Like Gold

by cherrynojutsu

Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD/survivor's guilt for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

19. Faults

AN: Surprise, bitch. Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

I will forewarn that there are 2,313 words of... filth... in this. Also no beta, so consider yourself double forewarned. More at the end as always. Enjoy the yearning.

---

Chapter 19: Faults

Sasuke believes in the notion of karmic justice to a degree, and gods know he more than deserves his fair share, but he thinks the universe may be laying it on a bit thick, this particular day.

The sun is just stealing below the horizon at the southwest training ground, but the calefaction isn't letting up a bit. Sakura's face is painted in shades of vivid nectarine, a pleased flush glowing on her cheeks following what he assumes, judging by the lightened load of paperwork in her tote bag today compared to yesterday, was a rather productive day at the hospital. Shadows of still leaves, tapered just right and static with the lack of wind, are ascending her cheek as the light fades, shadowing the freckle out of his sight.

Yet her lips, pale pink and perfect and angled just so, are currently engaged in devouring an ice cream cone, set perfectly in the little direct auric of the setting sun atop the center of her countenance; no shadows rise to obscure the sight.

And Sasuke, frustratingly, torturously, is getting an eyeful.

Her mouth is intermittently coated with a melting layer of the sweet, then swiped spotless as it melts. Her lips strike in slow, deliberate motions, tongue occasionally appearing more fully to lick away a trail running down the side of the cone. And that's not even the worst of it, though that alone is enough to send heat scorching through his veins, to make his muscles taut with restraint, to clench his fist at his side until his knuckles are blanched as he subtly angles his posture the opposite direction from her as a precautionary measure.

Look away, you idiot. Yet he doesn't want to, because…

No, the worst of it is that today, on this third day in a row of ice cream, she's chosen vanilla. And when her tongue swirls by it just right, her delicate fingers coated sticky, he can't help but shift uncomfortably, profoundly bothered by how easily the importunate, baser portion of his brain eagerly fills in the gaps.

And Sakura has no fucking clue.

She's wholly oblivious, canted casually against the granite overhang beneath them with her other hand. She even occasionally closes her eyes in contentment, tongue spiraling clockwise around the sweet in a way that sends a shiver careening down his spine despite the lack of a breeze, that causes him to promptly forget whatever they were talking about the entire brisk walk here and thereafter.

It's manifestly spellbinding and ludicrously maddening, how much she has grown into herself over the years. His eyes greedily trace each and every incognizant movement she makes: the parting of her lips, the careful curling of her fingers…

The way her tongue sweeps away a small sum of the sweet lingering at the corner of her mouth-

Exhaling cooly and further adjusting the angling of his body, Sasuke forces his vision to sidestep to repossess his bearings, frowning and frustrated and barely managing to catch the grunt lingering at the back of his throat, let alone-

You are such an idiot.

He can handle things later. Privately, of course; get rid of the lascivious heat scorching his insides, ramped up following evenings spent on her couch or her balcony. Endeavor to imagine things he's already spent years imagining, turning over possibilities in his head from every angle and position.

Except he's never had such crystal clear visuals to draw on before, and it's more frustrating than he had expected it would be. And furthermore, it does nothing for the emptiness that such actions leave afterwards. That's been ramped up, also, because while he now knows the peace he can feel at having been invited to stay in her bed, the anchoring ataraxis ascertained by pressing his lips against hers until he can't breathe, what's also been elevated is the sense that he knows he is not ready-

"Everything go okay today?" Sakura questions in a voice reminiscent of worried, luring him from both his thoughts and frustrations.

He finds her tongue catching pale sweetness left over at the corner of her lips in a way that makes his mouth run dry.

"...What?" Sasuke asks after way too long a pause.

Jade eyes blink before she takes another slow lick, utterly unaware of his current predicament. He'll think it ad infinitum as he expertly wipes his mind blank: men are weak creatures.

"With Choji, I mean." She extrapolates, expression searching his. "Guard duty. Lots of conversation today?"

His brow furrows, regretting his tone. Shit. He's come off as being annoyed.

"...It went fine." A pause, looking away from her for some modus of relief, unseeing the darkening horizon, before he offers, voice quiet, "He talks less now."

In his peripheral vision, he thinks her face changes. He's hesitant to look.
"Really?" Sakura asks, tone incredulous. It gives him the impression that perhaps Choji is still as talkative as when they were kids, but that the lack of regular conversation really is out of deference for Sasuke's preferred quietude. He supposes he rather appreciates that.

"That doesn't sound like him... though I know he hates the heat."

There is a moment of pause in which he contemplates, studying the locale before him where the granite cliffs meet the grass, then following the thousands of minutiae blades of green to the tree strip across the clearing.

"...Who's Karui?"

Sasuke thinks her lashes flutter in the corner of his eye. He pretends to study something in one of the trees' upper branches in great detail.

"Did he bring her up?" Though he can't see her face, the inflection she uses is positive, as if she somehow finds the topic shift sweet.

Hesitating, he thinks. He supposes he has; just not during guard duty.

"...More or less." A pause. "A while back." A frown overtakes his expression. "He said she would kill him if he chose to keep his sense of taste over the other ones."

He's fairly certain Sakura tries to stifle a laugh, just before he hears the long-awaited crunch that can only signify she's made it to the cone.

Finally. His escape from this torture is imminent, a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. He dislikes not being able to look at her, supporting evidence of his preference for keeping his sight.

"Sai asking questions," Sakura begins in a teasing voice. "On one of your missions, I assume?"

At this, Sasuke exhales through his nose.

"...Something like that."

There's a short pause and another crunch, chewing, a swallow.

"She's from Kumo," Sakura says. "Jonin, now. She's… something?" He sees the hint of a shaking head in his peripheral vision, hesitant. "I don't really know how to describe her, other than to say she's very… dedicated to her job." A pause. "Though she has relaxed a bit more since visiting here a few times. I think maybe they actually met just after the war?" Shifting next to him, she crosses one leg over the other as if in thought.

"But anyways, they started dating… I think a year-ish ago? Worked together at one of the exams. Ino says he charmed her with his cooking, which is hard for me to imagine, but…"

Sasuke chances a look at her, then, trying to gauge her tone as her voice trails off. Though her brows are furrowed, she smiles and shrugs when she notices him waiting.

"Well, I understand they're pretty serious. Ino says she's been bringing some of her stuff here each time she visits. Mostly cooking supplies, but she leaves it at his apartment… Special pans, spice blends…"

Judging by the tone of her voice, Sakura sounds happy for them, despite not seeming to know the woman well. He chalks it up to the fact that she must be happy for Choji.

"And anyways, he's been updating his formula, which apparently he never does, according to Ino. More ginger than before, and red pepper, chiles..."

Sakura then takes a lick of the ice cream in the last remnants of the cone, sunken into the crevices at the bottom, and Sasuke promptly looks elsewhere, trying to latch onto what she's said rather than what he's just watched her do.

He studies the trees in their stillness, the way the shadows of long branches are cascading across the verdant grass. The soft chatter of crickets lilts next to the babble of the brook nearby. It is in this reflection that he finally places her tone.

"...Do you dislike her?" He asks quietly, mind mulling. Sakura is not the type to disesteem someone without reason, endlessly affable. In fact, he would argue that, if anything, she seems adamantly resolute on liking certain people despite their cascading of faults.

In the halcyon air, he can clearly hear the final crunch of the cone, though he keeps his vision trained on the ground for an air longer just in case.

"I guess I... don't know her well enough to dislike her?" Sakura offers quietly. "She..."

Enough seconds pass, so he turns her way, at which point she exhales slowly. He can't quite place the expression on her face. It's not quite nervousness, but more akin to... trepidation.

"She's a kenjutsu specialist," she murmurs quietly, voice a little ambivalent and almost apologetic. "She trained under Killer Bee."

It is then Sasuke's turn to exhale slowly, measuredly, as understanding sets along with the sun. The recall of a comment from Naruto - "Her right hook is almost as nasty as yours, Sakura-chan!" - has his stomach sinking like an anchor. He studies the grass before him afresh without seeing it.

Years after the fact, he continues to learn new ways in which his transgressions have negatively affected his team. They're all stuck in his muck; it permeates everything in ways he can never fully comprehend, ways in which Sakura and Naruto and Kakashi and even Choji and the rest of their old classmates are far too kind to say. The bitter taste of it lingers acidulous at the back of his throat no matter how many times he tries to swallow it, sediment crowding at all of their feet comparable to quicksand. He can sort through the archive of his multitude pile of fuckups with the finest tooth comb and still find something new to be ashamed of each occasion.

And what a profoundly fucking stupid fight to pick besides; he nearly died in his arrogance and utter lack of knowledge of his opponent. Who was he to think he should control a Biju? All for some chance to cut through every single one of his old allies and presumably a large portion of innocent people, the continued cycle of violence that is the Shinobi state, to take revenge on the elders?

Elders who, aside from Danzo, remain on Konoha's council, because he completely fucked his own chances at becoming a member of the clan council himself by defecting, by playing the role of the fool. Just like always. There's no way he can affect any sort of change in that regard now; he's butchered his odds at demanding justice without bloodshed through politics in a manner similar to how his brother butchered both of their parents on the dark wood floors of their childhood home.

But there's good, too. He forces himself to trail his vision along each individual blade of grass, still in the summer air. The cherry blossom tree across the street had been still for study this morning, too, prior to his early rendezvous with the training grounds to work on correcting his forms. Far more good than I've earned-

"Hey." A bump of Sakura's shoulder against his good one prompts his attention once more, drawing him abruptly from the heft of his thoughts.

"It was years ago," Sakura murmurs, voice soft and smiling tentatively at him. "In the past." She leans back a little, then, withdrawing her shoulder from his only just after he's processed that he's rather partial to the sensation. The new angle has a crowning of shadows cascading across her hair, desaturating it to pale lavender. "And anyways, I want to know which sense you'd keep."

