Shirou switches on the shed's light before pushing the heavy metal door closed. He doesn't expect anyone to be watching, but it's only proper to change clothes in privacy, and it's also a matter of saving face. Being seen changing into his uniform would certainly be embarrassing.
Not that he'd have anything over which to be embarrassed. His routine in maintaining his physique is one to which he rigidly adheres, and it shows. Had anyone been around to see, they'd certainly have agreed. He strips off his overalls and shirt, exposing his well-defined abdomen, tightly toned chest, and the firm musculature of his arms and shoulders. Each efficiently crafted by said routine, giving evidence enough that the rest of his form is in peak physical condition.
Today, though, as he pulls on his white shirt with long, deep-blue sleeves, he makes a choice to deviate. He'll skip his routine, instead taking the morning to help his junior in preparing breakfast. A single day's break shouldn't be a problem. Besides that, he feels a twinge of guilt at letting her prepare the entire meal herself.
It's for that very reason it took so much time for her to wear him down. Finally, he'd acquiesced, agreeing to accept the aid she'd offered. Aid that proved invaluable, well beyond the practical sense. Her presence brightened their mornings, even if he hadn't grown physically attracted to her.
Something he still considers wholly inappropriate and completely indecent. But at the end of the day, he's a young man, and she's a young woman. One whom most would find fetching. And with as much time as they spend around one another, this sort of thing was bound to happen.
Yeah, but that doesn't make it okay.
He grumbles inwardly as he pulls on his beige-colored pants and matching student jacket. Reaching into a nearby dresser, he pulls out a pair of white ankle socks, putting them on as well, and finally his pair of dark slip-on shoes.
Knowing her, she's probably already finished preparing breakfast. Or maybe not?
He pauses for a moment, considering Sakura's new friend. The small guy in red, the polite child with ears that stick out prominently from his head.
If she's distracted by that kid, maybe it'll take longer for her to finish, and I can actually help?
He smiles at the thought. A chance to even things out between the two of them.
Right, but if I'm going to take advantage, I should definitely go now.
After another stretch, he pulls open the door to his shed and steps into his spacious back yard. His eyes come to rest for a brief, wistful moment, not on his house, but on the training facility. A dojo that sits directly across from it. About twice as large as his shed, and it's where he'd be heading right now, if he'd not changed his morning plans.
He lets out a small sigh and turns to his house, walking toward one of the sliding glass doors.
Sakura pulls open the refrigerator next to the kitchen sink, and shifts awkwardly through its contents, still holding the feather. She brings out some fresh chicken, salmon, carrots, yams, fresh romaine lettuce, a large yellow daikon radish, miso and soup stock. Each comes out clumsily, and with the bowl of yams, Taiasu finally speaks out.
"I can hold that, if it'd make it easier for you," he says. She turns to see him pointing toward the feather.
The bowl shifts awkwardly in her hands, and she looks between it and the feather before briefly turning a soft shade of red. Nodding, she leans down, extending her hand out, and he takes the feather by the small end.
Obviously, it wouldn't have been the first time he'd held a phoenix tail feather. In some places he'd been, people often came upon them. Yet for some strange reason, no one could ever have more than one at a time. Something always seemed to happen to the one whenever another was found. Just one of the many idiosyncrasies of his world that's never been properly explained or explored. Something at which people simply shrug their shoulders and accept as fact. Like the seemingly bottomless pack at his side, into which he now tucks said feather.
He gives the kitchen a quick once-over. Some things contained within are foreign, like the refrigerator, which for him is a large, chilled box filled with food. He'd seen something similar when he was honing his culinary skills at the Bismarck, so he's able to divine its function. Aside from that, the counter, cupboards, drawers, and even stove are all familiar enough for him to figure their purpose.
The one thing that raises his eyebrows is the sink, but he lets it alone as he looks up at the counter. He could reach it with his hand, but it's still above his head, and that would make it difficult for him to make good on his offer to help with breakfast. This quick realization brings a small frown to his face.
