Sakura flinched at the sensation of Bulma's arm settling around her shoulders. Slowly, she eased into the comfort of the older woman's embrace, her eyes opening to stare at the dying sunlight stretching across the room.
"Tell me about him."
"His hair was black," Sakura whispered, her voice trembling with restrained hurt. She couldn't quite picture this person she loved so dearly; it seemed as if her memory was purposefully blurred around him, twisting and shifting so she could never get a good look at him. "But his eyes—I see them in my dreams, sometimes…"
"You do?"
"… They're always red."
