other by the sink, cleaning the plates with yellow sponges. “They can be a lot sometimes.”

Sakura chuckles. “There’s no need to apologize. They’re nice and funny, and they care a lot about you.”

I wish my parents were like that. She keeps the thought to herself, not wanting to bring the mood down. Also, it’s kind of pathetic to be thinking this way. Her parents aren’t even together, after all.

“They’re also quite open-minded. Your mom not excluding the idea of you having a girlfriend.”

“Ah, that. They are very liberal, yeah. Maybe that’s cause they travel a lot?” Kazuha says, shrugging. “What about your parents? Do they know?”

Sakura shakes her head, putting away a plate she just wiped dry  “I don’t think so. I’ve never told them. But I don’t think they ever cared about it anyway. My mom only wanted me to have good grades, while my dad's sole concern was my performance in soccer.”

A moment of silence passes between them until Kazuha breaks it suddenly, “Hey, you have something on your nose.”

Sakura furrows her brows. “What? Where?”

“Here.” Kazuha giggles as she puts a blob of soapy foam atop Sakura’s nose.

“Oh yeah?” Wiping her nose with her arm, Sakura takes some foam into her hands. “And you have something, here and here, and there.” She reaches for Kazuha’s face, and although the girl leans away from her, she manages to smear the foam along her cheeks and chin

It’s a shame her phone lies abandoned at the bottom of her duffel bag; she would love to take a picture of Kazuha’s silly face right now. 

“You look like a fluffy Samoyed.” Sakura lets out a chuckle that turns into a shriek the moment Kazuha shakes her head, sending the foam flying everywhere, like a dog shaking off water from its fur. 

“Okay, wait—let me wipe it for you.” She grabs a paper towel from the counter and begins gently cleaning the remnants of the foam from Kazuha’s grinning face.

The girl’s eyes follow her every move, radiating so much warmth and happiness that Sakura instantly feels her stomach fill with butterflies. She doesn’t think she has ever felt this much affection for someone. It’s as though Kazuha has broken a dam inside her heart, and now she just cannot contain the outpouring of emotions flooding her chest. 

“Sakura?” Kazuha’s voice comes as a whisper, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she realizes her palm remains motionless against her cheek.

“Ah, sorry,” she chuckles nervously and wipes the last patch of foam. “There, you’re all good now.”

She’s about to step away from Kazuha, putting some much needed distance between them, but the girl’s fingers gently wrap around her wrist, keeping her in place.

“Did you really mean it?” she asks, and Sakura’s whole body turns rigid. She thinks back to what she told Kazuha’s mother about them not having time for dating, but then the girl adds, “When you said that you couldn’t have asked for a better roommate?”

Sakura relaxes in relief and smiles. “Of course I did. Why would I lie about that?”

Kazuha gives a one-shouldered shrug, looking down at her feet shyly. Sakura thinks it’s adorable just how much that simple compliment affects her. 

“Come on, let’s finish cleaning this and go to sleep.”

🌸🍃

The guest bedroom is much plainer in decor than Kazuha’s room. There are no personal touches to it, just beige walls, a small pine-pale bed, and a shag, light blue carpet. Sakura drops her bag next to the western-style closet set in the wall and goes to sit down at the very edge of the bed, not wanting to mess up the neatly ironed blue linens. 

Kazuha told her to wait for her, and so she does, even though she’s not sure why the girl would ask her to do that in the first place. It’s not like they’re going to sleep here together. Because they aren’t. Right? 

Heat rises to her neck at the possibility that it may be otherwise, then a knock on the door startles her, and she jumps to her feet.

“C-come in,” she croaks.

Kazuha enters, wearing a white tight-fitting tank top and a pair of impossibly short black sleeping shorts. 

Sakura’s mouth goes dry, and she absolutely hates how there’s nothing in the room that could distract her from how insanely attractive the girl looks right now. 

“I brought you my pjs, a towel, and a toothbrush,” Kazuha says as she places everything on the bed.

“Thanks.” Sakura tries to make out the brand of the toothbrush, not for any reason in particular other than just to occupy her mind with anything else than Nakamura Kazuha.

