Sasuke growled, pounding his fist harder against the door in front of him, unleashing all of his frustration through the action while glaring as hard as he could at the brown wood, as if he were able to set it on fire merely with his onyx eyes—and then step inside the small apartment and possibly strangle its owner, since he was the reason why he was so angry, in the first place.
But he was about to get it this time, he resolved. He'd beat him into the following week, and if he had anything to say about that, he should—
"Fuck, teme, what are you doing tearing down my door at this hour in the morning?" the most famous knuckleheaded ninja in all Fire Country complained as he appeared in the doorway, blue eyes heavy with sleep, dressed in only his boxers and with his nightcap over his rumpled blond locks. He looked completely exhausted, entirely too sleepy for someone who had been awakened at ten in the morning, and if he wasn't wrong, he was more than a little hung-over, as well. But after how much he had drunk the night before, something of which the Uchiha had been a firsthand witness, he didn't quite find it in him to be surprised—or sympathetic.
Still, that was no excuse for ditching him. "Why aren't you at the training grounds, dobe?" he demanded, annoyed. "We train every morning."
Naruto blinked lazily, obviously having more trouble than usual in registering words and making connections. "Huh," he eventually said, running a hand over his face in a desperate attempt to liven up. "I thought you'd be with Sakura-chan."
Sasuke raised an eyebrow at what he considered to be an extremely lame explanation.
The blond groaned and plastered himself to his doorframe, his cheek squished against the wood in a dramatic manner. "Teme, I'm hung-over and it was your wedding yesterday. Don't you ever take a break? I honestly thought you'd be busy cuddling in bed with Sakura-chan or something."
The Uchiha crossed his arms over his chest and grunted.
Naruto stretched, yawned, and turned his back on him, heading inside the apartment but leaving the door open, a silent invitation for his friend to follow if he so wished. He didn't.
"Really, though, Sakura-chan never wakes up early on her days off," he commented. "Did you leave while she was sleeping?"
Sasuke wanted to groan, but only rolled his eyes. Why was the world so entirely upside-down that morning? He simply wanted to train. That was all. It was something he did every day. It was his routine. Naruto joined him all the time. Why did he feel the need to put up such a fight now?
"Why are we having this conversation?"
The blond threw him a pointed look that showed he knew exactly where his uneasiness to broach the subject stemmed from.
"It's shitty to leave a woman alone after you've slept with her, Sasuke," he said. "Even I know that."
The Uchiha raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How do you know? Have you ever even kissed a woman?" he asked, dryly.
As expected, Naruto immediately jumped on the defensive. "Hey! Sasuke-teme, I'll have you kno—"
"Shut up, idiot," he snapped, unwilling to put up with his stupidity anymore. "Are you coming to train or not?"
By the time he finally managed to drag Naruto out of the house, it was already noon—and, in his dictionary, noon translated to the prime time for him to attempt to fill his bottomless stomach with warm, home-cooked ramen from Ichiraku's. It was no surprise when Sasuke ended up tagging along.
It was a surprise when he managed to withstand two hours of him asking for bowl after bowl of refillings while proudly proclaiming that he would never grow tired of the taste of his favorite food. Usually, by his best friend's third bowl, he would have already paid for his own, more modest order and left. But that was not the case that day, and briefly, he had to wonder why that was. It wasn't as if he couldn't train on his own. He was probably even more productive that way, since Naruto had a way of getting distracted by the smallest things and thus interrupting their spars more often than he was comfortable with.
He told himself his reluctance arose from the fact that it felt much better to beat up Naruto than it felt to do the same to a simple dummy. And Kami knew he needed someone to beat up that morning.
Technically, it was already afternoon when they finally headed for the training grounds so that they could do what they should have done in the early hours of morning, but it sufficed.
Needless to say, though, Sasuke returned home late. The sun was still up in the sky when he crossed the threshold to his house, but the heat had toned down to the point that running errands through the village was more pleasant than simply bearable.
The house was silent—so silent, in fact, that it occurred to him Sakura might have retreated to the hospital in his absence. She hadn't seemed to be in any type of hurry that morning, since she'd slept in, but he couldn't be sure, because he hadn't bothered to ask.
