The world didn't end when Spencer's heart broke into two.

The truth was more complicated than that. It had shattered beyond recognition, but it was never the result of the end of a seven-year-long relationship with a man. It also had everything to do with her best friend, her former best friend, the woman standing in front of her in that tiny apartment in San Francisco. It had everything to do with still being afraid to come out to her family, even her beloved sister, who she ultimately knew would never seek to harm her. Her heart broke a million different ways throughout life through the simple virtue of being a queer woman of color navigating a world dominated by those who hated her existence. Born from a people who had their land, their rights, and their identity stripped from them, forced to fight for scraps in the small slivers of hope left behind. For Spencer to live and breathe was to persevere, no matter how unsteady her feet may be.

Cities were often like living, breathing human beings, too. They bore their own characteristics and forged unique relationships with everyone who visited. As much as San Francisco came to her by way of Sakura, Spencer and San Francisco grew to become kindred spirits. She had no idea when she would return and get to walk these streets again, and the undeniable pain of it being her last night in the city pained her.

Sakura stood in the kitchen with a kettle on the stove. She had washed her face clean of makeup and changed into comfy pajamas while Spencer desperately searched for the will to remove herself from the cough. The effort only marginally sustained her rather than allow her to succumb to the drowsiness induced by Sakura's humming.

"I don't want to go home," Spencer groaned—eyes closed, arms dangling over the carpet, and her head angled just perfectly toward her friend in the kitchen. Her bags had been packed in haste, aside from anything she needed in the morning, so she didn't have the excuse of needing to be productive to keep her going. It also, unfortunately, meant she couldn't delude herself into thinking she had more time left. "I could stay here forever."

She couldn't. She would miss Hawai'i too much not to return. But she loved the idea of staying there forever.

Sakura went uncharacteristically quiet under the guise of making her favorite nighttime tea. She was quiet even on the drive home, leaving Spencer to giggle with herself about the experience of riding in a Waymo for the last time.

She had nothing else to do. And, quite frankly, she wasn't sure what else in the world she was supposed to want to do. Spencer tugged the throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it across her shoulders before sliding into the kitchen. Sakura didn't turn around upon her entrance, but her humming briefly paused in acknowledgment. Spencer interpreted this as a silent approval for her to sit on the counter on the opposite end of the kitchen. Not that there was much room to start with, but it gave the illusion of space.

Then again, did they need any more space between them than what already existed?

"You really don't have to take off work tomorrow, too, you know." Spencer's flight left early in the morning, which meant tonight was more or less all they had left. It seemed silly for her to take an entire day off just to drop her off at the airport before the sun was even up. "I can get to the airport by myself if it's easier."

Sakura shook her head. "Nonsense. I'll drop you off. It's the least I could do."

She was alluding to it as an exchange to how Spencer took her to the airport all those years ago, but Sakura didn't want to accept that she had done far more for her by letting Spencer not only crash at her place for the past week, but also showing her around the city the way only someone who loved it could.

With all the gentleness and forgiveness that someone who loved her could.

"You've... been a lifesaver this week. Thank you."

Spencer wanted to look at Sakura's face and decipher all the intricate emotions woven into every microexpression. The sharp edges of her cheekbones and the soft glimmer of her eyes. Even the red stain of her lips from biting it too hard when she thought no one else was looking. But, of course, Spencer saw. She saw everything, even the parts of her that she never knew existed. She didn't know of a time without Sakura, even if the only version she had was the ghost left behind during those five years spent apart.

"Any time." She finally turned around with two mugs in her hands. Steam rose from them as she handed one off to Spencer. "Any time while I'm still here, I guess."

Spencer took some time to formulate a response, thanks to the hot chocolate. "Are you planning on leaving?"

She hoped she didn't sound too disappointed or excited. On one hand, she would be thrilled to have Sakura back in Hawai'i, but she also didn't know if that would unearth emotions she wasn't ready to handle. Spencer had also gotten so used to the union of Sakura and San Francisco—and, to a different extent, Spencer and San Francisco—that she didn't want to think about what it meant for them to not be around anymore. Spencer knew she would eventually return to San Francisco one day. She hoped Sakura would be there to give her somewhere to land and feel like her home away from home.

