A/N: Hey guys, thank you for the kind reviews. I was listening for the nth time to "Pray for Me" by The Weeknd and "Dress" by Taylor while writing this and the lyrics are so sasusaku they hurtttt. If u wanna get in the mood, uk what to do. :)
Anyway, enjoy this part! It's the longest chapter so far omg.
You know how you edit a chapter 19384838 times and by the end you think it's a piece of garbage because you've just read it so much? Yeah so that happened here, lemme know if it's good or what cuz I'm done with editing this long as heck chapter.
(Warning of smut on the next chapter for the faint-hearted—well, kinda, uk how this site can be.).
The way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death
- Miyamoto Musashi (1584-1645).
Sakura paces back and forth in the confines of her mind, walking on the nothingness of her thoughts, very much dark and lonely.
She tries to find something to hold on to, anything to grasp to make her feel centred and grounded, but all she does is pace back and forth while her physical body stays still in the present.
Her mother possibly thinks she has not heard her—but she has, she has and she can't stop hearing the same words over and over again in her dark and muddy brain, and she wants it to stop because she does not think she can go on like this for much longer because she hurts, her ears hurt and—so she dares to breathe out the words once more, unsuspecting of her daughter's shocked state.
They are lost in the breeze from the East gardens, but Sakura hears them as loud as she had the first time.
"Sakura, did you not hear me? I am telling you about my engagement, child, show some excitement," her mother exclaims, looking at Sakura's delicate profile. They are sitting on the bench overlooking the trees a few metres away from them—this is where Sasuke trains, past the trees and into the small forest within the castle's fortress.
She finally snaps out of it, looking at her mother with a mix of anger, disgust, and betrayal. All in one look, and Haruno Mebuki can see it reflected off those jade eyes like she can see the palms of her hands.
"You can not marry, mother. You can not possibly marry someone whom you have never met," Sakura retorts, finding the fire within her.
"You did not know Uchiha Sasuke, yet here you are. Do not tell me what I can or can not do, Sakura, I am merely informing you of this in advance."
"Yes, I know that," she says, tightening her hands into fists on her lap, wrinkling the blue fabric that covers her in the process. "But I also know that the man whom you are bound to marry is none other than my uncle, someone who has not been in our family since I was born! He never visited after you moved to Konoha with father!"
At this, her mother flinches, moving her eyes away from ones much like her own, and preferring to look at the pretty, blooming landscape in the shade of a tree, on a bench in the East gardens. She's taken back to a time when the Uchiha clansmen had taken over, and had allowed her to move to Konoha with her husband. They had had Sakura soon thereafter; a sign of peace after the long war; a sign of hope.
Time passes by slowly for Sakura; much too slowly. She doesn't appreciate what her mother is trying to do, especially since she knows, as she has always known, how much she had loved her father. But her uncle? She had never met the man, and she was not too keen on doing so.
"Mother, father's death is still a fresh wound in my heart. I think about him everyday, as I am sure you do," she whispers, calmly this time and without a biting tone. She just wants her mother to reason a little, to see her point of view and realise what really is the problem here. "Why must you wed his brother? A man who has never been around, or cared for father in any shape or form."
Her mother takes a deep breath and speaks with a steady voice, finding it easy to say what comes next. It almost sounds practised, like she has been repeating the same words to herself for weeks, months, before making the final decision. Sakura has no doubts that it's exactly what had happened.
"Your father left me nothing when he left this world," she admits, listening to Sakura's breath hitch but not turning to admire the sight.
She had always thought her father to be an honourable warrior, wealthy as one can ever be because of his close ties with Itachi. But she'd been wrong, fooled as a child and ignorant to the little clues here and there: her mother crying, her father running a comforting hand down her back, the loans and the debts and the days Sakura was the only one to eat in the house because they preferred to starve than to let her be hungry.
Right after the war, provisions had been scarce and country had to recover from the damage inflicted to homes, bodies, and the nation itself. Everyone had helped one way or the other; the same people that had been fighting against each other were then helping each other after the hatred from the Civil War.
She should have known.
"Uchiha Sasuke's dowry to me, as your immediate family, was to only last five years. That was the deal, and a very generous one at that," her mother finishes.
Sakura only listens, but she frowns at her mother's tale—according to her, there were still two years left of the contract. She doesn't understand why she's planning to marry now, so early on, but she explains a second later without being prompted.