"Sakura, I can't reach that high."
Suddenly, he's wearing a goofy grin. It's obvious he can't reach that high, and he has to stifle a laugh after saying it out loud. As she grabs a pink apron with some white floral decor, Sakura looks down, her eyebrows lifting with surprise.
"Wait—you were being serious? About helping with breakfast?"
He nods. "Yeah, but I can't be climbing on your counters, can I?"
The thought makes her chuckle. His bare feet on the counter, or sitting up there, doing who knows what. She dons the apron, tieing it around her back.
Who knows what…
Her light smile falters, and her small laughter ceases. He's said he's capable, but if that's true has yet to be seen, and knowing that he's not of this world, her world, everything he says and does could be, for her, cause for at least some concern.
"Taruko-kun, do you actually know how to cook?"
He nods, wearing a smirk betraying a hint of smugness.
"I get by."
Sakura sighs, then taps her chin, thinking.
If he says so. I just hope those skills translate here. I'm getting a late start, so it would be a big help. Still, he's too short to reach the stove. We were doing salmon, chicken salad, soup—
Her eyes alight as she finds something he can help with, and she nods. She grabs the bowls of carrots, yams, and the radish, and passes each down. Carefully, he balances one on the other.
"Go set those on the table, and come back for the next set of things," she says, running some water from the sink into another bowl and setting it aside.
"'Kay," he says, cheerfully.
He hears the water running, but can't see the source for the bowls partially obstructing his view. At first glance, with him waddling out under the bowls, one might think they were walking by themselves. He reaches the table without incident, setting each bowl beside the other, then returns to the kitchen for whatever's next. Sakura passes him the bowl with water in it, a vegetable scrubber, and a towel.
"There are a few more things, but go set those down for now so the water doesn't splash," she says, reaching over the stove, toward the rack anchored into the wall, for the pan hanging from it.
"'Kay," he says, with the same cheerful tone, turning and walking back toward the table in the living area.
Fujimura glances at him for a moment, before turning her attention back to the TV as the newscaster talks about traffic and whether commuters should expect delays.
As he returns to the kitchen, Sakura has the stove ignited and has is already searing the salmon. She pulls the pan from the burner, setting it on an inactive one, before handing Taiasu the rest of what he'll be using—a few more empty bowls, a vegetable grater, cutting board, paring knife and chef's knife. As she passes him the large knife, she shudders briefly, recalling the ornate sword, a katana by all appearances, that was strapped to his waist when they'd first met. It passes, and she smiles, letting out a small breath of relief.
To say it hasn't been stressful would be lieing, but he's been nothing but friendly and helpful. I'm really glad I was wrong.
"Okay? What are we doing with these?" he asks, staring at them. Obviously, he knew he'd be cutting the vegetables into pieces, but it's still important to know exactly how they need to be prepared.
"Skin and grate the yams, and the radish and carrots will be for a soup," she says as she moves the skillet with the fish back over the flame, reaching toward the rack and grabbing a spatula.
"So cube the radish, and dice the carrots," he says, staring at the large knife. "Simple enough."
She nods as she flips the fish, then stops as something occurs to her. A small realization, but something she can't ignore for fear of it stealing her focus, and she kneels down, speaking in a near whisper.
"Wait… You know what those are?"
Taiasu nods. "Sure, why wouldn't I—!"
He stops, his eyes growing wide.
In that instant, they're on the same wavelength.
"You're right. That is strange. We have those in my world too. The carrots and radishes anyway. The only thing I've seen close to those other things, yams, I think you called them? The only thing close is a popoto. But it's not just that. Those too…" He gestures toward the vases, the one he can see, with the yellow roses, and the other two that he can't, the one with the daisies, and the one with the lavender and hydrangea.
They exchange stares and head tilts laden with confusion until the sound of the fish sizzling demands her attention. All they can do is shrug as she stands and returns her attention to the fish. And just in time to flip it in the pan. Taiasu takes the rest into the living room, setting them on the table, then sets to work.