Sasuke expels one more slow, measured breath, contemplating as his lungs empty. There are things he likes - the rush of adrenaline before a fight, the feeling of Sakura's cheek in his hand - and things that hurt - the sound of crunching against concrete, the way Sakura's eyes look when she's terrified of him, the taste and inhale of freshly brewed jasmine tea - about each of his senses. But he is still an Uchiha, and his answer to Sai still stands; it's in his blood, for better or for worse.

Rather than vocalizing it - remnants of bitterness stubbornly cling to his tongue, and he doesn't quite trust himself to speak just yet - Sasuke chooses to simply study her.

She really is beautiful and has absolutely no concept of the multitude of ways she affects him so. Her pink-lavender hair is settled more to one side than the other, slightly disheveled in the manner it tends to be after she's had a rather prolonged day at work. Her green irises glimmer in the dusk.

She is even more beautiful when her lips part and she starts blushing rosaceous at his continued silence and study, a hint of anticipation in the set of her shoulders like she's waiting for him to speak, as if he isn't illustrating his answer directly and internally calming further every second that he does so. She still gets so flustered when he tries to be more forward in his own way, as if she's second guessing the interest he clearly demonstrates each time.

He supposes that's his own fault. A final breath of setting the past aside is had; in, then out. There's no use dwelling on it now; he needs to stop stewing in the bygone when the coeval is right in front of him.

"...And you?" He finally asks casually, words hanging in the summer air comparable to the last wisps of smoke from a gingerly doused fire, and that seems to do it, because suddenly she is red.

"Uh." Gears turn behind jade eyes, glinting gold. "Um. What?" The questions comes out more like a squeak than anything else.

Nonplussed, Sasuke simply blinks, though he'll admit the corner of his mouth does twitch in rebellion. Teasing her is a welcome distraction from his ruminations on the nature of contrition and being the weakest link. Most things involving her are, he's come to recognize.

"...The one you would keep." It comes out as more of a whisper, akin to the swishing of the grass that shortly follows after as Sakura moves her hand.

Flame licks up his neck, not so doused after all, when her fingers tentatively reach out, hesitant and hovering about his own for a moment. They then carefully intertwine with his, thumb beginning to trace a pattern against his palm and interior wrist as she looks at him pointedly, expression shy.

Ah. It would be. She's a medic, after all. Her hands are a lifeline for good; cauterizing, suturing, healing, helping, saving.

Her touch is akin to a poem in that way, he surmises as he deepens his grasp, feels the corresponding cadence of soft fingertips that frequent his dreams. A lone three words the weight of the world in her index finger and written succinctly all over her face, an accompanying stanza caressed by her thumb. Anaphora, her palm settling against his day after day after day as sure as the moon rises in sequence, chevelure response in measured handwriting on parchment like clockwork in the cycles before that, I miss you rounding out the coda, each and every gentle time.

As the sky shifts ever darker, Sasuke pulses his chakra once to ensure they really are the only ones in the immediate vicinity; he knows the first round of the Exams are in all likelihood still ongoing, but he can do without further teasing on the off chance that Kakashi and Naruto return to the village earlier than expected and are somehow within a five hundred yard radius.

Sakura's pupils are blown wide as she stares up at him, though her expression shifts to one of clear confusion, her mouth parting as if she's about to ask why he's just done that. Her Shinobi training kicks in shortly thereafter; barely a second passes before jade eyes scan the perimeter, searching for whatever threat she thinks he's clocked.

The asking is easily abandoned; she trusts him.

No one's around, he reasons. Not terribly different from the privacy of her balcony, really, aside from the hush oak air wafting over the training grounds and the occasional cricket instead of the night sounds of Konoha's inner city streets. He tightens his grip on her hand before leaning down, blood thrumming in anticipation.

She's never really done what could be described as a squeak when he's kissed her before, but she does this time, easily audible and mouth falling open in surprise. He forces away the twitch at the corner of his own lips, focusing instead on how soft hers truly are as he swallows the sound and the remnant sweetness to be found there.

---

"Ugh," Choji comments right as the sun hits the two o clock mark the following day. "This is brutal, huh? Nothing compared to summer in Suna, I guess, but I'm gonna have a mega sunburn by the end of June."

Sasuke looks to Choji curiously, though he is in agreement; his own clothing is drenched in sweat.

"...You burn?" He supposes the skin of his guard partner does seem rather similar to Sakura's: more cool than warm, once he strategically ignores the clan tradition patterning on each cheekbone. The red of it serves to throw the color behind it into looking warmer than it actually is, now that he's scrutinizing the tone.

"Easier than sugar in a pan." Choji leans backwards against the structure of the gate a bit, closing his eyes for a second and seeming wistful. "It's a pain."

Sasuke nods, mouth twitching once because he's certain the phrase it's a pain has rubbed off directly from Shikamaru over the years. It's strange, the different things they all carry from the passage of time. He still hasn't fully been able to wrap his head around the fact that Team Ten lost their sensei yet remain fairly steadfast in each of their temperaments.

"...Sakura does, too." And at this statement he must exhale, pursing his mouth to the side in disquiet, because he's recently noted two new freckles that appeared on her interior wrist, maddening. He's certain it's from one of their evenings spent at the Training Grounds, watching as the sky interchanges colors in rapid succession until it's nothing but starscape.

He is surprised when Choji laughs, deep and from the belly.

"When we took the Chunin Exams, she made us drop everything we were doing to apply sunscreen three times a day." Choji shakes his head, grinning. "Skin cancer is just as deadly as a kunai to the brachial artery! I mean, that portion was in Suna, so she's right, but it was just funny."

Sasuke's lip twitches. She used to do that on their missions when they were younger, too, minus the specific artery terminology.

"Naruto never would," he offers caustically, at which Choji chuckles again.

"When you were twelve, sure; of course he wouldn't. But fourteen... Sakura was too scary to say no to by then. A year under Senju Tsunade?" He laughs. "I got a light punch when we were training the month before and that was more than enough to make me listen."

Sasuke snorts. He can only imagine; he's never been on the receiving end of one of her uppercuts.

"...She said Tsunade used to regularly knock her teeth out during training."

A smile spreads across Choji Akimichi's face, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shifts his stance and gazes towards the surrounding trees.

"I can imagine. Shikamaru got saddled with filling in for a Jonin for a bit 'round that time. Some injury on a mission... The Genin needed a replacement for a couple of months while their sensei recovered and whatnot."

Sasuke raises a lone eyebrow, because although Shikamaru is a capable leader now, him being put in charge of a Genin squad for a bit at fourteen or fifteen is... challenging to imagine.

"Yeah, I know," Choji remarks once he turns to Sasuke again, apparently taking note of his expression. "Shikamaru's capable, but he's not really a fan of watching Genin. He mentioned the possibility of just giving the vest back at one point, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it from..." The man's voice trails off before he shakes his head, apparently deciding not to specify. "Well, expectations and all that. He always described them as brats, if that tells you anything."

Brat would have been an apt description of him as a Genin, Sasuke reflects. Naruto, too. He's perplexed, however, as to how this story is connected to Sakura.

Choji blinks, apparently realizing he needs to finish that thought before he shakes his head, grinning. "Well, anyways, they got assigned to keep fixing the training grounds Sakura and Tsunade would destroy. Quite a task; I saw the aftermath of a few of 'em. Rifts in the ground, pulled up trees, boulders turned into progressively smaller boulders... It was the bane of Shikamaru's existence for a solid couple of months. During it, we got a mission with Sakura as a fill-in in to Hidden Grass for about a week and he finally got a moment's peace, until Madam Shijimi lost her cat again and that was the replacement mission he had to supervise as soon as we got back."

Sasuke scoffs again, his version of a laugh. Of course the pampered cat of the daimyo's wife is still managing to escape on a regular basis. His own squad tallied at least five D-ranks recovering that evasive creature. His curiosity is now piqued, wondering just how far along Sakura's training was by then.

"... How did the Chunin Exams go?" Her performance would be good, he's certain - she passed - but he doesn't know a thing about those exams; he was underground moving from hide-out to hide-out around the time they would have taken place. He wonders where they were; the background of the picture on Sakura's wall doesn't offer much in terms of information on the locale of the exams, but it obviously wasn't taken in Suna.

Curiosity flashes across his guard partner's expression.

"Well..." A frown overtakes him, then. "They went sorta well, I guess? I mean, we all got promoted. That was the co-sponsored one, so... test portion was here and second stage was in Suna. They canceled the finals because of all the stuff with the Kazekage."

Sasuke frowns, arching an eyebrow in question, to which Choji seems to realize he doesn't grasp what he's talking about.

"Uh. Well, they sorta used the exams as a ruse to try to draw out the Akatsuki. Gaara was Kazekage by then, so... bait, so to speak."

Ah. He's unintentionally brought up old wounds, in some respects. Choji doesn't seem offended, at least, but the heavy-heartedness is there, lingering in his expression. A memory of his own wandering through the Shinobi graveyard wasps across his recollection, thoughts of new and old stones, the losses stacked one on top of the other in the delicate balancing act that is grief.

"...I'm sorry about Asuma." Sasuke speaks it quietly but purposefully, and genuinely, perhaps most important of all; he understands better than most.

If his guard partner is surprised by the condolence, he doesn't show it in the slightest. Choji simply studies him for a moment, disconsolate still lingering in the set of his jaw, before he turns, clearly intent on having another go around the village.

"...Thanks."

---

"Shiruba," Sakura calls, dragging out the syllables of the name as she shoulders Kakashi's apartment door open, old wooden door creaking.

A motley gray cat, tail held high and proud, slinks around the corner of what Sasuke recalls is the kitchen, arching in the sunbeam cast from the western window.

It's the same corner apartment Kakashi has always had, as he knew it would be. They came here a couple of times as kids, in between missions in the village for food breaks and a couple of occasions on Sasuke's own for what he's pretty sure were Hokage-ordered supervisions to make sure he wasn't going to off himself following less than ideal events.

The place hasn't changed much. Kakashi's building has a brick foundation comparable to Sakura's, so the majority of it must have been strong enough to survive Pein's invasion, he surmises; she mentioned it once in passing conversation that while she likes history, she also likes the idea of having a place that's secure should another major event befall Konoha.

