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As a child, Sakura’s fantasies about her life in the future were all about becoming the strongest girl in the world. She’d be one of the few women to reach judan, found a new school of karate, and be absolutely unbeatable. Little Sakura wouldn’t have been able to dream of being Kamen Rider or studying to be a doctor. Little Sakura didn’t know it was possible to be a lesbian, either. But it’s her twentieth birthday, and she’s waking up next to her limpet of a girlfriend. Hana grumbles at Sakura lifting the cover and turns over, her curly hair splayed over the pillow. Sakura strokes her head and curls her hand around her ear, playing with her hair.
When Sakura had dreams about girls, she woke from them aching, not sure of what to think. She hadn’t dreamt of watching a girl sleep in her bed or tucking the covers around her when she eased herself quietly out of bed. Those fantasies hadn’t held up in the light of morning, but Sakura looks down at the lump of twisted blankets in her bed, curling away from the sunbeams coming through her window, and she presses a fist to her fluttering chest, before slipping away into the kitchen.
Mama’s already awake, stirring something on the stove, and the rice cooker is chirping the ready tone cheerily. Sakura hits the keep warm button as she goes in for a hug, squeezing Mama from behind.
“Sakura!” Mama laughs fondly, as she turns her head to look at her. “Let me make your breakfast, birthday girl.”
Sakura squeezes her again before releasing her, “Mama, I was going to just make something really quick before I woke up Hana…”
“I’m not letting you just eat egg on rice and call it a day, Sakura! But if you want to help, go set the table and get the pickles out of the fridge.” Mama pushes her gently towards the table, and Sakura plucks the bowls and utensils out of the cabinets before making her way outside.
She’s setting the table when she hears a loud patter of someone running down the stairs from her bedroom. Hana narrowly stops herself from running into the table, barefooted and in Sakura’s pyjamas, and shoots a glare at her from across the tabletop.
“You woke up before me! I was going to help Mama-san bring you breakfast in bed but you woke up before me!”
“I always wake up before you?” Sakura can’t help but laugh.
Hana pouts. “See if I ever do anything nice for you again.” She stomps into the kitchen, but Mama’s quick to send her out with the container of pickles, which she sets in the center of the table, still pouting.
Sakura rolls her eyes, but as soon as Hana passes her side of the table, she pulls her close, ignoring the indignant squawk. Soon enough, Hana melts against her side, tucking her head against Sakura’s shoulder and wrapping her arm tight around her waist. The solid weight of Hana is more than her fantasies could ever create, and they cling to each other even as they hear her brothers’ shouts of “Happy Birthday!” as they stomp down the stairs.