She didn't say, but obviously I need to wash them first.
He looks to the scrubber, the bowl of water, and the towel, wearing an annoyed half-frown.
I hate this part. It's boring. I'd rather just dice 'em up and be done with it.
Sighing, he takes the scrubber in his hand, grabs the radish, dunks it, and with a blur of motion that leaves no skin on its surface, has it clean in the blink of an eye. Fujimura, staring vacantly at the TV, remains oblivious. In short order, all the vegetables are clean and waiting to be processed. He stares at one bowl, sighing.
She said these were yams. Well, I'm guessing, since I know what the other stuff is.
Each similarity between their worlds serves only to highlight the many subtle differences in his mind.
Shaking off the distraction, he takes the small paring knife and sets about skinning the yams, collecting the waste on the towel. Finishing that, he moves on to the grating, which again is done in seconds, the grated yam pulp quickly filling one of the formerly empty bowls.
From the corner of her eye, Fujimura's attention is drawn by a flash of movement. She looks over in time to spot Taiasu's second swift horizontal slice with the chef's knife as he cuts through the daikon. She watches wide-eyed as he makes the third, then quickly delivers a series of cross-cuts through the radish, the knife becoming a blur. He smirks as he leans in, bringing his free hand close. With a sharp snap of his gloved fingers, the radish falls into cubelets.
"Always wondered if that would work…"
He chuckles to himself, oblivious to Fujimura's attention, which is now fixed fully on his every movement. He scrapes the radish cubes into one of the remaining two empty bowls, then quickly has the carrots diced and scraped into the third bowl. He looks between the three bowls, then at his two hands and sighs. Finally, he notices his audience. When she notices him noticing her, she stops staring and spins her attention back to the TV.
Taiasu shrugs and grabs two of the bowls, making his way to the kitchen.
Simple enough. Even without crystals or synthesis.
From the corner of her eye, Fujimura watches him leave.
There's something unusual about this child…
The door to the living room slides open, and Shirou steps through. Immediately, he feels his expression weighted by a small frown. Strange that the pleasing yet distracting scent, elegant and befitting the hard work put into their morning meal by his junior, Sakura should cause him to frown. But the smell also tells him he's too late to be of any help in the prep work.
In the center of the room, he can see his teacher and guardian, Fujimura, propped up by her arms on the table, staring vacantly at the TV. She glances at him from the side, wearing a teasing smirk.
"Shirou, you're late. Were you planning on making Sakura do all the work?"
His shoulders slump, her words deflating him, and he sighs.
"I know, Fuji-nee. It wasn't my intent. I already feel bad enough without you bringing it up."
Beside her, on the table, he spots a bowl filled with water, and flecks of dirt and vegetable skin, both floating on the surface and sunk to the bottom. Besides that, he also spies a small towel, covered with vegetable peelings, a vegetable scrubber, and two knives, one large and one small. He stares at them, blinking for a few moments, wondering.
Why would these be here? Was she watching the news while she was working?
A sound from the kitchen draws his attention. From where he stands, he can see Sakura through the partition, opening a cupboard over the sink, preparing to bring down the needed dishes, and he lets out a small, relieved sigh.
So she's not completely finished yet. Maybe there's still something I can do?
Smiling, he moves toward the entryway in the partition, but stops as he bumps into something. Looking down, he spies Taiasu, rubbing his nose and wearing a lightly irritated frown. Being overlooked is one thing. It's not new, but someone walking right into him is. All he can do is sigh his vexation away, replacing his small frown with a stiff smile.
After all, he knows it's not the tall folks' fault their eyes are so far from the ground.
"Ah!" Shirou takes a quick step back, letting out a surprised sound. "Sorry about that, Taiasu!"
Again, all Taiasu can do is sigh, but the simple apology relieves the rest of his irritation, and his forced smile relaxes into something more natural.
"It's fine. I'm sorry too. I'll try to be more careful."