There is a wall that seems a little more crooked than it used to, but Sasuke supposes if it hasn't collapsed yet, it must be structurally sound. There is also the vaguely familiar shoe rack situated right in front of it that holds zero shoes, one of the things Sasuke found the most vexing when visiting here as a Genin for the first occasion: their sensei never removed his footwear in his own home and told them they didn't need to, either. He did anyways - his mother always told him that it was extraordinarily impolite not to - to which Naruto would promptly tell him he had a stick up his ass, each and every time.

"She likes you," Sakura comments, grinning as the cat arches against his shin and he subsequently crouches to pet her.

Sasuke shrugs his shoulders, studying the different markings texturing her fur. She's a unique looking creature, to be sure. Certainly well fed, judging by the underbelly pouch she's sporting that hangs nearly to the floor. Cats are easy enough to be around; he's always preferred them over dogs, notwithstanding his clan's long-standing tradition with nin cats. He teamed up with his brother once when they were really young to beg their mother for a kitten for the house.

Their father rapidly squashed that dream by forbidding it as the four of them sat for dinner later that night, tone insouciant. We don't need anything underfoot, and any animal that's not well-trained would compromise safety.

Safety. Sasuke has the urge to laugh, remembering that. Why can he recall that wording so clearly? Perhaps it's because, being the youngest, he was constantly underfoot, a pest to be shooed away at the earliest convenience. And the notion of compromising safety, coming from someone planning a fucking coup with two children in the house and the security of the rest of their family on his shoulders-

"Must be instinct," Sakura remarks softly, to which Sasuke snaps up in surprise. She's looking at him so softly, a tender smile gracing her features.

While his heart does that thing where it turns over in his chest before swelling to meet his ribs at being the clear object of her affections, his lips turn downwards briefly.

Instinct, his mind provides sarcastically, thinking about his father, then his neighbor with her child in tow and the apartment next to his that's still sitting vacated, and then the multitude of people who make a point of crossing the street to traverse on the other side when they notice him coming.

He shrugs once, silently exhaling. He appreciates that she meant it to be a compliment. Sakura's kind like that.

"Kakashi-sensei stocked the fridge with snacks," Sakura tells him, apparently accepting his lack of response without worry. Fingers finally leaving the cat's head to which it meows in protest, his girlfriend's smile is, perplexingly, conspiratorial.

He rises, regret shifting to contemplation and then back to regret again as he trails after Sakura down the short hallway and confronts several more memories he's rather ashamed of.

Kakashi used to conveniently have a refrigerator stocked with copious amounts of tomatoes and onigiri during the times he was "invited" to stay here. Sasuke hadn't appreciated it, insistent as he was that he would be fine on his own and didn't need supervision from what he viewed at the time as a babysitter.

It stings to the extent that he almost winces, this revisitation on how ungrateful he's been. Pondering on it now as they round the corner in pursuit of the kitchen, he realizes Kakashi almost certainly implied multiple times that Sasuke was more than welcome to live here, should he want to. He doesn't know why he didn't realize it; perhaps it was avoidance, or denial. The second bedroom along the east wall seemed as though it had been transformed from an office catch-all space with a suspiciously empty bookshelf to an impromptu bedroom, complete with a bed frame that looked rather new. Sasuke found it befuddling, given that their sensei didn't have a roommate.

It's not a bad room, yeah? Gets nice light in the evening. It doesn't get much use, truth be told, his sensei had told him the morning after the first occasion he'd all but been ordered to stay there; the copy ninja had been leaning lazily against the kitchen counter as rice and eggs cooked while Sasuke frowned, silently studying the scratches in the modern dining table. It was completely unlike the traditional and polished dark low table adorning his own dining room, and he himself was completely oblivious to whatever offer was to be found within his sensei's words, and moreso to whatever offer was to be found within the invitation to stay there for a bit in the first place. He supposes Kakashi couldn't have just outright invited him to live there. Sasuke's fuse during those years was frighteningly short; the implication that he should be living anywhere but his ancestral home surely would have set him off, especially after the cursed seal fiasco. He was even more on edge and volatile the second occasion he'd been "invited" to stay, immediately following the incident atop the hospital roof.

We could invite Sakura and Naruto to eat with us tomorrow, Kakashi had said something along the lines of. He's not sure why he remembers that so clearly, either; he just does. Something other than ramen. Maybe fresh harumaki? Sakura mentioned having an overabundance of cabbage from-

Sasuke had promptly stalked to the spare bedroom and slammed the door shut, still swimming in egregious jealousy and anger, though who said anger was directed at seemed to shift allegiances by the minute. He'd known it was the wrong thing to do, that Kakashi was trying to mend their team back together after his horrific fuck-up of wielding the Chidori against Naruto and nearly killing Sakura. He'd stared at the wood there, too, after, feeling the guilt and allowing himself to loathe his idiot teammate and the way Sakura looked at said idiot teammate after he'd divulged the information that he was not the one who saved her.

There were - are - three neat sections of battered framing on the old door in this old apartment, the middle of which was directly at his eye level at the time. He'd scowled at it and its particular array of scratches from age for the better part of an hour before retiring to bed without eating. When the next dawn arrived, he'd been too ashamed to join his sensei for breakfast, but upon hearing the call I'll be back in a bit and the closing of the entry door, Sasuke had made his way to the fridge and helped himself to the tomatoes and onigiri he'd found waiting there for him. He'd eaten them at the table silently, sullenly staring again at the unpolished surface, completely unalike his own dining table which was so shiny he could see his reflection. He'd washed his chipped plate surreptitiously afterwards before retreating back to the spare bedroom.

He tries to shake the memory and shame off as he trails behind Sakura to the kitchen. It's odd, being here again after so much time has passed, mistakes presented for dissection in retrospect. He's sure their old sensei has left behind some variety of sweet for her as thanks for feeding the creature in his absence.

He then stops short, snorting.

Atop the table, the same one as all those years ago despite Hokage money, lie two ceramic bowls clearly intended for the cat. One's filled with water while the other lies empty. There's an extremely clear delineation of a set of claws marked into the wood of the table through the aged sumi ink wash, just astride the bowl that must be for her food, in exactly the spot that the feline apparently awaits each meal.

Sakura's eyes shine as she shoots a grin his way, clearly sharing his amusement as she rounds the counter to a large stack of cans of cat food, towering in the corner; she clearly intends to feed the cat first thing. Sasuke himself proceeds to the opposite side to study the cat's bowls, smooth symmetrical ceramic laden with a smoky gray glaze. Shiruba is inscribed on both pieces of pottery. The corner of his mouth threatens to smile.

"He commissioned them from Sai," Sakura supplies, cracking open one of the cans and joining him on the other side of the table. Shiruba jumps atop the chair as she does so, clearly ready for her supper and proving without a doubt that this is how she takes all of her meals, paws placed directly atop the outline of her claws. He'll admit she's a patient thing for a stray, though he supposes Kakashi's had the cat for at least a year or two in all likelihood. Sasuke has fed plenty of strays himself, in forests and fields and elsewhere; none have been content to sit somewhere and wait for their meal to be deposited in front of them like this, instead sitting by him directly to beg and paw for sustenance. It's clear this creature, despite Kakashi's numerous responsibilities, never has cause to miss a meal.

Sakura has barely funneled all of the food into the bowl before the cat begins to scarf it down, and that at least is characteristic of a former stray.

"...I didn't know Sai worked with clay," Sasuke admits, mouth twitching as he continues to study the cat as it inhales shredded meat. There's some orange patterning barely perceptible on her left flank, crowded by silver-blue fur.

"He didn't, at the time," Sakura says, a barely contained laugh coloring her voice. "Sai told him that, but Kakashi-sensei kept saying Money's no object." Her laugh bubbles upwards anyways, escaping. "So he spent a few months training with different potters around the village before formally accepting the commission."

Sasuke exhales his version of a laugh. He can just about picture it. He then thinks of the plates and bowls he used when here, amalgamations of varying colors and patterns thrown together without a care for tradition or matching. It had bothered him much like the lack of regard for footwear decorum, the first time they ate here as a team; perhaps because his own mother kept their kitchen in meticulous order, another tradition he'd upheld following her death.

"...And is he still eating off of the same mismatched plates?" The contrast of them against the finery for the cat endlessly amuses him.

His reward from her is a high, twinkling laugh. He loves the sound.

"A few more of them are chipped now, but he refuses to replace them. They have character."

Sasuke snorts again, this time at the accuracy of her imitation of Kakashi's voice. Shiruba continues to scarf down her food, more breathing it than chewing it. It paints quite a picture.

"I suppose I can see his point," Sakura says, crossing over to the fridge now. "I have a lot of planters that came from Sai's training." Her fingers air quote around the emphasized word. "They're not perfect, but they do have character going for them. He said the wheel is better for symmetry, but he liked building ones by hand more. He still does it, from time to time; they sell them at the flower shop."

Ah. Another facet of her life falls into place, mismatched planters in various stations throughout and outside of her apartment. He'll have to look at them more closely when he can, see if he can clock the progression in skill. He would bet money that Sakura has never discarded a single one; she's too sentimental. It causes him to rethink his stance on mismatched tableware, wondering if perhaps there's more to it on Kakashi's part. Maybe each plate belonged to someone important to him, previously.

"...Have you tried it?"

Sakura pauses, fingers now gripping the handle of the fridge as she regards him quizzically.

"Tried what?" She asks, eyes luminous in the setting sun from the far west window that overlooks their sensei's kitchen.

"Clay." He'd spent an afternoon molding clay absentmindedly, once, contemplating the nature of things after discovering a deposit of the resource in the process of setting up traps. He'd been camping in the middle of the wilderness of the Land of Rain. It was relaxing, but he knew little of firing processes, and it had also jogged his memory of past battles with certain explosives, thus he had returned his handful back to the earth from whence it came. He was partial to watching potters work in the market sometimes, though, whenever he came across them. He'd contemplated mentioning it in a letter to her, once.

