Method of Loci

Sakura comes to in a random bed, noticing there's enough room for three adults but she has been left alone. The black cotton sheets and thick down duvet are untouched except for her own obvious tossing and turning throughout the night. The room has blackout curtains, and there's only one pillow for her.

"Where the hell am I?" Sakura mutters to herself, still testing out all her senses as they come back online after a hard reset. She checks under the covers and realizes she's still wearing her work outfit. Her phone is charging on the dark mahogany bedside table next to a Camelback water bottle filled with red Gatorade, painkillers, and peppermint dark chocolate patties. Her phone reads 3:46 AM.

"Ew," she mutters, rubbing the side of her face and finding dried saliva across her cheek. Sakura tentatively takes the painkillers and water bottle before heading to the connected bathroom. It's fully stocked like a hotel resort, filled with tiny amenities, including some night clothes. Three brand new women's pajama sets are hung up in the rack behind the door; tags still attached, vintage Ralph Lauren Purple Label. The patterns give away their age. Sakura has not seen anything this particular shade of brown since elementary school, definitely nothing that was bought recently. Maybe '90s trends really come back strong.

Sakura peels off her shirtdress, sticky from dried sweat and tears. Every nerve in her body is having a hard time waking up and reregulating. She might not know where she is, but whatever lies beyond the edge of the bedroom doorframe can wait until after Sakura feels like an actual human again.

She showers, brushes her teeth, eats the dark chocolate, and throws away the peppermint insides of the candy in the empty bathroom wastebin. Her phone's location shows that she's only two blocks away from her downtown office.

'Ugh. I'm probably at Dr. Senju's. Tsunade is the only one I know that could afford a place this nice. She's going to hate me,' Sakura thinks while drying her hair. Her mind stings at the thought of the crisis. In opening the blackout curtains of the master bedroom, Sakura reveals floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the glittering nightly beauty of downtown Konoha below. Sakura is on the topmost floor.

"Tsunade lives in a skyline apartment?!" she exclaims, searching for her purse. But she soon realizes it's not an apartment; it's a penthouse.

In every empty room, Sakura finds personal touches: an office filled with ornate cherry oak furniture and outdated legal texts from 1994, 1995, and 1996; an untouched child's room with intricate Lego sets fully completed and rock band posters; and another bedroom, possibly belonging to a teenager away at college, filled with Taekwondo trophies and walls adorned with frames of a young boy sporting the same long, dark ponytail throughout the years of action shots. Many photos feature an unrelated man with spiky brown hair wearing an eyepatch and a coach's windbreaker. Some contain cameos of a young mom with the same dark hair, slender nose, and high cheekbones. Only one photo sits on the dresser next to the untouched bed, containing a picture of the teenager with a laughing little boy. It is the only picture in the entire room where the teenager has a wide, bright smile. At the top of the outdated bedframe, a singular name is carved into the wood: Itachi.

The same name Sasuke said before Sakura lost her grip on reality.

Sakura unravels the clues slowly, giving her mind the time and space to digest the implicit stories told in each untouched bedroom.

"What are you doing here?"

She turns around, scared out of her mind because there's just a random tall and muscular man behind her. She screams at the top of her lungs before taking in the sight before her.

"Sasuke!"

"Haruno! Stop! My neighbors are going to hear!" Sasuke responds, trying to calm her down.

'Neighbors? What neighbors? This place takes up at least the top two floors of this building,' Sakura thinks to herself.

"Haruno...?" Sasuke prompts.

Still hyperventilating and in shock, Sakura can't get over how much more handsome Sasuke is without his signature cardigans. She can't even speak, let alone respond.

"I've literally never heard you be this quiet, Haruno," Sasuke remarks. "It's kind of nice." That stupid, hot smoldering look is all over his face, irritating Sakura beyond recognition.

"Shut up, Sasuke! Fuck, how do you have the energy to be annoying in the middle of the night?"

"It's a talent," Sasuke groans, rubbing the back of his neck with a flexed hand.

"Well, get a new one," Sakura dismisses him.

