come on (turn a little faster)

The Mickey Mouse keychain dangling from her rearview is teasing her. The sun-faded tchotchke is a constant reminder that the end of this day is merely the beginning of the next. Sakura knows that tomorrow is inevitable — they get their work schedules at the start of every week — but all she can do is pray that it is not as hard as today was. No more batty widows trying to spread their partner’s ashes in the Haunted Mansion. No more people getting stuck on It’s a Small World. And hopefully no more kids throwing up on her after getting off the Teacup ride.

The sigh that creeps out of her loses itself in the scratchy Hikaru Utada song coming out of her car speakers. The Bluetooth-to-cassette adapter that Yunjin found for her at the swap meet is dying on legs it never had to begin with. As the music starts to meander away from the song to another scintillating broadcast by the local ham radio club, Sakura takes it as a sign to turn the car off and stop moping.

Reaching for the paper bag on the seat beside her, she slams the door as she exits — anything less might leave the vehicle in a partially-closed purgatory and she is not risking another dead battery. But it gets the job done, never mind the undercarriage rattling as she walks away and approaches the house she had parked outside of. There are noises coming from the inside — familiar ones that tell her that coming here instead of heading straight home was the better decision. She knocks.

The wait is short, the door opens, and behind it appears a tall woman with kind eyes and a warm smile. The sight is enough to drop the shoulders she had subconsciously raised prior.

“Sakura! We weren’t expecting you — Kazuha didn’t say anything about you visiting.”

Sakura’s mouth defaults to the cordial smile she reserves for her elders, but the extra wrinkles on the side of her lips are there solely because she actually likes talking to the woman in front of her.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Nakamura. Sorry for dropping in like this, I didn’t know I would be coming over today either.”

“That’s perfectly alright. You know you’re always welcome here.” The way that her head cants when she speaks tells Sakura that she actually means it. “Will you be joining us for dinner? You know I always make too much,” she says with a laugh.

Sakura shakes her head in the most polite way she can. “No thank you, I’m eating with my family later,” she responds. “I actually got off work early today, so I wanted to bring these over.”

The older woman takes the bag that Sakura offers her, pinching it between her thumb and index fingers. “Let’s see what we have here…” She peers inside and her eyes light up the same way Kazuha’s do when presented with a treat. “Oh, these are beignets, right?”

“Right. My friend works at the booth and she made a fresh batch for me before I left.”

“How sweet of your friend — and of you.” She smiles and steps aside before ushering Sakura in. “Come in, let me get these put away.”

As Sakura follows her into the house, she notices that the radio drama coming from the kitchen is the same one her family listens to. Once inside, she reaches down to slip her feet out of her shoes before sliding them into the guest slippers that have unofficially been marked as hers. After that, instead of following Kazuha’s mother into the kitchen, she turns left and heads into the living room. She’s there to pay respects to the stocky, stentorian man filling out every inch of his recliner while the news plays out on a screen in front of him. The sound is off, but the captions are on — all whilst the radio from the other side of the house plays.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Nakamura.”

The man’s chair creaks as he turns towards Sakura. He narrows his eyes and takes her in, as if making sure this is the same girl that has visited a dozen times before. Once he’s confirmed she is who she is, he offers her a nod before turning those approximating eyes back to the television.

“Are you staying in school?” His voice is gruff and Sakura suspects he’s only talking to her because he’s had one too many conversations with his wife about how rude it is to ignore their guests.

“Yes, Mr. Nakamura.”

“Is my daughter?”

“Yes, Mr. Nakamura.”

He takes a deep breath and sighs. “Good.” He sounds relieved as reaches for the can of beer beside him.

The conversation is awkward, but brief. To be honest, there are times she would prefer coming home to these stilted exchanges than the chaos that usually welcomes her. She loves her family, but peace is hard to find under a roof that also houses her little brother, her parents, and her grandparents.

“Here you are, a little snack for the both of you.” Kazuha’s mother appears behind Sakura and hands her a plate. Alongside some of the beignets are various fruits cut up into different fun shapes and sizes.

“Thank you.” Sakura smiles and takes the plate. The older woman doesn’t linger — doesn’t even register her husband in the same room — before she turns around and returns to the kitchen.

With no more parental obligations keeping her downstairs, Sakura makes her way to the second floor. The plush carpet under her sinks beneath the weight of her slippers as she climbs the steps to Kazuha’s room — the increasing volume of the 50 Cent song telling her that she’s on the right path. The idea that her girlfriend is just a few feet away puts a little pep in her step and she hurries up the last flight of stairs. But when she finally ascends to the top step, she doesn’t just see Kazuha, she’s seeing Heaven itself.