He strolled inside, intent on taking a shower, but upon opening the door to his bedroom, he found that he wasn't as alone as he'd thought.
His wife—a term that still felt strange on his tongue and weighted heavily on his mind—looked up at sound of his arrival, a smile stretching on her face almost instantly.
"Hey, Sasuke-kun, you're back!" she greeted cheerfully. She was in the middle of the room, surrounded by a dozen of cardboard boxes that he knew were not his own. Dressed in a pair of short, distressed jeans and a grey top, barefoot and with her hair caught in a messy bun, she looked up at him, green eyes sparkling beautifully.
Naruto had warned him she would be bothered by the fact that he had left without a word in the morning following their wedding night. He had been almost sure of the exact opposite and, turned out, he had been right.
So, what was it that bothered him, exactly, about this situation?
"I brought over most of my stuff," she told him. "Thanks for making place for me in your wardrobe, by the way."
"Hn," he grunted in response, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to stand in the doorway. He'd made place for her, but that hadn't constituted a great effort on his part; there had never been a chance for him to fill the room all by himself, in any case.
"Huge closet, by the way," she commented, as though able to read his thoughts, giving a small laugh. "I have more medical books than clothes," she admitted, gesturing towards the stack of large, heavy books by her feet.
The Uchiha cleared his throat and shrugged. "You can store them in the library if you want," he offered.
She beamed up at him. "Thanks, Sasuke-kun." Burying her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, she sighed as she glanced around the room. "I'll try to clean this mess up. And after I'm done with that, I'll go grocery shopping—there isn't much left in the fridge. Would you like anything in particular for dinner tonight?"
"No," he answered, without truly thinking about it. But he never thought much about what he ate, so that had nothing to do with the pinkette.
Sakura smiled. "Alright," she said, before crouching down beside her boxes; she tucked her hair behind her ears and pulled out two more books.
Sasuke moved into the bathroom after that, and by the time he came out, rubbing a towel through his dark locks, the room was as clean as he had left it that morning—and his wife nowhere in sight.
There was something about their interaction that bothered him—as much as he'd tried, there was no denying that anymore. It was nothing serious and possibly not even important; but it was there, and it was unnatural enough for him to take notice.
But perhaps what bothered him even more was the fact that he had no idea what it was and no clue of how to discover it. Because, he'd come to learn in the mere month leading up to their wedding, Sakura wasn't an open book—not anymore, and not to him.
Sasuke was lounging on the couch, in the living room, when his keen ears picked up the sound of the front door opening, then closing. Footsteps that had already become familiar followed, nearing him, growing in intensity until they stopped in the hallway right opposite from his position.
"Sasuke-kun?" a melodic voice called out unsurely. "Are you home?"
"Hn," he grunted, not a bit louder than usual, certain that she would hear him. He had initially assumed that she would be able to feel him, but since she hadn't, he assumed his chakra reserves were even more depleted than he had thought.
"How was your mission?" his wife of two weeks asked as her footsteps moved into what he knew to be the kitchen, probably to leave the groceries in their place.
"Hn," he repeated.
"Are you hurt?"
Hearing the tinge of worry in her voice, he decided to give her a clear response. "No."
The mission had been hell, much too long and much too tiring; he had been gone for two days and not very far from the village, but they had been two action-packed days in an area difficult to access and navigate, even with chakra at his disposal. Naruto had been with him, so his ears were tattered, and to that, he could also add the hot, humid weather they had been forced to endure. The rainy season was approaching fast, which put another damper on his psychological state of mind, because that always made training scarce, hard, and muddy.
No, Uchiha Sasuke was not a happy man at the moment, nor was he relaxed, peaceful, or calm in any way. He had actually been hoping to fall asleep and thus put himself out of his misery, but Sakura's arrival had snapped him out of his relatively pleasant daze.
"Did you enter the kitchen?" she asked yet another question, and after a moment, joined him in the living room. "Sai brought us pictures from our wedding!"
"Hn." All he had done since he returned was stand under the shower and then crash on the couch—and it was all he had in plan for that day.
"Wanna see them?" the pinkette insisted, shifting closer to him. Sasuke opened his eyes and craned his neck to see her sitting on an armchair by his head, clad in a flowery dress and with a thick, yellow folder in her hands. A light was dancing in her eyes and a smile was playing on her lips, but they were nothing new; he saw them every day.