Sakura takes a deep breath and tries to compose herself, taking in the sight of Sasuke in front of her. He looks different than usual, his hair swept back and wearing a dark shirt that shows off his toned physique and grey sweatpants. Sakura finds herself admiring his relaxed form, having never seen Sasuke look so casual. He looks at ease, much less regulated and masked than he appears at work. Peace enhances the beauty of Sasuke's build, lending a warmth to the hard planes of his shoulders, arms, and chest.

It is a small difference, but noticeable to Sakura's keen eye, nonetheless. She knows him; Sakura knows him so well. A blush at her cheek blooms when Sakura notices there's no mask here for him. Sasuke is like a jaguar in the wild, completely at ease and lacking all the tension that normally rolls off of him while caged. There's no additional performance. A simple apex predator, completely in control of this environment. A carnivore with no need for defense, free to roam.

Sasuke raises an eyebrow at her, seeming amused by the visible flush on Sakura's face. "Are you going to answer my question, Haruno?"

Sakura blinks, realizing she has lost the question Sasuke had asked. "I-I don't know," she stammers, knowing that she can't remember.

He gestures for her to follow him and leads her beyond the bedrooms to the living room, where Sasuke hands her a cup of tea. Heavy lavender wafts up from the dark cup, its color pastel indicating Sakura's usual milk, cream, and sugar additions. A single sip confirms; Sasuke memorized her daily order.

Sakura takes a grateful sip and looks around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. The penthouse is modern and luxurious, with sleek furniture and expensive artwork on the walls. The sharp shadows from the lack of overhead lights bring a somber atmosphere. There are pieces of Sasuke that are at home here: his luxurious cotton cardigans, his fine pressed shirts, his Bentley with the stitched leather seats. At every corner and within all the shadows in the dimly lit penthouse lies new surprises: treated leather couches, granite countertops, stainless steel details, and not one but two ovens in the wall. Each piece of Sasuke's world seemingly ready to grow arms and legs, to push her out, to kick her out, and to keep him in.

The silence is not comforting, not the way it normally is between Sasuke and her.

"So who lives here?" she asks, taking another sip of her tea.

Sasuke looks at her, giving Sakura a clear look into his eyes. Torment. There is none of that earlier joy, the earlier mirth that Sasuke shares with her. The answer to the question she just asked pains Sasuke. The eye contact is just as powerful between the two of them as it has ever been, giving Sasuke enough time to truly consider what he will reveal. With a more exhausted vocal fry, Sasuke simply reveals: "No one lives here."

Behind his glasses, Sasuke's eyes reflect comfortability with that torment. That pain. His never-ending melancholia. The storm brewing within his dark eyes. Those feelings are just as fitting of this setting as the rest of the luxurious décor.

'What has Sasuke seen here?'

Sakura breaks the ice, "I did what you said."

Sasuke replies, "What do you mean?"

"I screened for firearms in the home," she continues, "It's the first thing you taught me."

Sasuke takes a gulp of his own drink. "Ah."

'Avoidant. So we have the old Sasuke back.'

The silence between the two lovers feels heavy against Sakura's skin. The terrors seeping from the walls grow mouths, begging her to continue. There's something here that needs freeing, some tragedy that creates this palace of memories. Something that gives Sasuke his title as Prince of this kingdom.

Sakura breaks through the heavy wall of silence, asking, "How did you know?"

"Mm?"

"Screening for firearms is not standard protocol for psychological evaluations or intakes. It's not a part of the Boards exam. How did you know to teach me that?" Sakura inquired.

"And childhood trauma," Sasuke adds nonchalantly.

Sakura nods before continuing, "Yes. So how did you know?"

Sasuke's eyes close. The smallest smile breaks through, shaking his head as if laughing at an inside joke in the middle of a funeral. "Things happened," is all he says, not sharing with Sakura.

"Things with guns?"

"Mm," Sasuke repeats, confirming nothing and everything at once.

"Things with that teenager."

Sasuke nods, clarifying: "My brother."

Sakura connects some pieces of the puzzle. "Itachi. That's your brother's name."

