When his mother said they would be getting a new resident at Sunrise, a young lady around Yusuke’s age, Masaomi hadn’t quite expected her to be just how she is. Hinata Ema, of course the name was familiar. Yusuke talked about her often and, if reactions said anything, he hadn’t been informed that she was joining the family.

 

It was just like Tsubaki to conveniently forget informing him, however.

 

He meets her before she makes it to Sunrise, when Wataru slams into her. The sight of them interacting... perhaps that had been the first real instance of her being akin to the sun. Naturally, she had been dazed, surprised, falling backwards onto pavement. But he helps her up, and she looks at him gratefully, a smile forming wider and louder from the energy about her.

 

Masaomi didn’t notice them, just how small her hands were in comparison to his.

 

He wonders when the seeds that were planted began to truly to grow. Was it when she got sick, and without really thinking it through, he checked her fever closely? Or was it when Wataru absolutely couldn’t sleep until both himself and her were laying there beside him to quell him?

 

Perhaps it was when she watched the sunrise on the beach during their summer vacation, taking his hand absently but securely, so as to not be separated, despite the beach only having the two of them. Or even earlier that day, where the both of them helped Wataru with a sand castle, only for the waves to wash it away with their laughter. A night, they crouch down and light sparklers, safer than typical fireworks, but just enough lighting to see each other’s faces.

 

And her eyes... they were brighter than the crackling fire before them.

 

There... was the time she went shopping with him and Wataru, and upon his youngest brother’s insistence, held hands while heading off to the grocery store. Reasonably, one shouldn’t mistake... her for a parent, but the quiet murmurs of “What a cute family! Such a young wife~!” do not go unnoticed.

 

“It’s because Masaomi-san is han-- Umm...”

 

She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together, turning away just slightly. Because of her reaction, it settles in that he, also, has a fluttering, escaping heart. 

 

“No, you...”

 

“Wah, Maa-kun and Onee-san, you’re all red!”

 

“W-Wataru-chan...”

 

Yes, every second he has spent with her, watching as she eased the burdens of the household and found her place and pace within the walls, he has found her to be ever bright, ever special. He's grateful, that she's there. She’s... exactly what they needed, but perhaps, didn’t deserve.

 

A strongly rooted bud may have trouble blossoming in such unruly soil.

 

Perhaps, that’s something Hikaru might write, in one of his novels. He did say it, in fact, with his hand on Masaomi’s shoulder, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “But, she can bloom, when the seeds of love are planted.”

 

And he had let out an awkward laugh then, pushing the comment aside The gap between them would be too big, he thought, she’d be better off, happier, with someone closer to her age.

 

After all, the intense focus on the games in front of her, and the laughter she shares with Yusuke and Subaru as she competes with them in terms he doesn’t really get, due to the games being out of his usual circle, really make him think that there’s just too much distance. He wants her best interests at heart, always.

 

Of course, seeing her enjoy herself like that, in a way he can’t help her with on his own, makes him feel a little lonely.

 

One day, he’s just getting home from a long day of work, when she greets him at the door, her apron on -- had she just finished cooking? -- with a “Welcome home!” Right, that’s something he’s come to really appreciate, someone happily waiting for him like that.

 

But then, she pauses, her gaze swimming in hesitiance, and he’s about to ask her if she pushed herself too hard, or if she’s generally not feeling well, when her expression turns serious.

 

“Masaomi-san?”

 

“Ah, yes?”

 

Before Ema can speak further, Wataru jumps past her, puffing out his chest, “Evil doer, Maa-kun, you won’t take Onee-san away anymore!”

 

“Eh?”

 

“Ah...” Ema smiles warily, “Wataru-chan decided he wanted to imitate that show he was watching...”

 

And she agreed... but, really, Masaomi would have done the same. But, it falls into place easily, the plots becoming more intricate as he transforms into the very villain Wataru hints him to be. It’s embarrassing, he doesn’t quite think he suits the role, but relaxing like this isn’t so bad.

 

But were all his feelings sorted and clear then, when they played around like that?

 

No, no, it all added up, when he gave her an Usa-tan of her own on Christmas. That time, it was her that didn’t immediately get the signs of his feelings.

 

Yet, they don’t manage to say their real words until that day in mid-April, it was messy, worrisome. “Ema-san, please take care of my faint-hearted Nii-san,” Ukyou’s words echo. He knows them because Ema told him with a laugh, told him of the words that merely added to the affection she feels for him. He’s quite sorry he troubled her, and the others so. Wataru ended up okay, and he, he’s the one that ended up with the most panic. It worked out fine.

