Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Absence.

—

What does Uchiha Sasuke expect when he finally returns?

Haruno Sakura eagerly awaiting him at the gates? Waiting all day every day of the suspected week of his arrival?

Perhaps a selfish, childish part of him expects such a thing, but his older and wiser self balks at the notion. She isn’t that twelve-year-old genin anymore. 

What he isn’t expecting is the absolute lack of fanfare when he does finally step through the gates. Not that he wants to make a fuss, but it’s so unlike his teammates. He isn’t sure why this bothers him (his traitorous brain whispers of replacements, betrayals, change, and how he has taken too long and taken them for granted and it’s too late now they’ve all—)

A blond blur greets him first, the loudest, most obnoxious (and resilient and loyal) excuse of a shinobi barreling through the streets to welcome him home. When they reunite it is as they always have: as brothers, with meaningful forearm grasps and quiet but heavy expressions preluding an eventual tactless comment by the blond.

Other friends make their appearances, all smiles and happy to see him. But one presence is distinctly missing—

“Sakura-chan is on a mission,” Naruto says, as if reading his mind.

They are at Ichiraku, and Naruto—Naruto—treats him to his first meal back.

Sasuke eyes the bowl before him. “I didn’t ask.”

“Right,” the blond agrees with a rude slurp of his noodles. “But I could see it written all over your mopey face.”

Sasuke scoffs as he breaks apart his chopsticks. 

It’s wrong, he thinks—the scene. The stool to his other side is empty, waiting. The sound, when he mutters itadakimasu, lacks its accompaniment.

Surprise.

—

The Uchiha has been back for a month. 

Even so, he still has not returned to the Uchiha Compound, deciding to take smaller steps to assimilate to life in Konoha—the village that turned its back on his family, the village he abandoned, the village that was cleansed of the lurking evil, the village that forgave him. Konoha is his home, but it is also the root of his rage and his anger and his vengeance and it will take longer than a month within its gates for him to truly accept it, welcome it as it has welcomed him. 

His inheritance is released to him and, with a small portion of it, he rents a nondescript apartment. It is on the third floor, facing the eastern hills, and exactly what he needs.

It is in that apartment where Sakura finds him. 

He is surprised that she manages to startle him; one moment he’s tugging his shirt over his head, the next the vision in white and black perches threateningly on his window sill. 

At first he thinks it is just an Anbu coming to deliver a message from the Hokage. But then he feels it, the familiar wash of her chakra. She strengthens it, as if she wants him to recognize it’s her, and then the owl mask tilts—he gets the sense she is smirking behind it.

Many years ago, the sight of him undressing would have undone her, but this Sakura is older, wiser, and fiercer. She just stares, expectant, through the black holes of her mask.

He scoffs, crosses his arms over his chest, and levels her with his signature glower. 

A sound between a laugh and a snort comes from behind the porcelain face and the Anbu steps down with a grace he has never associated with the overly-self-conscious-Sakura in his memories.

She lifts the mask—it is in slow motion that his eyes take in her features as they are revealed: a chin, pointed and more angular than he recalls;  lips, dried and cracked and bleeding; a nose, freckled and crooked (broken?); eyes that are more astute but still as verdant as ever; and a forehead that she always insisted is a little too wide (But he thinks her whole face is just heart-shaped, what’s wrong with that?).

“Sorry I’m late,” leaves her lips (Cracked and swollen, why is she so beat up, isn’t she a medic, can’t she heal it all?).

He half expects her to throw herself at him but she refrains and he admires her restraint (and resents her for withholding her warmth, her adoration, her comfort). 

Of course she speaks again, as unsettled by silence as ever. “I got lost on the road of life.”

Sasuke snorts, unable to stop himself, and her timid grin widens into a dazzling smile. 

When he falls asleep that night, after she recounts her mission (and really, should she be telling him any of these things, isn’t she a professional?) and disappears in a puff of smoke to report to the Hokage, he does so with two things fighting for dominance in his mind:

First, Sakura went to see him before even seeing the Rokudaime.

And second, had her smile always been so—? 

