Chapter Title: Jikan

A/N: This is going to be more than just one one-shot, since a plot idea attacked me last night, and I realized there's not way all of it can be contained into one chapter. Plus, Cherry Blossom had short chapters and I like for its sequel to keep rhythm. I'm having trouble describing their apartment. It's like the apartment in Kimi wa Petto.

Syaoran felt his back crack, just slightly. It was a long day today. Hiiragizawa had left earlier again. Maybe to meet Daidouji, but then again, he shouldn't assume. Assumptions were trouble.

And anyways, he needed to go home to. Someone was awaiting him.

How long had it been since he fist saw her? Now, it felt as if she were always a part of his life. He looked at the flowers and trees, blooming. Was it April? Over a year then.

Much work went into the relationship. It seemed as if she was a girl who was not comfortable with everything around her. She often called it, "Stepping into reality."

Syaoran did not care if she was different from the rest. He did not care if he had to be very careful with how he touched her, or if she rarely spoke, because she was still not used to talking to someone.

He felt that his love for her was strong enough.

This compelled him to ask her to marry him.

So his ring was on her left hand, in place for eternity.

He walked in, not bothering to call out. She would see him the moment he would enter the kitchen, or the living room, or wherever she was at.

His eyes tightened.

She was not in the kitchen.

Or the bedroom.

Or the living room.

He saw water boiling and other foods out as if waiting to be prepared.

He saw dirty clothes on the sofa, and papers scattered about.

But where was his fiancée?

He climbed up the ladder that was near the kitchen which led to an open space. There he saw her.

She sat on a small coffee table, staring at the white canvas. Paints surrounded her and brushes were left askew. Syaoran frowned.

It bothered him that she had not been able to paint since they were engaged.

He wrapped his arms over her shoulders and chest. He felt her body tense up.

"You're home?"

"I'm home."

She wiggled free from his gasp and climbed down. He followed suit.

Sakura looked at the apartment they shared. Her eyes settled on the boiling water.

"I…I meant to cook."

Her face showed regret and Syaoran just smiled.

"I'll take care of it."

He had her sit down on the table. Feeling her gaze, he worked. Then he set the tables and asked her to join.

Like always, they sat and ate in slience. His future bride grimaced and fiddled with her fingers.

"I'm sorry."

"What's wrong?"

"I was supposed to cook. And clean."

Syaoran's mouth was a thin line. She often forgot to do small things like these. It never made her remorseful before.

"It's okay."

"But you work."

"And you study. And your school exhibit is coming up. You shouldn't push yourself too hard."

"But I can't paint. Or cook."

"Yes, you can. All artists hit a rough patch here and there."

Sakura seemed unsatisfied with this answer. She spoke even more quietly.

"But I don't know how to be wife."

He felt himself sigh.

"That's fine, too. You shouldn't be so concerned about this right now."

Syaoran tood up and placed his dish in the sink.

"I'm going to take a bath."

Sakura nodded.

The moment he disappeared, she ran to the drawer where she kept her supplies, a place away form Syaoran's eyes.

The blue cross that indicated positive burned her eyes.