soft day
pt. 6: torn fabric
Sakura huffs a breath out her nose and tries to light the stove for the third time. Click click click click—nothing. She sighs with thinly veiled frustration. Sasuke sits tense in his chair, tongue-tied and feeling completely useless.
The village wants him gone. He didn't think they would force him out so soon, over so little. His mouth curls. All he's done is reject one mission and forage mushrooms.
He thought he would have more time.
Sakura wrestles the dial back into position. "Stupid—"
"I don't need any tea," he tries.
Sakura's expression could set a field ablaze. "I'm making tea." Blue flames leap out as if in fear, licking the base of the kettle.
The soft hiss of the stove fills Sasuke's ears. Beneath crisp hospital scrubs, Sakura's shoulders are drawn tight.
"You're working tonight?" he says.
"Yeah." She glances at the clock. "I should go after this. Do you still like oolong?"
"Aa," he mumbles.
Rolled oolong leaves spill into the belly of a small teapot. "When are you leaving?"
Sasuke can tie up loose ends and leave town in less than one day. There's not much holding him here.
Sakura's lip trembles.
"A week," he says.
The kettle releases a long, sharp whistle. Sakura flicks the stove off and goes still. Steam curls and curls in the air.
A weight sinks in his stomach. Has he misread everything? "If you'll have me that long."
It only takes one short look from her, and his doubts crumble like sand. "Stay as long as you want." Brows knit, she turns to fill the teapot. "It's just that they need me at the hospital this week…I don't know how often I'll be home."
Sasuke swallows, gut twisting for a moment in childish protest. But what does he expect? People need her. After a few measured breaths, he nods.
"Does Naruto know?"
Sasuke shakes his head. "I came straight here."
"Oh, that's right. He's away in Sand."
Sasuke wasn't aware of that. "What for?"
Sakura positions a porcelain cup near his right hand and takes a seat. "He said something about diplomacy training. He'll be gone for a few weeks."
She meets his eyes with a fading glimmer of amusement. He agrees. Naruto undergoing diplomacy training is a funny thought, despite the grey mood.
Sakura looks down and gingerly wrings her hands together. "I feel like I wasted so much time. Being angry with you. Avoiding you…I'm sorry."
He's the one who's been avoiding her.
"I read your letters," he says.
Her mouth opens, wavering before she finally speaks. "I wasn't sure if you did."
"Of course I did." The words breeze off his tongue. Sasuke gathers strength, to admit the rest. "But…I had some bad days."
He doesn't look up, but he feels the moment green eyes glue onto him.
"A lot of them." He feels cracked open, scooping words from his chest like seeds from a melon. "I couldn't write. Couldn't do anything."
Sakura's fingers creep to his elbow. "Why didn't you tell me?"
A stiff shake of the head is all he can manage. It's so quiet that he can almost hear the tea leaves unfurl.
"You're not alone, you know. We're here for you. You can ask for help."
"Well, I didn't." His shoulder rises in a wry shrug. "Eventually, it got better. I still didn't write, though." He breathes in. Now he's reached the hardest part, the most thick and confusing to understand. The part he's still struggling not to believe. "I thought it would be better if I didn't."
Sakura's voice hardens the smallest amount. "Why?"
Sometimes Sasuke can't believe he's still living in the same lifetime. There are too many memories, experiences from vastly different versions of himself, that he might never be able to reconcile. And Sakura has witnessed him in every one of those lives. All the things he's done, and she still doesn't look away. How does she manage to do that when sometimes he can't even bear to look at himself?
"I thought it would be better," he starts again, tongue thick in his throat. "If I left you alone. If I got out of your life." He keeps his eyes fixed to the table. If he looks up, he knows what he'll see. A sad look of knowing crossing her face. Her eyes dropping, silently and kindly confirming his fears. "You shouldn't—care so much," he spits out. "Not about someone like me."
He counts three breaths, and forces himself to look. Sakura is blinking back tears.
He knew it.
Sakura's hand shakes as her grip on his arm tightens. Her mouth rears open. "Well, I do care about you—a lot!" Her tears spill—tears of anger. "So what do you want me to do?"
Sasuke recoils. He's never seen her so furious. "I said you should stop."
"It doesn't go away so easily!" she snaps. "And I never told you to get out of my life. I told you to stay in it!"
