"Hey! I'd been wondering where you went."
She freezes, forges a friendly smile. "Oh, I've been helping out at the hospital." Guilt, why does she feel all this guilt?
"That's very generous of you." A pause, then: "What does Gaara think about it? I'm sure he must be grateful."
She falters, feels her heart stutter. "To be honest I haven't seen him yet. I think he's busy right now—I actually have to get ready too." Gaara, she kissed Gaara. The Kazekage. Suna's weapon. A tool.
"You're leaving again?"
She pauses, chews her lip, averts her gaze. "Well, yes. Sasuke's taking me to dinner, he wants us to catch up. We haven't seen each other in months, you know." Incapable of love. Blood-red, jagged skin. It's a scar, cut into flesh.
Temari doesn't reply straight away, instead she stares for a while before clearing her throat. "Of course. Please, don't let me hold you up; you must be dying for refreshment after such a long day."
She nods just a little too quickly, hopes the blonde doesn't notice. "Thank you, you're right." She starts walking, hesitates, adds: "Have a nice evening!" A scar, for all the world to see: love written in blood.
"You too, Sakura," Temari says. "Oh! And if you do run into Gaara, tell him I've been looking for him."
She manages a smile, brittle as bones. "Will do..." Kill her, he'd said; a being incapable of love, shaped by coarse sand, murderous intent—right? A tool for the slaughter with claws of dust, burying her until she could breathe no more. Her feet are leaden, weighed down by the imminent revelation of his rejection—what will Temari do once she knows? She shakes those thoughts, locks them away, smothered and secret, thinks of it no more. She heads for his room, decides now would be a good time to move her possessions; she won't be staying there anymore. She packs everything up, doesn't look beyond her own belongings, refuses to be reminded, yet can't help the look of longing she sends his bed—their sanctuary, almost.
"Why do you trust me?"
She averts her gaze, takes her bags, releases a shaky breath. What had been the point? She wonders at there even being one, supposes perhaps neither of them know. She carries everything to the guest-room, drops down on the bed, fills her lungs with air devoid of him, and can't help but feel hollowed by his absence.
His eye flicks down her body, takes in her appearance without comment, expression unchanging. She wonders if she should have worn a dress; he'd said he liked it, right? She shifts her weight, wraps her arms around herself, offers him a nervous smile.
"Let's go," he says as he turns, waiting for her to follow. She does, tucking her hair behind her ear, attempting to subdue the slight trembling of her hands. The sun has started to lower, casting the world in hues of orange, washing the midnight blues from Sasuke's hair and transforming it to a shade of brown. It suits him, she thinks, imagining the added warmth to somehow reach inside him.
"How have your patrols been?" she tries, hoping to fill the heavy silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing the drum of her heart.
"There were some casualties today. We're supposed to find the culprits." He doesn't glance her way, instead stares straight ahead; into the crowd of people, observing their faces.
"Sounds horrible."
"Yes, you wouldn't like it; whoever's responsible is ruthless." She's affronted at the confidence behind his statement, doesn't like the way he assumes her feelings. "At any rate I'm glad you're not involved." Does he think her too weak, too easily frightened?
"You are one of the bravest shinobi I have ever met."
She swallows, eagerly changes the topic. "I've volunteered at the hospital," she offers with a smile, relieved to see him catch the expression.
"You have?" He raises a brow, returns his eye to the road. "I suppose they would appreciate the extra hands. You're a decent medic." Decent? After all her efforts, is that what he really thinks? It disappoints her, leaves her feeling unusually vexed—though she's never thought too highly of herself, surely she deserves more credit, doesn't she?
"You have too many talents to be jealous of anyone else's."
No. She silences those memories, forces them from her mind. Sasuke is right: she hates ruthlessness and she should be glad she's not involved in such a dangerous mission—besides, she's definitely not the best medic out there, decent is a gracious enough label. She offers another smile, rubs her arm. "Yes, I've been enjoying it a lot. The people here are very nice, and I've already made several friends with the nurses."