"I mustn't wait until I am famished and on the streets, honey. I live alone, I have to take care of everything, and I avm becoming old and grey," she chuckles, but Sakura finds no traces of joy in her laughter. She finds exhaustion.
Her mother had been very beautiful in her youth, but her husband had died in the war and she had been pressured to take care of everything too quickly, throw her daughter into a marriage, and live on her own for years. Her eyes are tired, her bones ache, and Sakura can see the lines of stress between her brows and on the sides of her thin lips. Even as she smiles at her daughter in reassurance, Sakura only feels desperation.
"Mother, please, allow me to help. I can talk to my husband," she places a hand on her mother's, smiling softly as she turns to look at her. "I am certain he will take care of you for longer. There is no need to marry."
Mebuki stays silent for a long moment, her wrinkly eyes shining for a moment too long. Sakura thinks she's about to cry, but she only shakes her head and refuses to accept her ideas.
"No need to bother your dear husband, I am sure he's quite busy," she says, moving her hands away from Sakura's gentle hold. "I signed a legal contract when I wed you to him, Sakura, and there is no telling what he will do if I beg for more. It would be shameful, to say the least, and I will not bring that into this family, you hear? I will marry your father's brother because that is what has to be done, or else I will surely perish as an old, sad widow."
Sakura glances away and gulps down all her worries.
Her mother is right. As much as she hates the idea of her mother marrying after not even ten years of her father's death, she's right. Sakura can do nothing about her mother's ageing process, and if she doesn't marry now, nobody would want her as an old beggar.
Countless of her mother's friends, also widows of Samurai, had married their husband's brother. This was common procedure in her village for the lower and middle class, and she knew there was nothing she could say to change her mother's mind. She was to marry and she was to marry soon, so Sakura nodded once and saw her mother's shoulders lose their rigidness all at once—something that had her chest constricting slightly.
"I understand," she says, a small smile making its way to her lips, albeit forced and fake. "The important thing is that you are ready, and that you will invite me."
She realises her mistake the moment the words leave her mouth, but she doesn't back down. Sakura had only gone out of the castle once, and even if it had been under Sasuke's watch, disaster had found its way into the evening anyway. There is quite possibly no way that she would be let out to attend her mother's wedding, even if it is in the company of most of the village at such a public ceremony. Even if she tells him to send his most trusted Samurai to look over her wellbeing, he would most certainly not let her go.
Still, her mother had probably pleaded to be let inside the castle to see her, just so she could tell her the news. Sakura doesn't want to miss the ceremony, and it would be the perfect excuse to see all the friends she has left behind—all the friends who don't write to her anymore, who have most likely given up hope of ever seeing her again.
She will ask Sasuke. She will ask and he will let her, one way or the other, and she will go to Konoha. Her Konoha. Not where she is right now, which is at the centre of said village. Sakura had never gone to the centre of Konohagakure when she was younger—the place reeked of Samurai and there was no space to walk on the streets.
Instead, she had lived on the Southeastern border, overlooking a river that almost completely surrounds the town. Her father had been a Samurai, but he preferred the quiet of the forest, and Itachi had granted him the pleasure of living there when the Uchiha took over. There was a small market outside the forest, children played on the streets, and farmers cared for the crops of the season. It had been home. It had been freedom.
Her mother stands.
"Thank you for having me, Sakura, I do hope to see you soon," she says, coming closer and hugging her only daughter one last time. Sakura feels her protruding bones under the layers of clothes, and sees the grey in her once-blonde hair when they let go.
"Take care, mother."
She watches her leave, the last hour replaying in her mind like a broken film.
She receives a letter a week later, the date imprinted with her mother's handwriting, and two signatures at the bottom of the page—one familiar and one unknown to her eyes.
.
.
.
Summer comes and brings peace with it to the nation. The Land of Grass slowly repairs and re-builds itself brick by brick, and the Land of Fire prospers as usual. There is a certain calm in the city below the castle; Sakura can tell.
Every morning, a little after the sun rises, merchants and farmers alike walk and bustle around the main roads of commerce, buying the freshest of fruits and fish at the earliest times of the day.
In the past two months, there have been no attacks whatsoever in Fire, something that she is sure her husband is proud of. Warriors train for a war that doesn't come, and Sakura reads everyday in the only library of the castle, on its fifth and last floor—the only one with an open window, no bars attached, she may add.
