A/N: Hi~ It's been a long time!

9 months and counting! I've been on a swim inside my head with all these words that didn't make sense to me, got creativity burnout and decided that I won't be touching this for a while. Then came April and I started to have a bit of leeway, then started working again on the next scenes, which then became Chapters 4 and 5. All the scenes from Chapter 3-5 is supposed to be the entirety of Chapter 3, but I figured it was best to split them instead for the drama (y'all know how I roll 😉 )

So here's Chapter 4 or Chapter 3.2
See TW in End Notes. There will be more in the future, so I hope y'all are ready.

Chapter 4
ghosts in the day

'For You. —U.S.'

It was only him who signs his gifts, always wanted to let the receiver know whom it's from. Her thumb brushed over the note, placing it on her desk, eyes focusing on where it had rested.

Tulips—three sprigs and a crown of white, wrapped in paper, a few drops of rain scattered on it.

She leaned in, trying to catch its scent, but couldn't. Normally, she'd be able to catch it, especially a distinct one coming from its giver. Something she'd learned from all the flower shop owners she'd come across. But she supposed it made sense, since he'd always been someone who was known to conceal himself best ever since he came back.

She picked up the note again.

"Looks like someone got an admirer."

Sakura jumped at the voice and hid the note behind her desk. When she looked up, Kakashi leaned against the door frame with his arms folded. It looked like he came from the training grounds, his hair a bit damp from the earlier rain, more gray than silver under the roof. It had been a day since he came back from his Anbu mission—that made sense—given his mission partner had time to send her this.

Kakashi narrowed his eyes. "Now you're hiding it. I wonder who that—"

"Don't, Kakashi." She sighed and placed the note back on her desk.

Kakashi didn't say anything. These days, his eyes a bit harder to crack.

She busied herself, took the tulips from the paper and propped them into the vase near the window. When she turned back to her visitor, he looked as if he was about to say something, looking anywhere else, as if finding answers within the four corners of her small clinic.

"What is it?" Sakura walked back to her desk, picking up the records she needed for her rounds.

He looked back at her. "Nothing," he'd said. His eyes shined for a bit, but they were tight, locking a secret behind them. Kakashi smiles with his eyes, but at that time, Sakura could see it was a bit different from the usual smiles he'd given her. "You won't be able to go anyway," he added.

It was then Sakura raised her brow. "Well, aren't you going to ask?"

And without any hesitation, he did. "Well, are you free right now?"

The air was in a standstill. Her heart roared like thunder across the room. She wondered if he'd heard it.

"No." She tried smirking, hiding away her thumping heart.

And then he rolled his eyes and smirked back, his eye smiles not as tight as earlier.

There—she thought—this is familiar. This is easy.

She smiled at him, leaving the paper and the note on her desk and the tulips turning to the light peeking in between dark clouds, and walked over to the door. Walked over to him.

"Tell me next time. A patient needs me right now."

"Or maybe someone else."

She turned to him, pretending she didn't hear it. "What was that?"

He looked away. "Nothing."

Sakura scoffed, observing the way he backed away. "You're only allowed to say nothing thrice in front of me."

"I have one more then." She thought there's a curl in his lip behind that mask.

"What can I say," she shrugged. "I'm quite merciful."

And just then, they were closer. For a moment, it felt like no one else would interrupt them. For a moment, his gaze dropped onto hers, and she felt like she could drown into it. The storm it had, the way it contained a lot of things, yet giving out nothing all at once. She blinked before the awkwardness sets in.

"See you, Kakashi."

Sakura walked away from him, leaving him still leaning at her door, and then she heard him call.

"Say hi to Sasuke for me."

She stopped and turned to him, a question at the tip of her tongue.

But she was only met with a thud of a closed door, the circling wind, the coldness of the empty hallway.

As if he hadn't been there at all.

As if she'd only dreamt it.

The clock ticks by with a hollow echo in its trail, sounding like footsteps against white tiles before the break of dawn. No one else moves, or maybe because there isn't anyone else with her. Not even the wind, nor the air he took away with him.