Understanding saturates her expression. "Ah," Sakura says, seeming thoughtful, fingers drumming on the handle. "A couple of times. Sai comes in to make things with the kids at the clinic, and... We made figurines once, at one of our movie nights, and a coil vessel at the next. I'm not really very good at it, but it was fun regardless." A troubled expression briefly flickers across her face. "I've had to get on Naruto's case about cleanup each time, though. Maybe the third time it'd stick."

He shoots her a blank look. "Cleanup?" He's only ever seen clay worked outdoors, so he's not familiar with the process required for cleaning up after using it.

"Clay leaves silica dust behind. It can cause potter's lung if you inhale it in large amounts. Silicosis is the clinical term for it," Sakura provides almost absentmindedly, seeming lost in thought. "You have to saturate the dust with water before cleaning. He kept trying to clean dry dust with his sleeve; his jacket was a dirtier orange for a week."

Sakura rolls her eyes and Sasuke exhales another version of a laugh.

"...Of course he would."

Green irises land on him once more, and she shoots him an amused smile, tapping a finger on the fridge door.

"Maybe I'll see if Sai can bring some to a movie night again sometime, once the exams are over. You'd probably be good at it, actually."

He frowns once more, wondering how that can possibly be the case. He's never heard of a one-armed potter. Anything he made when experimenting on his own lacked finesse.

At his continued silence, Sakura, for some reason, blushes and looks elsewhere.

"Your eyes, Sasuke-kun," she provides as an explanation, finally opening the fridge. "If Sai's there."

Ah. If Sai's present, he can mimic his movements with the Sharingan, albeit one-handed. He wonders if that defeats the purpose of art, but then he supposes it would probably annoy the hell out of Naruto, which means it would be worth trying.

He is surprised, but also somehow not surprised at all, when Sakura tosses him a fresh tomato after a couple of rummaging noises from within the fridge, shooting him another grin. In her other hand, there is a small container of what appears to be anko dango. She promptly pulls herself a chair out from underneath the table, the seat immediately to the left of the cat.

Sasuke barely sees her after that, gaping at the fruit in his hand, rotating it to confirm that it is indeed an heirloom tomato, and one with zero bruising or flaws in general and perfectly ripe, if the fresh earthy smell is anything to go by. It's clearly already been washed.

Swallowing quickly, he forces himself to take a bite, keeping his face polished into a carefully neutral mask.

It tastes like summer, a rare evening following a D-rank mission when they were kids, sunlight at his back through the window behind him; Naruto, as always, yelling and getting into things and snooping much like a seven year-old instead of a twelve year-old, and Sakura, subsequently scolding him and saving Kakashi's plates from further chipping at the dobe's disobedient hands. And, of course, Kakashi, watching Sasuke carefully without any regard for damage to his own personal property. He'd been smiling through the mask before he traversed the kitchen to reach into the second cupboard from the left, retrieving a dog-shaped salt shaker vaguely reminiscent of Pakkun to hand to him.

Sasuke scarcely feels there as he crosses the kitchen himself, now eye level with the very same cupboard instead of below it. Sure enough, upon opening, the same shaker sits there, crowded next to a nearly empty bottle of chili oil and a container of sansho pepper and other spices that his vision is a bit too blurry at the edges to process.

Taking the same seat he always used to, Sasuke joins Sakura and the cat at the table, carefully shaking salt atop the fruit. Then he chews methodically, forcing the vague beginnings of waterworks into submission through willpower alone.

He's five bites in when his vision focuses enough to notice the watering pail, deep gray and nestled into the corner of the counter by the fridge; it's perfectly eye level from where he's sitting.

"...I didn't know he gardened," Sasuke mentions levelly. There are no plants inside that he can see, but he remembers Kakashi had a balcony adjacent to his bedroom, too; Naruto forced his way in on their first visit and challenged Sasuke to see who could do the highest number of flips off a third story building landing before hitting the ground, to which Sasuke declined from the very seat he's currently sitting in.

Enough space for a hydrangea bush, though it would have to be a small one. He contemplates if there's significance behind the flower in particular or if it was just her favorite as Sakura smiles, appearing to think about it for a minute before tilting her head to the side; she rests her chin against the palm of her hand briefly, buoyed by the dining table.

"Me either," she finally says, polishing off the last bit of her dango. The cat arches against her and purrs, having also finished its meal; Sakura scratches its chin with her free hand.

It is only on their way out that he comes to the realization that he is now taller than the highest sectioning of door framing, which means he's taller than Kakashi himself.

When did that happen?

Time changes things, he supposes, feeling the breeze that's picked up by the hour they've rounded the last corner to Sakura's building. It's soft against his tanned neck, blowing in the opposite direction, thankfully; he doesn't get so much as a whiff of the bakery.

Could've picked up sooner, he thinks, reflecting on guard duty, but all in all, it's a nice day. This walk, unlike many others throughout his life, is easy, Sakura at his side, stealing glances at him when she thinks he isn't paying attention.

That ease vanishes in an instant when he sees the elderly woman on the patio, seated at the southernmost edge of Sakura's apartment building.

Sasuke has been on the receiving end of a lot of dirty looks in his day, but this one may rival Danzo's. Outright glowering at him, this woman is old, frail frame hunched over, wrinkled face and narrowed eyes the picture of piercing disapproval, the intensity of it feeling almost tangible as if a physical weight is compressing down on Sasuke's shoulders. Her scowl deepens the extensive creasing of decades atop her forehead; he would be hard-pressed to find an angrier old lady. She must be near ninety, he thinks as they inch closer; perhaps older. He's rarely seen someone so aged seem so hateful.

Looking away once they're within a few yards, he schools his face into blankness, intent on giving this one plenty of room. Though he's certain Sakura's mentioned it once, he can't quite seem to place her name, but it is her home; he doesn't wish to be the cause of any more abrupt moves, and, judging by the fact that this is the first run-in they've had with her, she must not get out often.

His thought process somehow both grinds to a halt and simultaneously catapults into high speed as he focuses on Sakura to his right in search of diversion, a means to diffuse the tension.

Because Sakura is glowering right back, inexorable jade eyes challenging and unyielding and lips set in a determined line, the kind that wreaks tension into the lower portion of her jaw, lower lip jutting out defiantly as if she's daring the woman to say something.

The tension in the air is palpable, and, correspondingly, it doesn't take further computing on his part to put the pieces together as he puts one foot in front of the other. Clearly this is the neighbor Sakura described as rude, and whatever said neighbor did to earn that assessment presumably involved speaking ill of Sasuke.

Not so sure she warrants that assessment, Sasuke thinks as they veer sharply left to course around the building. Sakura has always been too quick to defend him from deserved criticism. Whatever brickbat was spoken he has more than earned; for Sakura's face to be holding this much venom, he gets the distinct impression that it was more than one occasion, critiques piled one on top of the other over time.

Whatever it was, it must have been an earful. Sakura's eyes stay locked on the old woman until she's out of sight behind the solid cream brick.

It's not often that he sees Sakura look genuinely angry. When they were younger and Naruto did something stupid, sure, but this type of vehemence is brittle. He doesn't like seeing her mouth plastered into a thin line or strain wrought in the set of her fine pink brows, even less so the usually playful light in her eyes reduced to a steely glare.

Sasuke's stomach churns with an emotion similar to disgust as they venture up the stairs, silence lingering heavy in the air. He expressly dislikes the mere thought of her feeling as though she has to defend him. In fact, he thinks he abhors it, because bluntly, his actions are indefensible. He hopes it isn't something she feels compelled or obligated to do often. Any susurrus of criticism thrown his way is merited.

Something begins to eat at him, then. A persistent itch, niggling at the far corner of his consciousness: a grain of sand on otherwise swept floors that unsettles him, a neglected box from out of sight relocated to the middle of the walkway. It demands acknowledgement as Sakura retrieves her key from the tote bag he's been carrying for her. The sound of metal twisting in the mechanism barely registers in his mind, brows knitting together in unease as he contemplates metaphorical doors cracked askew and all of his shortcomings, attempting to place it.

"I can take it," Sakura says softly, at which point he blinks and the allegory vanishes quicker than it came; she's just motioned for him to pass her the tote, sage green door open wide in salutation as she smiles at him over her shoulder, halfway through the threshold. Any trace of negativity lingering in her expression is gone, as if it never existed in the first place.

He hands it over carefully, now processing her customary routine of accompanied questioning on what they should make for supper. There's an aroma drifting in from the kitchen that he finds he can't quite identify, now that he's stepped within the doorsill: not strong but not necessarily weak, either; almost savory or briny. She must have cooked a meal with seafood, or perhaps nori, earlier today.

Whatever it was, there's not so much as a hint of it left in her fridge. Must have been lunch or breakfast. Maybe she and Ino cooked today as a break from all the hours they're putting in at the hospital, given Sundays are ordinarily supposed to be part of Sakura's weekends. Sasuke helps her put together yakitori with lemon for their shared supper in quick order, grilling chicken and citrus fresh and quick to overwhelm the lingering smell of the sea wafting through the air. Amidst the sizzle in the pan, he finds himself counting notches in the specialized cutting board; it's amassed quite a collection.

Whatever was beginning to gnaw at his mind is forgotten, box shoved out of sight for reckoning another day.

---

The two of them sit opposite each other at his kitchen table, wooden board between them conflagrated with a sea of black and white circular stones. It's a welcome respite with the air conditioner vent situated right above both their heads, cool enough to allow for hot tea as they play by lamplight.

Or lukewarm tea, by this point. Sasuke still finds the way Sakura plays board games a hefty challenge, regardless of allowances of his own nature into his style of play; her every move is calculated and precise, and the games often linger for hours. Generally he thinks he manages to put on a convincing show of keeping up with her, but she's got him just about cornered, this particular match.

Sakura reaches for her mug, taking a slow sip as she studies the board. She's nearly drained it of the lavender Earl Gray tea, he notices. His own cup is getting down to the dregs. He didn't take honey in it like her, but he did try the unfamiliar blend, this time; it tastes a lot like spring enshrouding porcelain. He could become accustomed to the flavor.

"...Do you want more?" He questions, gaze flickering to her face briefly, at which point her own focus rises from the intrigue of the game board, too. "I can make it."

The lamplight catches her dimple as her lips move.

