A/N: Hello! Here's chapter 7, something I've been waiting to write for a while. Throughout the chapter, our favourite team turns 16. We're quickly approaching the young adulthood arc of this story!
Fun fact: royalty and people close to this status in ancient Egypt usually wore wigs to festivities/important events and they were mostly black, but some wigs were dyed blonde, too. Queen Nefertiti (14th century BCE) was known for wearing dark blue wigs, and even made it a trend. She was an absolute icon so, of course, Itachi's wife will be too. ;)
Leave your thoughts if you liked this chapter, and, as always, enjoy!
Sacred
(7)
During the very first week of June, Sakura's mentor tells her they have been called to the main Palace for an evening event. Sakura has spent the entire day tending to her duties, and she pauses in her dusting of the common bath room to regard her with a rather funny look.
"An event? What type of event?" She asks, not really knowing why there should be celebration in the palace right now. These last few months have been quiet, peaceful, and uneventful—except for her unexpectedly pleasant, monthly meetings with Sasuke, but she doesn't let herself drift into any of those memories right now.
Her eyes lower from her mentor's eyes to her torso, and she notices a small pile of what appears to be clothes clutched in her hands.
"The King and Queen have been wanting to throw a banquet for the young princes after they arrived from their first Winter battles. With Sasuke's condition, however, they were forced to postpone it. And, now, with the birth of the new heir only days away, it's the perfect opportunity to celebrate both events," Tsunade explains, walking about the room and leaving the clothes on the sandstone-built edge of their large bath, then straightening up again. "The banquet will take place tonight, and we, along with every high-ranking official in the city, have been invited."
Sakura turns fully to her now, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Tonight? I still need to-"
Tsunade, knowing full well what her apprentice is trying to say, raises a hand and effectively silences her mid-sentence.
"You are relieved from your duties for the rest of the day," she informs, then walks to the arch that decorates the exit of their cleansing room. "Bathe, then get dressed with what I have left for you."
Sakura watches as she disappears behind the wine red beads that hang from the arch of the entryway, trepidation creeping over her skin and down her spine as the seriousness of the words registers in her brain. She stands there for a total of five seconds before she finally springs to a kind of rushed, hurried action, knowing quite well that nighttime is fast-approaching and she needs to get ready. She puts down the feathers she had been using to dust off every surface of the room, and walks toward the bath to grab the golden fabric of what appears to be a dress in her hands, the material of a soft, thin linen. She unfurls it fully and holds it in front of her.
For three years, she has been required to wear exclusively white. She has never worn gold—other than the thin embroidery in her otherwise simple dresses—because, although it can signify purity, it is mostly reserved for more powerful, noble officials, much like the Pharaoh and his Queen. The dress in front of her, however, is very much golden in fashion, though more sheer than solid.
The fact that Tsunade had gifted her a dress in this specific hue doesn't escape her; could she be trying to let her pupil know that, now that she has ascended in status from a trainee to an official Palace Priestess, she should no longer be ignored? That, finally, her position has granted her more recognition? She had visited the village not too long ago, she recalls, and some people had bowed on their knees at her feet. Maybe, on that day, Tsunade had decided it was time for her to gain more respect from everyone else at the Palace grounds. And the largest feast of the year is just the perfect opportunity to make this sort of statement.
The style of dress, she detects, is also slightly different than what she is accustomed to. Instead of a simple, white tunic that falls down the body with no particular shape to it, this dress is a type of kalasiris. A little more complex, the dress is held up by two thick straps over each shoulder, which flow down and cross over the chest just enough to hide what needs to be covered, while leaving her back, upper chest, and ribcage exposed; these straps cinch at the waist, then, where the fabric thins and loosens up more until it meets her ankles. Woven into the straps at the shoulders is a transparent, delicate shawl that drapes over the body until it meets the floor with the rest of the attire.
It's a beautiful dress—a mixture of golden, translucent divinity—but she feels her skin crawl at the sudden realisation that this will be the very first time she sees every remotely important person in the village since the day of her induction into her priesthood training period—a little over three years ago. No officials have interacted with her since then, with a few exceptions. Although she has consistently seen the King and Queen over the course of a year, it has been in wellness visits for the upcoming baby, and nothing more. And, even then, she merely observes Tsunade and her mother do all the work during said visits. She has certainly never spoken directly to the Pharaoh and his queen.