There's a burning at the corner of her eyes. It stings, causes a blur, and takes her away from the ground she knows her feet had been rooted on.

And she falls, and falls, and falls.

One moment, Sakura stands at her apartment, looking out the small window by the sink. In the next, she's taken someplace else.

Somewhen.

Like that's even possible.

It isn't the first time. Ever since that one fateful encounter in the winter, it had taken up her dreams, her waking moments, haunting her like ghosts in the day. A stubborn hope dwells inside her as the days drag on, that everything will fade into the wind's course and pass in haste, but months later, it remains as heavy as it is the previous day, grabs her by the throat when she least expects it. Sakura wonders if this has become her norm. If she needs to let herself be accustomed by it.

A part of her believes it isn't.

"Focus, Sakura. Your mind is running again. If you intend to catch up to them, then endure."

A page flips back to a chapter in the beginning—in the middle of the Hokage's hall of scrolls, legs crossed, twelve-year-old Haruno Sakura sat on the floor, leaning forward in wonderment that day Tsunade had introduced to her the power of the Byakugou seal. Her Shishou's voice repeats as if it's been whispered every minute her thoughts run. The struggle ensued due to her reactions, her emotions. It hadn't been easy—still isn't easy now.

"Keep your thoughts at bay, or your chakra flow will be disturbed."

A page flips forward to the middle, and instead of Tsunade's voice, it is someone else's—low and reserved, with an absence of anger his voice had been laced in during those years he'd gone to the other side of the war. This time, he'd been back for a while, and had helped her practice while she remained in Konoha. With her eyes closed, she couldn't help but feel his mismatched eyes pierce into her. She tried holding her breath, enough to keep away the glares that had started to sting, but before the agony overtook her, he called her by her name.

Inside her ribs are strings, tugged in those quiet moments, and yet the sound is hardly a melody. Each tug is a beat, followed by an ache, and it beats her down with no intention of bringing her back up.

Sakura breathes and crashes herself into an imaginary wall—a technique she'd taught herself over the years whenever it became too much; gets her to take a step back whenever her mind spirals out of control. She braces herself for the impact, as she goes back to a time a certain question emerges out of her.

How does one measure the speed of thought?

Intrigue keeps her on her toes, especially if she wants answers.

Not that she hasn't read about it among the stacks of books and scrolls that accompanied her day and night at the Hokage's secret library. Not that she hasn't observed it in every conversation that she has with her friends, her colleagues, or her patients.

Thoughts slip like silk through the crevices of her overbearing mind. The answers to her very questions only leave her etched with confusion as sentences end without punctuation—open-ended, unsure.

Until now, she doesn't really understand it.

At times, thoughts never leave until a person goes through it. Until it is dissected into pieces and studied on how each part fits the other; until the bolt is unhinged from its socket, keeping the plain wall away from blocking the intricacies it has hidden.

Oftentimes, the thoughts fleet away; flies at random from an observation into a memory in a span of a flick. Or a snap. Or a flip of a page. Or a click of a shutter.

Like lightning from a distance one never sees coming.

Images. Random moments in the past. Something she hasn't even thought of in a while. All arrive as if it's welcomed.

It opens locked doors. Breaks through hard-built walls.

Without warning. Without a reminder.

Well, a reminder, maybe. And it might have been because of the new vase propped at her coffee table by the living room. Sleek and tall, enough to snag her attention, especially as it had the same shape as the one in her clinic—the one Sakura had left beside her window alone, with nothing inside it.

Once upon a time, that vase had kept her clinic alive. Compliments outpouring from every person who laid eyes on it—about how different the place feels that week, about how lovely it looked even on a gray day. They'd ask her where she got it, but all she offers is a smile.

At times, it makes her patients smile.

"What kind of flower is it, Haruno-sensei?" They'd ask.

Most times, the names leave her, prompting her to ask Ino about them. Terumi would share her knowledge about the bright pretty stalks when it's only the two of them in the clinic, before Sakura could look for answers elsewhere.