She has given up on painting; somehow, all she can draw without creating an unrecognisable blob is a bird, and that's because she considers it to be the only animal she does not dislike. She's quite jealous, actually—they can fly, spread their wings to wherever their minds take them, and sing at any hour of the day. They're carefree where Sakura isn't.
But she gives up on it one spring day, and she doesn't try to pick up a brush after that again.
She still takes care of her garden every evening, making sure there is healthy growth in the different flowers—blooming fully and vividly. She's walked around the other gardens of the castle, looking over and inspecting every single plant. With the knowledge of two-years-worth of studying the medicinal properties of plants, she mentally recites all the benefits of all the different plants as she walks past each one.
It's relaxing, and she does it almost every week. She knows for a fact that their family's appointed healer has seen her looking over the plants more than once, but he keeps his distance as she takes notes and sketches them in her small notebook.
Sometimes, she wishes he would approach her. It was one thing to learn from ancient, dusty books, and another to learn from hands-on experience.
She could always order him to teach her his knowledge as the Shogun's wife and he would not question her, but something holds her back. For now, though, she wants to finish the only two books left on the subject in the small library before she tries to learn more efficiently.
She stops knitting, too, almost at the same time she stops painting. Some hobbies, after enough time, tend to seem redundant and one loses interest altogether. She thinks it's normal, so she doesn't mind it, and focuses on reading and caring for her plants.
Sasuke, on his part, spends most of his time at the castle, contrary to his past two years in power. During the summer of their third year married, she sees him from time to time, not nearly enough to talk to him, but enough to know he's around. She mostly sees him at the stables, walking to the training grounds at the end of their backyard—between the grand expanse of foliage and forest—and at his office or in the gardens meditating.
It's peaceful, and even though their routine seems to have turned back around into what it had been at the beginning of their marriage, she doesn't feel it's that way. She feels more at peace around him than two years ago; less tense, less on edge, less like she's doing something wrong, and more like he sees her as what she is—his wife.
It seems silly, but she knows it's true, and it brings her some sense of comfort; she can tell in the way he glances her way from time to time, or seems to hang around her more often, even if he doesn't have a reason to. After all, she'd seen him chiselling his weapons next to her garden a week ago and that in itself had made her falter slightly, specially since he'd appeared out of nowhere when she'd come out to water her flowers. It would be a stretch to call it a mere coincidence, knowing what little she knew about him.
Nevertheless, even if she's positive he knows she's aware, he never comes close to her. He just stays close by, and she can't help but feel a little bit guilty for that. She has the slightest idea of why he would follow her around, but she almost wants to hear it from him.
Sakura plans to find out.
It's the morning, and she wakes up to an empty bed as per usual. She bathes in cool water, dresses herself in a rather ordinary grey kimono of only two layers, and walks down the stairs to the first floor.
While she's leisurely walking to the dining room for breakfast, she hears noises to her right, behind a door on the side of the long hallway.
She pauses in her step and leans in, making sure that no one else is around. The door belongs to the cleaning supplies room, as she has seen before, but there are two voices talking in whispers behind it now. So she leans in from the side of the wall—so as to not create a shadow—and catches a few muffled phrases here and there.
"Last year the poor boy refused anything..." A woman said quietly.
"I think... But-" She hears another woman speak, hushed voices mixing and making it hard for her to follow along.
"Let us try, that man has been incredibly kind to us, and last year he was too busy for this. Remember Danzō?" One them asks in a louder voice and Sakura feels a tremor run along her spine at the mention of the man. He had been the leader before Itachi, before Itachi's father, and even before that. Before the peace and quiet, Danzō had ruled in the country as Shogun. Sakura had not been born when he had fallen to the Uchiha clan, but the stories of horrors would live on for eternity.
She snaps out of her thoughts when another voice speaks louder this time. Loud and clear, Sakura hears them, somehow wishing she hadn't.
"His birthday is only a few days away, do you think we can have everything ready by then? It's such short notice. We must invite all the high officials in the country, too."
Sakura steps away from the door, then. She hears their faint whispers resuming, but tunes them out and starts walking back to the dining area.
His birthday.
The words seem to ring in her ears, echoing through her head and making her dizzy for a moment. It's his birthday in a few days, but then she slows down her pace, and really thinks about that for a moment—he's turning thirty, and she has never acknowledged his birthdays since they married.
