Asleep
Syaoran watches Sakura, sleeping quietly, her breast falling and rising rhythmically. The moonlight caresses her cheek, and he wishes he could do the same, jealously. Or that the moonlight would be more respectful, please; Sakura was not his anymore and never was and never would be, at least the way things were looking, but have a little consideration for a boy head-over-heels.
Watching her breathe, soft lips parted just so, he thinks, this is why I was born.