Sakura's face flushes bright pink. Part of his brain acknowledges this, stores it away for later. Because there's other pressing matters right now.
"But…I've hurt you." Sasuke's phantom limb twinges with a shiver of electricity, the ghost of a chidori, and he wrenches away from her touch. "I tried to kill you."
Silence drops like a weapon thudding into the dirt. In the center of the table, the tea is over steeping.
"That day, on the bridge. I've never seen you like that."
Sasuke's heart starts to pound, vision tunneling around the edges. He won't be surprised if she calls him a monster.
A cool hand covers his own. "You were in so much pain."
How can she treat him so gently, like all is forgiven? "So?"
"You weren't thinking clearly."
"I knew what I was doing." He spits it out like poison.
She shakes her head, steadfast. "I'm not so sure."
"Trust me," he insists bitterly.
Sakura falls silent, chews her lip. For one proud, horrible moment, he thinks he's convinced her.
"You were crying," she says, softly. "Do you remember?"
Sasuke's skull rings with a high pitched noise.
The bloodlust is all he remembers from that day. There's no other story to tell. The electricity. The bridge swinging beneath his feet. Creeping closer to her, hands shaking, choking back a sob—of hatred.
Hatred?
Before he registers what she's doing, she takes his hand and guides it to the crook of her neck. He jerks back. "Don't."
But she's stronger than him. She draws him up until his fingers brush her pulse point, beating steadily. And then holds him there. He's frozen, his own pulse thundering in his ears. The cords of her throat are the most delicate thing he's ever touched. He remembers trying to crush them in his hands.
"It's okay." Her voice vibrates softly against his palm. "Breathe."
He breathes.
"It's all in the past. I've already forgiven you." A wave of dizziness hits him, so he can barely see the sheepish half-smile that softens her face. "Besides, we're even. What do you think my kunai was for?"
Sasuke feels like there's a spool of thread unraveling in his stomach. He lets his hand relax, curling around her nape.
"I understand what you were thinking. I really do. But it wasn't better." A stray tear tumbles down Sakura's cheek. She blinks hard and swallows. When she speaks again, the raw, torn edge to her voice nearly rips him to shreds. "It made me think you didn't care…that I meant nothing to you."
With the softest touch Sasuke can manage, he brushes away her tears. "How could you mean nothing to me?"
The notion puzzles him, like finding a loose key and not knowing where it came from or what it unlocks. How many nights did he lay awake, in those early years of revenge, attempting to dismantle her from his memory? As cold stone pressed to his back, as torchlight flickered out, or as stars streaked across the desert sky? If she meant nothing to him, he would know. Because he might have been able to sleep through the night.
"It didn't work," he murmurs, more to himself than anything.
Teary green eyes find his. "What didn't work?"
"Forgetting you," Sasuke says.
Sakura exhales, leaning her cheek into his hand, and when she takes her next breath, so does Sasuke, until they're breathing together, their shoulders rising and falling at the same slow, even pace.
"Shit!" Chair legs screech against the floor and Sakura jumps up, a wild expression on her face. "I'm so late!"
She dashes to her bedroom in a pink blur. There's a clatter and the sound of cursing. When she reappears, he can't see her face past the mountain of pillows and blankets in her arms.
She hurries to the living room and tosses the entire armload onto the couch. "Here! I hope this is enough." One of four pillows tumbles to the floor. "There's a spare key on the bookshelf, and you should help yourself to anything in the fridge!"
He trails behind her to the door. Nothing about this day feels quite real. The note on his door, his packed bags. Sakura's fresh words echoing in his head—I've already forgiven you. A haze washes over him, like he could sleep for days. "When will you be back?"
"Tomorrow. Late, I think." She bends to stomp on her shoes.
He nods. "I'll see you, then."
Even though Sakura's in a rush and ready to leave, she doesn't reach for the door yet. Instead she hesitantly catches his gaze. "Make yourself at home."
Warmth pools in Sasuke's chest. He brushes his fingers fondly across her brow, straightening a stray lock of hair falling over the yin seal. Sakura smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. His sharingan nearly twitches to life with the urge to capture her soft expression.
With a jolt he remembers himself. Remembers that he's leaving.
And it suddenly hurts to look at her.
