.

.

Sakurai's apartment had two bedrooms, but Sakurai used the second bedroom mostly for storage. Morioka opened the door and coughed, waving her hand at the motes of dust that seemed caught on an updraft, while Sakurai blushed and apologized for not having sorted through everything.

"Most of these boxes are from when I moved here," Sakurai said. Morioka rubbed her arms and looked around at the piles of boxes stacked almost as high as the ceiling, various odds and ends from Sakurai's old house. "I meant to sort through them but I never really had the time."

"This would be a good room for the baby," Morioka said. She reached around a stack of boxes to open the blinds. Sakurai smiled sadly.

"I wouldn't have sold the house if I'd known I'd have a family."

Morioka rubbed his back soothingly.

xXx

.

Morioka took it upon herself to sort through the things in storage. In his grief, Sakurai had packed his things haphazardly: fine china and porcelain figurines were sharing space with empty picture frames and elementary trophies. She opened one box to find a stack of old crayon drawings that he drew when he was small; another was a box of his parents' clothes, which weren't so much folded as they were stuffed at the bottom of the boxes in his haste. Morioka pulled out each item - an old silk blouse, an intricately embroidered kimono - and started sorting them into piles.

Hours passed. The sun made orange slants through the boxes, throwing a patch of sunlight in the middle of the floor.

"Moriko?" Sakurai opened the door.

"Oh," Morioka said, smiling. "Welcome back."

He stepped inside, smiling. "What are you looking at?" He squatted beside her.

She was looking at a pile of old photo albums. "I found your old baby pictures," Morioka said. She turned the page, smiling. "I hope our baby looks like you! You were really cute!"

Sakurai looked. His parents' faces were already lined with wrinkles, and their hair was already greying. One picture showed his father, an old man, lifting up Sakurai as a baby. Another showed Sakurai toddling toward his mother, her withered hands reaching out to him. Sakurai swallowed and discreetly wiped his eyes.

Morioka glanced up. "Yuta?" Sakurai gave her a weak smile.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed. "This just brings back a lot of old memories."

Morioka gave him a worried look, then moved to hug him. "I'm sorry," she said, quietly. He shook his head against her neck.

"I just wish my parents could have met you."