In fact, they hadn't acknowledged or celebrated their own birthdays at all in all that time, merely celebrating the New Year as it had passed—which could be considered a birthday on its own, as it also was with every person in the village, but he is Shogun and should celebrate his own birthday on that separate day. As a show of supreme power, just like the Emperor does each year.
She tries to remember whether the Uchiha had ever celebrated their birthdays while in power, but comes up with nothing.
When she reaches the dining room, Sasuke is already settled in his customary seat, hands under the table and eyes set on the smooth surface.
Sakura sits. They eat in silence and that's not much of a strange thing, but the way he keeps glancing up at her from across the large span of the table is. She pretends she doesn't feel him looking for the longest time, but it gets to the point when it just feels ridiculous.
She looks at him and he's taking a bite of his rice when their eyes meet, light and dark, both filled with something they can't decribe.
He looks away first.
.
.
.
Sakura approaches him the next day.
Suffice to say that it had taken all of her morning to prepare for this. She had spent hours thinking just how to properly approach this subject, knowing full-well how it could backfire in the span of a second.
She looks for him two hours after lunch, walking outside the castle and into the gardens, past the entrance of the forest and inside. After lunch, she has noticed that he's prone to train. He waits an hour or two, then heads into the protection of the dense foliage with his favourite katana in hand.
Sakura spots him with ease because of that.
She stops walking before he can realise she's there, and then she considers the idea of approaching him at another time. She could approach him after dinner, or even at night in their bedroom. But she's here now and he's a few metres away, grunting as the blade gets stuck inside the bark of a tree.
She has always known her husband to be very, very strong. Looking at him now, she thinks it's more about agility and swiftness than strength, and can't help but keep looking—ogling would be the better word, she thinks. She finds herself rooted to the spot behind a tree, watching him with wide eyes, much like a toddler would at something extraordinary.
Sasuke moves with graceful swipes of his sword against the rough bark of a tree after he finally gets the metal out from another; his sword shifts and swipes at one tree, two trees, and even at the air. He turns and moves the metal against the breeze that shakes the leaves of trees, shirt off and baggy pants held at his hips by a thick obi. It's almost like he's dancing alone, were it not for the fact that there is a quiet type of fury in his lightless steps.
His skin shines against the small spheres of light that filter throught the tall canopy of the trees, glistening with a thin layer of sweat. Sakura thinks it might not even be from the training, but from the hot temperatures of summer.
His hair is past his shoulders now, tied behind him in a low ponytail, something that makes her eyes narrow slightly. Right then while he's with his back turned and his arms tense, he resembles his older brother most. Yet his hair is shorter than Itachi's and his built is leaner. He is not his brother, even if the resemblance is uncanny.
Feeling faintly out of breath, she swallows and makes her appearance by taking a few more steps toward him—there is no point in leaving now, she reasons, and risk being spotted anyway.
When a leaf sounds under her second step, he tightens his hold on the weapon and turns toward her quickly, only to relax once again at the sight of his harmless wife. She looks much too small in such a big forest.
Her eyes are gentle and her lips are tilted up, the thin kosode hugging her small frame in all the right places. Sasuke turns back to his tree.
"Dear, I have been looking for you," she states, still standing a few good metres from him and smiling softly. He sheathes his sword back into its holster and walks toward her in slow strides, something that she hadn't been expecting. If anything, she had thought he would ignore her at first.
"What for?" He says, his voice rough and spent, breaths coming out slightly ragged and broken from training. She clears her throat and joins her hands on the front of her dress, beginning to get nervous.
"I would like to speak with you, my lord, if you so consent," her words feel foreign in her mouth, somehow sounding strange at this point in their relationship.
He is her superior in every possible way, but things have changed since that day in spring when they'd shared a bath and talked the night away, and Sakuda feels the detached words coming from her lips to be too far from the truth of what she's feeling.
She has to treat him with the utmost respect if she wants to make things right for them, though, so she just smiles and cranes her head up to look into his dark, dark eyes.
Her husband makes a face at her and then picks up his shirt from a log on the ground, carelessly rubbing it on his face to rid himself of the sweat, the heat, and the humidity in the air around them. He throws it over his right shoulder and looks down at her again with a sigh.