.
.
Sasuke wakes up well past dawn to the sound of birds chirping. He sits up, listening for any signs of movement within the apartment. Dust motes float quietly in a shaft of sunlight. Somewhere on the seventh floor, a door slams shut.
Floorboards creak underfoot as he dares to venture to Sakura's bedroom door—it's ajar. She's been at her shift for over twelve hours now.
He tackles the small stack of dishes in the kitchen sink, small noises reverberating loudly in the quiet, and throws some leftover rice in a pot for okayu, a meal he's cobbled together on many occasions when low on ingredients. If this is what Sakura's schedule is like, it's no wonder there's an empty fridge and dust collecting in the corners of the apartment. She does own a jar of umeboshi, at the very least, so he can't complain. He wipes down the counter, prepares a bowl, then slides the door open to the balcony.
The vantage point offers a perfect view of Hokage mountain looming tall beyond colorful rooftops. A quiet clatter rises from the streets as villagers go about their day. Sasuke's too high up for anyone to notice him, but he feels anxious to remain out of sight. What if the wrong person finds out where he's staying? That wouldn't bode well for Sakura.
Ignoring the outdoor furniture, Sasuke slides to the ground, so all he can see above the balcony's edge is the sky. He feels better. And eats his porridge.
It turns out that he can't stay hidden away for long. Considering the state of the kitchen, it's clear they'll be eating okayu all week unless someone stops by the market. And considering that Sakura's been working the past day and night, it should probably be him.
Sasuke plucks civilian clothes from his bag and shifts his hair to conceal the Rinnegan. It's nearly a wasted effort—though not everyone can recognize his face, most know his name. Even at his most inconspicuous, he'll never quite blend in.
So who cares? Sasuke grits his teeth. What's the worst that can happen if a council member catches him sorting through produce at the vegetable stand? He won't be here for much longer.
Shaking off any lingering dread, he marches to the market. He takes his time walking through the stalls, considering each item. A few stares stick to the back of his head, but nothing he's not used to. When the butcher asks if he wants beef round, loin, or shoulder, Sasuke takes all three because he doesn't know which Sakura prefers for sukiyaki. A lump of cash the exact size of his monthly rent payment just opened up in his budget, so he can afford to splurge.
Keeping his chakra stifled, Sasuke takes a circuitous route home to confirm no one's on his tail. Nor are there any pink-haired doctors descending the hospital steps, finishing work for the night.
Back in the kitchen, he makes dinner and prepares ingredients for the week. The extra meal he sets out on the table grows cold on the table as night falls. Somehow, Sakura's still working.
Sasuke packs up her food and leaves it in the fridge with a note. Maybe she can have it for lunch tomorrow, if she's back by then.
In a mix of boredom and irritation with the Konoha medical system, he pulls out the first spine he touches on Sakura's sagging bookshelf. It's too heavy to comfortably manage one-handed, so he opens it on the floor. The title page is filled with so much jargon that his eyes glaze over. Of course it's a medical textbook. Losing interest, he flips to a page at random.
Sakura's handwritten notes take up every blank space on the page. Sasuke's nose slowly buries deeper and deeper into the textbook as he picks the writing apart, the places where she argues with the author in the margins or even answers questions from her own notes in a fresher shade of ink. As he thumbs through, the textbook falls open to a page where the spine is worn. A tangle of arrows and obscure abbreviations sweep across a diagram of the brain. Migraine pathophysiology, the header reads.
Here the swirl of Sakura's writing grows even thicker. She annotated and underlined the text with extreme enthusiasm, leaving almost nothing untouched. Eventually she circled one entire section and scrawled a star.
Ask Sasuke, she wrote.
Sasuke pulls the book into his lap. He can't seem to stop staring at the spot where she wrote his name.
And then he skims briefly over the text, something about migraines and how they can affect vision. And then he devotes his full attention. Yes, he does often develop a blind spot in one eye during migraines. Doesn't everyone?
He'll ask Sakura about it. She must have read the passage recently. Or has she? The textbook feels worn under his hand, the spine slightly cracked and the pages yellowing. Perhaps she's been waiting years to ask.
Sasuke wonders what he was doing while she poured over this page. Was he hunkered underground in Orochimaru's hideout? Setting out to destroy the village? Wandering the continent?
