Where It Is Always Afternoon

Naruto © Kishimoto Masashi, et al.

Naruto cleared his throat. "The truth is, Sakura-chan - "

"Yes?" She was arranging Ino's bouquet in a vase by the window. Outside, the day was darkening lazily, muggily. A scattering of red clouds hovered over the horizon.

"I'm not all that crazy about flowers. No offense to you, or to Ino."

Sakura gave a low, startled laugh, went around the bed and sat down on the visitor's chair. "At least you're honest about it, and didn't cook up some story about how the doctor has forbidden any pungent smell in the room."

Naruto was instantly deflated. "Damn. I should've said something along those lines."

"Idiot." His bandages had been taken off earlier, and the skin on his face had a raw, abraded look. She supposed if she moved to touch it, he would steel himself and not flinch, gustily declaring that it did not hurt, not one bit, and ask whether she would care to run her fingers across both cheeks while she was at it - he would be much obliged. Sometimes she wanted to reach out and shake him, yell in his face - he would not take her words in otherwise - and order him not to act so tough. Always a hasty person, Naruto was, always too focused on the heartbreak of others.

He was staring out of the window. "I've been thinking. Even if we could bring Sasuke back, it would've taken plenty of effort. We might've had to hurt him. He could even get killed, and that would've sort of defeated the purpose."

She touched him then: on the arm, and in passing. "Neither did we want you or any of the other team members to get injured. You know that, don't you?"

He kept staring, seeming not to have felt her hand on his; once more he was the boy who sat alone on the swing and watched as the world swirled around him, past him. "In three years' time," he said to the curtains. "Hopefully less."

"Just stay well. And - thank you, Naruto."

"Eh." He turned to her and was trying to grin when he saw her expression. "What?"

"I - you're not going to write, I suppose. Illiterate that you are."

"Postcards?" he offered. "They're easier to send, and I won't have to write too much. Or maybe something else - do you like paper dolls? The small ones, so they won't need a lot of postage? I bet I'm going to be short on cash during this training."

Her eyes warmed, felt overbright, and it rattled her. She should be optimistic and share his enthusiasm for the long, hard sessions ahead, instead of being swept with foreboding. "I bet."

"Yeah. I, uh, I'll try to write, don't worry." He sounded cautious, perhaps sensing that she was wavering on the brink of tears, and therefore attempting to prevent an outburst. "You too, okay?"

"Sure - we can talk about the progress we make." Resolutely she blinked away the warmth. "Or not. Let's just surprise each other when you return."

"That'd be cool." The grin had resurfaced and was now in full, goofy force. "You do your best, Sakura-chan!"

"Of course." Sakura knuckled the tip of his nose gently, making him blink in his turn. "You'd better do the same, or you'll get a taste of the result of my training." Tough words, evasive words. But, as he had said, they still had three years ahead of them.