a/n: Deeply upset for the past few days because I literally forgot it's SasuSaku month. This has never happened before and I'm chalking it up to my adulting. It sucks. It's also the reason why I haven't been updating. I've got my drafts. I'm just either too tired or too uninspired to edit. Anyway, here's a little fic for ssmonth's prompt, "Old Habits Die Hard." As usual, the genre is angst. You know how I've always been such a fish swimming in that ocean.

I was listening to Chris Brown's "Superhuman" while writing. Just in case, you also want to.

Compass

The thing about waiting is that it doesn't end.

She woke up to the empty air beside her, and a quick sweep of her fingers on the ruffled sheet brought up once more to the surface the fears she'd battled against every night. She rolled off to his side of the bed, convincing herself that his scent of cypress and draft could linger for hours. She didn't blink away the tears. It wouldn't be selfish, she thought. Not when it didn't matter whether he was actually here or not because she still felt so alone, and it terrified her to think how easy it was for her sometimes to throw away her reality and be trapped in the past.

She learned the art of waiting early on in her life. She wasn't born with any bloodline ability. She knew she was nothing beyond an ordinary kunoichi, and she'd grown to accept that improvement could only come with years of training. So she did her part, waiting to blossom, for the community to see why she fit her name and had such an annoying shade of hair.

In the process, she fell in love and sought the same recognition. She initially wanted to content herself by simply having a friendly arrangement, but when you're waiting, you don't settle for less because you think you deserve so much more. She thought if she could just cry enough, spill her heart's content, and love more than what she could comprehend, she'd be rewarded.

And perhaps she was. After all, he just left her there asleep on the stone-cold bench. He thanked her as if permitting her to dream on and keep waiting.

She sat up, curling herself up into a ball, feeling inexplicably lonely. She knew it was irrational to nurse such a traitorous feeling because everything was peaceful and happy now like the unread troves of fairy tales she used to hopelessly believe in when she was young. She was no longer a child. She was a mother now, a wife, a flower. But during nights like this, whenever he wasn't around despite knowing why, she'd feel each of her petals falling off, tearing her up inside.

On rare nights that he'd stay by her side, she'd hold it in. His presence beside her would be enough to lull her into sleep and color her dreams once more, her streaks of close-held memories – his return, their union, a new life – and her tears would dry into silence, haunting shadows chased away until the sunrise greeted her gently, offering yet another sympathy. It'd take her a while to wake herself up. She didn't want her eyes getting used to seeing another vacancy that would have to fill her being for the day until he returned late at night only to be gone again the next hour.

But she would live through each day. Their daughter needed her to be there as much she needed him to. He couldn't stay, so she would. She'd do all the waiting. From this side of longing, she'd save her daughter.

Her legs wobbled as her feet touched the unforgivingly cold floor. She walked out to their roofed balcony, grateful that the night breeze was affably warmer against her exposed arms and shoulders, patches of skin yearning for his touch. She wondered if he'd be back before morning. She wondered if she'd ever be given the chance to welcome him home again just like that time when he had returned from his journey of redemption.

She had her eyes opened that moment when he walked away from her the second time, but she didn't stop him because by all the clichés in the world, she loved him too much. And if waiting for him for another decade would prove it to him more deeply than what words could ever capture, then she wouldn't tire of doing so.

And even when he had to leave again for the village despite her unshed tears and painted smile and their daughter's innocent cries, she had remained standing there, holding little Sarada's hand, promising him once more a lifetime of waiting.

She had resigned herself to this way of living, thinking that maybe making her wait was Sasuke's form of loving, that he had loved her back because she had been waiting. And she couldn't care less even if she loved him more than he could ever do her.

Even now when he had returned officially, when only missions kept them apart because they were still, after all, ninjas, she would ceaselessly wait for him. But waiting for him had become excruciatingly more difficult. She'd smile at him every time he said his temporary goodbyes, she'd tell him it was okay, but sometimes she wanted him to know that she couldn't breathe, couldn't stop her mind from thinking about horrible things.

Because what if his goodbyes became permanent?

What if he left her for good and never return and what if he had never loved her at all enough to stay –

"That will never happen, Sakura."

She hadn't recognized she'd been crying and shivering until she felt him behind her, his arms around her, his lips against her temple.

She let out a small gasp as the realization sunk in. He'd seen her crying. He'd seen her crumble despite the many facades of strength she'd put up just for him to not worry about her, to be proud of her as his wife and companion for life. She bowed down, biting her lower lip, suppressing another choked sob threatening to come out.

"You told me it's okay."

She grasped for lies to say.

"Sasuke-kun, I – "

"You're not," he said lowly.

She felt his arms tighten around her, his head shifting down and landing against her shoulder, his breath mingling with hers.

"Are you tired?"

"No!" Sakura would've shaken her head vehemently if not for their position. "I will always be here waiting for you, I – "

"I will always come back. To you."

Her voice then came out trembling over a fresh wave of tears.

"I'm sorry, Sasuke-kun. I'm so sorry you have to see me like this. I understand why you have to leave me, us, sometimes. I do. We have our duties. I know . . . I know it's too much to ask for you to stay. And I wouldn't. Never. But sometimes, I just . . . I feel so alone. I'm so scared, Sasuke-kun. I don't want to wake up one day to find – "

"I would never do that to you and Sarada," he cut her off a bit sharply.

She brought her palms to her face. She was so ashamed of herself, of her nonsensical fears.

"I know. . . I know. But I love you so much and I'm always scared that maybe you – "

"I love you."

It was a mere whisper, but she heard him, and she didn't have to wait long before she felt his gentle lips against hers. It was a brief intimate touch, and he was smiling when he looked at her.

"Stop worrying," he said, tapping her forehead. "It's annoying."

She saw him smirk before she felt him scooping her up into his arms. As he carried her back inside, she decided she would never stop waiting if it meant spelling his return. And maybe, she mused as he laid her down, this was their way of loving.

...

Fin.

(And that's your angsty fic with a mushy ending! The balcony scene was inspired by some RyoSaku fic whose title I no longer recall. :( If it were the old me, I would've never thought of Sasuke being outspoken about his feelings, but I've grown and come to believe that with their current circumstance, it wouldn't be impossible for him to phrase out his feelings for her even once.)