He catches his fingers trailing over the soft, tentative imprint of her pen on the page, and snaps the book shut.
That night, the moonlight is so bright that it wakes him. The apartment is quiet, but there's a different hum to the air than before. Blinking sleep from his eyes, Sasuke pads a few steps to the kitchen and peers down the hall.
Sakura's room is dark and the door is closed. She came in so quietly, he didn't even notice. Usually he wakes up from a passing chakra signature.
A yawn wracks through him. There's seriously something going on with her couch.
Sasuke returns to his nest of borrowed blankets and easily drops off to sleep again.
.
.
The air sings with sparks as Sasuke's last shuriken sinks into its target dead center, splitting the shuriken from his last throw clean in two. A feeling of satisfaction dulls the burn in his shoulder from practicing all morning. It's taken two years, but his aim is back to the pinpoint accuracy it was before the loss of his dominant hand. Not that anyone but him could notice the difference.
His muscles feel loose and pleasantly tired as he leaves the quiet training ground, which looks a little worse for wear now. Someone blocked off the gaping crevice that Sakura left behind with a flimsy rope. And now shards of broken shuriken are strewn all over the ground, glittering in the light of sunrise. Coincidentally, there are no more shuriken to be found in the equipment storage locker.
The streets are empty on the way home, and the imposing stone faces of Hokage mountain are nothing but a silent silhouette against the pink eastern sky. Sasuke likes the village most at this hour. Or maybe it's the only time nostalgia creeps up on him. Stuck on a D-rank mission, chasing a lost cat down winding streets. The chatter of his teammates overlapping in his ears, so loud and annoying that his days alone rang with an acute new silence.
It's not the place he misses. It's just the feeling of not being alone.
And once he leaves, he'll be alone again.
A figure turns on the empty street, strolling towards Sasuke with a lazy gait and a head of tall, tufted grey hair.
"Good morning, Sasuke," Kakashi says, lifting a friendly hand. "Fancy seeing you here."
Sasuke sighs, resigned. It's too early to dredge up his anger. "Let me guess. You have a mission?"
"There is a mission waiting for you. In fact, some people are encouraging me very strongly to make sure you take it."
"Will you?"
His old teacher regards him fondly, the same affirming look Sasuke remembers receiving as a kid, after he mastered a new technique or breezed through a complicated kata. "No."
He keeps his guard raised. "What will you tell them?"
"Don't worry your pretty little head." Kakashi's hand twists in a careless, spiraling motion. "I'll find some way to explain it to them."
Sasuke feels his shoulders drop, and he gives a curt nod.
"Sorry about your place. I was hoping to warn you, in our meeting," Kakashi says with a pointed gaze, "but it seems you were busy that time. And every time I tried to reach you."
"It doesn't matter. I'm leaving anyway."
"When?"
"A few days."
"You're staying at Naruto's place, I assume?"
"…No," he says.
Kakashi's eyes darken as concern creases his brow. "The district, then?"
Sasuke wasn't planning on offering more details, but he feels bad letting his sensei think he's been all by himself in the empty Uchiha compound. "Sakura's letting me stay."
Kakashi brightens instantly. Very instantly. "Ah! And how is she?"
"Busy."
"How nice that she has a spare room for you."
Sasuke works his jaw before answering. Why does he feel like information is being twisted out of him?
"Not a room," he says carefully. "A couch."
"Well, you're still young. Your back can handle it!" Kakashi chats on. "Though I imagine, since Naruto's off and away in Sand, you could choose to have his apartment all to yourself?" His one eye gleams. "I know how you like your space."
"Sakura's place is more convenient." His voice leaves his throat sounding insistent.
"Weren't you two having a bit of a fight?"
Sasuke grabs the cuff of his loose sleeve as the breeze lifts it past his cheek. How and why does Kakashi know these things?
"Who says we were fighting?" It wasn't so much a fight, anyway. All they needed was a conversation. His mouth almost cracks with a smile. A conversation where Sakura pinned him down with a dangerous gaze and dared him to even try leaving his spot in her life. "We're fine, now." He wonders if she's sleeping well, after working so hard. He hopes so.
"'Now'?" Kakashi pounces, his voice pleasant. "So you've made up, then?"