"One day." Sakura shrugged. "I know this city, but I'm not of this city. I hope one day soon that it can be returned to those born and raised in it. The people who built it into the incredible place it is today. You know?"

"Yeah. I get that."

More silence fell upon them, cradled by the fragility of their week coming to an end. Spencer couldn't decide if it was better or worse that she had only planned on staying there for a week. Whether it was better that it didn't last long enough to get too comfortable, or if it needed to be longer to make up for all the time lost.

"Did you decide what you're going to do when you get home?" Sakura asked, her eyes turned down to the drink in her hands. She was so effortlessly beautiful in a way that people spent hours trying to achieve. The kind of beauty that others couldn't decide whether they were more jealous or admiring.

Spencer felt braver than normal. She didn't approach people first. She sulked along the edges until someone with more courage pulled her into the center with them. That was how she ended up in a seven-year-long relationship with someone who wasn't right for her. He pulled her out of her shell during a time in her life when she needed him, and she was too scared once she figured out that she needed to step out of her comfort zone.

Yet there she stood. More at ease than she could ever remember in her life, and that was not by coincidence. That light, airy feeling in her chest was because of a decision she had made for herself and because of the woman standing in front of her. A woman who was once girls with her.

"I'll probably call him one day. If I'm ever ready. We'll see."

Sakura nodded. "Well, whether you are or you aren't—and there's no right or wrong answer here—I'll... I'm here for you."

Softly, carefully, Spencer reached her hand out to tuck her hair behind Sakura's ear. Sakura swallowed, not quite moving away or closer. And then, almost imperceptibly, she leaned ever so slightly into her hand with eyes closed. Lost in a daydream from years ago.

"If I asked you to tell me what was in that letter, would you?" Spencer asked.

Sakura quickly shook her head, and she felt her stomach sink before the explanation quickly followed. "I spent days working on it. Writing, rereading it, rewriting it. Scratching everything out before starting all over again. If I tried to recite that mess from memory, it wouldn't live up to it."

"You said it was something you should have said before you left, right?"

Sakura nodded.

"So, why didn't you?" Spencer probably didn't have the right to demand such answers, but she wanted them regardless. Would San Francisco have had any purpose at all if she had left without them? "You're always so good at putting yourself out there. Why didn't you—"

"You weren't really in a good place for me—" Sakura paused and stepped back. Her eyes remained closed. "We. We weren't really in a good place for it. It wouldn't have been fair."

"To who?"

"To you. To me." Quietly, she added, "To him."

The last admission came out like a bullet through an exit wound.

"You don't even like him," Spencer said.

"I did. At one point." Sakura paced through her kitchen under heavy observation—equal parts confusion, frustration, and fascination. "But, like most men in my life, he found a way to disappoint me. And, thanks to the other night, he hasn't stopped either."

But Sakura didn't hate him because she found out years later that he was biphobic and a general garbage excuse of a partner. Even if she didn't want to admit the real reason. Or maybe she had, and that admission was sitting on the floor in the back of Spencer's closet.

Spencer pushed aside her tea and slid off the counter. The blanket slipped away. Her nerves revved into overdrive. "Are we in a good enough place now to talk about it?"

"I don't know if that's a question for me to answer."

"Then can I ask you a question?"

She nodded.

Spencer stepped forward and, once again, rested her hand along the side of Sakura's face. "Is this okay?"

"Yes."

Women weren't mystical creatures. They were human beings anyone could understand, if only they remembered to listen. In that apartment in Castro, Spencer thought she heard Sakura's heartbeat. Maybe it was all in her head. Or perhaps she was filling in the gaps from the fluttering pulse beneath her touch. It only seemed to race faster once their lips touched. Once upon a time, when Spencer first confronted the idea that she liked women, she wondered if it would feel monumentally different. She worried if it would be obvious that she had far less experience with women. As if it mattered. As if that meant something. Because there was that box she was trying to place herself inside of. Another tool to restrict herself and the idea of her and what it meant to simply be.

Sakura leaned into the kiss with one hand pressed against the back of Spencer's head. If it felt like magic, it was because they left the idea of time behind. The years unraveled between them, burrowing into every kiss, every touch, every desperate breath of air. Where did Sakura start? Where did Spencer end? Where and how wholly did San Francisco embed itself into the fractured timeline of their togetherness?

How were they meant to let go tomorrow?

They had no idea.