It started out small.

Just a dumb comment here and there. You pointing out something romantic in that casual tone you always used, like you were talking about the weather or a dog on the street. No big deal.

“Sakura! Look at that old couple. Aren’t they cute?” “Oooh! They’re kissing!” “There’s two kids holding hands!”

At first, he thought it was just you being annoying. You always said weird stuff. You teased everyone. It wasn’t personal.

Until it kept happening. And it was only ever him.

Always when he wasn’t ready for it— walking home, zoning out between classes, or right after an argument when he was still bristling— and you'd lean in all smug like, “You’re totally the type to kiss someone after a fight, huh?”

And boom— full system shutdown. Red ears. Defensive yelling. The works.

Didn’t matter what it was. A couple holding hands, someone hugging in the hallway, even a stupid wedding flyer taped to a pole— if you were there, you’d find some way to twist it back to him. Like some kind of curse.

He wasn’t even sure what you were trying to get out of it. A reaction? A laugh? Maybe you just liked seeing him short-circuit like an idiot.

And yeah, he hated it.

Except, okay, maybe he didn’t.

Because the problem wasn’t the words. It wasn’t even the teasing.

It was the vibe. That soft, stupid, heart-eyes energy. Like you were dragging him into some kind of shojo manga hell with no escape route.

And then today happened.

He was just trying to help Tsubaki run errands for the old man at the corner store. Gramps, as everyone called him. You were already tagging along because of course you were. And somehow the two of you ended up side by side on the floor, listening to Gramps sort pickled daikon while the rain tapped gently outside.

It should’ve been uneventful.

But then the guy started talking about his wife.

“Every morning, she’d make me tea,” Gramps said, staring into the middle distance like this was some Studio Ghibli flashback. “She used to hum this silly song while sweeping the floor. Drove me nuts. Miss it every day now.”

You smiled. Sakura didn’t move.

“She’d yell at me about the genkan. But when she got sick, I started lining her shoes up real neat. Guess I just got used to it.”

Sakura's ears were already pink. You glanced at him. Noted it. Of course you did.

And then Gramps added, “Forty-three years, we were married. Still feels too short.”

Like a knife to the ribs.

And that was when you leaned in, voice low and whispery and evil:

“Imagine loving someone like that… right, Sakura?”

He short-circuited on the spot.

“I—WHAT?!”

It came out louder than he meant. You nearly laughed, and he hated that he heard it. That you enjoyed this. That he was probably just another one of your dumb little games.

But then you looked at him. Really looked. And your smile faded.

Gramps kept talking— something about still chatting with his wife like she was in the next room— but Sakura didn’t hear it.

He was too busy trying not to combust.

Hands clenched in his sleeves. Shoulders stiff. Heart doing backflips for no reason. He wasn’t used to stuff like this.

Romantic stuff. Soft stuff. You.

You didn’t say anything else.

Which somehow made it worse.

Because now you were just watching him quietly. And he could feel the heat crawling up the back of his neck like he was seconds from collapse.

God.

He wanted the tatami floor to open up and swallow him whole.