Sasuke bites his tongue and braces for more pointed teasing.
Instead, Kakashi lets out a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry for the way things are ending up. Truly. My hands might be tied here, but if there's anything else I can do for you—I want to know." His eyes narrow with a smile. "I'll always try my best for my students."
Sasuke looks away. "I know."
"Good. I'll let you enjoy your morning." Kakashi waves a hand in goodbye. "Until later."
The relaxed, lanky form of his teacher meanders back down the winding street and disappears around the corner.
The apartment is quiet when Sasuke carefully eases open the door. Sakura's still asleep.
With the same intense focus he devoted to his morning training, he cracks his knuckles and tackles the delicate ritual of preparing tamagoyaki. He winces when the eggs meet the simmering pan with a too-loud sizzle, but the rest is a quiet process. After the omelet cools, he cuts it into thick pieces. The cross-section of rolled layers is a little uneven, but it's not bad for a one-handed job.
The second one turns out better. This one can be hers. He opens the fridge to search for a garnish of some kind. The extra meal he made last night is still sitting on the shelf. Maybe she wasn't hungry.
He eats out on the balcony. Then flips open a book and watches text swim on the page.
At noon, a door bursts open and a shower runs in the bathroom. He waits until the sound of water turns off and allows enough time for Sakura to retreat into her bedroom before going inside. He busies himself trying to slice up a plum. The pit makes it difficult.
Her door opens. He gives up on the plum.
"Good morning!" A damp-haired Sakura tosses him a tired smile and beelines to the pantry. Her eyes are red from lack of sleep, and yet she's wearing a fresh set of scrubs. Glass clinks as she roots around for something.
Is she really working again? What a brutal schedule. His mouth opens to protest and snaps shut again. She did warn him.
So instead he zeroes in on the package of instant ramen she's lowering into her work bag.
"Is that…lunch?" He seems to remember her making a big deal out of the sodium content of one of those small containers.
Sakura's dismayed eyes spear through him. "Don't tell Naruto."
Sasuke swallows a smirk. "Sure."
"I'm serious! He'll never leave me alone!"
"Oh, I know."
"Doctors have to eat too!" she insists. "And there's nothing else!"
His fingers twitch. "Check the fridge."
Face wrought with a suspicion that should offend him, she peeks inside. "This is—for me?"
"Unless you really do want ramen."
"Oh!" She pulls out the bento and beams. "Thanks!"
"I thought you'd see it last night." Good thing he packed it up to go.
"I didn't even notice! Usually I go straight to bed after a shift." She rearranges her bag and zips it up. "Okay, I'm leaving now!"
"Wait." He reaches for the plate hiding behind him on the counter. "There's breakfast."
Sakura's face falls. He would rub the back of his neck if he weren't already holding something. Does she not like tamagoyaki?
"I'm so sorry," she says, brows knitting. "I don't have time."
Sasuke sets the plate on the table. "You can be five minutes late."
"I'm already five minutes late."
He scowls. "Ten minutes, then."
She wavers, glancing between front door and omelet. "You're a bad influence."
"Probably." He's pleased by the idea. "Now eat."
Still standing, she pops a piece into her mouth. "Oh…this is really good." She eats another. "You didn't have to do this."
"It was nothing," he says.
She cleans the rest of the plate, hardly taking a breath.
That's all he sees of her before she departs dutifully for her next shift.
.
.
Sakura's life is a whirlwind in the background of Sasuke's slow days. She comes home from her shifts late at night, or early in the morning, and collapses straight into bed. Then after catching a few hours' sleep, she'll get up to do it all over again.
So one day, alone in the apartment, he takes a shower before lunch and thinks nothing of leaving the bathroom in a towel.
And nearly collides with Sakura in the narrow hallway.
"Oh! Great, you're home!"
Sasuke quickly pedals backwards. "Hey," he barely manages, tightening his hold on his towel.
Sakura's tired eyes widen visibly, and his brain fizzles in panic trying to read her expression—uncomfortable, embarrassed? Something…else?—as she scans him over, honing in on the scars lacing his torso, the stump of his arm.
No. He knows what this is. And it's much worse.
The focused gaze of a medic leaves him ambushed. "When was your last checkup?"
Sasuke's silent, because she isn't going to like the answer.
