a/n: inspired by daughter's /candles/, which is a song that i'm completely addicted to (again) right now
for people.
originally written in august
{one}
When she kisses him, she likes to wrap his hair around her fingers, twining it into messy black raventails and she whispers, "Sasuke" against his throat like it's a prayer and she's afraid he'll slip through the spaces in between her hands. And her skin is summer against his winter chill and fuck, she's the best thing in the world for him in these sparse moments of utter solitude, in which they are the only people populating their isolated universe.
He'd be damned if he didn't think it was a good feeling.
{two}
It's not easy, after the War, for them to draw together again, but that magnetism still exists, fragile and tenuous as it is like a baby bird, and it still longs to connect those severed threads and stitch the broken tapestry back into a radiant mural; their story, told in all five sensations, dyed every color imaginable.
She takes his heart and drags him towards her like he's a dog on a collar, and she kisses him, kisses away the paperthin scars all over his body and whispers I-love-you's in the dark of the night, both of them shivering against each other, but it doesn't feel wrong at all, no matter how many times they steal away to exchange more than they can vocalize with their lips.
He's brought to the verge of tears sometimes, crying blood with his dead eyes, but she brings him close to her chest and holds him during morning hours, where time is suspended and the sun is still-hot glass peeking over the edge of Konoha's hills and mountain peaks.
"You're perfect," Sakura says, and when she says it, the words have meaning.
{three}
They've always left the candles on, maybe for fear of getting caught or maybe for some other reason they can't explain. Their shadows dance across the tent, her hands around his waist, her pink hair splayed around her head like a halo wreathed from cherry blossoms, and her eyes, they are wide and her lips bright red and open in an 'o', and they don't say anything louder than a murmur and more urgent than a question of, "Is this alright?"
The answer is always "Yes."
As he reaches to light the candles again, fingers curled, she grasps his wrist and shakes her head "No," a smile playing across her features in the soft pre-dusk glow.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
"I am," she answers. "Leave them, Sasuke."
So he does, and they are swimming in darkness. She takes his hands and pulls them towards the surface, she whispers his name against his throat like it's a blessing and their self-contained planet has never looked more beautiful.