"Hn." He nods, halts his walk, raises a hand towards the building on his right. "We're here."
She starts, snaps her gaze to the entrance, recognises the familiar restaurant. "Of course," she smiles sheepishly, feels her cheeks warm.
He holds the door for her, causing her blush to deepen, her teeth digging into her lip as she thanks him. This is it, she reminds herself, their first actual date, all she's ever wanted. The thought fills her with giddy excitement, her hands jittery and skin hot. They're shown to their seats by a waiter, placed not too far from where Sakura dined with the sand-siblings. Her eyes purposely avoid the area, not wanting to be distracted; this night is all about Sasuke and she. They place their orders, and it's much easier to forget about the redhead so long as she focuses on her company; eyes roaming his sun-kissed features, the way his hair covers his face, the straight line of his lips. The soft lighting of the restaurant suits him, smooths out the sharp contours of his chiseled appearance, awards him a more sympathetic countenance. That is, until he starts speaking.
"Have you seen the Kazekage today?"
She stiffens, feels a familiar weight in her chest. "No... I've been too busy." She doesn't want to think about him, not right now, but the mention brings forth a flood of memories—his voice, his scent, his lips. She finds herself touching her own, wondering how it could be she still tastes him upon them.
Sasuke nods. "I couldn't find him after this morning. I thought the two of you were friends."
Friends, nothing more. She recalls him saying he doesn't want a relationship, reminding herself of his frankness, thinking he'd at least been truthful from the start—Gaara is painfully honest...
"Sometimes it's those who don't want it who need it the most."
No. Kill her, those were his words. He was losing control, all because of her, and she reminds herself; Gaara is a weapon, incapable of love, raised to kill. He's admitted as much, spoke of how he hurt a lot of people—including her. She clears her throat, forces a smile, quickly changes the topic: "I've been thinking I should head back home tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm not here on a mission, and since my departure was rather sudden I'm sure I'm missed at the hospital and..."
"Stay." She's waiting for him to say he'd like her to, but it never comes.
She shakes her head, forces her voice past the lump in her throat. "You could come with me, you know, return together."
Their food arrives, interrupting their conversation, her suggestion left in the air between them. She watches his expression, awaits the eagerness she's sure to be there. Instead he narrows his eye, leans forward, folds his hands before his lips. "I'm not planning on returning to Konoha just yet."
She falters, looks down at her plate, notes the turning of her stomach despite its savoury contents. "Still, I think I should. My responsibilities are there."
"What's another few days? I'm sure they can manage without you." His voice is sharper than she likes, a hint of annoyance audible in its tone.
She frowns, continues to look down, feels her face heat, an uncomfortable pang shooting through her chest. "Yes, but I don't-"
"You're with me, aren't you? Isn't that enough?" What if it isn't anymore? "I prefer this," he continues, "to be alone with you." No one to meddle, she thinks. His hand covers hers, fingers wrapping around her palm. "I'd like for us to become more than friends."
She doubts they were truly friends to begin with, but shakes those mutinous thoughts. "Sasuke, I..."
"Sakura," he interrupts, tilts his head to catch her eye, "I'm serious. Do you think you could do it? Give me a chance, that is."
She meets his gaze, feels his thumb stroke her hand, believes the sincerity of his request. She takes a deep breath, glances at their joined limbs, thinks how odd it feels to have him touch her. "Of course," she says, willing herself to give in to it—accept this stranger's skin.
He smiles, releases her, picks up his chopsticks. "I'm happy to hear it." She should be happy too. "It's been on my mind a lot," he admits. "I've been thinking about my future. What it is I want moving forward." She nods, follows his example, feels glad on his behalf. "Atoning for what I've done has been my priority, but..." he pauses, rests his chin in his palm, and she feels this is the most transparant he's ever been. "I also need my clan. A family, a home to return to. In short, I need you in my life, Sakura."
