One touch, wordless. || accepting. 🌸 β • • • when my muse wants to comfort yours.
That expression is one that is familiar to Sakura.
Eyebrows scrunched, strong features drawn in an angry line, eyes faraway in a deep thought.
It’s the expression her senior always have, when he’s angry, hurt.
Sakura’s hand stretches out, wanting to comfort, but pauses – lingers in the air for a second. And then two.
This isn’t her Shirou. And she isn’t his Sakura. Does she… Is she… allowed to touch him? Is she projecting her affections on him…?
Purple eyes take in the anguished figure, the obvious scar on his face distinguishing the two same but different individuals. Not just in appearance, but also the state of their soul. Their pasts.
Her heart pains at the words she remembers, a good few weeks ago. His explanation of the events of the other world. And his presence in front of her, after he left… the boy in front of her is concerned for her. Her heart aches.
And her hand resumes, landing uncertainly on the mob of orange, and pats gently. A small, small smile on her face as she looks at the Shirou who isn’t hers, but still someone that she remains inexplicably drawn towards.