Shirou steps to one side, and Taiasu walks toward the table. He, Shirou, then finishes his small trip into the kitchen, where Sakura's just finished bringing down a few bowls and plates, and reaches up to grab a few more.
"Sorry you had to do all that yourself, Sakura. I'll at least get the dishes ready, so go ahead and take a rest."
For having been so focused, his sudden appearance briefly startles her, breaking her concentration, and she turns around, her mouth a pressed, neutral line, and her hands folded at her waist.
"Huh? You're here already, Senpai?"
"What's 'already'? We'd usually be eating by now, right? I definitely slept in." He looks over the spread, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. "And how'd you get this all finished so quickly? You'd have had to rush, but it doesn't look like it at all."
On the stove, he spots each of the burners occupied. One by a pot with some white rice, one simmering with something yellow, sweet-smelling and creamy-smooth. A large pot also simmers with soup filled with diced carrots and yellow radish, cut into uniform cubes. Finally, the last burner has a pan sizzling with fresh-cooked salmon. Next to the stove, a large bowl filled with romaine lettuce, quartered tomatoes and seasoned and fresh-cooked chicken, cut into strips.
Sakura stirs the pot with the soup, which diffuses its tangy, salty scent into the air. It only takes Shirou a few moments to identify each item.
Pureed yams for the rice, miso with radish and carrot, salmon and a fresh chicken salad… How could she possibly have had this ready so quickly?
Perplexed, he scratches the top of his head, roughing his red hair.
"So what gives? How'd you get this all ready so fast? I'd have to say you've got me beat completely if you did all this yourself."
Sakura's expression alights with a smile as she turns a brief, light shade of red. She'd been studying how to cook under his careful guidance for a while, so hearing him say something like this fills her with pride, and some embarrassment.
Still, it's not completely true.
"Well, you have nothing to worry about then, Senpai. Taruko-kun was—"
"Sakura, I'm finished with these."
Before she can finish, Taiasu is carefully stepping around Shirou on his way back into the kitchen. In one hand, the bowl with water sloshing gently around, and submerged in said water a small paring knife and the vegetable scrubber. In his other hand, the towel, and a large chef's knife, held handle out, blade in hand, edge up, and flat against the towel. Some of the vegetable peelings fall from the towel, and he stares down with some annoyance as they land on the ground.
Shirou looks down, his eyes widening with surprise when he sees how the knife is being held.
"Isn't it dangerous to hold that knife like that? What if you fell?"
Taiasu shrugs. "That'd be bad for me, but at least I'd be the only one hurt. It'd be worse if I tripped and it ended up tip-first in someone's leg."
Shirou can only stand staring, blinking rapidly at his casual response. Sakura kneels down, taking the bowl and placing it into the sink. She lifts the handle for the faucet, and Taiasu's eyes widen as water pours from the tap. She turns, and on seeing his wide-eyed expression, tilts her head.
Running water. A simple thing for the people if this world, clearly, but for him, something new and novel. Not a completely foreign concept for those on the continent of Eorzea, or any of the continents on Hydaelyn, or likely even the First. Still, it's considered something of a luxury for those adventurers who procure residences for themselves (he never had), or for the more technologically advanced nations found throughout the world, most of whom were not exactly friendly to outsiders.
As Shirou continues to stare perplexed at Taiasu, Sakura kneels down, and subtly puts a finger to her lips, signaling him to keep quiet. She hadn't needed to. He realized this was something common for them, and though he'd never seen it, by now he knew enough not to speak his mind regarding such new and marvelous discoveries in the company of others. Any such talk would be difficult, even impossible, to explain away.
His mouth wrinkles into a line as he imagines the conversation.
'Never heard of this before? What are you, from another world or something?'
He winces, struggling to figure a response to that sort of question and coming up short. Still, he gives a slight, knowing nod, and Sakura lowers her hand, smiling as she takes the chef's knife by the handle, and then the towel. After placing said knife in the water, she shakes the remaining refuse from the towel into a waste can in the cupboard beneath the sink.
