The wind curled softly around the dorm rooftop, brushing strands of white and crimson from Shoto’s face. He stood alone, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the skyline — but his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

You stepped up beside him quietly, unsure whether to disturb the silence he always seemed to guard so carefully. The night held its breath between you.

“I figured I’d find you here,” you said gently, your voice a contrast to the cold air.

He glanced your way. Just briefly. Just enough to let you know he had heard you — and that maybe, just maybe, he had hoped you’d come.

“I like the cold,” he replied, eyes drifting back to the stars. “It’s… honest.”

You leaned against the railing beside him, heart fluttering like a petal caught on a breeze. “You always disappear after training. Everyone’s downstairs. Worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” he said too quickly. Then, softer, “I just… needed space.”

You hesitated. Then: “Shoto… I know something’s been weighing on you.”

Silence again. The wind tugged at his jacket.

“I’ve seen how you look at me when you think I’m not watching,” you continued. “And I hear what you don’t say in the way you pull away before I get too close.”

His jaw tensed.

“I’m not trying to force you to talk. I just… I care. That’s all.”

Shoto’s hand twitched at his side, fingers curling, then releasing. He turned toward you, slow and reluctant. His eyes were heavy with something unspoken.

“私の桜…” he whispered. “My sakura.”

Your breath caught.

“I call you that in my head,” he said, eyes locking with yours. “Because you remind me of spring. Of warmth. Of something soft and beautiful… something I don’t know how to hold without breaking.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs.

“My heart bleeds endlessly for you,” he murmured, voice cracking like ice beneath strain. “But I’m terrified. If I let it out — if I let you in — I don’t know what will be left of me.”

Maybe winter and spring could coexist, after all. You two could only know if you tried it out. Together.