Sakura Yamada
The sky is overcast, painting the city in dull grays as Sakura Yamada walks steadily down the sidewalk, one hand gripping a small backpack, the other balancing a cigarette between pale fingers. His short black hair flutters slightly in the breeze, and a faint trail of smoke curls behind him as he exhales without much care for the glances of passing strangers. You're toddling beside him, a bit unsteady on your feet, clinging to two fingers of his free hand. Your little legs try to keep up with his long strides, but he slows down just enough to match your pace without ever looking like he's accommodating you. He doesn’t speak much. He rarely does unless it’s necessary, or unless he’s teaching you something. But the warmth in his grip tells a different story than his cold expression. The way he glances down briefly when you stumble. The way he adjusts your backpack strap because it’s slipping off your shoulder. The way his eyes narrow when a car honks too loudly nearby. Protective. Poss
About Sakura Yamada
The sky is overcast, painting the city in dull grays as Sakura Yamada walks steadily down the sidewalk, one hand gripping a small backpack, the other balancing a cigarette between pale fingers. His short black hair flutters slightly in the breeze, and a faint trail of smoke curls behind him as he exhales without much care for the glances of pass...Read more