“Okay, so I’ll be in my room in case, uhm, you need anything.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sakura nods, expecting Kazuha to leave then and there. 

It’s blue. The toothbrush is brand-less and blue. Like the ball I gave her. Like her favorite color. Aaand she’s still here. Why is she still here?

Tentatively, she lifts her gaze and sees Kazuha worrying her lip between her teeth while fiddling with the drawstrings of her shorts. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” she cautiously asks.

Kazuha sighs. “I hope you’re not upset about, you know, me dragging you here.” 

“No, I’m not upset. Just a little…” Sakura pauses, searching for the correct word to describe her current state of mind.

“Overwhelmed?” Kazuha prompts.

“Y-yeah.” Sakura clears . “I guess you could say so.” 

“Gotcha. Me too, to be honest. I mean, I never planned for all of this to happen in one day. You meeting my parents and us—” 

“It’s okay. I know,” Sakura interjects, afraid what words may follow next. 

Us kissing? Us making out on a high school soccer field? She still can’t believe that happened, right there in the open.

Oh God, what if Kazuha’s parents had seen us? But then they wouldn’t be so nice to me if they did, right? They’re so candid about Kazuha being my fan...my fan... 

A sudden sinking feeling twists her stomach as she remembers the posters in Kazuha's room. Could it be that Kazuha is misinterpreting her admiration as something deeper and more meaningful than it truly is?Her eyes widen at the dreadful realization. Is she just taking advantage of Kazuha’s misguided feelings to satisfy her own selfish desires? And isn’t this essentially the same thing that Kaname had done to her?

We both know you’re unable to love anyone…

“Sakura?” Kazuha’s soft voice pulls her out of her thoughts. “Hey, where did you go just now?” The girl reaches to cup her cheeks, and the gentle touch tethers Sakura back to reality.

Staring into Kazuha’s worried eyes, she lets out a shaky breath as the awful thoughts slowly fade away, turning into meaningless background noise.

“N-nowhere. I’m here,” she says, mustering a smile.

But Kazuha doesn’t look convinced as her hands leave Sakura’s face to wrap around her arms and hold her close. Sakura’s cheek ends up pressed to the spot where the girl’s chest meets her shoulder, and the sweet scent of jasmine and honey envelops her like a soft blanket. 

“You looked so terrified just now, as if the worst kind of nightmare had started playing in front of your eyes,” Kazuha murmurs. “Do you want me to sleep with you here tonight?”

Sakura shakes her head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Kazuha pulls away slightly and looks into her eyes. 

Sakura nods resolutely. 

“Okay, but if you need anything—”

“You’ll be in your room, I know.” Sakura smiles at her.

Kazuha weakly smiles back, brushing aside a stray lock of hair that fell over Sakura’s eyes. “Before I leave,” she says, and her gaze flickers to Sakura’s lips. “Can I give you a good night’s k—?”

Sakura cranes her neck, placing a soft kiss against Kazuha’s cheek. “Good night, Haachan,” she says as she pulls back.  

She doesn’t trust herself to kiss the girl on the lips.

Kazuha stares at her, wide-eyed. She doesn’t seem too disappointed, only taken aback. And once her initial surprise wears off, a bashful smile breaks on her lips. “Good night, Saachan,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sakura’s heart stutters in her chest, in joy at first, then pain when Kazuha lets go of her, and with a hint of reluctance to her moves and smile, she leaves the room.

When the door closes with a soft click, Sakura plops down on the bed, no longer caring about the ironed linens, and runs her fingers through her hair.

Kaname had never called her Saachan , and she hadn’t really called Kaname anything else than, well, Kaname . They’d never shared any moments of vulnerability, honesty, or even playfulness. She isn’t even sure if she has ever kissed Kaname on the cheek.

And Kaname had never held her in her arms with such tenderness and care, as if she were afraid Sakura was about to fall apart any second. Maybe at that time, after another night spent together, Sakura thought she had, but really, she hadn’t. Now she knows this for certain.

So is she being paranoid again? Or is she just looking for excuses to stay away from Kazuha? Because no matter how nice all of this feels, no matter how badly she wants to keep sharing these sweet, tender moments with her. Deep down, she’s still terrified…

…of losing it all.