note: The Long Way Home is killing me. Killing me. I have all these snippets written out and no idea how to put them together. So here I am. Writing something else. Venting.


March twenty-eighth.

Her parents get her a book for every birthday. They still do it now, except instead of storybooks about princesses locked in castles, she gets big, hulking medical texts. They're always a little dusty when she unwraps the package, because her mother picks out the book months before March and until then, it will sit on the shelf, untouched.

Naruto used to send her silly things, like ramen coupons and free foot-rubs, until she managed to get him to stop. Now he sends whatever brand of chocolate she craves at the moment.

Sasuke sent her pressed flowers and takes her anywhere she wants for a day (anywhere and she always chooses a rocky beach exactly twenty miles away, waters burnished gold from the sunrise soaking) and is always ready with dry comments and snide remarks.

Ino throws her big parties and all her other friends will gift her with...Sakura doesn't really remember, but she will say happiness, and the joy of belonging.

For the past two years, the only thing she lets herself receive are her parents' books, even though by the time the actual thing is sent whatever medical information printed that was cutting edge a few months ago is now obsolete. They don't just send her a book anymore. To compensate for the distance, she gets an entire crate full of irrelevant knowledge and her parents' love.

She keeps them anyways, and they fill her empty shelf with her only reminders of home.

(Sasuke sent her pressed flowers and takes her anywhere she wants for a day every year except for one-one year they almost forget and they miss the sunrise at the beach because instead they are busy, too busy being tangled up in each other's bare limbs and Sasuke just manages to go out and get her flowers at 11:52 that night.

Sakura hides the flowers between the pages of her medical books and pretends she never took them with her to Suna.)


She never takes the day off, but someone somewhere (possibly one of the nurses) has access to her files and knows that today is her birthday, so her case-load is suspiciously light. By the time she leaves the hospital though, the sky is still nearly dark.

It's a good day, Sakura thinks as a light breeze lifts the end of her gauzy scarf and tangles her hair. The parking lot of the hospital is quiet; she is alone, and her footfalls don't interrupt the dusk because Sakura's learned the art of silence from walking amongst grief all day.

She takes her time making her way back to her apartment, a short two blocks away in case there's an emergency at work (there always is). Sakura can drive, she has a license, but she can't be bothered to buy a car. Buying a car is permanent, and permanence in Suna scares her despite what she'd told Temari.

It's the same reason for why her flat is equipped with only the bare minimum in terms of furniture, the reason why her walls are blank and her windowsills empty.

Sakura hums as she nears her apartment complex, a squat brick building that serves as housing for the younger interns in the hospital. She's the only fully licensed practitioner that lives there, but Sakura doesn't mind. She'd finished her residency and fellowship quickly, so she's the same age as most of the interns and fellows. She blends in here, and it's a bit like camouflage.

Sakura thinks that she can hear the rustling of leaves nearby, even though there are no trees in Suna, just the occasional cacti. She likes the idea though, and purposefully makes her steps louder, falling into cadence with an imaginary tune.

When she reaches her street, Sakura doesn't bother lifting her head-still counting her footsteps-so she doesn't see who's standing in front of the entrance until it's too late.

"Happy birthday," Sasuke says.

For several seconds, she forgets how to breathe. She just...forgets. There is this man in front of her apartment, and his hair is dark and his eyes are slate. His hands are in his pockets and his expression, his expression is unsure and he is beautiful, still beautiful and who is he and why is he looking at her like that?

Then her brain rushes to catch up to her heart and Sakura is-

When has Sasuke ever looked anything other than perfectly calm, perfectly collected?

(Even as he ripped her heart apart, because yes, she's remembering now. She can recall his words perfectly and the play of light across the angles of his face as he demolishes her, letter by letter, word by word.)

"Hello," Sakura replies, because she is still in shock, because she thinks she might be hallucinating, because of a million little things like the catch in her throat and the skipped beats of her heart.


For some reason that she can't remember, Sakura has invited Sasuke up to her apartment. Actually, it'd be more correct to say that he'd just...followed her in the absence of words.