"I would," Sakura murmurs, but tilts her chin towards the board, accentuating the action with a drum of her fingers against the wood. "But it's your turn. I can make it."

Sasuke snorts.

"It'd be a welcome reprieve from this onslaught," he retorts, smile winning out as he rises to head to the kitchen.

"Onslaught?" She laughs, her own grin spreading wider as she trails him with twinkling eyes, craning her neck to the left and leaning to rest one arm atop the back of her chair. "I don't know that I would go that far."

"I would," Sasuke says without skipping a beat, turning on the sink to refill the saucepan with enough water for two mugs in one fluid motion. He drinks in the way it makes her laugh, melodic and filling the kitchen.

"Don't know any ladder breakers, Sasuke-kun?" He doesn't turn, situating the pan on its burner and rotating the dial, but he's pretty sure she's smiling ear to ear just by the tone of her voice, sweet the way it is when she's teasing; she doesn't employ the use of it often.

"...None that don't involve the Sharingan," he murmurs, to which she snorts, but it's not a bad idea, actually. He might win more than one match out of every four that way.

"Kakashi-sensei used to cheat using the Sharingan, you know," Sakura murmurs, at which point he does finally look her way, sloping his body against the counter for support. She very much has the appearance of a person trying not to laugh. "At both go and chess. Thought he was being sneaky."

He would.

"Is that what turned you into such a menace?" He wasn't aware that Kakashi played. He wonders when, if he still does; Sasuke's uncertain where he would be able to find the time currently, given all his responsibilities. It's certainly not taking place on his lunch break with the dobe every day. They'd lose all of the hour sequestered to eat simply by Kakashi having to re-explain the rules each occasion.

Sakura laughs, but then she's quiet a long moment, gaze dancing between him and the cookware on the stove where the heat is gathering.

"No," she finally says. "I found a book once, at the library, on chess... Played through a lot of famed matches; I think I checked it out recurring every week for about six months. You find weaknesses, after a while." She resituates herself on the chair slightly, upper body facing him more. "Then another on go." She pauses for a moment, as if trying to clutch something from a memory. "I think I was eleven? We were still at the Academy, anyway. I accidentally tore a page in the section about the blood-vomiting game and I thought the librarian would flay me in that room to the north."

He has to reign in a twitch, because the Sakura he was mentally picturing as she told this story was far older than that. No wonder she didn't need to cheat on the written portion of the Chunin Exams when they were Genin.

"...And who were you destroying at that point?"

She hesitates for a moment, biting her lip in an attempt to conceal a smile.

"Shikamaru during afternoon break, mostly. Sometimes Shino, after he checked on his bugs."

Ah. The fact that he doesn't remember it makes sense, then. He kept to himself during breaks at that age, preferring to take walks by himself; he rarely spoke to his classmates beyond what was required for school.

Sakura patters her fingers lightly against the wood of the table, drawing his attention again before she locks eyes with him directly.

"...Iruka-sensei, a couple of times."

Sasuke shakes his head, turning to hide his smirk, though he knows she's observant enough to catch a wisp of it.

Of course she did.

"...And did you work your way up to humiliating your Sannin, too?" The image of a thirteen year-old Sakura taking down the esteemed Senju Tsunade in a game of go at her own Hokage desk is more amusing than it ought to be.

There is a prolonged run of hush in which he surmises she must be debating how to phrase it, choosing her words meticulously as if from a wide array of options.

"Shishou's brilliance in gambling crosses over to most board games," she phrases kindly.

Ah.

"...So yes."

Sakura looses a shy giggle. "Humiliate is a strong word. I prefer... humble."

He exhales a soft breath, a sound that resembles a chuckle. A moment of quietude overtakes them, Sasuke's gaze fixed on the pot as it begins to boil. The steam rises in lazy curls, proliferating skyward and dispersing at the ceiling.

"You need a teapot," Sakura surprises him by murmuring; her expression is gentle when he angles his upper body back towards her at the sound.

He blinks once, then twice in succession. She's too pretty in the lamplight for the statement to process all at once. Take notice-

"So you can make more at once."

And that does it; his chest warms, vines twisting pleasantly at the eaves. She's been over a few occasions since the last. They've been stewing the tea one cup at a time; he has just the one infuser. The image of them sitting at the kitchen table sharing tea from the same larger teapot instead begets something soft blooming behind his sternum.

"...So I won't have any excuse to delay the inevitable?" He questions, mouth twitching and thinking of short weeks ago when they were perhaps both a bit too shy to prepare full teapots at her apartment instead of just one cup each. He supposes, aside from sharing with her, it would also be useful for when he's settling in for a long night, kept awake by scrolls or errant thoughts or nightmares accompanied by the droll rotation of laundry tumbling. Sasuke imagines the sound, the gentle clink of a spout against the interior of one of his plain mugs, the hum of the air conditioning, the soft clack the washing machine elicits to indicate its cycle as being complete.

"Hmm, something like that." Sakura's gaze sinks to her mug after she's spoken it, fingers wrapping around it carefully and expression suddenly contemplative, at which point he approaches her to take it from her; the water's nearly ready. Her lips purse to the side as she acquiesces, handing him the cup, fingers sweeping by his.

Internally, he huffs. Distracting. Sasuke forces himself to swivel, taking it to the counter and ready to portion more of the blend into the steeper.

"If..."

He finds her cheeks seem darker when he looks back. Jade irises briefly flit to him at the pause, then dart away.

"Maybe, for your birthday...?" She questions in a small voice, tone unsure.

Sasuke's gaze softens.

"I said you don't have to get me anything," he reiterates, though he is appreciative. He then ruminates briefly, recalling vaguely prophesying ceramicware in a teahouse hundreds of leagues from here. He can't say he isn't at least a little curious as to what sort of teapot Sakura would gift him with; he thinks something black or dark smoke. It would surely feel strange in his hand; he's become rather used to Sakura's and its accompanying teacups, fern green with their white floral patterning delicately skimming the rims.

"And... if I want to?" Jade eyes peek at him again from underneath long lashes. The rose gold of them catches the effulge, and it's a remarkably similar picture to a goodbye several years ago, constellating his heart just as much as it did then.

Sasuke turns towards the stovetop again and begins busying himself with filling the infuser, acquiescing and simultaneously doing his best to hide the tell-tale flush that's risen to his face and the crown of his neck.

"If you want to... Thank you."

---

Sakura's brought quite a pile home with her today. He thinks she feasibly lost some work time to complete her usual spar with Ino; he noticed more missing blooms from her doorstep this evening while she was unlocking the door, clean cuts to assorted stems.

The margins of each paper are littered with his girlfriend's careful neat handwriting and occasionally someone else's, artfully sectioned into tidy stacks on the right half of her sofa. They're watching some documentary about poisonous fish that she absentmindedly comments on occasionally, interspersed between scrawling all over a bantam grouping of the documents. Apparently use of ciguatoxin in poisons was on the rise a few years ago, and they somehow traced it back to the Land of Snow.

"It was the perfect ruse," Sakura murmurs, analytical eyes rereading something she's written and then methodically turning the page. "Who would think to trace ciguatoxin in Snow? They have reefs, sure, but the native fish there aren't carriers. They busted a whole establishment, rigged to raise tropical fish in a heated facility so they could harvest their toxin..."

Sasuke wonders how many pens she goes through in a typical day, doing exactly this: multitasking to the point that no one else can possibly keep up. It has to be a hefty number of discards, all depleted of ink, if she's using clones with the degree of regularity she told him. And Sasuke's not trying to snoop, but a corner of a page is sticking out from the rest as if it needed to be bookmarked for some reason - identified aberrations in specific neurotransmitter levels and neuroinflammatory markers based on age groupings across multiple case studies. Establishing reliable indicators could revolutionize early detection and intervention strategies. Preliminary practice suggests - and there are updates in green pen, crossing out sections of text, that make it hard not to be curious - inarguably demonstrates, not suggests; mountains aren't moved by dancing around the subject, kid! You have the data to prove it, so do.

It can only be the handwriting of Senju Tsunade, messy and rushed as if written in a fit of impatient frustration. He supposes it makes sense that she approaches advances in research the same way she approaches training for use of ninjutsu: tireless, demanding, perhaps heavy-handed, but effective.

The program is nearly over when Sakura cracks her neck to the side and ultimately places the final sheet atop the pile she's created, just to the right of where her feet barely trace the floor. The movement captures his attention, and he's somewhat amused when she seems to wrestle with a yawn in her throat, successfully roping it into submission in what he assumes is an effort to help convince him she's not yet tired.

As the subsequent stretching of her shoulders follows - apparently her position, hunched over the clipboard, has caused some lingering soreness - her left hand bumps the pen with enough force to send it rolling off of the couch, well past Sasuke's left foot and coming to a stop beneath her coffee table. His eyes follow it the entire way, trained as they are to track; it's second nature.

With a quick, fluid movement, he drops to one knee, reaching out across pale wood. The other knee follows suit. In a matter of seconds, he's swiveled to face her again, offering the item back.

Perplexingly, Sasuke finds her red in the face.

"Oh! Um." Sakura laughs in a way that sounds…

Nervous? He searches her expression in confusion, certain he somehow detected unease in her voice.

"Ahaha, thank you for grabbing that, Sasuke-kun." She timidly takes the writing utensil, free hand scratching the side of her chin and then rising to her feet. She's in the kitchen faster than he can figure out what happened, pen remaining clutched in hand to be taken with her rather than propped with its customary pile.

"Do you want more tea?" She calls. "No need to get up! I can bring it for you. I think it's still hot, too!"

"...Sure," he responds finally, thoroughly confused.

---

It begins in earnest the following evening, supper long finished and cups empty on the coffee table. Sasuke supposes it's reciprocal routine that does it, the lull of privacy enough to let his guard down and the knowledge that more tea awaits in the pale green porcelain teapot nearest the stove; there's no sense in wasting it.