"So wait, Sakura, he helped you with breakfast?"
She turns toward Shirou, his eyes now on her, and nods.
"As much as he could, anyway. He offered to help, so I asked if he could manage the vegetables."
Shirou sighs, slumping forward.
So that's why that stuff was on the table. It's also how everything is ready so quickly. Still, it should've been me helping. I definitely have to help now.
Taiasu nods as well. "I figured it was the least I could do. I mean, if she's helping me out like she is, I should do as much as I can to return the favor."
"Huh? Helping you out?"
Shirou looks from Taiasu back to Sakura, who winces at his words. Though innocuous, Taiasu's statement could prove problematic if explored too deeply. So she only gives a casual nod.
"We can discuss it over breakfast. Until then, could I ask you both to wait in the other room while I bring everything out?"
Taiasu nods politely and turns, but Shirou remains rooted to where he stands.
"Nothing doing. I mean, I'm fine with talking about whatever later, but I'm not letting you do the rest by yourself."
Shirou folds his arms, wearing a small frown, and Sakura's smile warms as she refolds her hands at her waist. Despite her soft expression, she's prepared in her heart to engage in this battle of sorts.
"I don't think you have to. You should be resting. It's still quite early for you, isn't it? Since you're not in any clubs."
"Clubs have nothing to do with this," Shirou says, frowning and indignant. "If you're going to talk about clubs, then it should be even more of a problem for you, doing all of this by yourself when you have morning practice to attend."
Sakura turns to face him fully, her slight smile faltering into a small frown, her inner brow twisting upward as she fidgets with her hands at her waist. Though well intentioned, his misplaced, kind concern causes her some discomfort.
"Ah… no, please don't worry about such things. It's not a problem for me at all, and I'm doing this because I want to."
Shirou sighs, running his hand through his hair. "Yeah, you're always saying that, but that's why I have to wake up early, clubs or no. It's rude for me to sleep in when you're coming here so early."
Though a fairly new routine, having taken about a year and a half to establish fully, waking up early for him means being up before Sakura arrives. Failure, like what's happened today, is when he's inside only after she's finished preparing breakfast.
He refolds his arms, showing a light smile. "Anyway, you take a rest. We only have to set the table, so at least let me do that." He moves next to her, reaching up and bringing down some dishes while reflecting on her tenacity.
She's being pretty stubborn right now. When she's like this, she won't rest unless she's forced to.
"Oh, then I'll help too. I'll bring out the plates, and you can take the rest. I was thinking we could dish at the table this morning," she says, standing beside him and reaching up into the cupboard as well.
He frowns, eyeing her from the side.
"No, I'm saying I'll take care of it myself."
She mirrors his frown. "That won't do! You're the head of this household, so you should just be content to sit in the morning," she says, her tone sharp.
Shirou sighs, stepping back from the cupboard and holding his hands on his waist.
"Be content to sit? A house head—"
"Hey Shirou, can you pass me those plates?"
"Huh? Oh, sure." He grabs the plates he'd taken from the cupboard and hands them down. "Anyway, a house head who leaves all the work for someone else is a failure. It's fine to let me do this, so please just go wait in the living room."
Sakura's sharp frown fades, replaced by a teasing smirk as she folds her arms behind her back.
"You're right, and it's fine to be—"
"Sakura, can you hand me that rice, please?"
"Huh? Right, sure. Just carry it with this." Reaching into a drawer, she takes a hot pad, then passes down both it and the pot of rice. "Like I was saying, it's fine to be a failure sometimes. This is my repayment to you for letting me eat such delicious food all the time. So please let me repay you and go rest for a while."
He refolds his arms, eyeing her again. "Hey, you can't say stuff like that. We're splitting—"
"Silverware, please!"
"Eh? Right, here…" Shirou reaches into one of the drawers. "Chopsticks okay?"
"Yep, those are fine. Thanks."
After he hands them down, he turns back toward Sakura.