There were some that she already knew. Roses, tulips, carnations, daffodils. All of them common in a neighborhood garden. Even at Yamanaka Flowers whenever she visits, Ino's mother places labels on all the carts for convenience—be it for themselves or for the customers. Even her mom had them, right at the back of their home before the war, at the garden she'd tend to every day, and Sakura would just crouch beside her, watching her because her mom knew that she couldn't be trusted to be near any of them. Sakura doesn't mean to destroy them, and she wouldn't even try to.

"Sakura." Her mom would call for her, and she'd just stay by her side as she listens to her mom's voice, nodding at every name her lips carry, at every tender caress of a petal, at every dew drop to the ground.

It makes Sakura wonder about the name they've given her. Even when she was weak when she was younger, she never had a delicate touch.

At that thought, her mind reels away to another moment. Another snap in time. A long lost dream she'd forgotten.

A familiar flower—small, delicate pink petals that brightened her clinic that day—but never got to be in that vase. A seemingly ordinary spring day, that didn't seem ordinary at all.

There was no name, it wasn't signed like the way her raven-haired teammate would have, and yet she knows from whom it's from. She'd know that faint scent of pinewood even from a mile away. What was more unusual with it was a note, because not only was it rare—it was actually her first time getting it from him.

And the only time.

Caught this one on my way home, it said.

Simple, and yet carried a couple of words that never needed to be written.

Enough to tip the world. Her world.

As her eyes start to burn, she wonders if he remembers it. If underneath the mask, the cold demeanor he wears all these years—if the person who wrote those words still lingers in there. Even just a little.

"It's him, isn't it?" An image of a raven-haired Anbu shinobi flashed out of nowhere, mismatched eyes on hers, and a hint of resignation in the words he uttered.

"Sakura?" Another call from a different voice, a bit higher and more familiar, more recent. It is distant, like it came from outside, and she ignores it once, or maybe twice. She can just stay here. Hidden, with these memories, with this time she will never bring back. Alone, in the standstill of time.

"Forehead, are you listening to me?"

The bubble around her bursts, and Sakura is taken back to the same place as before, right at her apartment, in front of her sink. Streaks of rain slide down the window pane, like tears. All those thoughts running as if it had been forever. How long had she been standing there with all those memories running around in circles? A low rumble reaches her ears, and she wonders if it's thunder or her beating heart. She turns her head as Ino calls her again, finding her friend still seated behind her kitchen counter, leaning forward.

"What?" There's a scratch in her throat that needed to be cleared.

"I've been calling you like ten times."

Sakura lets out a breath and rolls her eyes. "That's an overstatement."

"It's not."

Sakura can hear the worry in Ino's words. The steam from Ino's teacup is waning at most—probably because Ino didn't want to down all of it with the heat or she'd already finished it while Sakura is in her own bubble away from the world around her.

As Sakura watches Ino, she realizes that there's still the panic at the pit of her stomach, slowly gnawing inside her.

It had only been yesterday when she agreed to have Ino over to help her with the flowers she received almost two weeks ago. When she left the flower shop, when she worked through each document, the doubt of her decision loomed beside her like a shadow. She thought that maybe if she left her thoughts alone and concentrated on her tasks, all her worries about it will just fade out of the picture. But even after her shift had ended, instead of having the feeling of relief at the end of the work week, panic started to pile inside her as she took each step towards her apartment.

And Sakura knew that this visit will be anything but relief.

She had thought of canceling it altogether. It was easier to let the flowers dry up and die, leave her apartment in its already drudging state. Yet, part of her opposed the easy route, a tiny voice just by her shoulder telling her, "Didn't you hope for even the slightest bit of change?"

She then hoped for rain the next day. She hoped for a storm. Or anything that could come up that will cause Ino to cancel instead of her. And it actually did rain—but only when Ino had already knocked on her door, with a bag full of boosters she brought from their shop and a vase at hand.

That same vase now propped on her coffee table in her living room. Free of daffodils, adorned of hyacinths.