He closed his eyes and turned his head back around. "I've been there, Sakura," he said. The sigh that left his lips sounded more exasperated than he truly felt, but he made no move to correct that.
A moment passed, and he heard her giggle. "I guess," she murmured. "I'll find a place for them. If you're tired, try to sleep. I'll make dinner and wake you when it's ready, alright?"
A grunt, a shuffle of material and another couple of footsteps—and he was alone.
He never asked where she had stored the pictures and he was never told. The topic was never brought up again and he never quite cared enough to suggest it.
In time, he realized that the old picture of Team Seven she had brought from her apartment never left her nightstand. It was also never replaced with something else.
It was already October by the time Sakura, seated crossed-legged on the floor of her husband's surprisingly large walk-in closet, decided it was time for her to neatly organize all of her belongings. All she had done was move them in the morning after her wedding and then push them out of the way; afterwards, she had always been too busy and, in the little free time that she'd had, too lazy to bother with them.
As strange as it had seemed to her fellow colleagues, who had been more than willing to cover all of her shifts and manage, one way or another, to run the hospital in her absence, Sakura had refused the mini-vacation she had been offered and that everybody expected her to welcome with open arms. She had known whom she had married, so she had never assumed, even for a moment, that Sasuke might change his detached behavior or modify his daily routine even the slightest bit after their wedding. He wasn't the type of man who would sweep his wife off her feet and take her on a surprise, unplanned honeymoon; he wasn't even the type of man who would stay indoors and cuddle with her in the mornings. He was a shinobi—an active shinobi who had trained hard his entire life. That being said, the moment she woke up to sunlight streaming in through the windows, a silent house, and the knowledge that her husband had slipped out of the bed to train, exactly as he did every morning, clear in her mind, Sakura had not been surprised in the least. She hadn't felt anger. She hadn't felt annoyance. Instead, she had felt strangely empty.
Tearing down another cardboard box, the pinkette saw no reason to deny the fact that the feeling still lingered. All alone in a house larger than any place she had ever been able to call a home, she believed it was somewhat justified. Sasuke was never quite there, even if only to glare or complain; it hadn't been long into their marriage when she discovered that his usual, daily schedule included very little time spent at home. Whether it was because he was training or busy with missions, Sasuke was never in their house for more than an hour or two, only slightly more when he was tired, and Sakura sincerely hoped that was not something new that had come about because of her presence.
Once she finished placing all of her shoes in a neat row at the bottom of her designated part of the room, she reached for the large white box that held her wedding dress and stood, stretching up on her tiptoes to push it onto a high shelf. Inside, she had also placed the wedding pictures only she had cared enough to riffle through, and the pair of diamond studs that her mother had given her and that she had worn at her wedding, but that she considered to be too precious—and perhaps a tad bit too painful, emotionally speaking—to wear on a day-to-day basis.
Dropping back to her original height after ensuring that the box was secure, Sakura placed her hands on her hips and heaved a sigh. The pink-haired woman had no way of knowing if the feeling swirling inside of her was disappointment, but the truth was that she hoped it was. She hoped it wasn't sadness or acceptance. Most of all, though, she hoped it wasn't nothingness. She hoped that the reason why she couldn't identify what was occurring in her heart was because she didn't know how to untie the knot, not because there wasn't anything there for her to identify. She'd entered her marriage with her heart on her sleeve and, painful or not, she wanted it to remain that way. She wanted to be able to love Sasuke the way he needed and deserved to be loved, and if the emptiness that she had always associated with him—emptiness whose existence had become almost palpable when she accepted his marriage proposal—was already preparing to swallow her whole, Sakura didn't know and she didn't even want to think about what would happen to them.
Thankfully, in the time that he had been gone, she had built a life for herself—a life where almost each day started and ended at the hospital. Some people would label that as sad, but Sakura was a person that needed to be plugged in, to be active, to feel useful. As a powerful kunoichi and an even stronger medic, the pink-haired woman led a hectic existence, but one that she very much adored. So, with her husband never there and the house so full of precious, delicate memories she would hate to disturb, even by mistake, she headed back to work. An explanation of busy schedules and promises of time spent between the newlyweds later on had placated curious people who only meant well and, only a day after her wedding and every one since, Haruno Sakura found herself right back in the thick of things at the Konoha Hospital.