"Drop the formalities, Sakura," he says, making her small mouth open in disbelief. "What is it?"
The way he addresses her makes her small smile drop. She frowns and looks at the place where he had been a few seconds ago, training, so that she can think her words through, pressing her lips together in a disarray of thoughts.
She locks her eyes with his the moment Sasuke finds himself standing in front of her, one short metre of distance between them.
"It's your birthday soon, I overheard. What day is it?"
His eyes widen for a short second, not nearly short enough for her to not notice. He is momentarily surprised by her question.
Sasuke stares at her for a longest time, almost as if trying to decode the mystery that is her; he's starting to think that with Sakura there will always be strange, nonsense questions, moments out of the blue like these that make him question her sanity. First it was Yami's attempt at destroying her flowers, then it was the white cat that she'd wanted to name yet didn't care for, then this: his birthday—a date so ordinary to him as with any other day of the year.
"In four days," he says instead, frowning down at her. He can almost see the wires forming links inside her head.
"Four days?" She asks, humming after a pause and looking up at him again. He almost wants to ask what she's getting at with all this intrigue about his birthday—it's not like she had ever cared before.
"Everyone at the castle is planning on throwing a celebration for you, Daimyō and high-ranking personnel included," she admits to him as if nothing, watching as his face gives way to a snarl. His jaw locks and his dark eyes look past her and toward the castle, killing intent ever-present. Sakura takes one step to the left, blocking his view from the grandeur of the building.
"No need to feel threatened. I think you should acquiesce without question," and at this, Sasuke raises an eyebrow at her, daring her to keep talking against the pressure of his calm and indescribable gaze.
"Go on," he says, moving his eyes to and away from the exit of the forest and into the forest of her green eyes.
This birthday celebration could mean something to them; it could further develop their frail relationship. More importantly, it would show every high-status person in the nation of Fire just how well Sasuke is faring as Shogun. She would stand by him all throughout the evening, giving everyone a glimpse of who she really is and how well they are doing together, as a couple. By the end of it, every man and woman in the room would respect, if not them, then him.
She speaks the truth; it's twisted to his desire for respect and power, but it is true.
"You have garnered plenty of attention from Fire, and all its neighbouring countries, as a powerful and just military ruler. Under your command, many have felt at peace—something no one had felt for a long time," she pauses, watching his calculating gaze streaking across her face in wonder. "A celebration in your honour seems befitting, in my opinion, and very well-deserved. It can reiterate the idea of how much power you really hold."
There is a pause in between her long answer and his reply where they stare at each other. Sakura is just inwardly glad she had not stuttered during her speech, as nervous as she had felt.
"I will talk this over with my advisors," he finally says, jerking his eyes away from Sakura's and moving past her in a rather hurried pace.
She turns just in time to watch him retreat silently out the forest. She could let it go—after all, he'd seemed to think over the idea of a birthday celebration, even if he couldn't admit it—but something tugs at her chest, twisting and turning and calling for her to act. Something that she has ignored for long enough, the wasted paper in her pocket calling to her in silent whispers. Her fingers twitch and her heart acts out on its own, and Sakura does not regret it when she calls out to him.
"Wait!" She exclaims, looking at his retreating back in the large expanse of the forest around them. She takes a few steps forward to reach him in time, and stops hurrying after him when he stops and tilts his head toward her direction, clearly conveying the message of listening to whatever she's thinking of.
"I have more to say."
Sasuke doesn't reply, but he still stands there giving her his back, at least listening to what she has to say.
With trembling fingers, she takes out the crumpled letter she has treasured for the past two months, moving to stand beside him and showing it to him with a now-steady hand; there is no need in letting him know about her nervousness. He takes it and looks it over, brows furrowed and mouth set in a thin, straight line.
"My mother... she's newly engaged. I promised I would go to the wedding, which is taking place in a month," she murmurs, looking down at her sandals. They're, unfortunately, getting dirty with the relatively wet soil—the humidity in summer is already bad enough, but the forest just amplifies everything to suffocating degrees.
"Why would you do such thing? You know the rules," he says, silently giving her the letter back.
"I am aware of my restrictions, but we could take precautions," she starts, feeling the start of a negative comment grow at the tip of his tongue. "I can have one of your men look over me everywhere I go, so I will never be left alone."
