The TV made soft noises, illuminating the living room with a movie no one was watching anymore. A breeze slightly moved the curtains, cooling the warm room down. The fan above whirred but didn't do much to elevate the heat. But no one was complaining.
The Sun was slowly setting, the light turning the inside of the house an orange hue. Two glasses sat on the coffee table in front of a loveseat. One was half empty, the other a sip less than full. Ice cubes danced in each. Next to the glasses were several popsicle sticks that had long been cleaned.
At some point during their movie marathon, Sakura had rudely fallen asleep, her head lying in Yosuga's lap. Her legs dangled off the side of the sofa as Yosuga played with her hair. She wasn't sure how long it had been, but she had been quite engrossed in the pinkette's features for quite a while. From the curve of her hairline, to the way her eyelids fluttered in her dream, Yosuga was completely mesmerized.
Leaning back on the armrest, Yosuga considered for a moment how creepy it was to be staring at her partner for so long, but with features like Sakura's, she found it hard not to be captivated. By her looks. By the way she breathed. By the way she managed to be so inexplicably perfect, no matter what. How?
Yosuga supposed it was because she might have been made to be with Sakura. She might have been made to love Sakura. It sounded right. It felt right. She wasn't complaining. Just questioning, because how was it possible that she managed to end up with Sakura, of all people?
Yosuga wasn't a sentimental person. Not ever. But perhaps, when it came to her love, her baby, she could make an exception.