There were times when she doubted herself—occurrences that had become more often than she would want to admit—but, at the end of the day, Sakura knew that, as long as she had her job at the hospital and the occasional mission to unwind, she had where to draw her strength from. And she would be just fine.
Sasuke walked out of the house that afternoon with a raging headache and the intention to spar until it let up or until he was tired enough to fall asleep without it being a hindrance. It was what he usually did in such circumstances, after all, and whether it ended with the first option or the second, it never altogether failed.
He was halfway into the old Uchiha Compound when he spotted a head of messy pink hair and a familiar pair of green eyes. She was crouched down to the level of a small, dark-haired boy, who he could only guess was around seven or eight years old, smiling gently as she spoke words he was too far away to distinguish.
Burying his hands into his pockets, he slowly came to a stop on the side of the road. He could always use his Sharingan to uncover their conversation, but his wife deserved her privacy—not to mention the fact that it was obvious she had most likely finished healing the child from where he had managed to injure himself while playing. It was a common occurrence, nowadays.
It hadn't exactly come as a surprise to him when, only a couple of days after their wedding, as he walked out of the house with Sakura and they started on their way out of the district, more than half of the people living nearby stopped to say hello to her. Everybody loved her—and she loved everybody in return.
Looking over the little boy's shoulder, her gaze caught his, and her smile widened. With a parting word and her hand ruffling his hair one last time, the pinkette stood, her green sweater dress sliding lower on her thighs with the movement, and started to walk in his direction.
"Hi," she greeted once she was in front of him—her grin, if possible, turning even brighter—and without giving him a chance to reply, stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.
Sasuke's eyes snapped open in surprise at the unexpected action, his muscles locking and his brain freezing. Sakura was a caring person by nature, he had known that all along; she had an annoying habit of brushing the hair out of his eyes or grabbing his hand and dragging him over when she felt there was something that he needed to see. But she had never been so bold in her affections, and she had never kissed him in public.
The soft pressure lasted for a total amount of three seconds. He was just about to respond when she dropped down to her original height, breaking the connection, and smiled, somewhat sadly, up at him. With the pure happiness that had been shining in her eyes only a minute prior fresh in his memory, Sasuke was painfully aware of how unreal the emotion displayed on her face currently was.
"I have to pick up some things for dinner tonight," she announced, her voice soft. "I'll see you at home?"
She didn't wait for an answer as she turned and walked in the opposite direction.
Had he been a different type of man, Sasuke would have grabbed her arm, swung her back around and not let her leave until he had the chance to kiss her properly.
But he wasn't.
That was the last time Sakura would initiate a kiss with him, be it in public or in the confines of their home.
The house was silent when he stepped out of the bathroom that day, steam billowing out after him as he ran a towel through his damp hair. He had just returned from a mission, and although he was both hungry and tired, a shower had called for him the most. As he made his way down the stairs to tend to one of his other needs, he heard the front door opening; Sakura, dressed in jeans, a sweater, and high heels, came into view as soon as he reached the landing on the first floor and, when she caught sight of him, a smile she only ever reserved for him stretched on her lips.
"Sasuke-kun! Welcome back," she greeted, cheeks flushed from the cold outside, eyes shining as bright as the sun that refused to show.
It was November in Konoha. The weather was cold, rainy, and gloomy even in his terms, yet it was strangely the time of the year that his wife seemed to enjoy the most.
"How was your mission?" she asked cheerily as she made her way into the kitchen. "Have you eaten?"
He shook his head and she turned hers to seek for his likely non-verbal response.
"I'll make you something, then," she announced and, stripping off her sweater, left herself in a white tank-top.
Following her inside, Sasuke hesitated before taking a seat at the kitchen table. Two months since she married him, and he had yet to become accustomed to her presence in his house—not because he was incomodated by it, but because he still found it hard to believe there was someone else breathing in the air of the Uchiha Manor alongside him. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but it surely was a strange one.
A moment passed in silence.
He cleared his throat.
