CHAPTER SEVEN.
The military ball is all grandeur this year. Commemorating the longstanding service of Sasuke and a few other high-ranking officials, the Military Policing Corps cut no corners for their celebration this year. The air is thick with the aroma of expensive perfumes, expensive dinner plates, and the subtle undertones of slimy politicians and figure heads. Sasuke, clad in his immaculate uniform adorned with gleaming medals, stands as the epitome of military decorum. Yet, beneath this veneer of composure, Sasuke cannot pay attention to a single thing being said to him.
The ballroom buzzes with the chatter of attendees, the clinking of glasses, and the soft melodies of a string quartet. Sasuke's dark eyes, however, are distant, scanning the crowd not with interest, but with a sense of detachment. His brother Itachi and father Fugaku stand nearby, attempting in vain to pull Sasuke into their conversation about strategic deployments to military bases abroad. Sasuke's ears may be hearing the conversation, and his eyes may capture the governor's flashy yellow blonde hair. Yet Sasuke's mind cannot stay in this moment.
Sasuke cannot hold the space reserved for him for all these years next to his father and brother. He feels like a living cardboard stand, present but unalive. A figure to take pictures with, a face to admire, a strict constitution to uphold, Sasuke barely feels human.
This is not what Sasuke is anymore. Under his perfect military lineage and the selective clan politics that made his birth possible, Sasuke's heart is simmering. His hate bubbles deep in his soul, waiting for the rolling boil. Sasuke hates this. Sasuke hates all of this.
Sasuke hates how his brother's kind disposition keeps trying to include him in stupid conversations. He hates how often he's heard, "that's quite interesting. What do you think, Sasuke?" He hates pretending he was ever really paying attention. He hates the sadness in his brother's eyes when the emotional distance feels like an ocean separating him from Itachi. He hates that every time he looks into Itachi's kind smile Sasuke is reminded of the same helpful attention Sato gives to his own baby brother.
Sasuke hates how his father sees everything. He hates how obvious it is to his father that Sasuke does not want to be here. He hates having to stand at his father's left hand at all times. Sasuke hates that his father is "Grandfather" instead of "Grampy." He hates the distance his father placed between Sasuke and Itachi and Fugaku in the aftermath of Sasuke's own mother passing away. He hates that his father cared more about having heirs than having a family. And Sasuke hates to think that he is casting that same curse upon Sakura, Sato, and Kyo the longer he is rooted to this spot.
It's not the cure. Hating his father and brother and every single person that demands his time away from his family does nothing. Painting this whole banquet hall in bleeding scarlets and blooming purples doesn't change anything. Sasuke is still shackled to this spot by duty, by blood, from the spare to the heir.
Sasuke spends hours as an embodiment of discipline and pride, but still his eyes occasionally drifting to his cell phone. The ballroom feels increasingly distant to him, a world apart as his cellphone weighs heavy in his pocket.
'Sakura should be here by now…' he checks the time yet again. 'Maybe she was more upset that she wasn't invited to the cocktail hour than she let on.'
As Itachi delivers a speech, eloquent and commanding, Sasuke's phone vibrates. Sasuke exhales, letting a tiny sliver of anxiety melt away when he sees Sakura's photo light up his screen. Excusing himself with a subtle nod, he steps to the side of the banquet hall, the din of the celebration fading as he answers the call, expecting to hear Sakura's voice.
"Sakura, where are you? The ceremony-" Sasuke begins, his voice a blend of concern and relief.
"Papa?" The boy's voice is small, trying to be brave despite the trembling at his throat. It cuts Sasuke through his core, every hair on the back of his head raising.
A wave of nausea washes over him, his heart lurching. "Sato?" he utters, barely a whisper from the secluded backstage area of the banquet hall, his mind racing with a thousand unspoken fears.
"Papa, I'm scared."
"Sato, put Sakura on the phone," Sasuke demands, a growing sense of dread enveloping him.
"I can't."
Sasuke can hear something in the background. The sound of Kyo's loud crying, strange adult voices, loud sirens: a stark contrast to tonight's calm and controlled façade.
"Sato, put Sakura on the phone," Sasuke's voice sharpens, his body tensing, preparing for the worst yet again. He's trying to think rationally, trying to be steady for Sato. And yet, Sasuke cannot feel his legs beyond the static coursing through his veins.
"She's in the really loud car. They're taking us with her."
"Sato? Who is taking you? What happened? Put Sakura on the phone," Sasuke insists, his voice betraying a hint of desperation as his mind is melting away, as the skeletons in his closet come out to play once again.
