Touch Me

After all the excitement with Aoi and then Mia, Haru arrived at Sakura's house later than he had anticipated. Before he could even ring the doorbell, Mrs. Suzuki opened the door, as if she had been waiting for him.

"I'm truly sorry for my tardiness, Mrs. Suzuki. I had an unexpected visitor," Haru said, bringing in his suitcase.

"There's no need to apologise. I'm already grateful to have you here," she assured him with a gentle smile.

"Thank you. How is Sakura feeling?"

Mrs. Suzuki's expression softened into something sadder. "She woke up a while ago but hasn't eaten anything. I even made her favourite—miso soup with curry and rice."

Haru frowned. "I'll try to talk to her."

"She just went to take a shower. Would you like something to eat while you wait?"

"As long as Sakura eats first," he replied.

Mrs. Suzuki smiled.

…

Upstairs, Haru stepped into Sakura's room, setting his suitcase beside her desk. The space smelled faintly of lavender—soft, familiar, entirely her.

His gaze landed on the corkboard above her desk. Pinned to it were countless photos of her and Mia, their arms wrapped around each other, smiling, laughing.

Haru frowned. Why Mia, Sakura?

Shaking off the thought, he let his eyes wander to the other pictures—childhood moments frozen in time. Sakura with her first missing tooth. Sakura in a tiny witch costume on Halloween. Sakura running on sports day, her hair flying behind her.

A small smile tugged at his lips. She had been adorable. She still is.

Then he noticed something.

Not a single picture of her alone.

In every memory captured, she was surrounded by others—friends, family, classmates. Never just Sakura.

Haru sighed, turning toward the bookshelf. A mountain of romance novels stood neatly arranged, each one a tale of love, heartbreak, passion. He plucked the least cringeworthy cover he could find—Twisted Love—and flipped through the pages absentmindedly.

Minutes blurred into an hour.

His fingers drummed against the book's spine. She was taking too long.

Haru set the book down and walked to the bathroom door, knocking lightly.

"Sakura? It's me, Haru. Are you okay?"

Silence.

His chest tightened. "Sakura, can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Sakura, please… say something."

A faint click sounded as the door unlocked. Haru hesitated, then pushed the door open.

And froze.

There she was—curled on the cold bathroom tiles, her damp hair cascading down her bare shoulders, her body trembling beneath the dim light.

Naked.

Shivering.

Sobbing.

His heart nearly stopped.

Quickly, he looked away, grabbing the nearest towel and draping it over her trembling frame.

"Sakura," he whispered.

She flinched slightly but clutched the towel around herself, her fingers white-knuckled.

Haru knelt beside her, his heart pounding painfully. He wanted to reach for her, to comfort her, but something held him back.

Then he saw it.

The raw, red rashes on her skin.

His stomach dropped.

His eyes darted to the discarded loofah lying on the floor, its surface frayed and torn.

Haru clicked his tongue. "What were you doing?" His voice was gentle, but laced with quiet anger.

Sakura's lip trembled. "It won't come off."

His breath hitched. "What won't?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "I… I can still feel him. His hands all over me. I-it won't come off."

A sharp, aching pain twisted inside Haru.

She was trying to scrub Kenji off.

Haru exhaled sharply and leaned closer, his lips near her ear. "I know how to make it go away."

Sakura's teary eyes lifted. "You do?"

"Yes," he murmured. "But first… get changed."

…

A few minutes later, when she opened the bedroom door again, Haru turned—only for his breath to catch in his throat.

She stood before him in his T-shirt.

The fabric of his T-shirt draped over her small frame, the sleeves falling just above her elbows, the hem grazing her mid-thigh. The neckline was wide enough to gently reveal the delicate curve of her collarbone, a subtle hint of intimacy.

His throat went dry.

"A-are you wearing my T-shirt?" His voice cracked slightly.

"Are you mad?" she asked quietly.

Mad? He was losing his damn mind.

"No," he muttered. "Just… surprised." And dangerously close to self-destruction.

The scent of lavender filled the air, mixing with something uniquely her. It was intoxicating.

"Make it come off," she whispered.

Haru stiffened.

His gaze darkened. She doesn't know what she's asking.

"In order to erase a man's touch…" He exhaled slowly. "Another man has to replace it."

She didn't hesitate.

"Then touch me."

Haru instantly closed the bedroom door and locked it, not wanting her parents to hear.

His pulse thundered.

"Sakura…" His voice was hoarse. "Are you sure?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "Just… make it go away."

His self-control wavered, thin as glass.

"Where did he touch you?"

She hesitated before gesturing to her ribcage.

Haru swallowed hard and slid his hand up her side, barely grazing her skin. The softest touch. The lightest whisper. Then he pulled away, his body on fire.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He let out a ragged breath, resting his forehead against her shoulder. His nose brushed against her neck, inhaling her scent, his voice strained with restraint.

"Don't move," he pleaded. "I thought I could control myself, but I can't. I'm greedy, Sakura. I don't just want to touch you. I want to feel you. I want you."

Her breath hitched. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I'll push you away if it's too much. Just… make it go away."

Haru let out a shuddering breath before he ran his fingers up her ribcage again.

She inhaled sharply. Kenji.

"Look at me," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. "I'm not him. I'm Haru. Breathe."

She exhaled, her body trembling beneath his touch.

"Do something to distract yourself," he suggested.

Without warning, she grabbed his face and kissed him.

"What are you doing?" Haru asked.

"Distracting myself." Sakura smiled.

Then, something inside him snapped.

He kissed her back, deep and unrestrained, his hands moving all around her bare skin, then gripping her waist, pulling her against him. She gasped, and he seized the opportunity, sliding his tongue past her lips, tasting her, devouring her.

"You taste like candy," he whispered against her lips before kissing her again, hungrier this time.

She whimpered. "Haru… if you keep kissing me like that, I'm going to fall."

His grip tightened. Then, with effortless strength, he lifted her into his arms.

A small moan escaped her lips as she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist.

A low, guttural groan rumbled from his throat as she pressed against his growing hardness.

"Sakura…" His voice was thick with need.

She clung to him, her fingers gripping his shirt. "I'm tired… please."

Haru's eyes softened instantly. "Are you okay?"

Before she could answer, her stomach growled.

Haru blinked—then burst into laughter.

"Alright," he chuckled. "I'll go get you some food."

Sakura's face burned as she buried it against his shoulder.

Haru smiled, brushing his lips against her forehead.