"It was fine," he said, causing Sakura to turn her head to look at him in confusion. "My mission," he clarified. "It was fine."
She smiled. "I'm glad to hear that," she answered. "It was my free day today. I went shopping with Ino. She's so excited because she's finally started dating Shikamaru. But the day before that, yesterday, Naruto came bounding into my office sporting two broken ribs and a concussion. I swear, that man gets himself in trouble with or without you here…"
Sitting there, listening to her ramble away as she was so prone to doing, Sasuke finally realized why the silence of his cramped tent had felt so out of place. He finally realized why he'd been so eager to return home—almost like never before.
It was because, this time, he actually had a home.
Because someone, consciously or unconsciously, was there, waiting for him.
Because the house wasn't sad and lonely and so terribly oversized anymore. Because it was filled with mindless chatter and feminine perfume and a warmth that he was scarily close to becoming addicted to.
Since she married him, Sakura had been looking forward to her first Christmas with Sasuke. She was well-aware of the fact that holidays meant very little to him, considering how he ignored even his own birthday, so there were almost no occasions that were marked as special on his calendar, but she was confident that she could make Christmas one of them. Not only was it an important holiday for her, but daily life with Sasuke didn't quite give her as many opportunities to show him how much she loved him as she'd thought it would, so she had resolved she would create them herself.
Sometime around September, she readied her battle plan. She would cook him dinner, his favorite dish if she discovered it in time, because he always ate everything she made and never spoke a single comment with regard to the food on his plate. She would decorate the house nicely, but she would avoid any arrangements that she had seen in pictures with his family.
She wouldn't force him to eat chocolate cookies with her and she wouldn't expect a present in any way, shape, or form, but she hoped that, maybe after everything, he would accept her company while he looked over a scroll in the living room. In the little time that he spent indoors, she'd come to know, Sasuke read a lot, and she even had a book in mind that she could give to him as a present.
But as December tagged along, her husband accepted to leave on a mission, and Sakura had known, almost immediately, that he wouldn't be back in time for Christmas. She did her best to hide her disappointment upon hearing the news, though, and she believed she managed; either way, Sasuke was never one to care for such trivial matters.
Usually, Sakura's Christmas Eve was spent at the hospital. There was nothing she loved more than curling up on her couch, with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate, to the smell of cinnamon-scented candles and the lights of the traditional tree; but nothing was as easy as it used to be when she was young, and there were people who had families to spend their holidays with, so she always accepted to switch shifts with them to ensure that they did. Considering she ended up with an entire mini-vacation sometime in January in return, she never minded and never thought much of it. Besides, there were always children in the pediatric ward who wanted a story read to them or elderly people who desired to have a chat. The hospital was never boring, and Christmas was no exception.
With Sasuke gone, the pink-haired medic had thought the routine would live on, undeterred. But it turned out differently, with her ending up being the one sent home once their old floor supervisor, an incredibly nice lady with graying hair and two adorable grandsons that Sakura positively loved, realized what she had in mind.
"Leave," she told her, a gentle smile on her face and a fond, yet stubborn, look in her eyes. "You've taken care of all of us enough. It's our turn. You have a family of your own to head home to now."
Sakura was almost tempted to fight for her right to stay in the hospital during the night if she so wished, but she came to the conclusion that would be foolish. Sasuke leaving had put a damper on her plans, but that didn't mean she couldn't still have a nice time, even by herself, because then again, when was Sasuke ever truly there?
So, she went home, decorated a small Christmas tree she bought on her way, made herself a light dinner, and did exactly what she had been yearning to do for three years and had never found the time again: she curled up on the couch and read a book while sipping from a cup of hot chocolate.
It was hard to have expectations when it came to Sasuke, because he simply never met them. Even when she switched sides and tried to look for the opposite, he always managed to surprise her somehow. Once again, though, she found herself thinking that she should have known. She should have known he wouldn't want to celebrate Christmas and wouldn't care if she did. She had been delusional to hope for a different outcome. Holidays meant nothing to him since he lost his clan. Briefly, Sakura wondered if, once she gave him a child and a family again, he would change his mind—or if he would forever remain the cold, distanced man who preferred training and long missions to time spent in the comfort of his home. And, as usual when it came to Sasuke, she found that she had no response; she didn't know and she didn't want to hope.
