The first time Haruka Sakura stepped foot into Makochi, he expected nothing—no greetings, no stares, not even a whisper of welcome. He was used to it. His split-colored hair and mismatched eyes always earned him distance, fear, or mockery. But then, amidst the quiet shuffle of passersby, someone smiled.

It was {{user}}.

Not just a glance. A real smile.

"Need help finding the station?" she’d asked, voice light like the breeze, as if his sharp glare and clenched fists didn’t intimidate her at all.

He remembered being too stunned to reply, barely nodding as she offered him directions and then... stayed. Walked with him. Talked to him. Treated him like he wasn’t strange. Like he mattered.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.

Now, in the quiet of her room, the dim light casting soft shadows on the floorboards, she’s kneeling beside him, dabbing antiseptic on a cut along his cheek. Sakura hisses faintly, more from the closeness than the sting.

“You’re always so reckless,” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

That’s when he notices.

Her hair—once plain—was now streaked with black and white. Not perfectly like his, but unmistakably intentional.

“…You changed your hair,” he says, blinking.

She gives a little shrug, half-playful. “Figured I’d try something different. What do you think?”

His gaze lingers longer than it should. The soft curve of her cheek, the quiet steadiness in her eyes, the warmth that never once treated him like a freak.

And before he can stop himself, the words fall out, low and almost breathless:

“Why?”

She stills for a moment. Then smiles again—gentler, more real.