The click of the front door closing behind her is incredibly loud, and she busies herself with sliding the chain-locks into place, even though she's never used them before. Her back is turned towards him, but Sakura can still feel Sasuke watching her. It's unnerving, but then just being in the same room as him makes her feel off-balance. She suspects that this will never change; it only gets better with distance-Sasuke's effect on her isn't something that will ever completely fade away.

Suddenly, Sakura wishes she'd told him to leave when they were still downstairs. Instead, she will politely offer him a cup of tea, thank him for visiting and then, equally politely, show him the way out. Yes. That's it.

Somehow she knows that that's not the way it'll turn out.

"What are you doing here?" The words are biting and definitely not polite at all. She has moved to the small kitchenette though, and her hands are gripping the edge of the counter tightly, even as she tries to remember where she keeps her tea.

(Sakura never drinks it-she prefers coffee, and the fact that she always has a tin or two of the best quality leaves on hand anyways is another one of the little reasons that she hates him. Loves him. Hates him.)

"It's your birthday," he says carefully. Sakura looks up from the laminate counter, surprised by the wariness in his voice. Like she's an animal he's scared of frightening away. And she is scared-the dark circles under his eyes terrify her, the fact that his hair's even messier than usual, the fact that his face is even paler than she remembers, makes her want to run far, far away.

He is appealingly rumpled, and Sakura has to fight the urge to swallow nervously.

"You never said anything the two years before," she finally manages to reply.

His answer is a low "I know", before he makes his slow way around the counter separating the kitchenette and the living room-between him and her.

Sakura holds her breath when he brushes past her to get to the cupboards in the back; the space is so small, and he is dominating all of it. She can feel the heat of him at her back when he gets the tea tin from the top of the leftmost cabinet. It makes her angry to realize that it's the exact same spot where she'd kept it in Konoha-it makes her even angrier to realize that he'd remembered.

Sasuke sets the tin of tea besides Sakura's left hand on the counter, and settles himself behind her. He cages her for a moment in his arms, and she swears, Sakura swears she can feel the pressure of his lips against her hair for a split-second, but then the smell of soap and dusk is receding until she feels nothing but the customary chill at the end of the day.

Sakura tells herself that she doesn't miss the warmth.


She makes him tea in silence, and he drinks it in silence too, leaning against the counter and always watching her over the rim of his mug. Sakura's craved Sasuke's intensity, his undivided attention for years, but now that she finally has it-

She doesn't know if she wants him to look away or not.

Sakura doesn't bother turning on any of the lights, so his features are shaded in the dark and light blues of the traffic and street lamps distilled through her thick windows. She still doesn't know what to say, and she knows even less of Sasuke's intentions. He hasn't said anything beyond a polite thank-you when she'd handed him his drink, and in the steam from the mug rising between them, she can't discern anything at all from the dimly lit planes of his face.


It is only eight forty-five, but Sakura is so, so tired.

Sasuke is still watching her, hands curled around his cup of tea even though what's left of it has long since gone cold. In lieu of sitting there and doing nothing, she'd relented and clicked on the kitchen light. Sakura had immediately known that it was a mistake when she realized that in the harsh fluorescent glow she could feel his dark eyes trained on her even more intently.

But it would have looked silly if she'd got up and turned it back off, so they'd sat in the lit kitchen, and the only sound was the buzzing of the overhead light.

Sakura finally speaks, "I'm going to bed."

Sasuke only nods, and tells her quietly that he'll take care of the cleaning. She snorts, taking the mug from him and dumping the leaves into the sink, but not before catching the small twitch of his lips. She looks away before the expression can fully form, because Haruno Sakura knows she has no defense against Uchiha Sasuke's smile.

When she's done, she shuts off the faucet and says, very simply, "You can take the couch."

This time his smile-she's only ever seen it three times in her life-catches Sakura by surprise.

She nearly runs into her bedroom, the door closing with a comforting, solid thud behind her. It isn't enough though, Sasuke's presence is thick in her apartment. She wonders what he's doing outside, if he will use her shower, if he will sleep on her couch and if afterwards the cushions will smell like him.

Leaning against the door, knees pulled up to her chest, Sakura closes her eyes and this time cannot deny the pounding of her heart.


a/n: This turned out to be way, way too long. What better way to celebrate your birthday than with a bit of Sasuke-staring?