Work Text:
When Sasuke opens the door of their apartment, his apartment, he thinks that maybe he should have taken Naruto’s offer and stayed with him and Sakura for a couple of days.
The windows are closed, the curtains are shut and there’s still a faint smell of perfume that makes his eyes burn. He settles himself on the couch, laying down, looking at the ceiling. It’s 6 in the afternoon, the sun is still up but the apartment is dark enough for him to blind his eyes for a second when he turns his phone on.
He looks for her contact name on Whatsapp, lingers on her profile picture – the two of them, smiling, as she holds a “Just Married” sign –. He scrolls up through the chat, re-reads old messages, listens to old voice notes, and when he reaches their last conversation, he swallows the heavy lump on his throat.
“Hey, Sasuke!”, a car door opens. “I just got out from the school, I have awesome news!”, a car door closes. “Soooo, I really hope you’re ready to open that bottle of Scotch you have on the cupboard because this is a special occasion!” she laughs, the car starts. “I’ll be home soon, I love you.”
“Fuck, Hinata.” He murmurs to himself, tears falling down his cheeks and into his ears. He cleans them and tries to stop himself from sobbing.
He plays the note again.
“Hey, Sasuke!”, a car door opens. “I just got out from the school, I have awesome news!”, a car door closes. “Soooo, I really hope you’re ready to open that bottle of Scotch you have on the cupboard because this is a special occasion!” she laughs, the car starts. “I’ll be home soon, I love you.”
And again.
“Hey, Sasuke! just got out from the school, I have awesome news! Soooo, I really hope you’re ready to open that bottle of Scotch you have on the cupboard because this is a special occasion! I’ll be home soon, I love you.”
And again.
“- that bottle of Scotch you have on the cupboard because this is a special occasion! I’ll be home soon, I love you.”
And again.
“-. I’ll be home soon, I love you.”
And again.
“-. I’ll be home soon, I love you.”
And again. And again. And again. And again. Until the hall that leads to their – his – bedroom can say the same three words back to him. Until her voice becomes one with the walls. Until he can recite the whole voice note in between sobs.
“You’re not home.”