He walks calmly into the village in the early morning. The cool breeze ruffles his hair, bangs longer than ever and framing his face.
With one look into his dead eyes, she knows what he needs.
He kneels.
She will not cry.
She gives him a scroll, a pen, and ink from her bag. His hands hold only the slightest tremble as he writes a perfunctory death poem. Like everything related to Sasuke, it is short and explosive.
She places the blade on the ground next to him, with a piece of cloth.
She draws her own. Puts it to his neck.
If he is not strong enough to do the deed, she will finish it for him.
It is what she must do.
It is what Naruto will never understand.
He looks at the ground, then at her.
She will not cry.
He wraps the cloth around the blade and takes it in his hand, pointing the knife at his abdomen.
He holds her gaze.
"You will finish it," he says. It is not a question, not a demand, not an order. It is a statement of fact. Some choose to do it even before the blade is picked up. Some choose to do it when the blade enters the abdomen.
She still answers. "If you cannot."
She will wait for his signal, or until he bleeds out, which could take days. If she has to go with the second option, then she'll have to shield him from anybody who comes by, so they don't try to save him. He doesn't want to be saved. He cannot be saved.
She will not cry.
His shoulders relax at the knowledge.
He places the knife against his stomach, on the left side.
A bird stops singing.
He says, "Sakura."
Then he thrusts the knife in with a guttural cry. He is silent after that as he pulls it to the right, then up. His white robes stain with blood and gore so quickly. Sakura knows that it does not hurt yet. His face pales and even as it contorts in discomfort he is beautiful.
He places the knife back on the ground.
Sasuke raises his hand in signal and there is no thought.
Sakura swings the blade, halting right before the final centimeter of flesh would be cut off.
His head lolls forward limply onto his chest and that is it.
Of course that's when Naruto shows up, yelling and screaming and running, slipping on the puddle of blood in which Sakura stands and Sakura sits, and he's looking at Sakura like he himself is dying, looking disbelievingly at the sword stained with his best friend's blood.
Kakashi is not much later and he only looks on with the most disappointed expression she's seen him wear. But at least he understands, accepts it. He kneels down and, amidst the blood, picks up Sasuke's death poem.
Of course rebellious Sasuke hasn't written a poem as per tradition. More of a message.
The circle of hatred has to be broken somewhere. I don't presume to be a hero. I don't presume that I can maintain even the tiniest sense of honor anymore. But I refuse to grow old and die in a cell, letting nature take its course. Nature hasn't been good to me. I refuse to let it take me. Burn my body.
-Uchiha Sasuke.
They burn his body and watch as the wind picks up the ashes.
Sakura cries.
AN: I did some research on seppuku and thought that for Sasuke, there is little hope for redemption and this would be an honorable way to go out—at Sakura's hands. Ninja were a brand of samurai, so maybe they knew about seppuku too.
I just needed this sad little drabble thing out of my head :) Reviews appreciated.