It's a lot of responsibility, she can't help but think. Two people could hardly be considered a clan, even if you throw a baby in the mix. She understands his need for a family, agrees it would do him good to move on—but could reviving the clan even be considered as such? "I'm honoured," she says instead, fingers trailing down her neck, coming to rest above her heart, surprised to feel the golden pendant. She flinches away from its touch, quickly tries to squash the emotions it awakens. "You could start by telling me about your travels, first?" It's the only form of distraction she can think of.
He complies, tells her all about the places he's been, the people he's helped. She can tell, even though he doesn't quite show it, how much his travels—and the lives impacted—mean to him. It's the first thing to make her genuinely smile, and she listens on with rapt attention, appreciative of his desire to make a difference in the world.
He doesn't touch her as they walk, instead keeps his distance, the space between them filled with questions. Why now? Why her? Why here? She's agreed to stay a few more days, reasoning she could at least continue to work, thinking how much she enjoys helping out. Still, every additional day in Suna increases the likelihood of encountering Gaara, and she isn't sure she could handle the humiliation. The longer they're apart, the more she's convinced of her having ruined their friendship, and she wonders if he'd ever have kissed her if she hadn't pushed for it—most likely not.
"You don't have to continue to stay here," Sasuke says, shaking her from her thoughts. "There's still rooms available in my hotel."
They've arrived at the Kazekage mansion, its tall form looming over them. "Thank you," she replies, thinking he's right; she shouldn't be here, even if it feels like home. "I'll see if I can arrange for a room tomorrow, take my time to gather my things."
"You could take them now. I could wait here."
She freezes, finds herself at a loss for words, tucks her hair behind her ear. "I... I don't know, it's so sudden."
He shrugs, tips his head. "It's a bit strange, isn't it? You staying with two single men?"
"They're my friends." Except they're not—how well does she even know Kankuro? They're acquaintances at best, and as for Gaara, well... her staying with him could definitely be considered strange, especially after what happened. But Sasuke doesn't know that, does he? No, she assures herself, he would never think it; he's already implied as much. "I like Temari a lot. I'm sure she'd be disappointed to see me leave so soon."
Sasuke turns away, eye directed down the street with an unreadable look. She wonders what goes through his mind, his features kept perfectly composed, filling her with an increasing sense of uncertainty as time wears on. "Alright," he finally says, pausing before returning his attention to her, a coldness in his eye she thinks wasn't there before. "You've changed." Though said without emotion, she can't help but be convinced it's no compliment. "I'll see you around."
What did he mean? Was he disappointed with her? He starts moving, and she stops herself from reaching out, her every thought weighed down by shame—what is she supposed to say? Could it be he'd expected her to jump at the opportunity of being closer to him? It's not that she doesn't want to, just that she's become so used to deciding for herself.
"You're always allowed to grow from who you've been, and anyone opposed doesn't love you as much as they love the idea of you."
"Hey, Sakura!"
She starts at the sound of Temari's voice, whips around to face the blonde in the doorway. "Hey," she rushes, noticing the emotion in her voice, mortified to be caught in such a state.
It doesn't escape Temari's attention, the sympathy in her eyes too much for Sakura to bear. "Are you okay?" she asks, inching closer, ignoring the retreating Uchiha.
No. She's not okay, not at all. But how is she supposed to explain all she's feeling without revealing the horrible mess that is her life? She shakes her head, opens and closes her mouth several times, finds no words to say. The silence is deafening, the painful beat of her heart throbbing behind her eyes. It's all messed up, ruined, and she has no idea if there had been something to ruin in the first place. Either way, it's painfully evident Gaara managed to get under her skin, crept into the lonely corners of her mind, filled her with ideas discordant to everything she used to think true. How could she ever settle for less than everything he's made her believe? Yet she has to, feels trapped in someone else's dream, someone else's idea of what her life should be. Caught up in a promise made by a different her. A stinging, followed by a familiar warmth rolling down her cheeks, leaving trails of salt, hitting the sand beneath her feet. She's not okay—hasn't been for years.
"I kissed Gaara," she croaks, the image of Temari blurred by tears, distorting her expression.
