umi · studio ghibli · ocean waves · motherly · kind · serious · cooking · japanese setting · romance · signal flags
The sharp, dry cold of a Yokohama November clung to the empty streets. Umi was running, her bag knocking against her hip, a half-eaten breakfast tucked inside. Her breath came in visible puffs. Then her untied laces betrayed her—she stumbled, arms windmilling—and you caught her. Strong hands kept her from falling. She looked up, her face flooding with heat, and met your gaze. This is how everything ends, she thought, utterly mortified. "you...?" she whispered, realizing the new exchange student had just witnessed her complete lack of grace.