InsomniaWL
patreon
438 — Yamauchi Sakura Doesn’t Want to Sleep
🕑 Added 2025-08-09 15:00:13 +0000 UTC‘Crunch, crunch.’
The crisp carrot broke under their teeth, releasing a faint sweetness that spread in their mouths, pulling both of them back to thoughts of earlier intimacy.
Kyousuke’s cooking movements slowed, his gestures becoming gentler.
Behind him, Sakura had stopped whatever she was doing earlier and simply clung to him—arms wrapped snugly around his waist, face resting against his back, her breathing slow and even.
It was the dead of night, utterly silent except for the bright light in the kitchen.
The man focused intently on his cooking. The woman said nothing, just held him.
The only other sound came when the melon’s flesh was scooped into perfect balls—soft splashes of juice against the spoon.
It was quiet, but in a strangely soothing way.
The silence wasn’t lonely; instead, it felt like a moment you wished you could trap in amber and keep forever.
“It feels like there’s no one else in the world but you and me,” Sakura murmured.
Kyousuke didn’t pause, orange juice dripping between his fingers and pooling at his palm before falling away.
“That’d be terrible,” he teased. “I’d be bored to death with you.”
“Hehe~ Can’t be helped,” Sakura said without a hint of denial. “You’re my favorite person, Kyousuke. A world like that would be heaven for me—talking to you, doing all the things I like, forever.”
Kyousuke wiped his hands briefly, then picked up a thumb-sized melon ball and held it over his shoulder.
Sakura rose up on tiptoe and, with an exaggerated “Aah~” sound, swallowed it whole.
Her chin rested back on his spine as she chewed.
“Habits are such scary things,” Sakura mumbled after swallowing.
Kyousuke raised an eyebrow.
‘Philosophical musings already?’ Still, he nodded.
“Yeah. After tonight, if there’s ever a day I don’t get to kiss that little mouth of yours, I’ll probably lose sleep.”
“Hehe~~”
Her laugh was triumphant.
“Now you regret it, don’t you? Ignoring a peerless beauty like me for so many years!”
“Well, too late for that. You’ll just have to make it up to me for all the lost time.”
“That goes without saying,” Kyousuke replied as if it were obvious.
He didn’t need Sakura to tell him—something this wonderful, missing even a single day felt like disrespecting life itself.
“Habits are such scary things,” Sakura repeated, stubbornly circling back to her original line.
Kyousuke stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.
“There was a time I could sleep just fine alone.”
She pressed her soft cheek firmly into his back, her energetic voice softening into something almost fragile.
“But now… when you’re away at night, I can’t sleep.”
Her arms tightened around him.
For a girl who always carried herself as if she ruled the world, it was rare to hear such vulnerability.
If Yukinoshita were here, she’d probably recommend a giant panda plushie.
If Shouko were here, she’d suggest one of Naoka’s handcrafted Kyousuke dolls.
If Eriri were here, she’d push for a Kyousuke-themed alarm clock—the kind that shouted, “Time to train!” when it went off.
But Sakura was none of those people.
And she was lying—truth was, whether as a child or now, she’d never really been good at sleeping alone.
The only reason she could smile while going to bed by herself was because she knew that any time she couldn’t fall asleep, she could grab her pillow, run into that room, and hear that voice—the one that sounded annoyed but was really full of fondness.
She’d burrow into that warm bed smelling faintly of him, and demand a wildly imaginative bedtime story from the boy with chronic morning grumpiness.
The dark ceiling would transform into a star-filled sky, an endless galaxy glimmering overhead.
She’d ask, “Why is it that I could fall asleep in a second yesterday, but tonight I can’t at all? Is something wrong with me?”
Kyousuke would laugh.
‘Of course not.’
He’d point at the imaginary constellations only the two of them could see and start explaining why little Sakura was losing sleep.
“There are gods up there. The kind stars are their incarnations.”
“Why turn into stars? Shouldn’t they build shrines?” little Sakura would ask.
Kyousuke never got impatient when she interrupted his stories—he’d always rack his brain to give an answer.
“If they built shrines, only people who visited could see them. But as stars, no matter where or when, anyone could witness their grandeur. They’re just that vain.”
“That’s nice… Why don’t the Japanese gods do that? Then I wouldn’t have to climb stairs to visit them.”
Kyousuke chuckled.
“And that is why you can’t sleep tonight.”
That was just how he was—whatever irritation he had would fade quickly.
For someone their age, he told stories even adults had never heard.
Bookstore clerks couldn’t compare, and her parents? Not even close.
Of course, only she and Aunt Mikiko got this kind of special treatment.
On mornings when he was sleeping in and someone dared to visit, Kyousuke would stomp down the stairs, glaring daggers at the intruder without saying a word until they left, only then softening his expression to handle Mikiko’s teasing.
Sakura had known from their very first meeting that he could be intimidating when he didn’t smile.
And on that first meeting… she was the uninvited guest.
Their houses were only two walls apart—close enough for her to throw a pillow through his window.
On moving day, the Yamauchi family naturally went to greet the neighbors.
And, of course, they picked Saturday afternoon, thinking it was the perfect time.
That’s when little Sakura first—and last—experienced Kyousuke’s “death glare.”
A boy opened the door, poured tea without a word, then sat there in stony silence, his face like a storm cloud.
The entire Yamauchi family was at a loss until Mikiko came home to rescue them.
“He was napping. You woke him up, so he’s in a bad mood.”
Who the heck takes naps in third grade on a beautiful weekend?! Didn’t he have friends? Didn’t he go out to play?
Sakura thought about it for a moment—and from that day on, she became his best, best, best friend.