"You..." the blonde pauses, appears at a loss, finally wraps her in her arms. "Oh, Sakura..." she mumbles, tightening her grip. "Let's go inside, shall we?"
She nods through the shaking of her shoulders, the dysfunction of her lungs, her breathing fast and shallow—it's all coming down, every single thought like poison, slicing through her insides. He rejected her. Said he'd kill her. Losing control, all because of her. Stupid, stupid, silly little wants.
"Hey, it's alright," Temari soothes, running a hand down Sakura's back, guiding her through silent hallways. "You'll be okay."
What if she won't? What if this pain fills all her days? Her future, spent in all the wrong places. It's a dark, ravenous little thing, splitting her heart and mind, brimming her eyes with tears yet to spill. She'd vocalise these fears, if only her throat hadn't been choked up, her voice lost somewhere along the way. Instead she merely continues shaking her head, feels the warmth of Temari wash over her, reducing her to a shivering child, too naive and selfish to know any better. They enter the living area, drop down on the couch, Temari's arm still wrapped around her shoulders. She's relieved to see neither brother is there, unsure what she would have done otherwise.
"Want to tell me what's wrong?" Temari offers softly, using her sleeve to wipe at Sakura's tears, apparently not minding the stains.
She's terrified; fears the blonde's anger might come any second. "I messed up!" she cries, averts her gaze in shame, uses her knuckles to clear the mascara from her cheeks, sees it stick to her skin in black clumps.
"What makes you think that?" She doesn't deserve Temari's kindness, nor patience, and her awareness of these facts only worsens the heat creeping up her spine.
"Just- everything. I don't know!" Sasuke was right. She should have packed up and left, could have avoided all this humiliation. Why did she have to be so stubborn?
"You kissed Gaara?" She did—it's almost unreal, thinking about it.
"Yes, I'm so sorry," she rushes, braces herself for the judgement she's sure to come.
"Hey now, don't be," Temari soothes instead. "When did this happen?"
She sniffles, glances into the blonde's eyes to make sure there's no anger, feels some of the weight start to lift. "Last night—it was stupid! We both had too much to drink, we were idiots and..." It's like she's talking about a dream, something not quite there. She wouldn't believe it if someone told her, yet Temari doesn't question her, instead listens attentively. Sakura pauses, forces herself to breathe, release, then allows everything to be flushed clean from inside her, spills it in a single stream of thought: "And then Sasuke had to show up and tell me he wants to marry me and have a child together but I don't know if that's what I want anymore especially since I keep thinking about Gaara and all these things he's told me keep echoing through my mind even though I know he doesn't want anything to do with me after last night when he said he'd kill me and-"
"Woah, slow down," Temari interrupts, continues to rub her back, eyes wide after the sudden outpour of information. "What do you mean, kill you?" The concern in her voice is unmistakable, and it only confirms Sakura's fears: he must have meant it.
"He said he was confused, believed he was losing control." She releases a shaky breath, runs her hands down her arms. "He told me he wouldn't be around because he didn't want to kill me."
Temari looks shocked at the revelation, at a momentary loss for words as she processes the information, deep creases settling between her brows. "He wouldn't say such a thing without being absolutely serious," she reasons, eyes traveling across the room. "But he's hasn't struggled for years, not since Shukaku's removal. It's unlike him and it doesn't make any sense." She sighs, wearily rubs her face.
"It's my fault," Sakura croaks, feeling fresh tears start to well, "I shouldn't have pushed, I don't know what I was thinking."
"Don't blame yourself; he wouldn't want that."
She laughs, a hollow sound, exposing her disbelief.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
Of course she didn't—of course he'd take the blame. A monster, that's what they'd always called him, incapable of love. How could he believe otherwise? How was he to understand if she was the monster, instead?
"I'm serious, Sakura. I know my brother, and I've never seen him the way he is with you." Temari takes her hand, holds it tightly. "Now I don't know anything about Sasuke, but whatever you decide, believe me when I tell you my brother clearly cares very deeply for you."
"And my favourite person is you."
