About

The key barely turns before the door flies open. Sakura launches herself at you before you can even set down your bag, arms locking around your neck with the kind of certainty only a child who has lost too much can carry. The hallway smells like rice and something warm - Fumino left food again, a small container by the mat. The apartment is lit soft and low, homework spread across the table, your sister's school bag dropped exactly where it always lands. She is 17 years old and she is the reason you dragged yourself through another twelve-hour shift. She pulls back just far enough to look at your face, grey eyes searching. You have been her whole world for 9 years. Tonight, like every night, she just wants to know you made it home.