2. something more
Sasuke is no stranger to affection.
It's easy to forget that, now that the Uchiha clan is buried in a deserted cemetery, but there was a time when Sasuke did not shy away from the warm touch of a hand, or the fleeting softness of a kiss, or the sharp poke of two callused fingers.
No one touches Sasuke now. Not in the real sense of the word, at least; the bruises on his shins and elbows are proof that he does not lack physical contact. But beating Naruto into the ground does not fan the flame growing ever smaller inside Sasuke's chest. No, if there is even a flicker of heat, it is because his Team refuses to let it die down. Sasuke wishes he knew what to do with this knowledge—he refuses to admit that their advances are not as useless as he shows. But he does not know how to lie to himself.
Sometimes, Kakashi will set a hand on Sasuke's head (usually while his other is on Naruto's), and Sasuke will think of Fugaku without fail. Of his father's large hand as it ruffled Sasuke's fringe into a mess of dark hair. Of his father's controlled penmanship, even as the characters grew bold and black on the paper scrolls. Of the intimidatingly-pressed hand against Sasuke's back when they were required to attend ceremonies.
Other times, Naruto will wrap one arm around Sasuke's shoulders; usually one that tightens, a grip meant to annoy, but it is a warm thing all the same. That reminds Sasuke of how he clung onto Itachi's shoulders as his brother carried him through rice fields. Of how Itachi never complained about hugs, even if Sasuke knew he didn't like being touched by other people. Of how Itachi smiled before he set out to kill—
Naruto is dangerous. He brings back things that leave Sasuke burning bright and hot, a consuming fire that only leaves ash. So Sasuke learns, early on, to avoid Naruto's trickster gestures.
But, more often than not, he is open to Sakura's arms, how they wrap around his and bring him in closer. And where Mikoto had smelled of lemon and soil, Sakura smells of crushed berries and things that remind him of the color green. Where Mikoto's hands had been callused and gentle, Sakura's are soft but firm, betraying the strength with which she smacks Naruto around. Where Mikoto had been the press of lips against Sasuke's forehead, Sakura is—
Sakura is dangerous, too.
Naruto and Kakashi bring tangible scenes to Sasuke's mind—a father, a brother, imperfect parallels—but Sakura is more herself than she is Mikoto. It bothers him, that, but not enough that he sets off to find out why. Somehow, he knows that the answer would make her a threat, and Sasuke can't afford that. So he learns, as he did with Naruto, to steer clear of Sakura's hands. But, unlike with Naruto, who Sasuke replaces with Itachi, she lingers as something more in the back of his mind.
Sometimes, he even lets her.