Sakura watches as his back gets smaller, fading away until he disappeared over the edge of the horizon. She hasn't cried. Something in the look on his face as he tapped her forehead had sapped her need to cry. There were promises suspended in that stare, and they comforted her, without even knowing what they were.
Instead of crying, she finds herself on the same grassy hill Shikamaru often chose for cloud watching when they were young. The sun is brilliantly orange and pink, and the last of the day's warmth seeps through her skin. She feels so strangely content and the wind tousles her hair around her shoulders. It's longer now, but it bothers her less than it did before.
The desk in Sakura's apartment is ruthlessly organized. She is currently sitting at her desk, staring at the invitation to Naruto and Hinata's wedding. It's tomorrow. Sakura had bought a dress the week prior, and it hangs on the edge of her closet door, ready for the morning. Next to the invitation is the letter she received from Sasuke the day before. It was short, a simple apology to her and Naruto for not being able to make it home in time. She knew he wasn't coming home long before he sent the letter, but it still left an ache in her chest.
Their letters were few and far between, and more than she ever could have hoped for. He was always brief, but they were addressed to her, and just her. He told her about the people he met, and food he ate, and the places he'd been. For now, it is more than enough.
And on the nights when she lie in her bed with her eyes wide open, she would think about the feel of that tap on her forehead, and somehow she knew it meant more. It dulled the ache enough for her to sleep.
Sakura likes to spend her evenings on her hill. She'll pack her dinner, and lie with her toes in the soft grass and watch the sunset set the sky on fire. Naruto asked to join her once, but she declined gently. She enjoyed this time alone in a way she never could before the war. It was quiet, and the breeze rustled the leaves of the oak trees, and her mind felt clear and free.
Sakura loves it most during the month of June. Everything os a lush green, and summer flowers dot the open field at the base of the hill. She breathes in the scent of soil and grass, her fingers running through the blades absentmindedly. She lets the sun warm her face, eventually leaning back. The sun had not yet started it's descent when she drifted off to sleep, but when she wakes, the sky is a violent splash of orange and red, and she stares, transfixed. She hears a contented hum from behind her, and she turns,
and there he is- as if he is part of the hillside itself. His hair is longer, pinned down by the bindings around his head. His cloak is torn and dirty, his eyes tired.
"Sasuke," she breathes, but the breeze snatches all its sound.
He's by her side in the blink of an eye, She drinks in the sight of his face, tanned and relaxed in a way she is utterly unfamiliar with.
"Hey," she tries, peaking up at him through her lashes. "Welcome home."
He's looking at her in a way she can't even begin to understand.
"I'm not here to stay." he says, and his voice seems deeper than when they last spoke. It rattles her bones and raises goosebumps on her arms.
There's a silent beat, and she schools her features into the pleasant, professional mask she's perfected.
"Oh? What brought you here?" she asks, and it tastes like nickel in her mouth.
"I want you to come with me."
She feels his gaze burning on her back as she turns to face the sunset, watching as the last sliver of sun slips below the horizon and the deep blue of the night creeps in at the corners of the sky.
"I'd like that."