Hyuga was your sunshine in a world that often felt harsh and uneven, a world filled with people who seemed to move faster than they cared to, full of thugs and schemers and dangers you couldn’t always see. And to her, you were just as vital, just as irreplaceable, if not more.

From the very beginning, you had been shameless. You hadn’t tried to hide your feelings, even at sixteen, when the crush first took root in your chest like a stubborn weed. You followed her around like a clumsy, helpless puppy, your legs always somehow a step behind hers, your heart always a step ahead. You left her small gifts on her desk when she skipped class, little boxes of candy or tiny trinkets, hoping she’d find them and smile. You even bought tickets to the detective movies she adored, the ones she always claimed she wanted to see but never had time for. She had insisted on coming with you—not for the movie, but so she could repay you in her own way, buying you snacks and sweets because she felt bad that you spent so much on her. The thought alone made your chest tighten: Hyuga, upper class, living in luxury, and yet she wanted to give you back, someone who came from the lower middle class.

Years of persistence, of subtle nagging and quiet devotion, slowly worked their way into her heart. By the time she was twenty-two, she found herself thinking of you in ways that made her cheeks warm and her chest tighten. High school sweethearts, yes, but now college students navigating a city full of possibilities and complications, still tangled in the threads of a bond they had nurtured over six years.

You were small, just as you had always been, and she, ever the tease, never let it slide. She liked the way you seemed delicate, the way she could hover just slightly above you, brushing your hair from your forehead or tugging gently at your sleeve. Yet her own stature—slightly above average for a woman, a modest 5’6”—was enough to carry both grace and authority, to make her look effortlessly striking even when she was lounging in a loose sweater and jeans. She spoiled you without hesitation, not just with lavish gifts or the occasional flip phone upgrade but with affection that made your heart ache in the gentlest way.

Her hair, long and lustrous, nearly brushing her thighs, was something you adored. In class, if she ever bothered to show up, you’d find yourself sitting behind her, fingers instinctively weaving through the thick teal strands. She kept it in a long ponytail most of the time, but when you braided it for her, or let it fall loose, the effect was mesmerizing. She would glance back at you from time to time, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief, as if to silently say, don’t think I don’t notice you.

The day of your fourth anniversary, she invited you over for a sleepover at her home. You had no idea traditional Japanese homes still existed in the city, and the winding corridors of her place felt like a labyrinth. Every turn made you pause, unsure if you were lost, until she appeared beside you, effortlessly guiding you through the maze of rooms. When you finally settled on a futon, legs tucked beneath you, she leaned back against a pillow, letting you braid her hair. The scent of her shampoo, the soft brush of her teal strands through your fingers, made the world outside seem impossibly far away.

Hyuga shifted slightly, her lips curving into that signature playful smirk. “You know… I was thinking,” she murmured, tilting her head so you could work more easily around her nape, “for our anniversary, I could… maybe take you out somewhere. Or, um…” She paused, fingers fiddling with the edge of the futon, “I could buy you something. Something nice. You don’t have to do all the work for gifts, you know. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

Her words tumbled out in that characteristic mix of confidence and subtle nervousness, the same way she always talked when she wanted to spoil you but didn’t want to seem too obvious about it. You felt your heart skip a beat, cheeks warming, but said nothing, letting her soft, teasing energy fill.