With an intake of breath, she looks up at him from the side and pleads with her eyes, even as he faces straight ahead of him. His eyes show no specific emotion as he glances her way, but she still tries one last time.
"Please, Sasuke-kun?"
Somehow, the mention of his first name in such an intimate manner gives her hope for mercy, for a positive answer. She feels it in the way his shoulders tense up, the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge.
He spares her a fleeting glance, tired eyes looking over hers before he quickly glances away.
"No, and that is final."
He starts walking again, out of the forest and out of sight.
.
.
.
The celebration is nothing short of grand.
The halls are filled with high-class Samurai, Daimyō, and distant relatives. There are countless of exquisite dishes intricately made for any kind of taste in several tables. The main room and the dining room are filled with melodic music from a small group of people playing on the sidelines, and every man in the room has at least one woman at his side—though silent and following orders.
Sakura, apart from walking down the grand staircase with Sasuke by her side and standing by him as he gives a short speech, has not been doing much. It's not that she doesn't enjoy the festivities and the lively vibe of the castle—livelier than it ever has been, really—but she feels out of place.
Sasuke had delivered to her the final word the week prior, and Sakura had not found it in herself to forgive him so quickly. She had wanted to go outside and visit the home where she grew up in, visit her friends, and go to her mother's wedding. She still wants to do those things, but it's impossible under his watchful gaze.
Every turn she takes, every activity she partakes in around the castle, he's watching. Before, he would stay at a reasonable distance and do his own thing, feigning the fact that he'd been watching what she was doing. Lately, though, he's not even trying to hide it anymore. He stands close and watches her enter their room, the bathroom, go to the gardens, go to the library, and it never fails to make her very self-conscious. Her hands shake as she's turning a page and she trips more than once on the way to her side of the gardens.
She's getting sick of it, if she's honest, because he won't say a word. She would at least tolerate it if he tried to have a normal conversation, but he never attempts it. She would be lying if she says it doesn't unnerve her.
She sips on her second cup of sake, thankful for the dimmed lights of the evening's candles as she drinks more than a wife is supposed to. She doesn't particularly care this evening, and it makes her angry that she was the one who convinced him of this party in the first place, and now she's sipping on her sake in a corner, feeling her insides turn every time she remembers his final response to her request for supervised freedom.
She's not asking for much. At least, she doesn't think so. In the three years she has been married to him, she has only gone outside once. She has seen her mother only once as well, and followed his every command without question. It seems for nothing, now, as her light makeup-covered face hides behind a wall that separates the kitchen from the main room, and he's somewhere in the crowd.
Her new home is full of new faces she doesn't recognise and she's thankful only a few handful of guests had stopped to talk to her as the hours had passed—the few people who even cared who she was.
Someone touches her back softly as the third hour of the celebration approaches, and she turns with a gasp.
It's Sasuke, looking down at her with a look she can't decipher. The lights are low, and she can barely see his eyes from under his long bangs, but she feels his gaze on her all the same.
"Are you-"
And then the room is submerged in total silence after a loud banging noise from the entrance resonates.
It's deafening and it startles her, taking a quick glance at Sasuke out of the corner of her eye and seeing he's just as confused as she is.
When people whisper his name, and everyone bows on the floor, Sakura understands. She quietly leaves her cup on the table next to her and bows as well, watching as her husband bravely stands his ground.
She widens her eyes at this, baffled—what does he think he's doing? He should bow, he should be bowing with her and the rest of the people in the spacious room, but instead he merely looks upon the intruder by the entrance with annoyance, and narrows his eyes.
"Sas-" She starts to berate him, but a loud voice cuts her off and she inwardly flinches.
"Sasuke! You fucking bastard! Care to explain why I wasn't invited?"
Every person inside the main room cleverly remains bowing on the polished floors, albeit their eyes shine with amusement now. Sakura takes a curious look, lifting her head up a little in order to see the man she had previously thought to be part of a legend—this person whom she thought didn't even exist and was only an idea in people's brains.
But the regal robes are unmistakable and the white and red hat upon his head is hard to ignore.
The bluest eyes stare at Sasuke while he walks toward him in angry strides. Hair somehow blonder than Ino's and skin uncharacteristically tanned and otherworldly, Sakura stares at the Emperor.
Sasuke, standing beside her, shifts uncomfortably and looks at everyone around them, giving another look to the Emperor, who seems to come to his professional senses and stops walking toward him for a second.
