notes: typos fixed! (5/24/19)

rating: K

disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

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18. mend

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Cold.

Sarada immediately winches from the cold weather, a hand reaching to grab her glasses and slips them on. She gradually rises up and her blanket slips down past her stomach. Her half-closed eyes can barely make out the minuscule droplets of ice dripping innocently across the Uchiha compound rather languidly. Sarada lazily glances to the calendar, taking note of the month it displays in big frosty blue letters.

December. It'd been somewhat hard, nowadays, to ignore winter's signs—the visible puffs of breath whenever people so much make a noise, the frost gathered on greenery, the chills on Sarada's arms whenever she'd step out without a scarf or coat, they were all evident of the upcoming seasonal shift. Of course, autumn this year had been somewhat similar as akin to the coldness, but she'd been more expectant of seeing snow than dry old leaves.

Sakura sees a shivering Sarada encase herself in blankets—three thin ones, to be exact—and the quivering frown that was trying to wilt deeper as she experienced another shiver. Sakura herself had taken the liberty of wearing her own dark pink—Sasuke argued it was more of a light scarlet color—jacket with fur lining around her hood and collar, to which she was grateful for as it keeps her neck pleasant and warm.

As today was a weekend, a blessing itself, she took a place next to Sarada on the couch in the living room and Sakura wishes that the house had a fireplace for times like today. A shame, really. Sasuke could've even lit it up with his Katon; they could've spent the day together, but of course, duty calls for him and nobody wanted to step outside today because of the snowfall outside, Sakura concludes to herself. Maybe Boruto would be out there somewhere, but whatever it was for, it wasn't for his team—Sarada wouldn't be here otherwise.

Sarada tugs her socks on tighter and sighs into her hands before rubbing them together for heat. She may have been anticipating the snow, but that can't be said for the weather. The phone rings, jostling Sarada as Sakura picks it up. Scrunching her nose a bit distastefully at her slight blunder, the girl can hear mumbles and murmurs from her Mama, a nod here and there.

"Sarada." She turns to Sakura with much raptness that it makes Sakura almost want to laugh at how similar her daughter truly was to Sasuke. Sakura unravels a blanket she'd settled upon her lap prior, reluctance in her slow pace, the phone tucked back to its holder. "I'm stepping out for a bit. Your Aunt Ino was surprisingly bombarded with a horde of customers today, but I think it's just because they all want flowers before the weather gets even worse."

She didn't complain and she wholeheartedly accepts Sakura's arms gently holding her close. "Okay, Mama, I'll see you home soon then. Tell her and Inojin that I said hi?"

"Will do, kiddo." Sakura flashes Sarada a grin and a thumbs up, and Sarada is immediately reminded of Uncle Naruto and Uncle Lee. No doubt the two became a huge influence on her Mama. "I'm willing to bet Inojin is all curled up like you and complaining at home!" Sakura jokes, approaching her pink sandal-heels by the doorway.

"Mama..." With a shake of her head, Sarada smiles to herself when the door softly shuts.

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"Oh?" Sarada looks up from her bowl of sukiyaki and quirks an eyebrow, making Sasuke reminisce how he used to do the same too (and he still does). "Your mother's not home yet?"

Silent, she watches him take off his scarf and poncho to hang atop the hangers before she replies with a mundane, "No, she said she had to help out Auntie Ino. Said she's been flooded with a sea of customers lately." The atmosphere became tense, as it had always been whenever it was just her and him together—clearly, what had happened when they first met, Naruto and ChouChou in tow, had still unsettled her a lot and Sasuke knew that. He hadn't gone very far to make it up to her; he didn't even know how to. It had been far from his comfort zone, and no matter what, tension always liked lingering behind.

Dimming only slightly, Sasuke's eyes remains humdrum before he shifts to take the empty chair in front of her, observing how she eats her sukiyaki contently. "...You made that yourself?"

He patiently waits for her to finish her munching before she speaks. Manners are always important, Sasuke had been taught. And despite his attempts to ignore it, he can feel the awkwardness stirring. "Yes, I did." Clipped, curt—sounds a lot just like him.

"Good girl," he tells her after a moment or two, and she liked the way his eyes looked at her.

Typically, the both of them preferred having Sakura around so the tension wouldn't be too thick—she never knew why it was always like this, but she never fails to light the space with her lovely smiles and affection. It'd been a couple weeks since he had returned from the mission; it had been rarely spoken of ever since. It felt like there was a boundary somewhere there and it was not possible to cross it. But slowly, that gap in her chest is slowly mending.

It feels warm. "Thank you, Papa. There's some leftover in the fridge if you want any."

"Ah."