It's peculiar how the hyacinths still thrive as it blooms into its second week; the purples and blues brighter as the natural light through her window hits, even with the gloomy weather; its scent more prominent without another type mixed in.

It still smelled as if spring has just begun.

"You have to take care of that." Ino had reminded her how delicate the hyacinths are during the spring upon her arrival, and to place them near sunlight as much as possible, but not too direct. Sakura had to note it down a sticky note because Ino said so. As it had been raining, they only settled for it to be on the coffee table for now. When Sakura had asked if there were anything specific to be placed best on those flowers, she responded with a promotion to a product of theirs. Ino always said these things with her best smile, and it made Sakura wonder when her friend had learned sweet talking her customers, but then realized that she always has that effect on people. It's because of Ino that she's learned to do that, but it hasn't always been her strong suit. Although Sakura tries sometimes, it just isn't for her.

With the reminder, Sakura nods absently as she makes her way to the seat beside Ino with her own teacup and a plate of bread she'd bought the day before. When she sits down opposite her friend, Ino is already looking at the vase.

"Much nicer, isn't it?" Ino smiles.

Sakura shrugs, but she feels it. It is indeed nicer for the flowers to be distributed around the apartment. The daffodils were placed on the vase at the counter near the sink, as well as the one behind her bookcase which was now transferred near the window, and the almost dried up ones were already disposed of. Ino had done her magic, and Sakura was grateful for it.

But the panic is still there.

"You haven't changed much here."

Sakura can still hear the rain against her window. She asks, "What do you mean?"

"This place has been the same since I last visited you here."

That cold night—a storm whirling outside, as is in her heart, as is in her head.

She takes a quick sip, covering her lips from any tremble or any answer it might utter without any thought.

She's guilty. Other than add some consumables that she needs and some repairs, change was something her apartment never got the chance to meet. Things that don't belong anymore are still there—like old editions of her medical books she'd brought with her upon moving in, or those modern pens she's used that didn't have any ink. She can't bring herself to throw away the things that have been with her for years. More so, her walls haven't changed; the layout of her living room; the plain kitchen countertops; the dulled color of her shelves.

"I didn't have time," she mutters in defense, walls start to stack in between them.

Ino's eyes are on her, as if thinking of the next observation she could find, but Sakura beats her to it. "Do you want to eat anything else, Pig? I can make you a salad." It's about time they had lunch even if it was already past noon.

Ino sighs. "Fresh ingredients?" Sakura knows she's just humoring her.

"Yup." At her response, she walks towards her fridge, takes out fresh lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, apples, eggs and some of the leftover bread she stowed away. While she's making an enemy of the vegetables in front of her, Ino fills her in with everything that's happening. With her friend's missions at the border and back in Konoha as the medical representative for a conference, it's hard to believe that it's only been two weeks since they last hung out. Sakura had only been at the hospital and her apartment and back, and the occasional visits to the Hokage's office for reports. She hasn't even gone back to the Monument yet—it's been too long since she's seen the sunset.

Sakura doesn't fail to give a bit of a reaction to the blonde-haired girl sitting behind her counter, but the feeling of panic—of dread—that accompanies each dead air in between them settles in. Like she's waiting for something.

A right time, perhaps.

As she places the last of the apples in the bowl, tossing in the bite-sized toasted bread into the mix, coating them with dressing, she goes back to Ino, who is still looking at her like she's going to fall down at any minute. She takes a plate from the dried stack beside the sink and sets it in front of Ino and finally sits down.

"Help yourself."

"Sure, will do," Ino grins, and Sakura hopes that this might ease up the tension that she's feeling.

It doesn't.

As she takes a couple of each ingredient from the bowl to her plate, Sakura remembers what she always tells herself—what Tsunade had taught her from before. To always trust that feeling at the pit of her stomach.

She'd always tell herself to give the benefit of the doubt until something was said, until something was asked.

It gives you time to prepare, she'd always say.

And yet, whenever she is faced against it, she is never ready.