"Oh, yeah, um..." Scratching the back of his head, he looks at all the guests and waves his hand dismissively in the air. "You can stand, no need for formalities at a party!"
Sakura stands, hesitating for only a moment, and shifts her eyes between her husband and the approaching entity, barely registering that the music and the talking have once again started.
"You truly are a loser, barging into my home like that," her husband says, a warm tilt to his tone even if the words aren't anything close to being friendly.
"You did not give me a choice!" He reaches them at last, taking in his friend and shifting his eyes to the side, sparing a glance at his rose-gold companion. She can't help but redden when he smiles—especially since it's the first genuine smile she receives since the last day she saw Ino, way back in time before any of these important decisions were taken and her life goals were decided against her will. "And you must be Uchiha Sakura, correct?"
She gives a nod and smiles, not really sure if she should speak. This man might know her husband for some reason, but he does not know her.
"She's so cute! She's even prettier than Karin!" The Emperor exclaims, taking her face in his hands and coming closer with an adoring smile in place. She doesn't know how to react, so she doesn't, but the peculiar name makes her eyes shift toward her husband in silent contemplation, almost questioning him with her stare. "How come you always get the cute ones?"
"Naruto, that's enough."
It is muttered in between his teeth, stance rigid and eyes threatening, and yet she feels no real hatred behind the words; they feel empty against the bustling of the crowd moving about, talking and glancing toward Sasuke here and there. The idea that this man knows her husband from the past is obvious—if his crude statements at the start weren't indicative of closeness—but she also wonders. Just how close are they, really?
"Fine, fine," the blond says, taking one step backward.
She realises with startling clarity, once his warm hands are gone from her face and she can finally breathe again, that Sasuke is avoiding her gaze, which doesn't make any sense to her given his past glances. He has been eyeing her every step for months now. Then Naruto comes in, compliments her, mentions someone by the name of Karin, and–
Naruto makes a small pout, Sasuke frowns at him, and Sakura detaches herself from the conversation, silently taking one step away from their godly faces.
It's the first time she sees the Emperor, yet they act like they see each other every week.
"You have been married for too long, loser. You should watch that tongue of yours, lest I tell your wife."
She faintly hears an insult being directed at her husband, and then decides it's her cue to walk away. So she leaves, grabbing her half-empty cup once again and walking through the crowds into a quieter area.
Karin rings off the walls with every step.
.
.
.
As she's bidding farewell to the last guests in the castle, she finds herself staring into sky blue eyes all over again. Naruto stands in front of her all of a sudden and she bows her head immediately, not even thinking about the motion, though the feeling of a hand on her shoulder makes her visibly start. Naruto feigns to not notice her small jump at the sudden gesture.
"I hope to see you soon, Sakura-chan," he says, twinkling eyes and radiant smile stealing her breath. She nods, stunned and out of her element when he calls her so informally and so intimately, before speaking directly to him for the first time.
"I hope so too, my lord."
It looks like, for a moment suspended in time, he wants to tell her something else. The edges of his full lips lift and part slightly, ready to say whatever is on his mind, but the presence of Sasuke next to her makes him think twice.
Naruto leaves with a light squeeze to her shoulder instead, his guards dutifully trailing after him from a short distance.
A woman closes the door of the entrance and leaves to her duties after making sure it's locked, and Sakura breathes out a sigh, turning around just in time to catch herself from bumping into Sasuke. He is looking at her, eyes indescribable and hair covered by his hat, for what seems like the nth time since forever.
Sakura feels the urge to ask him, demand him, right then as the castle's workers bustle around with cleaning supplies, about these glances he throws her way. She doesn't understand them—albeit she has the slightest idea. One thing she knows for sure: Sasuke is not vain, nor does he think of her as a beautiful woman.
She may be considered pretty by most, but Sasuke is not one to be swayed by looks. There is something on his mind every time she catches him looking at her; she knows this, and it makes her curious about his reasons behind it.
Not curious enough, obviously, as she walks past him without a word and heads for their room. It's been a long day and she feels tipsy, so much so that she only desires a good night's sleep sans her customary long bath.
"Sakura," his voice sounds behind her.
She's not surprised at first—because it's her husband—but she's frowning a second later because it's not really like him to call after anyone, and she can't help but to falter on the very first step of the wide, central staircase.
She turns around.