As she folds and leaves the glinting, intricate dress back down on the rim of the tub, her heart betrays her thoughts. Deep inside, she knows her nerves are solely and only stemming from seeing a certain person in attendance. A little selfishly, she doesn't particularly really care about whoever else will be there tonight, or who will see her in this new garment, or who will interact with her or congratulate her for being an official priestess at age sixteen. Not anyone else. Only him.
Steeling her nerves with the self-made promise that the possibility of seeing Sasuke (much less interacting with him) in such a public area is slim to none, she resigns herself to the small, private moments she has with him some nights at the temple, and starts undressing herself for the bath.
Sakura, after battling with the dress she once thought beautiful but was, in fact, a nightmare to put on, enters her bedroom to find Tsunade sitting at the edge of her bed. Her usually stoic, professional face is replaced with a pleased look as she gazes upon Sakura's new look, the dress she had asked to be tailored for the festivities fitting her perfectly. With the iridescent, golden dress flowing around her, and the shawl at her sides, she looks more like a deity herself than a mortal priestess.
"Sakura," she stands, and holds up a black blob of hair in front of her. "Here, let me help you with this."
It's a wig, Sakura notes. She's always had it in her knowledge that, given the time and place, she would be required to wear the decoration over her head, so she only nods absentmindedly and stays still.
As Tsunade places the short wig over Sakura's head, she carefully tucks away her long hair under it, making sure the rich black shines without a shade of pink in sight; because, as beautiful as her natural hair is, this color makes her look the part even more so. One day soon, she will be the one making the decisions in the temples, and will stand next to the Pharaoh as High Priestess of the most powerful nation in the world—and, as Konoha has been ruled by the Uchiha for centuries, it is customary to wear black hair at most gatherings where the royal family is to attend.
Sakura keeps her head bowed as Tsunade works on making everything fall perfectly into place, making sure the wig ends just above her sharp collarbones, and the bangs covering her forehead are straightened fully. Beads of turquoise stone, very closely resembling the shade of her eyes, are sewn onto the wig, hanging over it in a circle, the beads intertwined with thin, gold chains all around it. One of the beads is hanging down the center of her bangs, creating the last symmetrical detail in the composition of her entire dress.
Tsunade stands aside and, with a stern smile, she crosses her arms over her chest and nods appreciatively.
"You've grown up since you first came here, you know. Truly, you shall shine tonight," she says, then grabs a long pencil that Sakura recognises from her youth—from Ino, and black-rimmed eyes, and giggles, and red-tainted lips—and dips it in black powder.
"I would not wish to take away from the Queen's glow," she candidly admits. Considering she has never worn anything but one single type of dress in the three years she has been here, all this seems very excessive in her eyes. The long, gold, translucent dress, the wide shawl, the black wig with jewels heavy atop her head, the golden bracelets from her forearms to her wrists, and now the black lines accentuating the natural contour of her eyes. Secretly, she dislikes a small part of this. It all seems beautiful, but it's not her.
"My clothes are similar to yours, just a different shade," Tsunade offers in a calming tone, trying to appease her worries, now adding a soft red balm to her lips. "Once I step down from this position, you must be prepared to take over. Everyone in the nation knows of me, but now they need to know who you are. For that, a memorable entrance you must make tonight."
In simple terms, it makes sense, which is the only thing that holds her together as she walks alongside Tsunade outside of her trusted temple, and into the rather cold night.
How many days had she gazed out at the gardens and everything beyond them, wanting nothing more than to explore the world around her? How many times had she wanted to leave that binding temple of hers, her very essence tied to every grain of sand in its composition? And yet, now, as she walks in another person's body, she wants nothing more than to go back into the rooms that have governed her life for three whole years.
At least, she thinks, her feet are bare to the sand under each step she takes. That, and her mentor's presence by her side, are the only familiar comforts she has left to propel her forward.
The path to the palace is one she knows well. She has had to trek it almost every week for the last nine months in order to ensure the safety and survival of the only heir to the direct Uchiha line. But that path usually leads her to the second floor of the building, and now, Tsunade surrounds the building and walks toward a door that rests on its Eastern side, completely foreign and uncharted to her.
Tsunade gives her a reassuring look over her shoulder, and that is the only time she has to prepare herself before she enters.