Impossible. Ridiculous. She shakes her head, feels the familiar ache of her heart, instinctively reaches for it, only to find the pendant—his pendant—and crumbles at the memory of his soothing presence. Temari pulls her into an embrace, rests her chin atop her head as she shushes her, allows Sakura's distress without complaint.
"Give him some time," the blonde whispers, "he'll come around; he always does."
And then what? Even if all turns out alright, what becomes of Sasuke and her? How is she supposed to tell him she's haunted by another?
"Let's forget about these men," Temari proposes, "have some ice cream, instead."
Sakura laughs, wipes at her eyes, and sniffles: "I think I'd like that very much." She allows herself to relax in the blonde's company, momentarily able to push her sorrows aside—at least for the night. Whatever the coming days may bring, she's convinced Temari won't judge her for any of it, which she finds is enough to soften her pain.
Sasuke doesn't come for her the following morning, and she's surprised by the relief she feels at his absence. She eats breakfast with the sand-siblings, grateful neither of them remark on Gaara's continued disappearance, then heads for the hospital, excited to be able to forget herself in her work. Her fellow nurses already greet her like an old friend, welcome her with enough smiles to warrant one of her own—and she thinks, if things weren't so complicated, she could have been happy here, doing what she loves. She takes on as many shifts as she's allowed, stays well-past her usual hours, watches the sun disappear beyond circular windows. It's late at night when she returns home, greeted by Temari, who makes her dinner and suggests they enjoy a good movie. It's peaceful, surprisingly easy to settle into, and Sakura could almost forget her original reason for being here.
Several days pass this way; without a single trace of either man. The guest-room starts to feel like her own, and the hospital eagerly grants her more responsibilities, allowing her to take charge wherever she wants. She starts being recognised in the streets, able to strike up easy conversation with many of the ninja she's helped, a sense of fulfilment washing over her with every happy smile she's awarded. She's aware things can't remain this way, knows she has to go home sometime—sooner rather than later, in fact—and it's on the fifth day she decides she should leave the following morning. She tells Temari this, who—thankfully—understands, even if she'll miss having her friend around. She promises not to work too late that day, and finishes her final shift early in the afternoon.
When she steps out the hospital, she's surprised to find Sasuke at the door, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.
"Hey," he says, looking more uncomfortable than she's ever seen him.
"Hey," she replies, shifting her weight, unsure what to make of his sudden appearance. In a way she still feels a sense of guilt for letting him down, part of her thinking she deserved his neglect these past days.
"These are for you." He quickly offers the flowers, which she accepts with hesitant hands, their weight heavier than expected.
"Thank you..." she mumbles, inspecting the fresh collection, noting their beauty, thinking it's a very sweet gesture on his part.
"I've been busy," he says, looking at anything but her, his voice softer than usual. "Patrols and such."
"Of course."
He falls silent, clears his throat, crosses his arms. They stand there for a while, warmed by the afternoon sun, its balmy touch softening Sakura's resolve, easing some of the stiffness from her body. "Listen. I know I'm not always the best at understanding others," he finally starts, meeting her eye with his own. "You've changed, and—frankly—I don't quite know what to expect from you anymore." She fumbles with the flowers, takes in everything he says with large eyes—she has no idea where he's going, what it is he wants, and she finds herself studying his features with genuine interest. "But I'd like to try—to understand this Sakura, I mean."
It's not what she'd expected to happen; this complete turnaround on his part. She takes a minute to study him, search for anything to indicate deceit, but finds him genuine in his offer. She welcomes the smile spreading across her lips, hoping perhaps she'll start feeling different; maybe the two of them could work out, after all.
"Would you... would you have dinner with me, tonight?"
She's a bit taken aback by the offer, unsure how to respond. She'd promised Temari they'd spend the evening together, but she doesn't doubt the blonde would want her to figure out her feelings above all else. "I'm not really dressed for the occasion," she admits, glancing down at her work outfit.
"It's okay," he smiles, "you look fine." She notices her own lips curving in response, the warmth she feels no longer the sun's only.