"Mama Sakura fell. She didn't wake up so I called the -"
Distant voices mingle with Sato's, creating a cacophony of sounds that Sasuke strains to decipher. His son's words are drowned out, leaving Sasuke's heart plummeting into an abyss of fear.
Sharp realization pierces through him – the possibility of losing Sakura without ever confessing the depth of his love becomes real tonight.
"Sato?!"
Sasuke's unspoken love, a silent companion in their shared life, suddenly weighs on him. It's in every thought he thinks of Sakura, possibly lying in a hospital bed, unaware of the true extent of his feelings, ignites a panic in Sasuke that burns through his composure. He's tormented by the prospect of an unfulfilled future, haunted by the echoes of a love never fully revealed. His chest constricts with a painful mixture of love and fear, each beat of his heart a reminder of the words left unsaid, the emotions unexpressed.
"Hello? Hello, Sato?"
Sasuke's world, often so controlled and restrained, now teeters. The trauma of his past surges beyond the shadows of his mind, presenting itself as if it has never left Sasuke's side. Memories of Tsubaki's loss, the anguish and regret that followed, intertwine with his present terror. His love for Sakura, a quiet but ever-present force, now screams at him, within him, taunting him. Sasuke is losing her now too.
His breath grows erratic, bronchi hurting. Each gasp for air is a struggle against the suffocating grip of his fears. He's caught in a maelstrom of love and loss, each thought of Sakura intensifying his dread. In this tumultuous moment, Sasuke is a man battling his own heart, fighting against the tides of past and present, desperately clinging to the hope of a future where he can finally bare his soul to Sakura.
"What is going on? Put Sakura on the phone!"
The line crackles, and a new, unfamiliar voice speaks. "Hello, sir, this is Paramedic Hyuuga with the Konoha Fire Department."
"Neji?" Sasuke's voice echoes with a mix of fury and despair. "What is happening?!"
"Sasuke- I mean, sir, you need to remain on the line. We will be transporting Sakura and children to the local Senju County Hospital for specialized treatment. It seems your wife had an episode."
The phone slips slightly in Sasuke's trembling hand, the polished floor of the ballroom falling out from under him. The ballroom fades into insignificance as Sasuke's mind narrows to a single, devastating point. His world shakes in a catastrophically familiar way, on the brink of collapse.
Sasuke doesn't realize his feet are running towards the exit – any exit, truly – until Fugaku, stern and unyielding, stands in his path. "Sasuke, what is this disgraceful display? You are running like some spoiled child" he demands, his voice commanding even in the staging area for the banquet's ceremony display.
Sasuke, his heart breaking and mind reeling, tries to push past his father, but Fugaku's firm grip latches onto him. Sasuke knows this feeling, a lifetime of being asked to shoulder the weight of the world and a lifetime of reprimands when Sasuke couldn't.
"I need to be with Sakura. She's in the hospital!" Sasuke's voice cracks, every bit the young boy he was the last time he stepped out of line.
Fugaku's response is icy. "You will not abandon your duties for some... girl."
Itachi interjects, attempting to mediate. "Father, please. Sakura is Sasuke's – "
"I don't care! You are an Uchiha," Fugaku interrupts. "You have duties to us."
"She's not just 'some girl.' She is my wife!" His voice is a tempest of emotion.
"You've always been weak for women. Any skirt on legs who would give someone like you the time of day-"
"Father, Sakura is my life! I love her. I won't let something as stupid as 'duties' –"
"- And look what good that did to Tsubaki and now this Sakura girl. Dead."
Itachi steps forward, his voice calmer than Sasuke had heard in many years. "Father, let him go. Sasuke has to be with Sakura."
The lines at the edges of Fugaku's mouth carve deeper into his face, darkening with visible distaste. "You are both disappointments."
Sasuke doesn't wait for another word. He pushes past his father, his only thought of reaching Sakura. Itachi follows, a silent ally in his brother's time of need.
Outside, the cool night air does little to quell the burning fear in his chest. Sasuke's heart is racing and his mind finds it difficult to focus when there is so much fear coursing through his system. Itachi somehow hails a taxi for them, the vehicle's arrival a small mercy in his frantic race against time. The ride to the hospital is a blur – the city lights streak past like distant stars, his brother's attempts at conversation falling on deaf ears. Sasuke's mind is a whirlwind, evaporating every single emotion that's not tied down into the storm. Each and every thought is a needle pricking at his heart. The taxi's confines feel like a cage, trapping him in a space too small for his escalating panic.
'You should have been there,' the storm rages at him. Sasuke has faced this same Goliath, raced to this same hospital, ran from this same fear of losing the love of his life. 'You doomed her.'
They arrive at the hospital, Itachi's voice echoing just behind Sasuke's sprint on the sterile linoleum.