As soon as Sakura follows suit and the door closes behind her, she is promptly engulfed in the smoke of incense burning all around them. The smell of myrrh resin is dear to her, something used to cleanse the spaces in her temple from time to time, though the resources are limited as they come from trees on the edges of Fire, and beyond. The bold display of several incense fragments burning in the air at the common room of the palace only serves as a testament to the power and importance of the rulers of Fire.
Tsunade makes a motion with her hand toward one side of the room, and whispers something Sakura can't hear over the loud noise in the room, followed by a wink. Tsunade, then, walks further into the room and starts conversing with an older man donning long, white hair. She has never seen him before. By the way the man regards her, it's clear they have known each other for quite some time.
Sakura sighs and looks over at the side of the room that Tsunade had pointed toward. There is a large fountain on that side, with plants of different shapes and sizes surrounding it, and benches placed in a few empty spaces. From afar, Sakura can't distinguish anything concrete, but it looks like a more inviting, pretty section of the room. She notices there are a few people huddled around the fountain, some talking in pairs, others in larger groups.
Not really knowing why her mentor had hinted at her to go there, she slowly makes her way to the fountain, careful to not bump into anyone by mistake, and giving a small smile to any man who decides to give her a certain look on the way—while not asked of them, she understands she might look expensive and exotic and, to anyone in the room, foreign altogether. For now, she still is a nobody.
She has never been in this particular room of the palace before, though whispers of its beauty had reached her ears upon the end of its construction a few months back. The room is spacious, tall, and rectangular, the columns shooting up into the night sky endlessly, the sky itself on full display above them. On one side of the room, there's ample food and drinks, on the other, the fountain and benches, a simple but pretty garden around carefully-carved paths of red sandstone; and in the center of the room, there are dancers and musicians playing a jovial tune, moving to the sound of festive music. The musicians wear a traditional pleated garment, and the entertainers, as is customary, wear only jewellery and bold cosmetics. Sakura gazes at the nude women as she passes by them, briefly, then averts her eyes, the exotic dancing nothing she is yet accustomed to.
As she nears the fountain, she silently thanks Tsunade when she notices a familiar mop of wild, blonde hair by one of the benches. Naruto's not sitting down, however. Instead, he's enthusiastically exclaiming about this and that in a very dramatic way, the topic of conversation lost to her over the loud sounds of the room. With the ghost of an amused smile, she shakes her head at her friend's erratic antics. And when Sakura looks at the person he's talking to, she immediately halts in her steps.
There, talking to Naruto, is another blonde she knows well.
Ino.
Sakura can barely believe her eyes, but she doesn't want to question or search for any sort of logic in this blessing that has been clearly sent by the Gods themselves. Sakura almost sprints to her childhood friend in her excitement, the brightest smile on her face.
The moment she finally reaches them, it all happens in slow motion: Ino locks eyes with her and, at once, she shoves Naruto away and welcomes Sakura in a crushing hug that has her eyes tearing up. She can't cry—Tsunade warned her very seriously after she finished her masterpiece over her eyes, so she doesn't—but she still returns the hug with as much strength.
"You pig, I've missed you so much," Sakura whispers into the blonde's hair.
With a laugh, Ino moves away just enough to look into her friend's face, her hands now over her arms, holding her in place and appreciating the changes that have turned her from a twelve or thirteen year old, into the woman she now is becoming.
Sakura sees the sort of admiration she used to have for Ino now reflected off her eyes as she looks her up and down, and when she sees her open her mouth to speak, she almost expects a compliment—really, she should know her better by now.
"Look at you, billboard brow, hiding that gigantic forehead like I always told you to," she lightly pats her fake bangs, a hand now clutching at her chest in a dramatic, nostalgic fashion.
Sakura slaps her arm, and they both burst into laughter right after, as if no time had passed since the last time they'd seen each other.
Without warning, they're separated by a very confused and equally angry Naruto—who had partly fallen in the fountain after Ino shoved him aside. Naruto, fists tight at his sides, throws his hands up and stands in front of Ino, partly giving Sakura his back.
"What the fuck, Ino? If Pharaoh sees me like this, I swear-" He makes a sound, frustrated at the state of his schenti—a pleated, linen cloth wrapped around the waist, with one end hanging down the front, and different markings sewn into the fabric as show of his title. His tan torso is completely wet, and the only wet spot on his loin-cloth is on his behind. Sakura and Ino share one look, then burst into a series of laughs.