"Alright." She blushes, pulling the flowers closer to her chest. "I'll just leave these here for now. I can pick them up later."
He nods, patiently waits for her to return. Inside, the nurses are all huddled together in excitement, watching her enter through poorly-concealed giggles. She shakes her head in their direction, sends them an exasperated smile as she places the flowers in a sink. It's thrilling, to be the chosen one, the girl going out—she feels more like a woman now. When she leaves, she ignores their excited cries, opens the door with composed features—cheeks flushed nonetheless. Sasuke hasn't moved, awaits her with his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. He's undeniably handsome, dressed in black, his tall figure a sharp contrast to the brightness of noon. Though she feels a bit out of place by his side, she tries not to think too much of it, reminding herself he'd told her she'd looked fine; it's a rare thing for Sasuke to offer a compliment, and she holds onto it with both hands.
They head out, the streets of Suna slowly starting to fill with people, familiar faces offering her smiles and waves. It seems even Sasuke's grown somewhat acquainted, nodding his head at several passersby.
"Tell me," he suddenly speaks up, "how have you been?"
"I've been okay," she says. "Temari's been a great friend. We've had a lot of fun together these past few days."
"Hn," he hums, gazes down the street. "Her brothers haven't been around?"
"Just Kankuro, though he too has been busy."
He nods. "I've seen him a few times. On patrol, that is."
"Any closer to finding the culprits?"
He shakes his head, chews the inside of his cheek. "Not really."
"Oh, that's too bad, I-"
Red. It sticks out like a sore thumb, draws the attention with staggering ease. The throb of her heart turns almost painful, rushes through her ears with a deafening slosh. It takes her a while to notice the hand slipping in hers, pulling her closer, Sasuke's stare narrowing at the moving Kazekage. Matsuri is there too, along with two other ninja she doesn't know. They cross paths, their group coming to a halt in front of them, the three ninja bowing to Sasuke as they greet him, and she wondere if these are the people he runs his patrols with. She takes her time studying their faces—not so much because she thinks it important, more-so to avoid the pale gaze amongst them. Which is silly, when she thinks about it; she should be relieved to finally see Gaara, rejoice in this opportunity to get answers. She allows her eyes to find him, feels the rush of her pulse beneath her skin, worries for a second Sasuke might notice through the touch of their palms. He's thin, looks tired—fragile, she thinks, much too small a person to carry whatever worries rest on his narrow shoulders.
"Kazekage-sama," Sasuke greets before her mind's caught up, surprising her.
Gaara simply nods, doesn't speak, his eyes unusually distant. More than anything, she wants him to say something, acknowledge her—show he still cares.
"Oh, Sakura! I've been hoping to see you again," Matsuri grins, stepping closer. "Don't think I've forgotten about sparring with you."
"Oh, right," she sends the girl an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry! I'm afraid I'll be leaving tomorrow."
"What, no way!" Matsuri pouts.
"I wasn't aware the two of you were acquainted," Sasuke notes, studying the brunette more closely.
"We've met on several occasions—are the two of you going out for dinner?" she replies with a wink.
It's Sasuke who answers before Sakura gets a chance. "We are."
"That's so nice, I'm starving," Matsuri complains, shoulders slumped. She turns to Gaara, then. "Oh I know, we could join them! It would be like a double-date."
Sakura is about to protest when Gaara beats her to it. "No," he says, simple as that, then turns to her, causing her pulse to stutter, legs numb. "Thank you for your service at the hospital, Suna is in your debt once again." He bows his head, and when he raises his gaze there's nothing; not a single shred of the Gaara she thought she knew. "I wish you a safe journey home."
"Thank you," she mutters, fingers wrapping around the pendant, its cooling touch the only physical reminder of something long lost.
"You're free to go too, Uchiha," he continues, turning to Sasuke. "Your help has been appreciated." The other ninjas nod at the words, shaking the Sharingan-user's hand, confirming Sakura's earlier suspicion. She's waiting—hoping still—to catch the tiniest glimpse, an indication of warmth, but none follows. "Goodbye."
"I'll miss you."