"Don't tell me it was after the war," Sakura says, half in jest, the other half deadly.
A bead of water drips slowly down his back. "We can talk about this later," he says, fighting the urge to disappear inside the bathroom and shut the door.
Sakura frowns, then blinks like she's seeing him for the first time. Eyes follow the same path over his body, catching on his hand gripping the towel closed. His stomach tenses—a reflex.
And then—out of something less innocent.
Because he wants to know if she'll keep looking.
"Sure," Sakura agrees with unfazed professionalism, "it seems like later would be better."
A damp feeling washes through Sasuke. Inwardly, he reels back. What did he want her to do?
With as much grace as he can muster, he withdraws to the living room. His clothes are folded in his bag, which is unfortunate, because his sole hand is extremely occupied.
Sasuke feels the weight of a pair of eyes, tracing down his back.
One funny thing about owning a sharingan—he can detect someone's gaze like a sixth sense. He steals a glance over his shoulder.
Sakura's bedroom door creaks shut.
A shiver runs down his spine. She was looking.
He returns to the bathroom, maneuvering his belongings and towel in one hand. The damp feeling from earlier is gone.
.
.
Sasuke trails through the forest north of the village, following deer tracks and upturned pine needles to one matsutake after another. He takes nothing.
He's supposed to leave tomorrow.
It's not the first time he's leaving the village. It won't even be the hardest time. He thinks of that night when he was thirteen, abandoning his entire life. Freezing with dread as Sakura called to him in the dark, because the sound of her voice alone made him want to change his mind. He's never been weaker than when her arms snagged around his back, holding on to him with all her strength. Knowing that if he turned around, he was done for.
So he didn't, even though it was what every cell in his body wanted. And something in the fabric of himself tore.
Cradled beneath the soft, green canopy of the forest, he lets himself imagine something he's never imagined before. Turning in Sakura's embrace. Being weak. Burying his face against her neck, letting himself sob. Letting her hold him.
What would his life be like, if he turned around?
It's no use imagining.
The village streets are quiet except for the chirping of crickets as Sasuke makes his way back. Sakura's shift is ending soon. True to her word, the hospital kept her busy and out of his reach all week.
His feet lead him past a bench, more peaceful looking than in his memory. The trees and bushes to either side have grown fuller, protecting the spot in a secluded shroud of green. Moss is taking over one corner where he can see the ghost of pink hair spilling over cold stone.
He remembers shouldering her limp body, trying so hard to cushion her head as he laid her down. Her face was streaked with tears and frozen in anger, her mouth caught open. She'd been in the middle of speaking when he interrupted her with a fearful jab to the neck, because who knows if her next words would have spelled his doom.
Lights are on in the apartment, and in the kitchen, the dishes are washed and set out to dry. Sakura's home early and fast asleep at the table, head laid upon her arms.
Her sleep is not restful. She's wearing a frown, discontent, just like that night. Like at any moment she may jerk awake and finish her sentence.
Please, don't go, Sasuke-kun. I love you! Please, stay, and maybe one day…
Sasuke watches his hand stretch out, in both present and past, and smooth over silky, pink hair. Soft, so he won't wake her. Just this once…
A small, sleepy voice rings out, "Sasuke-kun?"
His fingers lift away, perhaps too late to escape her notice. For once, he finds it easy to forgive himself.
"It's me," he says.
She sighs. "Good…"
"Why are you out here? Go to bed."
"I was waiting for you. I've been meaning to ask…" Sakura pushes herself upright, her eyes struggling to stay open. "Are you still leaving tomorrow?"
Part of Sasuke hoped she wouldn't remember.
He hasn't packed his bags, hasn't sent a word of news off to Naruto. He doesn't even know which direction he'll travel. He assumed, when the time came, the same old instinct would force him into it. It's never failed before to force him into moving, or fighting, or leaving.
Sasuke shuts his eyes tighter and listens. Inside him everything is quiet, except for that small, honest voice, raw with disuse.
"No." Saying it feels dangerous, like skirting over thin ice.
Sakura's mouth softens into a tiny smile.
No, he's not leaving tomorrow.
.
.
.
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Notes:
so much happened in this chapter...i can't wait to hear what you think! (special thanks to bigfeelings for your biweekly dissertations, you literally always make my day!)