They both move to rise in synchrony, and Sakura's upper body twists in a way he doesn't expect, in a way she must not have accounted for with him also suddenly standing instead of sitting, judging by the small noise of surprise that sneaks out of her throat. Suddenly they are no longer upright. Rather, Sakura loses her balance, colliding with him briefly as she reaches for the teacups while rising to her feet. In the confusion that follows, her hand at his nape is the closest point of potential grip and she tugs him down with her.

She doesn't land completely on her back; Sakura has an additional hand that catches her weight, yanked haphazardly from his shoulder to the couch seat as she squeaks in jolt. No, she's a few inches from lying flat at least, but she's somehow pulled him atop of her, at an angle at which he can't catch himself well given his stump is acting as the emergency center of balance; his chest is pressed so closely to hers that he feels more than hears her sharp intake of breath as they land.

Sasuke abruptly takes to stilling his own lungs, because he has thought about this far too many times for comfort and he is markedly sure that feeling more of her chest than he already is will cause unintended consequences he would rather not have her know about.

"Sorry," Sakura breathes apologetically, eyes wide and tone mortified and lips scant centimeters from his as she shifts slightly; the warmth of her breath grazes his face. Seconds to process the new position of their bodies brings him to the recognition that his forehead is also nearly pressed to hers, dark hair curtaining her vision in addition to his own under the weight of gravity. "I didn't mean to…" Her voice trails off, pink brows knitting together. Her pelvis is angled away from him at least, he grasps once he has another second to think, her left thigh a barrier against his own leg. All said and done, the position could have been far worse.

Still. It's one thing to codify their height difference based on medical files, how many inches he marked since a previous appointment years ago. It's another thing entirely to feel the reality of it, her slender sinew and muscle against his much thicker thigh, the way that their pelvises don't quite align when their faces do; her torso is much shorter than he understood prior to this moment. And not that he thought her muscles would be otherwise - he remains afflicted with cursedly vivid memories of the cropped outfit as well as her lilac dress - but it's evident she doesn't slack in training despite her hours at the hospital.

Stop thinking. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, blocking out the light of clarity and purpose.

"...It's fine," he mumbles through teeth he didn't realize he was clenching, staring at her for sight distraction and suddenly fascinated by the deep flush continually creeping into her cheeks, the way her pupils have distended to immense proportions, nearly outweighing all green.

Clarity, he thinks.

Purpose, he comprehends.

Come on-

He should move. He knows he should, sense tugging insistently at him like an alarm even as he continues to stay propped against her, inactive and cataloging every inch of contact unscrupulously. To his credit, he almost does.

But he watches her throat bob once with a swallow, and Sakura's gaze plummets to his mouth. He's not sure if she does it purposely or subconsciously, but the implication is there, and instinct gets the better of him; the pull towards her is too powerful, galvanized in parted pink lips.

He doesn't press her further into the couch with his body - he's far too guarded for that - but Sasuke carefully brushes his lips against hers, featherlight. If it's not what she likes, it's slight enough that she can put a stop to it easily, were she to want to do so.

Plainly she does not. Her left hand resumes its sure grip at his nape, fingertips soft as always, and the hand she was using to support herself eases her weight further back to the couch and his own heaviness down with her. She's careful to help guide his stump further up the cushion so as not to disturb their precarious balance.

Ah. Different position, he realizes after a beat, preoccupied by the way her lips slot with his. A bit more comfortable, and less twisted.

Said position also has his hips hovering hesitantly at her rear, one ilium digging into the middle flesh of her thigh. Her legs lie far enough aside now with the burden of gravity that they're not much of a barrier anymore. Obviously their clothing divides them, but it's still… a rather suggestive position, at the very least, were anyone to walk in on them.

Sasuke parts for a breath, abandons said breath to kiss her more, then parts again, swallowing once as he tries to collect his thoughts. Physically at this angle, it requires nearly no effort on his part to keep their lower halves separated. Instinctually, it is work. His body is basically screaming at him to-

"Sorry," Sakura breathes, and he will have none of that. "I-"

He's not good with words, but actions will do. If he needs to kiss the hesitancy out of her, he'll do so a hundred occasions over and savor each time.

This kiss is anything but vacillating, a heated hysteria that makes him dizzy. Her mouth gives to his instantaneously, tongue delineating his lower lip unhurriedly before it meets his in full. Fingers cording through the fine hairs at his nape, Sakura tilts her head sideways to deepen it, making the tiniest noise low in her chest that sends a torrent thrill straight down his spine to his center. Her free hand curls around his empty sleeve, trailing upwards to hook about his shoulder. Digits echoing across his trapezius, they trail to where the muscle meets the notches of his vertebrae.
Her touch, so familiar yet different within the context of this position, sends errant embers through his being as their mouths meet. He can feel her breath on his skin, exhaled just above his chin, the rapid beating of her heart. He wonders if she can feel his; his pulse is irrefutably elevated, blood thrumming through his veins accelerated. The scent of berry and antiseptic and the barest hint of how she takes her tea, sweetened, are all around him.

Overwhelming is the word his mind provides when he takes a second to inhale before Sakura entices him back down for more with coaxing fingers. Then the word intimate comes to mind, and if his neck wasn't burning already, it certainly is now. He purposefully presses his hip bone into her leg, using the movement to conceal the fact that he's pinning his lower center in the far opposite direction.

And then Sakura presses her lips more to the corner of his mouth than the center, breath hot incandescence against his jawline. Sasuke adjusts, shifting on his stump in an attempt to fix the angle, but stops short when she holds him in place, palm still and unmoving against the puckered scar tissue of his bad arm.

Dark eyes open, meeting hers. She tentatively presses her lips to the corner of his mouth again, never breaking eye contact.

And then he blinks once, sluggishly as his face heats, realizing it was deliberate.

She wants to…

He doesn't vocalize his assent, but it must be communicated through his expression because she presses another tender kiss to his chin before the hand at his nape sweeps some of his hair off his neck, exposing the arch where his pulse thrums in anticipation.

He doesn't know what he expected, but if his pulse normally races when she's touching him innocently, it skyrockets through the roof at her lips making contact with his throat.

She's gentle. Careful, as if she's not sure he'll permit it, as if any wrong move on her part will frighten him away. Supple lips trace his pulse point, pressing one kiss after the other to his skin and leaving a burning trail in their wake. His eyes sweep closed in reflex. Between that and her fingers inching across the flesh exposed around the collar of his shirt, he finds it a challenge to breathe, desire mounting.

It is also a challenge to curtail his hips' urge to grind, unconscious in instinct to find friction; his eyelids fasten further shut than previously, scrunched in concentration.

Her nose nudges him twice purposefully, which he takes to mean she wants his head turned, so he does. Then her lips are at the axis where his neck aligns with his chin, just beneath his ear. It's far more sensitive than it has any right to be, this delicate stretch of skin; he wasn't aware it was an area of intimate interest of his. Sakura trails her tongue along it once, then twice, and he has to smother something like a grunt from blooming out of his throat both times. It enwraps him, makes his head swim.

In the end, her lips sweep to press purposefully where the cursed seal indents his skin, twice and achingly slow. It hasn't given him issues in years, but it does ignite a flood of memory, the unspoken history implied through the gesture.

Always.

Breaking the point of contact, Sakura lets gravity prise her back. When he opens his eyes, he finds her wearing a sheepish expression, a trace of guilt lingering in the set of her mouth as if she's gotten carried away. He wonders how scarlet his own face is; it likely matches hers at this point.

He takes a deep breath, thinking as tart berry perfuses his lungs, saturates his being, steeling himself for what's to come. Whatever they're about to start, he wants to earn it.

Sasuke can't fathom how she can possibly be so soft, softer than the finest silk or satin he's ever touched. His lips roam: the corner of her mouth, her chin, and then just underneath, spread across the sensitive skin there. He doesn't really know what he's doing or what she'll like, but he notices her swallow and that her flush begins to creep down, down, saturating whatever path he weaves.

Must be doing okay, he thinks while simultaneously trying to ignore the implications, that wherever he touches might elicit the same reaction, that she would-

Her fingers twitch at his nape and his shoulder as he flattens his tongue against her pulse point, drags it to where her jawline meets her neck, nose gently nudging her mandible, and every nerve in his body is screaming at him to-

She makes a soft inhale of breath when her fingers twitch again, and that's what does it, ensnares him and devolves him in the paradox of desiring connection yet instinctively recoiling from the exposure it demands, decathect at how he nearly-

"I'm sorry about the bridge," he mumbles, ignivomous, against her skin, pulling his lips just far enough away to speak; the words tumble like water from an unwatched boiling pot before he can process what's happening.

Spell broken, Sakura tenses, shoulders crowding closer to her body. He hangs his head against her neck briefly for one final second, nugatory regret washing over him as if it were a tide, drowning, drowning, drowning in the way she looked at him as his fingers closed around her throat-

"I'm sorry," he repeats, heavy-hearted and moving to rise, to give her space, because he's ruined things, again. Sakura grants him no quarter, keeping her hand at his back even as they both sit up, mostly resuming their previous position on her couch, albeit lower halves twisted and her fingers hovering at his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about the bridge," she murmurs emphatically, looking at him incredulously and with concern he doesn't understand. "I should never have-"

Sasuke closes his eyes, concisely shaking his head. He tries again, to pull away from her touch, though it's half-hearted this time, and she doesn't let him.

"No," he contends, intent on-

"No." She uses a voice that gives him pause, one he recognizes as the one she used when they were Genin, the undertone that whatever she's saying is final. "You were defending yourself, and I had no idea what you were going through. I should never have… And I've long since forgiven you so there's no need to…" Sakura shakes her head. "...To apologize."

Something twinges inside his chest, aches, splints into shambles. His frown sinks further when his mind decides that now is the most opportune time for recollections of the constant frown that perpetually marred his father's face.

Not like him, he thinks, forcing his mouth neutral. He needs to be more direct.

So not like Itachi, then, either.

That realization doubles the aching, but he forces himself to speak it anyway.