“42…43…”

Grunts. Groans. Small, little dins of effort eke out of Kazuha as she works the pull-up bar hanging from her bedroom’s door frame. She hasn’t noticed Sakura yet — her gaze up and focused entirely on her own two hands — but Sakura has definitely noticed her.

Standing there, mouth agape, Sakura struggles with the burden of where to focus her eyes first. Do they stay on Kazuha’s biceps bulging every time she lifts herself up? Or maybe they should follow that tantalizing rivulet of sweat working itself down into the recess of her underarm. But who could forget the cliff of Kazuha’s jaw and how it clenches when she reaches the apex of her climb?

It’s an embarrassment of riches, but ultimately, she defaults to the feature that she took note of when the two first met. Sakura looks to the bottom of Kazuha’s shirt and the firm stomach it’s framing. A distinct set of lines and ridges rise up to greet her with every pull-up and she has to resist the urge to just reach out and touch the art.

“50!”

With a final exhale, Kazuha heaves herself off the bar and lets her feet fall to the floor below. Keeping her arms raised, she pulls at her elbows and cracks her neck to work out any of the residual kinks. It’s a silent show for her biggest fan and it isn’t until a rather loud and hungry gulp escapes from the girl watching that Kazuha realizes she’s not alone.

“Sakura!” Her girlfriend greets her with a sweaty hug and a golden-retriever smile. “You got here fast!”

“Yeah, I did.” Sakura’s answer cracks as it comes out, her mouth feeling particularly dry after everything she’s just witnessed. “Wait, how did you know I was coming over?”

“Chaewon and Yunjin told me you got off early.” Kazuha pulls back from the hug to rest her hands on either side of her — the grip solid enough to ground her. “Sorry about what happened with that Teacup kid.”

“Kids,” Sakura corrects, a shudder accompanying the flashback.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The hands on her arms are patient and the eyes on her face are understanding, but Sakura shakes her head regardless.

“Thank you, but I’m over it.”

Kazuha doesn’t press, which Sakura appreciates. She knows that if she eventually does want to vent that Kazuha will be there for her, but right now Sakura doesn’t want to think about any of that. She came here to spend time with her girlfriend and she wants to do that in a vacuum where she doesn’t want to think about the job she came from or the laundry she has to do afterwards.

“Okay.” The look in Kazuha’s eyes linger for a second before they drift down and see the plate in Sakura’s hands. “Woah, are those beignets?” The mood changes instantly as she reaches for the plate.

Sakura giggles as Kazuha takes them into the room, picking up one of the fried pieces of dough to examine it. “I remember you said you’ve never had one. Just make sure you don’t—”

But it’s too late and Kazuha’s already choking on the powdered sugar that’s been sucked down her airway.

Sakura’s eyes go wide as she rushes into the room. Her eyes dart around until they find what they’re looking for — a bottle of water on the night stand. She grabs it as fast as she can and hands it to Kazuha who takes one look at it and shakes her head. Instead of taking it, she points back to the night stand and the bottle of light blue Gatorade sitting right next to where the water was.

A moment later, the Gatorade is three gulps emptier and the two girls are recovering from their previous state of panic.

“Are you okay?” Sakura’s rubbing her girlfriend’s back, eying her carefully in case something else happens.

“I’m okay,” she coughs. After a few more heaving breaths, Kazuha returns to normal and picks up another beignet. “These are good though. You don’t want one?” She pops it into her mouth faster than Sakura can stop her.

Sakura waits for the pastry to clear Kazuha’s esophagus before shaking her head and laughing. “No, thank you. I brought them for you.” Instead, she reaches for one of the crescent-moon-shaped mango slices before Kazuha retires the plate to the top of her dresser.

“Darn.” Kazuha tuts her teeth as she looks down at the mess she made. “I got it all over me.” With a sigh, she snakes the shirt off her body, which succeeds in doing two things: 1) sending powdered sugar all over her bedroom floor and 2) dropping Sakura’s jaw down alongside it.

“Double darn.” Kazuha moves down to her hands and knees and uses the shirt she was just wearing as a makeshift rag. She’s not so much as cleaning the mess as she is just spreading it thin enough that it’s harder to notice.

“Do you…need any help?” Sakura asks as she’s licking the mango juice off her fingers, her eyes focused on Kazuha’s back and the way her shoulders bob with each dry scrub of the floor.

“No, I’m okay.” Kazuha stands back up and looks at the dirty shirt in her hand before exhaling disappointedly. “Sorry, I heard you were coming over, so I thought I’d try to look nice for you, but…” She raises her brow and throws her hands out to the circumstances surrounding them.