Naruto deadpans at the rude interruption, an incredulous look crossing his face at the audacity of these girls—he is a Prince!
He then turns around toward Ino's friend, ready to berate her in his very loud, characteristic manner, but frowns in confusion. Scratching the back of his head, he leans closer to her.
"Hey," he says, earning her full attention after her laughter dies down, for the most part. "Do I... know you?"
She takes a step back, physically recoiling at the inquiry. But then, as she looks down at herself, she lifts her gaze up in understanding. She knows she might look like a different person, but even then... She shares a brief look with Ino over Naruto's shoulder.
Even in these clothes, darker hair, and after three years, Ino had recognised her instantly. She almost feels fumes start coming out of her ears at the absolute density of the blond.
"Narut-"
Before Sakura can smack him across the head for such an idiotic question, another voice slices clean all the other noise around her.
"Sakura."
It's almost worrisome how she can tune out everything else, and how someone's voice can stand out when she had not been actively seeking it in that moment.
Naruto's bickering now with Ino, who threatens to shove him toward the fountain once more, and though it happens right in front of her eyes, it sounds like a distant dream.
Sakura feels him behind her before she sees him, his presence omnipotent, overtaking every other stimulus around her.
She ignores the comical sight of her friends arguing and turns, gazing up at the face of Sasuke, half a head taller than her and standing only at arms' length.
If she takes a step now, she could touch him.
"Sasuke," she breathes, a smile stretching her lips already.
Sasuke, as calculating as ever, shows no outward emotions on his face. Having hesitated in his step mid-walking earlier—as soon as she had entered the room, in fact—he now only looks at the details he had not been able to see from afar earlier.
Her eyes have always been bright and expressive but, now lined with black, the green shade stands out even more so. Her small form and subtle curves are accentuated tonight, the golden tone against her skin giving her an ethereal air against the smoke in the room, almost (and not for the first time) otherworldly.
He chooses not to notice the red against her lips.
"Sakura! Please, forgive me! Oh, let me look at you," she hears from behind her, and right before she is roughly turned around by her forearms, she notices the frown marring Sasuke's eyes as he looks beyond her.
Naruto stands in her personal space and looks her dead in the eyes, and gasps as he realises that, yes, this is his close friend, Sakura.
"It's you! But, it doesn't even look like y-"
"Give her some space, idiot," Sasuke says, then places a hand on Naruto's chest and pushes him away from her.
"Nobody asked for your help, bastard," Naruto crosses his arms over his chest and purses his lips at Sasuke. "Anyone could have made that mistake."
"I didn't," both Ino and Sasuke say, and Sakura shakes her head at Naruto's sheepishly guilty face. Truly, he is a lost cause sometimes.
Watching the three of them bicker on about inconsequential things brings a smile to her lips, memories of their childhoods and the more recent years flashing before her eyes. These are her most important people, and right now, right here, she closes her eyes for a second and whispers her gratitude to the Gods.
"I can't believe how lucky you are! You live so close to Sasuke now. I don't know how you can keep your hands away from him!" Ino whispers next to her, both of them now sitting on one of the benches available.
After Naruto had hugged her countless of times while apologising profusely, both he and Sasuke had decided to leave them be. On one hand, she had been glad to have some time alone with her best friend, but on the other, watching Sasuke walk away after such a brief encounter...
She takes both of Ino's hands in her own and turns her body toward her, determined to change the topic.
When they were younger, she still vividly remembers Ino declaring she liked Sasuke. Sakura never said she shared those same feelings in fear of losing her friendship with the blonde. If Ino were to find out she not only likes, but possibly loves the same boy, she doesn't know what could happen. And, Gods forbid, if she were to know she has shared not one, not two, but multiple secret kisses with him? Sakura feels an uncomfortable shudder running down her spine. She has finally reconciled with the blonde. She doesn't want to lose her now.
"Really, pig, I need to know. How did you manage to attend tonight?" She ushers, watching as the blonde loses the adoringly-lost glaze over her blue eyes.
She snaps back to reality, then leans closer in secrecy, giving her hands a squeeze.
"I joined my mother as one of the official gardeners a few days ago. But, between us, I plan to join my father in the interrogation department. I know he works closely with the Pharaoh, so," she leans away and winks at her, then motions with her head to a corner of the grand room. "That means working closely with the future King."