 

With her by his side, he... really can be his best.

 

She handmakes a card with Wataru for his birthday and, with rose-tinted cheeks she knocks on his door, holding it up with two wrapped presents, one from the both of them, and one from her alone. Just before she came, he had been thinking of a large kind of flower he saw in a store he passed on his way home from work, that reminded him of her -- a sunflower.

 

Maybe it’s fate then, that she’d be there when he turns the knob, just as vibrant. Masaomi thanks her with a gentle smile, and all Ema can manage for the moment is to return it. So bright... so cute... She’s been an absolute help to him, and they... yes, they’ll be together, forever.

 

“Masaomi-san... I’m glad I could give it to you, before you go to bed. Happy birthday! W-Well then, good night...”

 

“Wait, umm...” Masaomi calls to her, “I want to open it with you, if you don’t mind.”

 

“O-Oh, if you don’t mind,” She’s happy, their hearts both beating, until the realization that their presence, their balance, is real.

 

He invites her inside, and they both sit side-by-side on his bed. Seconds later, his Usa-tan is in her lap, and she leans against him, watching nervously, but expectantly, as he carefully undoes the wrapping.

 

“You really don’t need to take your time with that.”

 

“But, I’d feel bad for ripping it, when you packed it so nicely.”

 

“Ah, thank you! Then...”

 

Finally, the present is revealed, an alarm clock -- just what he wanted! -- with... bunny ears?

 

“This...”

 

“I thought it suited you... C-Cute, but also...” Refined? Mature? He’s really not sure about any of that, but this clock certainly is adorable, but elegant at the same time, somehow.

 

“I’ll treasure it!”

 

He beams, setting it down and wrapping his arms around her. Really, he’s so fortunate, so happy, that they can support each other like this, that they can think of each other like this, that they can be together like this. There will no doubt be bumps in the road, but he thinks, he thinks that, despite his need to rely on her more than a little, they can make it far.

 

---

 

The past years replay in his mind, and every happy moment, every anxious moment, drumming his heart more. Such a weak, clumsy man, he is... Is it because of the day that it is that he’s got this so deep in his mind? Everyday, despite the ups, the downs, every little messy situation, their hearts stirred, and the truth prevailed.

 

He will do his best to support her, her interests, and learn about them, even if he doesn’t quite get them. He’s a hopelessly clumsy man, the one that, despite his profession, cannot stand strongly the sight of blood. But... he means well, and she’s part of his world.

 

Just as he’s a part of hers.

 

Ah, but, he digresses.

 

What matters now is the fact that he loves her.

 

He really, really does.

 

He’s not sure if he’s really the best fit for her. Even now he has his doubts. She’s a kind, strong soul, radiant, one that brightened up their family. His mother had told him, however... that she was rooting for him.

 

Oh, how could he forget the long travel time to get to just the right sweets shop, pouring out his heart and soul into choosing the right return gift to her delicious, handmade chocolates? Nothing could beat the taste of the ones she made, but seeing the light ignite on her face meant the world to him.

 

How could he ever dream to forget their wedding day? Upon their swears, the amount of tears that were shed, the tender kiss they shared as the faces of the flowers poured their worlds open to the sunny future. She whispers her eternity, and he gives her his.

 

There she is, looking at him gently, curiously, warmly. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being you.

 

To thank her on this anniversary of theirs, he purchases the very flower he associates her with.  

 

So as he presses his forehead to hers, smiling at her with only a fraction of the sunshine she can omit, pressing the stem of the sunflower into her hand as the little pitter-patter of the feet of their child echoes in the household, he is reminded that this young love is strong, healthy, and that she really did choose him. She really is okay with him.

 

Soon, they tuck the little one in, and simply resort to enjoying each other’s company before they, too, retire for the evening. She lay in his arms, the flower the light over their heads.

 

“I think we should take a family photo with Usa-tan soon...” Ema says, her voice soft, sleepy, comfortable.

 

“I think so too...”

 

He’s been so fortunate to have three years married to her, more to have known her for much longer. No matter how the past went, they continue to grow. Even the messiest moments, where he wasn’t his best, where sadness overtook joy, couldn’t put an end to their futures. They are family. Sure, their lives aren’t eternal, but their love certainly is.

 

It’s as lovely, as sturdy as the stalk of that sunflower.