"This event today," he starts, crossing his arms over his chest and walking toward where she stands, patiently and slowly. Something about it makes her hair stand on edge, her body turning fully toward him. "I believe it served its purpose."
Sakura's delicate eyebrow lifts, and a frown turns into an interesting look in the time she takes to process his words—process, because every word matters with him, and they all have a different meaning with each context.
A small smile lifts her painted, red lips, catching the unspoken words from his prideful lips.
"Is this your way of thanking me, husband?"
"What happened to calling me by my name?"
This she does not expect. Her lips part, clearly baffled and at a loss of words. Had Sasuke drunk when she wasn't looking? Had he drunk cup after cup and ended up inebriated? His openness reminds her of a night not too many months ago, inside a wooden bath sharing his knowledge of the world while she listened. He had been the same then, and now it seems like that applies too—especially because he had called after her from all the way down to the door, while she'd been on the stairs on the other side of the spacious room. Especially because he now appears to want her to call him by his first name.
Sakura resists the urge to guide him to their room carefully, mindful of his possibly drunken state, and let him sleep it away.
She bites her lower lip, briefly looking away and back into his eyes, the advantage of standing on the first step of the stairs making their heights levelled; equal, for the first time.
"I believe it served its purpose," she answers, soft and knowing, and takes another step higher whilst still looking at him. There is a mild kind of amusement dancing in the corners of his mouth, almost invisible under the soft lighting of the castle.
She may think he's drunk out of his mind, but whether that's true or not doesn't matter to her.
This is how she wants him—walls down and amused smirk on, eyes attentive to her every word. So she takes it, grabs the opportunity before it struggles out of her dainty grisp, and she holds on to it tightly for as long as she can.
And she asks, because she has to ask, but maybe because she had drunk two cups of alcohol with no intake of food whatsoever, and it had been years since her last real cup—specifically, on her wedding day.
"Sasuke-kun," she addresses him this way, pulling him closer emotionally and mentally, pulling down the barrier that always seems to separate them and calling him by whatever he wants her to, however much he's actually aware of this. His lips are back to a straight line, the renmants of their small moment now dissipated into the air around them.
"In the past weeks, I have seen you approach me, but only watch; you watch me, but stay quiet. Why?"
He talks before she has the chance to continue speaking, and her breath catches in her throat at the unexpected interjection, surely not expecting him to answer her so quickly.
"Can I not watch my wife as she moves about my home?"
Sakura purses her lips together.
This time, she knows he's drunk. There is certainly no way for him to speak this freely when he's not in this state, so it's the only explanation of how he can do it now.
Or maybe, a simpler explanation would be denial. Sasuke may be trying, all along, to outsmart her so he doesn't have to answer her question, but she must try harder, push past the thicker barrier of his pride. One way or the other, he will answer. So she pulls through with a loaded question, heavy with implications and curiosity.
"It is quite a coincidence, though it took me some time to understand," she ponders out loud, shifting her eyes from his to their double doors and back to his serene eyes again. "This is about what happened that night, is it not?"
Sasuke doesn't know what to make of her glinting eyes. There are two candles at either side of them, almost but not quite in between their close bodies, and Sasuke can see how the flickering light dances across one half of her delicate face in detail, even if she can't see his much.
"If so, please rest assured. I obviously am not planning another thing like that anytime soon," with a short, bittersweet laugh that's far too fake and far too wrong, she waits for him to answer. It does not come.
He doesn't have to. His eyes look over hers from the distance that separates them, and they try to convey all that he wants to say. Just a yes, just a confirmation to her doubts, just a quiet affirmative to all unanswered questions. She feels the answer like she feels the heat from the candle at her side.
"Obviously," he mutters under his breath, looking just as exhausted as she does all of a sudden.
She feels tired. The night is drifting one second at a time and she wants to go sleep, for she knows what has been done by her friends. She speaks with a gentler edge to her voice than usual, being careful in sounding stable.
"I wish to sleep."
She's not asking, and she can't be for certain about what he takes from it, but she's merely letting him know. She wants to sleep, and she wants to forget this entire day altogether—way too many things to process in one night; who is Karin? Who really is Naruto?
When Sasuke doesn't answer for a few heartbeats, she takes it upon herself to walk away, treading up the stairs silently and slowly, waiting for him to stop her again for any number of reasons.
He doesn't.