"...I choked you, Sakura." It's horrific. The truth comes out a whisper, tone tinged with a hint of the fear that this will push her away. His eyes sting at the recall, the flash of terrified jade that he was a mere second from obliterating completely. He needs to thank Kakashi and Naruto. "I tried to-"

"And I sprung myself on you with a poisoned kunai," Sakura speaks softly, and he's relieved when he confronts her eyes that, though her voice shakes a little as she speaks, there is no fear there; only what seems to be guilt, which is ludicrous, but means at the very least she's not going to avoid the issue.

You only did that because I had become a threat to everyone you knew and loved-

"...Doesn't it bother you?" He asks quietly, choosing his words with forethought. Sakura's stubbornness about certain things has always baffled him; she doesn't change her mind easily, even when implored to see reason.

"Don't my own actions that day bother you?" Sakura shoots back, inflection insistent.

There is a lengthy interlude in which Sasuke watches the last of the flush vanish from her skin, the physical manifestation of everything that firmly proves it: he's earned nothing.

"No," he finds himself saying, wholly perplexed by the mere suggestion that Sakura bears any fault at all for attempting to eliminate a rogue ninja. The mere recall of that day, his digits encompassing her windpipe, makes his skin crawl and his chest hurt. Her skin was soft then, too, he's sure, but he didn't even notice, blinded to anything good. "I deserved it."

I made you cry.

And he watches as, sure as clockwork, he makes her cry again.
"You..." Jade shifts, sunlight on seafoam as her face crumples and fat tears begin to slide down her cheeks, one, two, three, four. The fifth drips a path over top of the freckle on her cheek. And perhaps that's where the comparison comes from; he's been the cause of her tears far too often. Of course there's water in the corresponding metaphor to make the connection.

Sakura's voice trails off, and then she's shaking her head, lower lip wobbling unsteadily before she's yanking him into her embrace.

He flinches, entire body stiffening. Sasuke doesn't know what he expected after apologizing for trying to kill her, for wrapping his fingers around her neck to strangle the life out of her, but it wasn't for her to pull him closer.

If he were the same person he was years, even months ago, he would not like this. He would be putting ten feet between himself and her faster than she could count to three, admonishing her to see sense and reclaim her personal space, the distance.

"You didn't deserve it, Sasuke-kun," she whispers quietly against his shoulder.

I did, he nearly argues. But the words die in his throat, because he is the Sasuke of now, who knows how it feels to intertwine their fingers, to be allowed into her bed, to lose himself in the softness of her lips until all else fades away.

Carefully, he returns the hug one-handed.

Sakura clings onto him for what feels like an eternity, grip tight and steadfast, as if she's afraid to let him go. As tears drip down his back, he has plenty of resulting minutes to study his lone remaining hand at the anterior of her shoulder, ruminating on bruises in the shapes of his fingers that must have bloomed on her throat from the pressure wrought.

---

The following day, he blows through fifteen cough drops throughout the early morning and his shift.

Sakura, meanwhile, acts as if nothing ever happened, and if she notices the dark circles crowding his eyes at the edges, she doesn't mention it.

Once she's finished at the hospital - he meets her outside - they order takeout from some yakisoba place that's sort of hidden behind one of Konoha's butchers. Normally he'd order the curry variety, but he doesn't think he can take the spice against his throat, today.

She's brought no papers home, it seems; her tote bag is feather light. They eat beneath the green market light that hovers above her dining table, just prior to watching some new movie Ino loaned her. It's the sort of entertainment that's exceedingly average; not spectacular nor expressly bad. His focus wanders in and out, catching hold of tendrils of the plotlines only to have them drift free of his grasp a short period of time later.

Pulling on his sandals promptly at nine, Sasuke is disoriented when Sakura leaves the entryway to meander to the kitchen briefly.

She returns, a shy smile gracing her features, with a bento box from the fridge.

It's the same meal as the first one she gifted him with upon his return to the village, carefully packed in the same reusable container: rice, tonkatsu with separated sauce, shredded cabbage, green beans goma-ae, and a small army of what he knows must be heirloom tomato wedges. A pair of chopsticks are placed precisely atop the rice, nestled in place by the lid.

"For you," she murmurs as she presses it into his hand, dimple winking beneath kind eyes. "I nicked a salt packet from the hospital cafeteria for the tomatoes; it's next to the sauce."

He forces out the thank you with blurred vision before his throat finishes closing up. After he's kissed her goodnight, he stops at the memorial stone, drizzling the remaining water in his canteen from guard duty atop the buds.

They're almost two inches tall now, growing every day.

---

What a strange thing it is to want someone so badly yet also be scared shitless by the harsh reality: by a long shot, he is not prepared for the emotional exposure intimacy presupposes.

Sasuke understands that the modern age is exceedingly different from the remnant feudal-type traditions he was raised under. Shinobi indulge in carnal pleasures all of the time. It's in the nature of their profession to dabble in all of life's gratifications too young, for the core of their purpose as weapons of the state is clear: one, you need a distraction from the gore and futility of it all, and two, you never know which moment could be your last.

Nothing can ever be easy for him, can it? He wants to give in, he wants the mindless good of it, not just the taste of love but the feeling, too.

But he can't. There's too much pernicious sediment cascading to damage everything he touches; he's too caught up in the gravity of what it means to give yourself to another person like that.

And what the resulting aftermath is, when all is said and done.

Because what if…

Oh, yes. What if. He's very familiar with that, has had a lifetime to contemplate every strained red thread of possibility, allow it to gnaw him alive. What if it was all just a bad dream? What if Itachi comes back and kills me in my sleep? What if Naruto becomes stronger than me? What if Sakura changes her mind because I wasn't the one to save her? What if I granted her request and took her with me? What if I die when I face Itachi? What if it all really was a lie? What if Sakura finds someone more deserving of her affections while I'm away? What if, what if, what if-

He tries to push it out of his mind, this awakening and fixation in the droll hours of the morning. He really does. But she kissed him as though nothing was wrong, viridescent eyes shining, and there's a bento box in his refrigerator, prepared just for him, and he now knows what it's like to press his lips to her neck and vice versa, and…

Well.

It's maddening that he can recollect that damned sweetcoating her glistening lips with near photographic precision despite not activating his Sharingan for even a millisecond. Testament to the severity of his indwelling debauchery, surely.

Seconds stretch to minutes as he stares at the ceiling, trying to banish his recollections from his mind, stubborn neurons disobeying and allowing his subconscious and associating impetus to drift to Sakura. Daunting unsureness and lack of any sort of real-world practice on his part aside, he's begun to make his peace with the notion that someday they may indulge in at least the most basic forms of mutual physical intimacy - she's not disinterested as of yet, anyways - and thus he has also begun to make his peace with taking care of things privately in the meantime, indulging his body's needs to the thought of her with the knowledge that it's normal for a boyfriend to think of his girlfriend in that way. He doesn't really want to think of it as practice, necessarily, but rather a way to familiarize himself with the idea of… that.

It's something else entirely, however, to have other desires such as this scorching his lower belly and beyond. To grapple with the actuality and enormity of all of the things he wants to do, to ponder her reaction. Things that are less mutually beneficial and more… contingent on what she would choose to do with him, and what he would like to do to her, desires he would struggle to vocalize, let alone directly request for the sheer fact that they are mortifyingly explicit and high in number. For all his inadequacies and mistakes and cynosure on the wrong things for most of his life, his baser thoughts have demonstrated the same ramified creativity he imagines any other teenage boy has, these past few years.

What would she like? What sorts of things does Sakura think about, if any? Because she clearly wanted to kiss his neck. Preferences, desires, whatever one wants to call them, he cannot inwardly deny that he wonders about them on a spasmodic basis. Kissing her, the liminal experience of what her body feels like against his, has escalated this tendency, the turmoil of the reciprocity and his personal issues with vulnerability aside.

Regardless of what, if anything, she would like to do to him - he would no doubt enjoy it if she did, but it's not essential for his satisfaction - he would very much like to press his lips to her, in sensitive places additional to the column of her throat.

How would she respond to his touch? How would the remaining uncharted territory of her soft skin, her freckles, taste beneath his lips if only he could bring himself to take that step, to give Sakura what she deserves? He's thought about it more times than he can count, being her source of pleasure instead of pain; many of his reveries involve pulling her to his face and having at it with lips and tongue to illustrate the severity of his affections since he so clearly lacks ability for explaining them. He's not sure he'd be any good at it, but Sasuke would like to try, to learn what she likes, were she to let him, to want him to. Not just that, but he would like to try repeatedly, preferably all in one sitting, just to embolden her cadenced grind against his face and to see her pretty face flush again and again, inking down her svelte neck and her chest and all the rest. He wants to know what sort of sounds would fall from her lips, soft moans or gasps, if he could cause her to squeak his name in surprise as he pulled her to him by pressing carefully at the dip of her lower back. He wants to know if she'd let him guide her hips closer, if she'd tangle her fingers through his hair to help herself along and look down at him with hazy jade eyes and lips parted in the shape of his name as he palms a hip, a cheek, a breast.

A long way down the road, he thinks dismally, ears burning and face not far behind and stiff at just the thought of it.

But is the reciprocity of… that… Is itsomething she's ever considered doing to him? Does Sakura have any fucking concept of how attractive she is to him, how he's longed for her in every way imaginable? Do women even think about that sort of thing, bringing their partner pleasure in that way, or do they moreso think about the more penultimate goal, the one that's more reciprocally worthwhile? He has no idea, no frame of reference for normalcy. Furthermore frustrating, he would neverconsider asking anyone about something so private. The idea of pleasing her in that way consumes him, but he's also plagued by a pile of endless uncertainties and insecurities. Perhaps she'd find it untoward to have his mouth there. Worse, perhaps she wouldn't consent for him to do anything to her due to fumbling inexperience. He doesn't know how any of it works, other than basic anatomy and secondhand information over the years, overheard in the conversations of strangers while away from the village, the points of various places most women are sensitive and prefer to be touched. And if inexperience isn't a handicap, his lacking of one arm certainly is. There are several positions that he's pretty sure are tricky at best or completely off the table at worst due to the consequences of his own senselessness.