"Sorry, what was I saying? Right, groceries. We split the bill, so you shouldn't be worrying about that. And if we're talking who should be grateful, it should definitely be me. Since you've started coming around, our meals have definitely improved."
At his words, Sakura's smile turns down in a small frown, her eyes becoming downcast as she turns her gaze to the floor.
"Oh, I knew it. You really don't get it, do you Senpai? My being here has nothing to do with why the meals here are good."
Disappointment shows on her face. Whatever improvements Sakura had made in her cooking, and whatever skills Shirou had brought to the table, for her meant little when compared to the simple pleasure of sharing an enjoyable meal with close friends and family. That this simple truth eluded him could only be bothersome for her.
"Sorry, Sakura, can you hand me the salad?"
Still sulking, she nods, taking the bowl and passing it down.
"Thanks. Just a few more things…"
"Right, sure," she says, twisting her hands at her waist.
Shirou tilts his head, his brow arching upward. "Huh? What do you mean, that's not why?"
Realizing her words, and their implication, Sakura draws in a sharp breath, surprised at her small measure of boldness in speaking her sincere thoughts, before returning her gaze to the floor.
"No, it's nothing. But because of you, this is the only place I can enjoy a pleasant meal anymore." Turning her gaze up, she smiles, folding her hands behind her back, and going a soft red.
Quickly turning red himself, Shirou forcefully averts his gaze. "H-hey, don't say weird things. What if Fuji-nee heard—"
"Can you hand me that pot, please? Not the soup, but the other one?"
"Oh, right. Sakura, can you pass me a hot pad for it please?"
"Huh? Sure, here…?"
Finally, as she passes the pad to Shirou, who uses it to grip the pot with the pureed yam, something strikes her as peculiar. Though only for a moment, and with her focus on fighting the battle of 'who's going to finish preparing breakfast', she can't afford to puzzle it out right now.
With the hot pad, Shirou passes the yams down.
"Alright, thanks. I think it's just the soup and fish left…"
"Right, anyway, what if Fuji-nee heard you say something like that, Sakura? She doesn't get those kinds of jokes."
The red in Sakura's complexion fades as she shows a playful smile. "You're right. It would be problematic if Fujimura-sensei overheard that."
Shirou nods his agreement. "Right, so don't say so much—"
"Can you hand me the fish, please?"
"The fish? Right, let me get a hot pad…?"
The same thing that struck Sakura as odd now finally occurs to Shirou as he reaches into the drawer, fishing around and bringing out a hot pad. He takes the pan from the stove and passes it down with the pad. Still, like her, he's too mentally and emotionally invested in coming out on top in their little contest to pay it anymore thought than that.
"Thanks. Just the soup now…"
"Uh-huh. Anyway, Sakura, don't say weird things like that."
She shows another bright smile. A victor's smile.
"Yes, I won't. So I can help you, right Senpai?"
She looks toward Shirou in a calm and natural fashion, and he finds the wind quickly stripped from his sails, leaving him with little to do but raise his white flag and heave a sigh of resignation.
"Yeah, fine… Just do what you want. If you want to help so much, I can't stop you, anyway."
"Yes, then I'll do as I please."
Modest in her victory, her only outward reaction is to hold her hands folded at her waist, while wearing a simple, casual smile. Shirou can only grumble something under his breath as he refolds his arms, frowning at the floor, shaking his head.
"… Geez, you really don't listen to anything I tell you anymore, do you Sakura?"
"Maybe it's because I'm becoming more like Fujimura-sensei."
She teases, then turns toward the stove. Blankly, she stares at the stovetop, then looks around the kitchen, blinking several times. Shirou traces her perplexed stare. At that moment, both of them finally understand the strange thing that had been happening over the past several minutes. On the stove, only the pot of soup remains. The rice, yams, salmon, salad, and plates, along with a few sets of chopsticks from the drawer next to Shirou, are no longer present in the kitchen.
"Just need some bowls and the soup and we're all set, right?"