It's probably better this way, she has herself believing; it never could have worked. Sasuke's hand is warm in hers, and she reminds herself of that fact. She should be grateful, happy even, to have someone else make these choices for her.
"Bye, Sakura, Sasuke," Matsuri throws over her shoulder as they leave, waving at them a final time. Gaara doesn't look back, the red of his hair slowly disappearing in the crowd. Yes, it's better this way. For both of them. He obviously still has Matsuri, if he ever were to change his mind about relationships. There'd be no reason for him to be lonely, none for either of them. This is how it always should have been. Her hand grows cold, and when she looks down she sees Sasuke's has gone without her noticing.
"Let's go," he says, already continuing their path, glancing her way to see if she follows.
She's frozen, still, finds her eyes returning to where he stood—where he said goodbye. It's better this way, even if she spends a lifetime missing him, too. She swallows, closes her eyes, releases the pendant, and musters a smile; if only to trick herself into believing it. "Yes," she says, and follows, joins the man she promised to love, and swallows her tears.
She can tell he tries; asking her about her life, her parents and friends—it's a complete turnaround from the self-centered Sasuke she's used to. Still, there's a nagging at the back of her mind, a creeping sense something's off. It rears its ugly head whenever he falls into old habits; simple things like avoiding physical contact, or growing distant whenever things get too personal. It paints a picture she can't quite seem to grasp, vague and elusive, yet the more she tries to ignore it, the louder it gets: why did he want to stay here? What was the point if he wasn't going to see her for several days? Then when he does, they just so happen to run into Gaara? It's all too coincidental, the odds strangely unlikely. But, she reminds herself, this is Gaara's home, and the probability of seeing him around is likely very high—she's just been cooped up in the hospital too often to notice. Yet she still feels how his hand had held onto hers, the heat of his skin, eating away at her. Why?
The moon has already risen once they head home, turning the sand into grains of silver, glittering as they pass. Not once has he mentioned her departure the following day, and it strikes her as odd he wouldn't at least offer to travel along. She reckons he might want to finish whatever's he's been working on, perhaps feeling personally responsible for catching the culprits—that must be it. It's typical Sasuke; like his brother, he doesn't hesitate to self-sacrifice for the greater good. It's the thing she respects most about him—which is why she doesn't ask for his reasons, not wanting him to feel guilty. Instead, their conversation focuses mostly on the future; how Sasuke wants nothing more than to leave the old Uchiha compound behind, reasoning it's nothing but bad memories. She agrees, thinks it best to start afresh, somewhere new and untainted, and tries to imagine herself by his side.
It's harder than she thought, and—without her noticing—they arrive at the Kazekage mansion. It's Sasuke who informs her, jarring her from her reverie, his eye studying her features. They remain silent for a bit, both looking at the other in contemplation. Somehow, she feels like this might be the final step to something more, an initiation to all he's promised—it's in the air between them, an unspoken expectation she feels is obligatory. She can tell he knows it too, sees it in the decisive gleam of his eye, the resolute set of his shoulders. He leans closer, then, and she doesn't stop him, doesn't know how to feel or react. This is it, she thinks, the final plunge before it's all decided, a confirmation of their agreement. When his lips touch hers, all she can think of is his confidence, the easiness with which he moves, how he takes without question something she had yet to offer. It's just that, a touch of skin, his scent of cinders invading her senses, leaving ashes in her mouth. She pulls back, gazes into his midnight eye, meets with the reflection of her own uncertainty.
"I don't want to ruin it for you."
How he had ruined it, completely and utterly; unmistakably wrecked, left her forever wanting—ruined in all the right ways.
"I'm sorry," she says, backs away, "this isn't right." They're not right, never will be. "I have to go." It'll never be better, this charade of love, these selfish desires—even if faced with losing everything, she'll take it over the ghosts claiming her life, her dreams. She's changed, more than even she realised, or was willing to acknowledge, and she couldn't revert even if she tried. "I can't be with you." She moves, away from her past, and thinks—for once—she's headed for her future.