Sakura dreads looking in the direction of Ino's mirthful eyes, but she still does. Against her better judgement, she lands her gaze across the room, to the spot where Sasuke is drinking wine with Naruto by one of the tables that contain an array of displayed, mouthwatering food.
"The future King will be born in days, however," Sakura defends, not taking her eyes away from Sasuke, his long, careful fingers holding the cup of wine absentmindedly.
Ino claps back with what Sakura has already known for years. In her mind, in this moment, she only wishes that he would be exempt from that title—the one and only she is forbidden from ever reaching.
"Before Itachi's son is old enough, Sasuke will be Pharaoh for a few years. Everyone knows that."
Distracted, Sakura only nods, then hears Ino sigh dreamily next to her.
"Oh, isn't he just perfect? So handsome," she comments, then snaps back to Sakura's face. "Hey, now that I live here, will I be able to see you more?"
Sakura has a hard time turning back to face her at first. Because, though she would never admit it in front of her, her words ring with truth. Sasuke is wearing the same formal, royal attire as Naruto, and with his chest and abdomen exposed, and his wild, dark hair partly covering his vision, he looks every bit perfect, as Ino says.
She watches as Sasuke leans his head back slightly, then takes a slow sip of his wine, and there, across the exotic dancers and the smoke permeating the air, his eyes make contact with her own at the same time he puts the cup down. Sakura watches as he licks some residual wine off the corner of his lips, and turns to Ino almost too quickly to be played off as normal. Thankfully, Ino is so in her head sometimes that she doesn't notice the odd action.
"You are not allowed inside the temples, but you may find me outside during my free time. I get some time once a day; usually right before the sun dips under the horizon," she shrugs, then looks around them for a second, still feeling her cheeks grow warmer at the memory of Sasuke's hot gaze upon her, those eyes holding a storm inside.
When she turns back to her friend, Ino has a smile on her face. She trusts her; trusts that she won't betray her; knows that nothing is going on between her friend and her crush.
But, she reasons, if Sakura had liked him first, and never said anything to Ino, doesn't that still count as fair and valid in the game of love?
The night is moving to a close—everyone stuffed, most people already feeling the effects of wine in their bodies—when the King and Queen decide to grace them with their presence. Their intricate, expensive tunics are of a deep black and a rich red and, after they descend a set of stairs into the room, there are a few gasps and other admiring looks as the light of the many candles in the room illuminates the queen fully. Atop her head, she wears a long, smooth wig, small braids decorating different strands with gold embroidery. And it's red. Dark red, the colour of wine, dyes the wig from the roots to the tips, giving her a more elegant, pale complexion. That, paired with the enormous, healthy bump stretching her dress, gives her the look of a royal like no other. Itachi, probably for the first time ever, fades in comparison to his glowing wife.
Sakura has been conversing with Naruto for quite a while now, watching as he stuffs his face with several meats from a table, when they show up. As soon as they reach the floor and the attendants start bowing to them, Tsunade sits on the chair next to Sakura's other side, and leans close to her.
"Jiraiya here has offered to walk me back to the temple. Gods, I don't feel too well."
Sakura gasps and looks at her mentor, the inebriated state she's in very obvious on her face. Sakura wants to laugh—this is not something she is unused to seeing. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of Tsunade taking out her sneaked, usually concealed bottle of liquor at the temple and downing it in under an hour, then she always finds her slumped over her desk. She had hoped she would hold her lips shut at such an important event, but some things never change.
Sakura nods, then. "Would you like me to accompany you as well?"
Tsunade waves a dismissive hand in front of her.
"Don't. You are having fun. Tonight, enjoy your curfew-free time," she whispers, then hiccups. "Come back whenever, but don't forget that we are visiting a temple in the village tomorrow. You will see the process of mummification for the first time, yeah? So, try to sleep, too."
And, at that, Tsunade gets up and is escorted outside by the arm of her friend, Jiraiya.
Sakura takes a deep breath, and turns back to pay attention to what she has been ignoring in favor of listening to Tsunade's drunken speeches. Surprisingly, she has been completely ignoring a speech by no other than the King and Queen themselves, one that even Naruto is paying attention to in complete and utter silence.
She feels slightly embarrassed, and tunes in to the last parts of the talk, thankful that they haven't noticed her lack of manners among the enraptured masses.
"Please, Kakashi, come forward," Itachi announces, one arm extended in the direction of said man. Sakura faintly recalls this is the trainer and military General of both Sasuke's and Naruto's platoon.