However, Sakura took a secret delight in the fact that she was the only one who could give this to him. Naruto would always be the one who saved him, the one who Sasuke confided in, because Naruto understood more than she did. Kakashi would always be the one whose advice Sasuke would listen to and then follow. She would always be the one whose words did not count. But she could do this for him—she could give him a family. Out of all the beautiful women out there, women that would do anything to have him, he had chosen her, he had asked her, and she wouldn't fail him. She'd told him once that she'd do anything for him, she'd promised him that, and she wouldn't back down on her promise even if it killed her.
All in all, it was an enjoyable holiday. It was relaxing, and for the first time since she moved in, the pink-haired woman felt truly cozy and at home in her husband's large childhood house. It was calm, it was peaceful, and the truth was that, despite what others thought, Sakura was used to being alone. Their first Christmas as husband and wife served to reiterate very well what she had already made clear for herself: with or without Sasuke there, she would be fine.
So, when he came home from his mission the following night, nearly tripping over his own feet with exhaustion and sporting various gashes that still bled crimson red over the floors of their home, Sakura looked after him. She healed his wounds, washed his skin, and settled him into bed. She watched over him as he slept and brushed his hair away from his forehead. Then, in the morning, she woke up before him and made him breakfast, greeting him with a bright smile that had him bewildered.
Eventually, she concluded that the quiet 'thank you' he gave her sent a more powerful emotion through her than the excitement she used to feel when she was a child, waking up early on Christmas mornings to see what Santa had placed for her under the tree.
When Sakura was awakened one cold January night by Sasuke's drowned scream, she immediately jumped into a sitting position, her brain—loaded with exhaustion that had piled up from hospital shifts and missions—having trouble, at first, processing what had happened. It sent no impulse for her hand to reach for the kunai under her pillow, though. It seemed to know, instinctively, that there was no danger—there was something more than that.
Her head jerking to the side, where the sharp noise had come from, she was met with the sight of her husband trashing in his sleep, his brows furrowed as if he were in pain, his hair messy and sticking to sweaty forehead, the covers twisted around his body in such a manner that it made her wonder for how long she had remained oblivious to his movements. Every trace of sleep in her system dissipating into thin air as her mind kicked into overdrive, she immediately shifted to her knees and moved to his side of the bed, crossing the empty distance in between that neither of them ever dared to touch during the night.
Biting her lip as she worriedly stared down at his shivering form, she briefly wondered how the best way to proceed was.
She'd known Sasuke had nightmares. He'd had them when he was genin, he'd had them in the hospital, after the war, and he'd had them during the few missions that they'd gone on as a team after he was done with his probation. From a medical and psychological point of view, that was completely normal. His nightmares would never stop, quite possibly not even with medication. In fact, they might be the manner in which his brain tried to confront the monsters that Sasuke, while conscious, would never find the power to face; in the long run, they might even turn out to be helpful. But that didn't mean Sakura's heart twisted any less painfully every time she woke up to his whimpers.
It didn't happen all that often—something told her he'd learned to suppress his reactions even in his sleep—and she hadn't yet had the chance to discover what soothed him best. Sometimes, she would brush her fingers through his hair and that would be enough. Other times, she would need to gather him into her arms and whisper in his ear promises that she would never be able to keep. Sometimes, his whimpers would fade, and his body would melt into her embrace, where it would remain for the majority of the night, until he shifted and she felt compelled to move away, lest he should awaken and be bothered by her proximity. Other times, exactly that would happen—he would be startled awake and he would push her away; sometimes turning his back to her with an annoyed huff, others flinging the covers off him and leaving the room. On either occasion, Sakura's sleep would be whisked away for the remaining hours of the night.
Her green eyes stinging with the familiar sensation of hot tears, she lied down beside him, gently gathering him in her arms, cradling his head to her chest as he continued to whimper softly, lost in the torturous world of his dreams. Her heart felt heavy, slowly splintering into pieces as she buried her face into his messy hair and placed a soft, comforting kiss to his temple. How she wished she were able to take his pain away… It was hardly even surprising anymore—the lengths she would go to for this man. She would rather deal with her own nightmares every time she closed her eyes than have him wake up panting one more time.