Another nod from him. Sakura knows she's pushing her luck, but Sasuke doesn't seem like he will lash out at her like he otherwise would have. Sasuke is giving her all the answers to her questions. This is practiced for him; he's told this piece of his life over and over. There's no need for a defense mechanism here. Her being here… Sakura being at the place where Sasuke was forged in a trial by fire… It means something. It's important to him. So she continues, faking confidence when all she wants is to scream at every piece of furniture anchoring Sasuke to this mystery.

"Things with… that Taekwondo coach?"

"Danzo," he readily provides. "Coach Danzo."

"Oh," is all Sakura can bring herself to say. A small acknowledgement, just enough affirmation to crack the storytelling capabilities hidden deep within Sasuke. Eye contact broken, with two cups of tea quickly cooling before them, Sakura allows Sasuke to fill the silence for the first time. Sasuke speaks slowly, tentative yet confident. He knows this story and knows people will interject. There is enough space for gasps, outbursts, and disbelief.

But Sakura knows better. She's a great clinician. So she listens.

Sasuke's story falls from his mouth like a heavy miasma, filling every crevice of his penthouse, choking away the present with poisonous gas. As a young boy, Sasuke's older brother was an internationally ranked martial artist. Teenage Itachi was always away from his dearest younger brother, filling his schedule with overnight trips to training, to competitions, to skills development camps. Sasuke was much too young to remember when his parents began trusting Danzo as temporary guardian for Itachi during travels, but it started happening more and more frequently. Sasuke spent increasingly less time with his brother and the weariness wore down on Itachi.

One day while Sasuke was in elementary school, he waited for someone to come pick him up: his parents, a chauffeur, maybe even Danzo himself. Instead, Sasuke waited at the private school gates for hours. Finally, a nondescript Toyota Corolla came into the empty parking lot. His oldest cousin arrives with his friend, a grey haired man despite his young age: Obito Uchiha and Kakashi Hatake, a pediatric therapist.

In the most appropriate terms for an eight-year-old, Kakashi counsels Sasuke. He explains to a young Sasuke that all three of them will be going to Obito's house and they'll all be staying there a while. Sasuke can't go home because something bad happened. No, Sasuke can't call his mommy. His daddy either. Big Brother also can't talk to him. Itachi did something very bad, but Mr. Hatake and Big Cousin Obito are here to help with everything.

And that's how Sasuke found out that Danzo – Coach Danzo, a dear family friend to the Uchiha family – abused Itachi every time the two were alone. The manipulation broke Itachi: physically, emotionally, sexually. And when he tried talking to their parents, the two Uchiha lawyers told Itachi to bear it until he went off to college in three more years. His parents cared more about a potential scholarship or Olympics medal than Itachi's safety.

"So he killed them," Sasuke ends, voice dry and without emotion. "They're all just… gone. They all left. Everyone always leaves; everyone always will leave."

The puzzle pieces all fit into their spaces in Sakura's mind: Sasuke assumes everyone leaves because they all have. There it is. Anyone he really, truly loves will leave him. That's how Sakura triggers Sasuke – has triggered Sasuke for a long time. The depth of how much he has cared for her scares him, because his pattern-making screams at him that she will leave him. It doesn't matter that Sasuke cares about Sakura and his parents and his brother and his oldest cousin and his childhood therapist in very different ways; so long as he cares for them deeply enough, Sasuke's brain knows that love isn't enough to make someone stay.

Sakura looks around, allowing Sasuke to pull her away from the kitchen. Poisonous memories deflate from the hallways, seeping back into the walls, the floorboards, and the immaculate furniture as he leads her away from the perfectly maintained rooms that once belonged to him and his family twenty years ago. The memories coat every surface in a fine layer of blood and tears. For a couch is not just a couch; it's where Sasuke's father read storybooks to him before bed every night. Curtains are not simply there to close off light; they are the last decorations that Sasuke's mother ordered. Lego figurines are not simply toys; they are the one bonding activity that Sasuke shared with his big brother before he left forever. And as Sasuke's lips crash onto herself and he pulls her into his bed, Sakura understands that "I love you" isn't just a way to communicate your feelings; it's the last thing Sasuke ends up saying before his life shatters and breaks one fall afternoon when he was just a boy.

END OF CHAPTER TWELVE.