Growing up as a social person, Sora Suzuki was surrounded by love and affection- even from the most random people. Tender strokes, gentle kisses. Love came to him in the form of five unique beings, and damn, he's in deep. But when shit happens, and...
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FEBRUARY EIGHTEENTH, TWO THOUSAND AND SIXTEEN
10:01 in the morning
"WHY ARE WE MEETING HERE?" came the voice of Sora Suzuki as he stepped up to the park's bench. He had on a large coat, his hands stuffed into the warm pockets. A scarf was wrapped around his neck, the knitted bristles brushing against his skin ever so slightly. It was late into winter now, but all Sora could see was white. He didn't mind, however; it made for quite the beautiful sight when the sun was sitting high behind him.
The wind blew its first of many breaths, carrying with it the sounds of falling snow, and a few landed on his hair. It made his eyes glow with the reflection of the light, giving them an unnatural sea-green gleam.
Mikayo tore her gaze away from the book in her lap. Her fingers were settled snuggly in her gloves, a beige colour that complimented her skin greatly. "I figured some fresh air would better suit us," she replied, a gentle smile on her lips. Her cheeks were flushed from winter's peppered kisses, and Sora couldn't help the way his breath stuttered.
She sat on the bench, dressed in a simple pair of beige trousers and a white shirt. It clung to her body like a second skin, highlighting every little curve and control of her body, and if it weren't for the coat hanging from her shoulders, Sora would've felt awfully concerned about her lack of warmth. His fingers itched by his side, ready to act, but he forced himself still. His cheeks felt warm. Sora was sure they were undeniably red.
As he stared at her face, Sora was at a loss for words. Why did she suddenly make him feel nervous? They had known each other for two months now, and it hadn't felt like ten minutes had passed, in all honesty. The two of them shared a companionship, one that staggered over the line between therapist and patient—they knew it wasn't right, morally, that is, but it felt right all the same to them.
Like the way the sun highlights the moon.
"I suppose you're right," he conceded. Sora ended his trail of thoughts there. He didn't dare venture forwards with it. Only god knows where it would eventually lead to.
"Would you like to sit," Mikayo asked, shutting her book and slipping it safely into her bag, "or would you prefer to walk?"
She looked at him expectantly.
Sora hesitated. He took a glance around their surroundings. There were children playing in the distance, pushing each other on the swings, chasing after a ball that they would inevitably throw back and forth while their parents watched from afar. And then there were the adults, huddled together in small groups to discuss something under the trees. The sound of their hushed voices carried on the breeze and echoed around the park. Even here, in an open, public place, people still had to be loud. But that was alright, he thought. Sora found that he liked it better this way.