“Kyousuke, your smile is really nice. You should do it more often!” Lady Sakura commanded with regal authority.
“Smiling all the time is exhausting,” Kyousuke replied.
Still, that normally expressionless face that is so flat and lifeless when he wasn’t angry—would always soften into a smile whenever he faced Yamauchi Sakura.
And even at other times, the cold, distant look he wore would fade, replaced by a lazy, almost sleepy expression.
Like now, how Sakura lay on her back, her bright, wide eyes open.
She could tell that the drowsy Kyousuke beside her must be wearing that lazy look as he struggled to come up with a story.
“If the gods went to such lengths to turn their avatars into stars,” Kyousuke began, “then surely they wanted people to tilt their heads and gaze up at them, praising their greatness.”
“How arrogant!” little Sakura scoffed.
Didn’t he know holding your neck up like that made it sore?
Oh… wait—that must be the reason shrine steps were so long and steep too!
“And on the nights when the stars shine brightest,” he continued, “that’s the perfect time for mortals to look up and admire the heavens.”
“As if! At night I have to sleep and listen to you tell stories. Who has time to go stargazing?” Sakura complained.
“True, but you see…” Kyousuke’s tone turned playful—and Sakura immediately launched a surprise attack on her personal storyteller.
Her small hand darted straight into his armpit.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle!” she sang to herself, carefully wiggling her fingers against him.
She knew better than anyone that her childhood friend, who always kept others at arm’s length, hated being touched.
If it were anyone else, just brushing his arm would make him break out in goosebumps and throw a punch.
But Sakura’s special tickles? Those were inescapable.
Soon Kyousuke was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes, curling up into a ball, completely defenseless.
‘Hmph! Now you know the might of Sakura the Great!’
Worried that his laughter might wake Aunt Mikiko, Sakura decided to grant him mercy—at least for now.
And so, the mystery of her insomnia continued to unravel.
“The gods,” Kyousuke went on, “wouldn’t want mortals to sleep peacefully. So the god of sleep ended up being the one to suffer.
Every single day, the other gods would chase him away so people couldn’t rest.
Yesterday, you could sleep because he was still around. But tonight, he’s been driven off—so you can’t.”
His voice, still warm with the laughter from earlier, soon smoothed into the gentle, mesmerizing tone she loved.
Sakura felt her mind drifting upward with that clear, ringing voice—until she was among the Milky Way, surrounded by countless stars.
The stars became gods, and there among them was the god of sleep—a tall figure in a black robe, his face hidden beneath a hood.
He was being chased by a group of gods clad in gleaming silver armor.
Even as he fled, he still scattered handfuls of silver dust from the basket in his arms.
Anyone touched by the dust would fall asleep; anyone missed by it would stay awake.
She saw herself there too—wearing her white princess nightgown, slipping out of bed to peek at the pitch-dark room across the way.
After chewing her lip and clenching her fists for a while, she carefully unlocked her door, glanced at her parents’ bedroom to make sure they were still asleep, and tiptoed downstairs.
A quick dash brought her to the house next door.
Using the key Aunt Mikiko had given her, she slipped inside without turning on the lights, found the familiar room in the dark, and climbed into that warm bed—pressing her cold feet against the boy’s legs.
A sharp intake of breath, a groan of protest—and then his warm hands would gently cup her feet, moving them to the even warmer, softer skin of his stomach.
It was Kyousuke.
Bathed in silver light, he was her god. By day, he was Apollo, bringing her life and warmth; by night, Hypnos, the god of sleep, giving her rest.
But if he was here with her, then who was that poor god still being chased across the sky?
“He’s so weak. Useless!” Sakura pronounced her judgment.
“Haha, well… gods can be like that,” Kyousuke said.
Just as he never got angry when she interrupted his stories, he didn’t mind her criticism either.
“Because,” he told her, “this is a story I made just for you, Sakura.”
Of course, she didn’t actually hate these stories.
Gods might be annoying, but the Kyousuke who created them was the greatest in the world.
With such an interesting tale, there was no way Sakura could just obediently fall asleep.
Naturally, the story grew—from the fleeing god of sleep to the silver-armored war gods chasing him.
The leader, Kyousuke said, was Perseus—one of the god-king’s thirty-eight million illegitimate children.
Armed with 3,600 satellites, he’d broken Medusa’s petrifying gaze and cut off her head with a high-frequency particle sword.
That head could provide limitless stone, allowing him to marry a rich beauty and build anything he wanted just by turning branches into stone houses.
He was the construction foreman of the gods.
Behind him, lifting her skirts and shouting in frustration, was Andromeda—the most beautiful goddess of all…
“Prettier than me?” Sakura asked suspiciously.
“Of course not.”
“You’ve never even seen her. How would you know?”
Though Kyousuke answered without hesitation, Sakura wasn’t satisfied.
She was still young, but already sharp enough to sense a flaw.
If Kyousuke had never seen Andromeda, how could he compare?
Fortunately, Kyousuke’s wit was ten times hers.
“Sakura is only nine. Andromeda is already a few thousand years old. Right now, you’re prettier—and in the future, you’ll be even more beautiful.”
Since Kyousuke never lied to her, Sakura beamed and kept listening to his wild storytelling.
Of course, Kyousuke couldn’t always give her an answer that satisfied Lady Sakura.
Sometimes, when he truly couldn’t think of an explanation, he’d tell her to close her eyes and sleep.
That didn’t mean he was angry—just that he’d run out of material.
At times like that, Sakura would quietly do as she was told.
“If the god of sleep finally gave up,” Sakura wondered aloud, “would people stay awake forever… or fall into eternal slumber?”
