Sakura's realized that it truly has nothing to do with her. Her feeble attempts at trying to understand his actions have only made the pain double, and she's certain it'll only worsen. Why should she torture herself when all she does begets instant regret and protracted depression?
She's chasing him. She has been for years, and this time might just be the one where she succeeds.
Her feet ache, but she pushes on, heading straight toward her team's prolonged goal, already imagining their long-awaited reunion with the boy they've always cared for. Her heart flutters with every step, and it continues to remind Sakura of one of her many weaknesses: the sheer amount of pure, but unrequited love she has for him. Sometimes she hates herself for loving him, but right now, it's the only thing keeping her on her feet.
Sakura's tears fly behind her. She's so close. With one hand, she reaches out to grab his arm, to stop his journey down the wrong path, and instantly revels in the subsequent relief.
Her hand clutches the white fabric of his shirt, and she catches her breath, bending over slightly.
"Sasuke."
Something shiny falls to the ground, and she sees her face looking right back at her. The fabric becomes hard, and she takes her hand away. Stepping back, she watches as his body becomes metallic and reflective.
Long ago Sakura's first instinct would be to scream, but she instead hesitantly moves toward him. She brings the same hand up to just barely touch his back.
The spot cracks, loudly, and she starts, clutching at her chest in surprise. The initial noise, however, is easily forgotten once the rest of Sasuke's body starts to crack. The formations created in the glass force tiny, broken shards to drop to the ground, and the jarring sound grows in intensity.
She feels the tears roll down her cheeks. Her eyes are wide and she just can't force herself to look anywhere else. Once her mind finally registers what's actually happening, she can't stop the eruptive screams.
The glass shatters. . .
And she wakes up.
The cool night breeze coming from the open window burns her throat as she gasps for air. She looks around the room and takes in all the familiar surroundings: the closet, the plant hanging above her bed, the red-and-white robe next to her desk.
I . . . . It was just . . . .
Sakura falls back against her pillow. Once her heart ceases to pound violently, she notices the wetness on her face.
"Was I . . . . I was actually crying," she whispers.
Eventually she closes her eyes and tries to sleep. Her last thought before she drifts off, the last thought of each and every night, is of Sasuke.
She sleeps soundly.
What goes unnoticed, on the nightstand beside her bed, are the jagged cracks etched into a photo of herself and her teammates.