She would have followed him to the ends of the earth, had he ever asked.
He never had, but she knew she would.
She would have followed him through hell, through raging fires and mighty oceans. She would have cleaved the very forest in two for him, if only he had looked at her for a moment.
But that was what unrequited meant, after all.
And she followed him regardless. And when she was met with harsh words, she would follow. When he would not deign her with a glance, she would follow.
And even when he only had eyes for their blond friend, she would follow.
Because she would have given him the world, if only he had asked.
But he never did.
That was his way, she supposed. Dark, handsome, mysterious.
But distanced.
That was how he liked it. She knew it was because he used to think he was better – he still was, better, than her at least. But slowly, he had learned that their friend could be better too. And together, they had struggled, and fought, and pushed. Together, they had torn each other apart and then rebuilt themselves, only to do the whole thing the next day.
And all she could do was watch, and wait, and listen. And she would, and finally, oh god, finally he would turn. And he would see her. Standing, as she always was.
Waiting.
And he would smirk, and look away.
She had never been so happy.
Until she saw who he was taking with him.
Their friend, following at his heels.
~x~
When he decided to leave, she had told him everything. She had broken her silence, relinquished her vows, and stood shivering and crying and pleading ('Please, please don't leave me, I need you. Naruto needs you... Please, don't leave me!) but he had walked away regardless. He had knocked her out, and she had fallen into a blissful darkness that whispered seductive promises of warm arms, tight embraces, and safety. She would never be alone again.
But when she woke with the rain, she was cold, and shivering, and crying all over again, because it had been a lie. And now... Now they were both gone, and she wondered if she would see them ever again.
She wondered how she had ever let them get so far ahead.
~x~
She was training and fighting, and tearing herself inside out only to build herself up again, and it was all for him. Because she would not be the one watching anymore, she would be the one fighting, and helping.
And then, he would see her, instead of looking straight through. She would no longer be the quiet shadow that lurked on his peripheral vision.
She relished the thought, and worked twice as hard – panting with exhaustion, muscles aching. Sweat trickled down everywhere, and she felt wet and sticky, and disgusting. But it was good, because at least she still had one of them, and now he was grinning at her, and smiling with those sky blue eyes that never lost their sheen.
~x~
The day he returned, she had felt invincible. She had felt unstoppable, amazing, and she had held his hand, and walked her two boys home through those gates. She had felt whole, and blissfully happy.
People swore they would be legends; and she had believed them.
So when those two had down what they always did – circle each other like hungry wildcats, before wrestling and fighting, and tearing and rebuilding, she had smiled. She had fought back her tears and smiled.
Because she knew that all the training in the world could never stop the magnets that drew those two together. And all she could do was watch, as she fell, burning to the ground.
~x~
It got better. She still felt invincible. They were invincible. They were young, and reckless and fearless, and they would scream at the top of their lungs and it was beautiful. Her boys – her brave, beautiful boys were so wound up around each other that one had to be blind not to see it.
And she almost felt honoured – because when they had first told her, it was quiet, and secret, and just the three of them. And it had felt like she always thought it would, being seen.
And she had smiled, and laughed, and together, they had taken on reckless, wonderful things.
Because they were young, and brave, and fearless, and maybe, just once, someone should have thought a little more.
But it didn't matter.
They were invincible, right?
~x~
When they had found them, it was not a pretty sight. The battle had been long, and bloody, and no one had ever won, just as no one ever could win. Wars were not made to be won – they were made as a trial of humanity.
But when she had found them, she had cried. She hadn't cried since he had left the first time; because she had sworn she would never, ever cry for someone again.
This time, she wasn't crying for someone.
She was crying for herself.
She had placed shaking fingers against him, and poured her chakra – willing that fluttering, weak heartbeat to come faster, to wake up, for anything.
Their bloody, tangled fingers were locked together as he drew in his first breath – the sound was ugly and harsh, but it was life, and she had cried all the more.
But when she had grazed her fingers down his cheek and whispered that he was 'Alright, you're alive, you're okay, you're safe' , she noticed something; he wasn't looking at her.
He was looking through her.
~x~
Sakura watched now. Just like she always had, and, she feared, as she always would. She looked at the bruised and battered remains of a man now too broken to ever reclaim the life in his eyes, nor the elegance of his stride.
She was looking at a man who had been torn down from the inside out, and never been rebuilt, because the only one who could ever rebuild him was gone, long long ago, and with that man had gone his hope.
The loss of Naruto had hit everyone in the village hard. But Sasuke had been broken beyond belief. He had sobbed, and screamed and shredded everything that came near him; he had burned and seethed, and painted the walls red with his own blood. He had smashed, and broken everything within reach, and she had watched, petrified, because she had never seen such feral anger. She had watched until he turned blood red eyes upon her, and finally, finally slumped in her arms.
"I didn't save him," was all he would whisper, and the words were echoed in his haggard, haunted eyes. He looked hollow, and so very, very broken.
But she had tried her best. She knew she could never patch the hole. She knew he would never love her. Not as he had loved him.
But she was there, and she would soothe his pain, because she knew that every time those hollow eyes fell on her, he would see little splinters of him.
And if it eased the pain, that was what she would do.
So she stayed at his side, and he had shown his appreciation – small, half smiles, and looks that almost saw her. And when he kissed her cheek softly, and she melted into those warm arms, she would smile, and sigh, and whisper sweet nothings to the crook of his neck.
And she would look after him as he grew older, and more haggard and tired around the edges – when his young face showed far too many lines, and he already walked with a cane. But he was still dark, and handsome and mysterious. And distant. He was always so distant.
But she would still smile at him, and hold his hand with a gentle tenderness, and he would return her gesture with a small squeeze on her fingers. His hands were worn, and tough, and sometimes, he would mention just how soft her hands were.
But she always wished they weren't. She wished they were hard, and tough too, because then she would know what it felt like, and she would know how to fix it.
But she didn't, and she couldn't, and when that half forced smile found its way across his face, and the wind lapped at his too long hair, she knew that he was nothing left but a shell of his former glory.
And no pretending could ever patch such a hole.
She knew it would never be love. Not the love she hard always wanted, and yearned for. But she would stay beside him forever.
Because like she had always known, she would give him the world, if ever he asked.
But he never did.
And she knew the real meaning of the word 'unrequited'.