Well into her third bite, Ino asks.

"Have you seen Kakashi lately?"

Rain is still tapping against the window, but Sakura hasn't heard it in a while. The question rings like a bell in her ears, an alarm in her head, her skin in cold sweat.

Her heart pounds amid the silence.

She hears it, clearly, and she wishes that she hadn't.

"What?" is all she could muster in return.

Ino raises her eyebrows, leans towards her, and it's like she's with her in a dark room with a dim light swinging in the middle. Some kind of criminal who had done something unforgivable.

"Kakashi—he's been in Konoha for a while."

Her gut hadn't been wrong, and now, she's lost her appetite.

Sakura gapes at Ino for a while, wonders if her eyes say more. She never knows where his missions may be or if he ever stays in the village. But whenever he's in Konoha, it's because something went wrong in the mission, or he isn't doing well.

The thought tugs into her chest.

"And?" Sakura tries not to let her breathing show how much her heart pounded at the sound of his name. A name her mind constantly fleets towards. She lowers her gaze, stabs an apple with her fork.

Ino sighs as she sets her fork against the plate. "Why are you doing this, Forehead?"

Sakura stops and looks up. "What… are you talking about?"

The dread, it keeps on climbing up like a vine on its way to lodge her throat. It begins to suffocate, to constrict every air pathway. She wants to open her windows, even though the branches have been in chaos for quite some time.

Sakura doesn't know how long they've stared at each other, as if gauging the other on how they react. She usually never backs down, even when it does feel like an interrogation right at her own home, in front of her homemade salad. Another thing she taught herself over time.

But certain moments, certain questions… they're too much.

"Sakura." She cringes at her friend's chiding tone. There is always that look in Ino's eyes that she dismisses sometimes as a flicker of a shadow amid a traveling light. Sakura never liked that look, and yet, she always sees it whenever she catches Ino's gaze.

She doesn't respond, just blankly stares at her, waiting for the blonde's next words. And then Ino says, "Don't do that."

"Do what exactly?" Sakura asks, feet firm on the ground.

And it's as if she hasn't asked a question, Ino drops a bomb in the middle of her home, the only space that should have been safe.

"Have you visited Sasuke yet?"

It is a simple question that warranted a one-word answer.

Have you visited Sasuke yet? Yet, the name catches her breath, and it stills everything else. The rain taps fall mute against her window just like they've been for a while, the whistle of the wind fades, the teacup right by her hand never made much of a tinkle even when her knuckles had touched it.

There is a storm outside, but even without opening her window, it feels like it brought chaos here instead.

She glares at Ino, and for the first time, Ino retreats from her inquisitive self to offer a hand towards her.

Sakura pulls back, of course. The panic at the pit of her stomach has evolved into something else—building through her chest, on her shoulders, gritting, gnawing. She wraps her arms around her body, feeling pain from within as flashes of white and gray take up her vision; raven and silver; linoleum, dim lights, coldness.

Crimson.

"Sakura." Her name rings through the silence.

She draws huge breaths within her. "Don't…" she whispers, fists clenched. "Please…"

"I'm—"

"I said don't, Ino!" She stands up, stool dragged back. "I've told you, we're not having this conversation."

Sakura walks towards her couch, but it doesn't stop Ino.

"How long are you going to hide? How long are you going to ignore this?"

How long will you be like this? The same low voice soft from a distant memory knocks on her window.

"It's been three years, Sakura—"

"Don't you think I know that?" The words seethe out of her. Sakura feels that Ino will never really understand it.

"You've been avoiding them for years. Don't you think it's time to move past that?"

The question breaks her. "You could never understand."

"Then, make me." Ino sits at the lone armchair, facing her. "I'm here, Forehead. I can listen."

And yet, you still asked. "You won't."

"Sakura…"

She pulls back, faces away from her friend. "You can't make me, Ino. I know it's been years. I know I need to move past it." There's no stopping her from saying everything she can, anger mixing with the grief of everything that happened. "I've been trying, dammit! I've always been trying!"

