Sakura ran and ran…
…again.
She was going back and forth.
No one to blame but herself?
Too cliché for the real world, lovelies.
In reality, it was a complex web of emotions that weren't being solved.
Because emotions can't be solved, genius.
She could picture Miruko right now: setting up a candlelit supper, complete with romantic background music and a wilting corsage in his funeral attire, which he would have forgotten to take off; something burning on the stove, perhaps. An oven mitt still snug on his hand.
He would take it off, flustered, when he caught her staring amusedly, and would chuck it behind him, blushing slightly, but still beaming.
He would wonder whether she liked it.
She would quickly lie, hoping he couldn't see the slight twitch of her leg that gave away her innermost thoughts. She would tell him she really appreciated it, she would sit—they would eat together.
They would go to bed, he would tell her a bedtime story. She would smile genuinely, and her eyes would close to the feel of his arm around her waist. Later, subconsciously, she would feel him lift his arm, slowly, so as not to wake her, and turn over on his other preferred side, holding his breath for a couple of extra seconds to make sure she was still asleep.
In the morning, she would make up her mind.
She knocked on the door. With all these thoughts, she would make up a lie now, instead of the minute she was asked.
No one answered.
"Hello?" She half hollered, trying to look through the curtained windows. She could see nothing, not even the silhouette of a body behind the drapes.
She tried to jiggle the handle, to no avail.
She tried banging on the windows.
She looked behind her. She was sure that whoever, if anyone, was watching, probably thought she was a crazed stalker or an amateur burglar.
She felt panic well up in her chest, before she remember about the spare key her and Miruko kept in the flower pot sitting, abandoned, on the small antique-looking chair. One of the legs was a bit shorter than the others, so it rocked when touched. She plucked the key out of the soil and dusted it off, rubbing the excess on the bottom of her shirt, slowly inserting it into the keyhole.
The house was dark, and she flicked the lights on, searching for Miruko.
He said he would be home. He left after the funeral, she had met Sasuke…
A feeling that was becoming familiar to her now rushed through her.
Guilt.
"Miruko?" She asked, stepping into the living room.
Moving on to their bedroom, she noticed a lump on the bed, rising and falling slightly.
She tiptoed over and peeked at the figure.
She couldn't conceal a quiet "awww…" as she peered on at the adorable face of a peacefully sleeping Miruko. His hands were balled, close to his chin, and his knees were tucked in. He had left enough room for her to slip in beside him, with a large gap, just in case she wanted to keep to herself.
She gently laid her clothes on the chair beside their bed, and sat on the edge, looking over her shoulder. He was still sleeping.
She swung her legs over and pulled up the covers. A strand of hair had fallen over his eyes, and she couldn't resist brushing it back. He stirred slightly, and he smiled in his sleep.
Maybe she would make her decision tomorrow.
Sakura is such a procrastinator.
xP.
AlternateEndings.