"Shh, Sasuke-kun," she murmured softly, even when she knew he couldn't hear her. "It's alright. I'm here. It's fine."
She felt him awaken, heard his breath hitch and saw his body tense. His ragged breathing stalled, and a fist curled into the side of her nightgown—but, this time, Sakura refused to let go, step aside and pretend the incident never happened. Instead, she continued to hold him tightly against her body, hoping with all her might that her boldness would at least let him know, yet again, that she was there for him—even if he hated it. Perhaps he was so used to being alone, to handling everything by himself, that he had no idea that he actually needed someone, that he needed her. Perhaps he needed her to show him.
As she ran a soothing hand through his hair, Sasuke closed his eyes. Swallowing, he allowed himself a brief moment of weakness as his heartbeat calmed down, as his muscles uncoiled and his mind whirled down from its high, the monsters of his past receding into their darkened corners. Sakura continued to whisper softly in his ear, her small hands smoothing out the tangles in his hair, her lips brushing against the skin of his temple—a ritual he woke up to every other night. He couldn't decipher her words, the task too complex for the remains of his tattered attention; all he could understand was her body, her heat, and the voice that drowned the roaring in his head, soothing him down to his very core.
All too soon, the moment passed. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his body and his resolve and pulled away, weakly swatting her arms from around his neck. "Don't touch me," he muttered, suddenly annoyed and frustrated—with her care, with his weakness, with his inability to stop his walls from crumbling in her comforting presence.
Shifting back, Sakura looked at him with bright green eyes that shone with uncertainty; she was clearly unsure of what to do, of how to help.
Sasuke wished she would leave him alone. He wished she would not be there, he wished she would leave, he wished she would have never had to witness him in such a state. He wished she would forget about the demons that haunted him, forget about the way he trashed in bed almost every night, forget about the way he would cling to her as if he was worthy and needy of her embrace. He wished she would stop being so ready to support him. He wished she would see that, while he had been traumatized by a childhood no one should have, many of his monsters he had invited into his life. He wished she would see that he was not innocent. He wished she would see and acknowledge the fact that maybe he deserved to awaken every night in a pool of sweat and tears. Mostly, though, he wished she would stop searching his eyes, every night and every morning, in search for evidence that he was alright—because he never would be, and he was tired of not once meeting her expectations.
Making up her mind, Sakura reached out for him, only to have him pull even further away.
She blinked. "Sas—"
"Don't touch me," he spat with more vehemence, leaving the bed.
His hair was tousled, his shirt was rumpled, his onyx orbs tired and bloodshot; anyone could glance at him and see a disarmed child instead of a cold man, but Sakura saw the ice in his gaze—it was the most familiar aspect of their marriage.
Swallowing, she shifted closer to him, still kneeling; deciding, for the first time, not to back down. "Sasuke-kun," she whispered, attempting to reason with him as she gazed up at him with eyes that she hoped with all her might transmitted the trust she wished he would have in her and all the comfort she wished he would let her offer him. "Sasuke-kun, I understand."
Reaching up, she tried to cup his face in her hands, but he roughly grabbed her wrists and kept her at a distance.
"I understand," she insisted. "Just talk to me. Maybe it will make you feel better. How can you know when you've never tried? You can trust me. I would never—"
"Shut up, Sakura!" he roared, abruptly letting go of his hold on her and pushing her back. "Shut up! You don't understand! You never fucking did, and you never fucking will! You speak all the goddamn time, yet how much do you actually get? Nothing, Sakura! I'm sick of hearing your voice! Shut up!"
Sakura had to make an active effort to push her tears back as the door slammed shut behind him, though one still escaped, spilling from her wide eyes to trail a path down her cheek. Releasing a shuddering breath, she closed her eyes and sat back on her heels, stopping for a second to rewind the moment and wonder when exactly it was that everything had taken a turn for the worst.
But, she later realized, she needn't have done that. She'd known all along what the problem was: that she truly didn't understand him and that, perhaps even more importantly, he didn't want her to. She'd known what she'd had to face long before she married him. She should have also known when to step back. Because Sasuke didn't need someone to criticize him, to yell at him, to shake him, to hit him or to try to teach him lessons he would now never learn. He needed someone to love him—unconditionally.