Right then, Sakura can't stop her tears from falling. The gods know what she'd been through. That she'd always been trying to reach out, no matter what. That she'd always make herself available whenever she sees him. That even though she could have visited him like she should, she couldn't because the pain of remembering the hurt in his eyes is just too much for her to handle. The way he avoids her like a plague. The way he goes away whenever she's near.

Not like before.

Not like before.

And whenever Sakura thinks she's ready to move past it all, he'll be there like it didn't bother him at all, the panic then sets in, and she'll be back to square one.

Everything—what she's been trying to do, what she needed, what she wanted, all she prepared for—all gone because he—

He left.

Sakura weeps quietly away from Ino, not one word heard.

"I—" She starts again, yet her throat clogs. And tears continue to slide down her cheeks, each drop sinking onto her wrist. She doesn't wipe them away.

I'm not ready, she wants to say. It's not hard to admit it to herself, but trying to tell someone something that you've kept to yourself for so long is another story. She knows she has to trust Ino; she's always been there, waiting for her to get past this grief that still remains with her.

In truth, Sakura had always wanted to. To get it all out. To ask for help. No one wants to keep a broken heart hidden inside a cage.

But…

"I can't." Sakura settles in saying as Ino walks to her, sitting next to her at the couch facing her. She places a napkin onto Sakura's hand, as if it could hold what remained of her emotions. As if it could erase whatever was said and done.

Sakura doesn't look up at her, not for a while, but there is a teary whimper when Ino breathes. They sit with their bodies facing each other, allowing their hands to hold the other in silence. Food and drink left alone at the counters, the apartment remains like a painting—still, unchanging for a while.

"Sakura," Ino pulls away and calls her, but Sakura only stares at her fingers, fiddling with the napkin in her hand. She doesn't know how long they'd been in that position. "I… I'm going to leave the bag. There are some fertilizers and sprays you can use for the flowers. It should last a bit longer now."

Sakura wipes the wetness on her cheeks, the remaining tears welling at the corners. She takes a glance at the blonde, and when their eyes meet, she nods.

Ino walks towards the stool behind the counter she occupied earlier and finishes her tea as if it were water. "The vase is yours too."

Sakura glances at the vase on top of the coffee table, purple standing out within the gray. A sudden flash of brown hair tips her out of balance. If Ino had noticed her flinching, she doesn't say it.

"Okay," she croaks a reply, the rasp still in her voice after her outburst. The anger hasn't subsided yet, but another feeling creeps into light.

Numbness.

With a sigh, Ino says, "I'll head out."

Sakura follows Ino to the door, holding it open once she's outside, picking up her umbrella. Rain still hasn't left her apartment.

Ino turns and wraps her arms around Sakura. Even with the way things ended, she never forgets to do this parting gesture. But today, it somehow feels like something more. Like a kind of comfort. Or an apology. Or both.

When she pulls away a moment later, her friend hands over something to her. "Here."

She watches Ino in confusion.

"If you want to get some ideas, then go to the library and find Kei-kun, he'll know what to do." Ino says, combing her hair once with her fingers.

Her mind runs, and she asks, not stopping herself. "What is it?"

"Something to connect the dots."

As Ino turns away, Sakura's eyes follow her friend—with her tension fading like the steam of tea long abandoned, and a folded piece of parchment sticking in between her fingers.

End Notes:

TW: panic attacks

fewer words, but it felt like that was a lot. there'd been times when i cried rereading the apartment scene. it's one of the vital parts of this story, and it actually took me a lot of time to weave this scene into what it is today.
i'm sorry my dear Sakura for what I've put you through. 😦
And finally! Welcome to the story, Sasuke~ :)

what do you guys think?
if there's anything you'd want to discuss, i'd be happy to discuss it with you in the comments.

thanks as always to my ever lovely cheer/beta-reader Injeolmi for bouncing ideas with me and for not making me seem crazy. XD
next chapter is a bit... chaotic 😉
see you then!

x Rye