But if she did grant him permission to touch her there… Could he coax her with his fingers, his tongue, to whimper his name mellifluously against her lavender sheets? To arch into his touch, to come apart incarnadine at his hand, knuckles curled inside her? The thought of her in that state is nearly too much for him to handle. He's sure she's beautiful, when she's like that, consumed by pleasure. Has Sakura ever imagined him touching her, his lips against her neck first and then that fucking freckle on her thigh and then further, amidst her folds, kissing her there? He himself is afraid of being seen in such vulnerable moments, of her turning away in disgust or overwhelm. But his chest also aches with longing as he imagines tasting her; his mind paints vivid pictures of her body arched towards him, above him, hair wild and her breath hitching as she rocks rosaceous against his mouth. He knows he would like to take his time, until she cries out, until her toes curl against his shoulders and she's a blushing mess gasping for breath. And then again, and again, and again.

Would she still trail her fingers at my nape?

Would she grip tighter as she gets closer?

Does she shudder when she comes?

Do those perfect lips part-

And sometimes, on a rare day when he's yearning for her touch in every way under the sun, he contemplates what it would be like for her to do the same to him, how those plush pink lips would look coalescing with his throbbing cock, gliding and sumptuous and moaning.

Tonight he imagines her on all fours atop lavender sheets, ignifying sunlight on seafoam as she undoes his pants. It doesn't take long before she has his clothing down around his thighs, nimble fingers smoothing delicately across his legs and the contours of his hips, hot breath effloresced against his sensitive skin. And then she's taking him into her mouth, verdant eyes rife with ardor watching, and he burns. She's shy at first, until she's not, tongue lapping and swirling up every inch of his length. He thinks her breath might hitch or her cheeks would flush if he finally gives in and allows himself a moan.

He expressly doesn't deserve this pleasure; he apperceives that much. Yet his hips jerk forward involuntarily, and he imagines she meets the motion with eagerness, taking him deeper with each bob of her head as her hands roam up his trembling thighs and hips, gripping him in encouragement. He grabs silky strands of her pink hair, gently sweeping them from the disarray that comes with the movement, to help her but also so he can watch. Her face is flushed, rose gold lashes sparking in the moonlight filtering through gauzy white curtains. He's soon unable to stop himself from thrusting into her sweet, hot mouth, mind reeling as she works him over, driving him closer and closer to the precipice until he can't take it anymore.

Huffing and damn the consequences, Sasuke releases his clenched lone digits at his side, taking himself in hand and endeavoring to imagine it. Slick anticipation, seeping from the head of his cock already, coats his fingers as he closes his eyes. He thinks of her licking, swirling tongue around him and further, siphoned with the scent of berry against a recent recollection of mazarine night and lavender sheets and that noise she makes low in her throat sometimes, the one he thinks is close to what it would sound like if she moaned.

It certainly doesn't take terrible effort on his part, helped along by the visuals; his body responds eagerly, near shaking with relief as he touches himself, pumping his erection and swiping his thumb across the leaking head. He pauses twice in his careful ministrations, cock twitching in anticipation as he delays the inevitable, wanting to prolong this pleasure, aching for her.

But the enticing thought of her mouth encircling him makes it impossible to stop. So does the friction that arrives just after he's licked his hand, mimicking the path her tongue might take up and down his rigid length, only venturing down the uppermost portion of his cock, how far he thinks her mouth could feasibly go. His entire body feels white hot, face feverish at the added thought of kiss swollen lips and flushed cheeks engulfed in pleasure and muffled moans in the gloaming, what truths amative jade eyes would reveal in that moment. Each stroke leaves him harder and more desperate for her touch; he can practically feel the ardor of her breath on his inner thigh, can almost see the aroused expression on her face, exposed breasts bouncing with the motion.

His body tenses, every muscle coiled with anticipation and breath stuttering as he throbs with the need for her touch. His cock momentarily becomes even harder, trembling with heightened arousal, and he allows a strained version of Sakura's name, pleading, to escape his lips before he overthinks it.

Visualizing the way she used her tongue to catch lingering pale stickiness, he quivers and comes to the brink only to fall harder than he ever has in his life, core clenching and then releasing a pleasure so absolute that his vision blurs. His release spills all over his lap, hot come trailing down fervent skin. His body convulses in pleasure as his hips stutter against his hand, desperately reaching for what he's imagined.

He's left panting heavily in the aftermath, regular breathing eluding him completely as he opens his eyes briefly, glistening cock softening into the sticky mess he's made of his thighs and stomach.

Slowly, Sasuke loosens his grip on himself and allows his eyes to sweep closed for a vespertine moment, body limp, imagining smiling soft lips at the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. There are whispered words, too; ones he hasn't heard her say since…

In this dearn brand of woolgathering abditory, he somehow has the courage to whisper them back.

---

A teapot would ease this process, he supposes in credence, showered and staring at axiomatic parchment that is still blank in these early hours of the morning. He's on his second cup of sencha, cooled to lukewarm yet again; he only managed to sleep for an hour. Too much of the incondite is going on in his head.

Sighing, he begins to put the pen to paper. Perhaps he shouldn't overthink this, either.

Itachi,

I wish I could ask your advice. I don't know anything about relationships. Y̶o̶u̶ m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ b̶e̶ m̶a̶r̶r̶i̶e̶d̶ b̶y̶ n̶o̶w̶ i̶f̶

You would be married by now if things were different. I never really thought about that until now.

I overheard Mother and Father talk about it once, on the porch. I don't remember when, but I was little. They wanted you to marry inside the clan, as was tradition and as they did. But it should've been your choice, when you were older. Was there anyone you loved? I never thought to ask you. Our clan was too isolated. I̶ d̶o̶n̶'t̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ m̶a̶r̶r̶i̶a̶g̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ h̶a̶p̶p̶y̶. I̶ k̶n̶o̶w̶ o̶u̶r̶ f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶'s̶ v̶a̶l̶u̶e̶s̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ a̶l̶l̶o̶w̶ m̶o̶s̶t̶ h̶e̶i̶r̶s̶ t̶o̶ c̶h̶o̶o̶s̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ o̶w̶n̶ p̶a̶r̶t̶n̶e̶r̶, b̶u̶t̶ M̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ b̶e̶e̶n̶ b̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ o̶f̶f̶ i̶f̶

W̶h̶a̶t̶ d̶o̶ y̶o̶u̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶?̶ Y̶o̶u̶ h̶a̶d̶ m̶o̶r̶e̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ t̶h̶a̶n̶ I̶ d̶i̶d̶

D̶o̶ y̶o̶u̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ M̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ k̶n̶e̶w̶ a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶p̶?̶ S̶h̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ h̶a̶d̶ t̶o̶, I̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶;̶ s̶h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶r̶i̶g̶i̶n̶a̶l̶ h̶e̶i̶r̶, n̶o̶t̶ F̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶. H̶o̶w̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ s̶h̶e̶ d̶o̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ t̶o̶ u̶s̶ w̶h̶e̶n̶

Sakura is always waiting on me. I don't understand how to be vulnerable like that with anyone. For most people it seems to be easy, so why is it so difficult for me? Does time help?

I̶'v̶e̶ m̶a̶d̶e̶ h̶e̶r̶ c̶r̶y̶ t̶o̶o̶ m̶u̶c̶h̶

I̶ w̶o̶r̶r̶y̶ I̶'l̶l̶ s̶c̶a̶r̶e̶ h̶e̶r̶ a̶w̶a̶y̶

I miss you.

-Sasuke

---

Choji rolls out his miniature iron griddle and cooking supplies at eleven sharp, as routine demands; Sasuke has several clones circling the boundaries, today. Following lighting the fire that will sear underneath the grill, he watches the flames lick higher, thinking, and his mission partner whistles to himself, laying out the beginnings of skewers.

It doesn't take much work to portion half of the bento box's dishes onto the lid. He drizzles more sauce over this portion than his own. Sasuke also carefully shakes out half of the salt on the end of the lid that's balancing the tomato slices.

Albeit giving him a knowing look that makes his neck feel warm, Choji simply says, "Thanks," when he offers it to him in exchange for the kebabs. It's easily disguised enough by eating a few paces back, further into the shade offered by the looming gate structure.

"Tastes like summer," his classmate comments when it's his turn to eat, polishing off one of the tomato slices rolled in a little salt before motioning to the pork tonkatsu. "Sakura's a pretty good cook. She burned every fish we caught at the Chunin Exams, though; she said she'd been practicing, but I'll never forget those pupfish. Completely black on the outside..."

The rest of June is amaranth, etched in purpling succor and paired trips to Kakashi's to feed the cat and cicadas buzzing their cadence into everything. The rhythmicity of it all intermixed with the summer heat melts Sakura's neighbor and the empty apartment next to his from his mind. That's instinctual, too, he supposes.

For now. He'll get there eventually, the same way he's been practicing correcting his footing each morning before reporting for duty, more cough drops in tow. He doesn't intend to lose to Naruto again.

They have plenty of time.

---

AN: What to update you all on... I earned six more graduate credits, my college car finally kicked the bucket after driving it since 2012, and I have become disillusioned with several aspects of the world, but who hasn't?

I dropped some major hints for things this chapter. Some I think are rather obvious. Others are... well. :) Still not sure if I'm doing this whole foreshadowing thing right, and I guess I won't know until I can post certain important events I have written for this story. I wouldn't be opposed with seeing some guesses in the comments just to gauge whether I'm completely giving away plot points or leaving them with enough room to breathe/be seen in retrospect.

Some housekeeping things: I do try to respond to all comments. I'm sorry that I don't get to them all in a timely manner, but I do try to get to them. Responsibilities irl come first at this time due to their semi-importance in guaranteeing me things like food and gas money. Please know that I read all your comments as they come in my email and I smile like an idiot; I think I got to them all finally before updating this, but I do read them and appreciate them even if I can't respond right away!

Also just a general PSA to wrap things up, fic authors are aware when they don't update for a while. You don't need to remind us. :') I am always working on my fics; it just takes me a while to slog through a chapter when my life has things like responsibilities and deadlines. I'm hoping to crank out a couple of chapters of Like Silver in the new year in addition to a couple more new Like Gold chapters tbh but we'll see where it takes me.

Thanks for reading! I wish you all good things in the new year. ❤️