And Sakura had long since come to terms with the fact that that might as well be her mission in life, the reason why she was brought into this world: not to mend a man broken beyond repair, but to try, without stopping, to support him.
The moment Sasuke stepped into the house early the following morning, he was assaulted with the smell of warm, freshly-cooked breakfast. His brows furrowed—part in confusion, part in annoyance caused by his inability to understand the situation—but he made his way into the kitchen regardless of that.
He found his wife setting a full plate on the table, in the space that he had silently deemed as his from the beginning of their marriage.
"I made breakfast," she stated the obvious in a soft voice. "I hope you like it. I don't know what your favorite is, but I made sure it has tomatoes in it." Glancing up at him, she tried to smile—and failed.
Part of him wanted to turn around and leave. That part of him was still upset—upset at her for witnessing his weakness and at himself for allowing her to—and even though it was an irrational feeling, it was still the one he was most used to.
But something told him to stay. Something reminded him of the fact that, while he'd trained the entire night, he'd also had time to clear his head and reach some much-desired conclusions.
Taking the remaining steps towards the table, he pulled out a chair for himself, sat down, and pretended not to see the way her shoulders sagged in apparent relief. Sakura busied herself for another moment with bringing her own plate of food to the table, before she also sat down, across from him, and gazed at him with large, green eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, suddenly and out of the blue, and he was struck with the realization of how much she genuinely seemed to regret her past actions. It was as if she was completely sure that she'd done something wrong, that she'd crossed a boundary she shouldn't have.
And, as many hurtful words as he'd thrown at her the night before, the truth was that Sasuke wasn't so sure about that himself.
"I shouldn't have pried," she continued, sliding her gaze down to her breakfast. "I should have known. I won't do it again."
Sasuke had planned to apologize. He had—it was one of the many conclusions he had reached. He had been unfair to her because, as keen as he was on keeping his demons private, all that she had tried to do was help. It was all she ever did. So, he had promised himself that he would tell her that; he would tell her that he was sorry—not for telling her to stay out of his business, but for yelling at her and for not appreciating the support she'd been trying to give him all along.
But she made it so easy for him. She didn't ask for explanations and she apologized even though it wasn't her fault in the least. Sasuke was already having trouble finding his words. How could he force himself to do so when she seemed so keen on proving him that she was fine without them?
So, he maintained his mouth shut, and they had breakfast in silence. After that, he retreated to their bedroom, where he took a shower and then settled on the bed for some much-needed rest.
Sakura, on the other hand, donned her most elegant black dress and headed out of the house; she stopped at Ino's on her way, though not for a lovely, early-morning chat, but for a bouquet of sweet-smelling flowers.
The cemetery was her next destination.
From that day onwards, the pink-haired woman made it a habit to place fresh flowers on the grave of her in-law parents every Sunday morning. She never spent much time there, not wanting to intrude, unsure of what Sasuke would say if he knew, unsure of what his own parents would make of her if they were alive. But she went every week, without fail.
She didn't forget about Itachi, either. Every Monday, before her shift at the hospital, she would stop by the memorial stone and place a single daffodil on the cold stone. It wasn't much and it probably mattered even less, but it was the only way she knew to express her gratitude for the man who had loved Sasuke unconditionally for all of his life. Other than promising him—and the family he had tragically ended—that she would take care of him in return, there was little else she could do.
And, even if she wanted to love him, to heal him, to listen to his troubles, to wrap him up in her arms and protect him from everything, to pulverise the monsters that haunted him and the enemies that followed him… even if she wanted to be there for him in every imaginable way, Sakura forced herself to understand and resign herself to the fact that he might never allow her that, that he might keep her at arm's length for the rest of their lives, no matter what she said, did, thought or felt.
She would have to understand that, yes—even if it killed her, a little more each day, on the inside.
A/N: So sorry for the long wait—and, as usual, for the amount of time it took me to edit this chapter! I also know it's considerably shorter than the first one, but I promise the next updates will be longer and more action-packed.
Please drop me a review saying what you thought! Your feedback means a lot to me!
(Also, if you haven't already found out, there's a project on Tumblr set to offer help to the Philippines. I've reblogged it, so go see if there's anything you can do to help!)