"Sasuke! Wait!"
His every stride is fueled by a desperate need to see Sakura, to assure himself that she is safe. He needs to see her. Sasuke needs to tell her everything. Sasuke needs to tell her how much he loves her. His approach to the reception is hurried, his voice a strained blend of command and fear.
Sasuke bursts into the hospital, each step echoing his frantic heartbeat. The bright lights of the reception area feel blinding, the antiseptic smell of the hospital mingling with his rising panic. He runs up to the reception desk, his voice edged with barely contained panic.
"Where is my wife? I need to see her," he demands, his dark eyes locked onto the receptionist's face, searching for any sign of understanding, any shred of urgency to match his own.
The young woman behind the reception desk looks up from her computer screen. Her name tag is partly obstructed by her long hair, but Sasuke can piece out the letters: R-I-N. Behind her glasses, Sasuke can see the white in her eyes meeting his, recognition apparent. Sasuke's never let anyone know just how scared he actually is – how tight fear can grip his heart – but Sasuke finds that he doesn't give a damn.
Rin puts down the phone she was using. "I'm sorry, sir. Can you please verify the patient's name and date of birth?"
Sasuke's jaw tightens, the procedural questions grating against his frayed nerves. "I'm her husband. Her name is Sakura. Sakura Uchiha. Sakura's date of birth is March 28. Please, I need to see her now." His voice rises, a crescendo of worry and impatience.
The receptionist types swiftly, her eyes scanning the screen. Every time Rin looks up at him, Sasuke can feel his pulse quicken, his nerves visibly jumping. "Mr. Uchiha, please understand we must follow protocol for the safety of our patients." Her voice is calm, a stark contrast to Sasuke's internal turmoil.
Sasuke clenches his fists, fighting the urge to lash out. The seconds stretch into hours in his mind. "Please, just… tell me how she is," he pleads, his voice cracking under the strain.
Itachi, who has been silently observing the exchange, steps forward, placing a reassuring hand on Sasuke's shoulder. "Sasuke…," he says in a gentle but firm tone. He casts a knowing glance at Rin, conveying a silent apology for the disruption.
The receptionist nods, her expression softening at Itachi. "I see here that Mrs. Uchiha is currently in surgery and her two sons are in the waiting area. I can have a nu –"
The word hit Sasuke like a tidal wave. Surgery. The storm within his mind breathes out a deep, groaning chuckle.
Sasuke's mind reels, catapulting him back to a memory steeped in grief and despair. He's suddenly still in that same sterile hospital corridor. The air is old, dust motes stand frozen in time. His head turns and Sasuke can see old maroon pooling in the middle of the hallway. He can hear his breath in his ear, the sickening sloshing of his blood at his eardrums. The lights here are both too bright and not clear enough. He remembers the doctors' grim faces, the hushed urgency of their voices, and the way his world crumbled when they told him.
Sasuke was too late.
The stark white walls of the hospital blur into a canvas of his past, each tick of the watch hands stabs at him. Small, precise, and agonizing, every second blurs into pain. Tsubaki's smile, her laughter, the happiness they shared – all gone. The present melds with the past and Sasuke can't see beyond any of it. A familiar helplessness engulfing him, a terror that Sakura might share the same fate as Tsubaki. The weight of this living nightmare presses down on him, suffocating, as he stands frozen.
Sasuke does not allow red-headed Rin to finish her sentence. He just runs. Like the useless and spineless coward he is, Sasuke just runs. With every breath, his heart sinks deeper and deeper, the confirmation of Sakura in surgery sending a cold chill down his spine. His fear and love for Sakura pulls him down under their weight, choking out every bit of oxygen as he drowns in a sea of uncertainty. Sasuke tries to focus on his sons, Sato and Kyo, who cling to him and Itachi, their small faces etched with confusion and fear. He holds them close, a protective embrace that belies his inner turmoil as Itachi promises to take Kyo and Sato back home to bed.
There was happiness because of her. Past the blood and bruise, happiness is all Sakura is to him. Past the curses and cries, Sakura was the sun shining down on him when he didn't want to live in grief. Beyond terror in the nightfall, there was happiness because of her. Sasuke is gripped by the ghost of the happiness that left him and came back to him, knowing deep in his bones that there is no happiness past this. There is no happiness without delicate pink hair. No happiness beyond glittering jade eyes. Sasuke will not find happiness in the sunshine, in the rain. No amount of quiet will sound as beautiful as her loud ruckus. There is no happiness without Sakura.
All alone in the haze, his mind plays just one determined tune amongst the wreckage of the night and the tears streaming down his face: 'Sakura needs to know how happy she makes me.'
END OF CHAPTER SEVEN.