Sakura and Shirou both look down toward the voice, completely puzzled for a moment, before understanding sets in. There stands Taiasu, looking up at the pot still on the stove. They look toward the living room to see everything missing laid out neatly on the table, each hot item on a pad, and their teacher, Fujimura, failing at being inconspicuous, her form trembling, barely holding in her laughter for having seen what was happening as she hides her face behind a newspaper.
"Taruko… kun?"
Sakura is the first to comment, and he looks up at her, blinking a few times.
"Yeah? What's up?"
"You brought everything out?"
"Yeah?" His inner brow arches upward. "You guys were so busy discussing… whatever, I just thought I'd take care of it before it got cold or stale."
Sakura and Shirou both exchange puzzled looks, then finally a small laugh that builds into something which fills the kitchen and the living room beyond. Shirou wipes his eye, breathing in to settle himself before offering a reply.
"I guess it was a silly thing to spend so much time on."
Taiasu looks between the two of them a few times, then sighs.
"You guys are acting kind of weird. Can I get the last pot?"
Sakura shakes her head. "We'll bring it out after I've finished with it. I need to make sure it's ready."
"Okay, what about some bowls, then?"
"I'll get those, Sakura you can grab the soup once it's ready," Shirou says, his tone insistent.
Taiasu sighs again, then shrugs and turns on his heels. Shirou watches him until he sits next to the table, where he promptly vanishes from sight. He has to suppress another laugh.
Jeez. For his sake, I hope that kid gets taller soon.
He turns back toward Sakura as she moves to the simmering soup still on the burner. She switches the other three off before taking a small sample. Her subtle, graceful movements catch Shirou's eye, and he goes a quick shade of red, the feelings he'd been wrestling with again stirring.
She's grown so feminine…
Troubled, frustrated at himself, at his finding her as beautiful as he does, he forcefully diverts his stare. Something in his movement catches her attention, and she turns toward him.
"Senpai? Is something wrong?"
Vehemently, he shakes his head. "—No, nothing. It's nothing, don't worry about it."
She stares at him for a moment, blinking a few times, before returning to the pot on the stove, and he breathes out a sharp sigh.
Why am I feeling so tense around her? She's my friend's sister, and we're not like that. She's a good underclassman, and a junior I should look after.
Foremost for him, their relationship is that of junior and senior. Also, her being his friend's sister, as he'd reflected on a few times, and a year below him in school, they hadn't really been that close. Things changed about a year and a half ago, when she'd persisted, insisting he let her help around his residence until he relented. It was only supposed to be during his recovery from a work injury to his shoulder, and even then only with cooking, but as time passed, the new situation just sort of stuck.
Things came up that made her stick with it. Grateful for the help, he never asked, and he never felt it was his place to. At any rate, Sakura proved to be an excellent cook, and a wonderful sort of house-wife, though he'd never use the word. Skilled at cleaning and laundry. Her presence was an enormous help, yet because he was a guy, young, and still maturing at that, having her around had recently proved problematic. Their encounter outside his shed, and their proximity now, only proves the issue.
It's not her fault though, it's mine… I'm the one with the problem.
As if to prove his point, he looks toward her, and his breath stops. The light shining in from the window highlights her form as she stands with a small saucer in one hand, a ladle in the other, tasting the soup to make sure it's ready, and perfectly oblivious to his inner conflict.
Inwardly, he sighs, almost grumbles.
My problem is she's too damn beautiful. It can't just be me who thinks so! I'm sure there are lots of guys who want to date her, and not just those in her year, either! I can't let myself become like one of those sleazeballs!
Despite his inner protests, his eyes remain fixed on her soft feminine form. In certain places, that form had been filling out, and even her more casual gestures highlight this, making it impossible for him not to notice.
Finally, he can do little more than heave a deep sigh.
I'm just feeling guilty for being attracted to her. Every time she catches me off guard like this, I have to beat these feelings down. I'm not suited to be her Senpai…