I Almost Do
It's been a long time since Sasuke has been in Fire Country. At nineteen, his travels beyond Konoha's borders have led him down empty roads. His gaze has now set sight on an infinite number of colors painting the sky: lavender twilight, blue morning, green storms, and blackest midnights. However, no matter how far away his feet venture, Sasuke knows his heart will always know the way back to his hometown. Even now, in the forest trails that tendril away from Konoha, Sasuke's soul feels shaky. He may be far away but every atom in his body knows how close he is. Konoha's bustling streets are a stark contrast to the tranquil landscapes Sasuke had chosen to make his refuge for the past two years. As he sits by tonight's campfire in the still of the night, Sasuke finds himself unable to shake off his lingering memories of the pink-haired kunoichi.
Sasuke hardly writes to her. Admittedly, he seldom writes back to anyone's letters these days. He doesn't know what to write, doesn't know who will care, doesn't think any of it will matter coming from ink on a page.
And yet, less than one hundred kilometers from Konoha, Sasuke's mind will not stop, can't stop vibrating with pent-up potential energy. He looks at the light pollution around him.
He could make it to Sakura's doorstep by morning if he hurried. Hell, Sasuke bets Sakura's still up this time of night, nose buried in work. Her hair bunched up in a bun that's been wrapped and rewrapped a million times over the last week. Bags under her eyes, showing how dehydrated and tired she tends to wear herself down. That single hair tress at the base of her neck that curls when she sweats, rebelling against her ponytail. It's likely been hours since Sakura ate dinner. She's likely tired from a long, hard week.
'And she'll be still every bit as beautiful,' Sasuke's mind rings.
His eyes have captured Sakura at every angle, every juncture in their very disjointed lives. And all his heart can think to scream at him is to beg him to reach out to her. All his heart can wish for is for him to run to her front door.
But he doesn't. Sasuke can't. It's been too long. He's been too quiet.
Sasuke's fingers graze an unsent letter deep in his cloak pocket, filled with words he wishes he could say out loud, emotions that fall flat coming from parchment. His emotions spill across the page, and yet Sasuke couldn't find the courage to send it – still can't be bold enough to confess. He almost does.
Sasuke assumes that Sakura has either moved on or hates him. It's been so long since he's received a letter from her. So long since she's tried showing that she still cares.
And why would she? Sasuke has never responded to her love. Every piece for careful connection attempted by Sakura has been loudly forsaken by Sasuke. Every hug has been scoffed at, every touch of their hands waved off, every apple slice spilled on the floor. Against every other piece of connection, Sasuke starts to feel like a singular caress before he set out again means too little.
A late spring gust chills his skin, extinguishing the last of the dwindling embers.
Sleep lulls his mind, dulls the self-hatred obfuscating the truth. Beyond every criticism Sasuke must withstand from his own mind, he knows that he doesn't want to miss Sakura. He doesn't want to be worlds away. He doesn't want to grow further and further apart. Sasuke wants her; in his arms, against his lips, stealing his breath, keeping his heart safe. Sasuke wants Sakura.
And there's no 'almost' about it.
THE END.