When Kakashi stands from his seat at a table different from Sakura's, she turns her body in his direction to regard him fully.
"In lieu of the threats we have been receiving from our neighbouring country, Suna, General Kakashi is planning to take action soon. Isn't it so?"
Kakashi nods at Itachi, then gives everyone else around him a reassuring smile—or what she thinks is a smile, for he wears a mask that covers the lower half of his face.
"I will be taking the two young princes soon with me, yes. We will travel to Suna for negotiations of peace and, should negotiations turn awry, we will come back ready for battle. Rest assured, Konoha will always stand strong."
The room, then, explodes in a series of happy exclamations, evidently overcome with delight as the country is once again promised safety by one of its most proficient, deadly Generals. Sakura had heard of these threats in the past few weeks, but she had thought them rumours spread across nations, not nearly anything solid to act upon with such hurry.
She steals a glance at the boy sitting at the same table as Kakashi, and wonders why, when she had seen him three nights prior, he had not mentioned this small piece of information; why he had not disclosed to her that he might leave quite soon for another long period of time. Was it not important enough for him, what she might feel at his leave? Did he really not care that he would be gone for days, weeks, possibly months? If not something romantic in nature, she would at least hope he thinks her as a friend, and let her know of his recurring missions, especially since this one is only a few months after the last one.
She remembers the injury he had sustained during his months away, and now, he sports the faint, pink trace of what had been a deep slash across his chest. She can clearly see the scar from two tables over, her eyes losing their spark of anger and, in turn, turn nostalgic in the way someone mourns something they have lost.
She hasn't lost him, but she could have. And now, he will venture into the unknowns of another entirely different country; venture into the claws of dangerous enemy forces once more. She wishes she could have had him with her for another few months. Maybe, even, until the end of the year.
The Queen makes a toast in the background to the pride of the nation: Prince Sasuke and Prince Naruto. She feels Naruto get up from beside her, and sees Sasuke get up from two tables over, both boys with a cup of wine in their hands.
The room explodes once again, the music is resumed, the Pharaoh and his wife make their way over to a group of people on the other side of the room, and Sasuke downs his cup in one go.
When he slams the cup down on the table without wincing, Sakura gets up from her chair, having had enough.
In the midst of the yelling and the drunken singing, coupled with the hoarde of people who approach Naruto to congratulate him in his bravery, Sakura feels sick to the stomach. She feels overwhelmed, and wants nothing to do with this party any longer.
She grabs the edges of her shawl, careful to not let her pretty dress rip as she tries to make her way toward the doors she came in from—the only way to the temple she would know how to traverse without any trouble. At the very least, she still has a mind to not get the expensive gift her mentor had given her ruined tonight.
Naruto gets swarmed by people, and she doesn't spare another glance at Sasuke, knowing full well that he would be in a similar situation.
As she opens the double doors and steps out into the chilly air of the night, she recalls the conversation she'd had with her dark haired prince only three nights ago.
"Do you believe, Sasuke?" She'd asked, voice quiet and soft, dissipating into the night. "In any of the Gods I pray to every day and every night?"
Sasuke had only stared ahead of him, sitting on the last stepping stone leading to her temple. Sasuke had been leaning forward, elbows on his knees, while Sakura had been leaning back, eyes to the skies.
"I didn't use to, once. But now..." She'd drifted off, her eyes fluttering as she leaned down against the sandstone, her back now fully against the ground.
Sasuke'd looked at her.
"If you look at the stars, how can you be so foolish to believe there's not a greater force above us? Below us, and all around us."
There had been some shuffling as Sasuke had lied down next to her, shoulders brushing timidly.
"My mother believed, especially in your Goddess. That's why praying to the statue sometimes makes me feel closer to her. Not necessarily meaning that I believe."
And he had said it so nonchalantly, so casually, that she'd almost dismissed it. But her breath had caught in her throat as the seconds passed, and her hand had found his on its own.
He'd squeezed, tight.
"They're still pretty, aren't they?" She'd pointed with her chin at the bright stars above them, then turned her head to regard him, a warm smile in place.
Sasuke had closed the gap between them in their longest slow kiss to date, his free hand ghosting over her arm tenderly, then moving up until it reached her cheek.
She wipes the tears before they fall down her cheeks in silent streams. She'd promised Tsunade she wouldn't cry, no matter how much she wants to.