He obliterates the thought. He is still Uchiha Sasuke, afterall.

Parallels.

—

Color returns to the village.

He can’t help but think it’s her presence that breathes life into the streets; Sasuke swears he has never seen Konoha so bustling before the rose-tinted kunoichi’s return. Perhaps it has something to do with his own perception of life without the medic, but he is nowhere near in his right mind to pick at that thread and untangle years of betrayal and bloodshed and tears. 

Three months. There are three months of summer nights, and nostalgic team dinners, and invigorating spars, and crackling tension and grazed knuckles and countless locked gazes—black on green, storms and springtime.

Three months of utter bliss and a semblance of something normal that shows him what life might have been like if he had never left—but it’s wrong because her fists break apart boulders and her kicks form mountains and her fingertips can mend bones. It’s wrong because he doesn’t protect her anymore, he fights her, or they tag-team, and she’s stronger now, more confident now, and the storm in his eyes crackles like his chidori while the light in her stare is bold and unafraid. It’s wrong but the way she straightens up from a brutal hit and cracks her knuckles after a victory makes him reevaluate everything he knows about Haruno Sakura.

Secrets are shared without words. He notices her ask for honey in her tea, the way she wraps her hands then flexes (once, twice, three times; always three times) before sliding her glove on, the way her brow furrows when she is assessing an injury (It’s different from her embarrassed furrow, or the furrow from irritation. It is thoughtful, analytical—)

And cute. 

The thought surprises him and he averts his gaze to his sandaled feet, ignoring her proximity as she tends to his arm.

He tells her about his travels as she munches on her dango and he on onigiri.

She tells him how and when she became Anbu as they sharpen their weapons.

It is three months of him tossing her his shirt when their spars have gotten so intense that hers gets completely burnt—

(“Sasuke-kun, it’s fine—“

“You’re in your bindings. Don’t be annoying.”)

Haruno Sakura owns three months of his shirts, and he ignores the implications of the Uchiha crest being in her possession.

Three months pass in blistering contentment and then she announces that she is leaving.

If he is the kind of person to find significance in irony, he might have spent some time reflecting on the deeper meaning behind watching her walk away from him. The whole scene is so reminiscent of his abandonment, except...

Dark eyes trace the curve of her back as she leaves, note the length of her hair (too short, shorter than he can recall), the tautness in her shoulders (strong, confident—also wrong, not at all what he remembers), the smile on her face when she says goodbye (almost mocking, throwing that moment back in his face because it is all wrong and why isn’t anyone else bothered by it). 

He wants to shake the thoughts from his mind because such musings are a disservice to the strong, capable kunoichi he knows (knows like the feel of the Sharingan pulse in his eyes, like the feel of the chidori in his hand) she has become. 

He doesn’t return her smile, but he does nod his understanding—how could he do anything but understand? He had taken his own journey, afterall.

The two top medics of Konoha need to go out into the world and establish an even greater Medical Corps among the Hidden Villages, and perhaps learn more, expand their arsenal because growth doesn’t stop when one reaches a pinnacle, it can’t and he knows that. 

So why does something in his chest feel so heavy when he watches her walk away with only a reassuring smile and a soft brush of her fingers through his forelocks as a farewell? 

“This has nothing to do with you, Sasuke-kun. Don’t be upset. I’ll see you soon, OK?”

The moment is wrong, all wrong, but when he digs deeper in his memories for something that fits, all he finds are tears and blood and his name on her lips, but it is in a voice that is haggard and tired and broken, and he decides that he has no suggestion for replacing the goodbye that just doesn’t sit well with him.

So he says something that brings up the dredges of their tenuous bond: “Tch, I’m not upset.” Then realizing it is too harsh, adds a softer, genuine “See you soon.”

Except he is upset but like hell he’ll admit that to her and her too-trusting eyes (They’re less trusting now, aren’t they? Less naive.) and her careful, guarded smile. Especially not with other people around, and of course other people are around because she is beloved, and the Godaime is leaving.

The new Hokage sees them off as well, and Sasuke can’t seem to shake the feeling of a watchful dark eye on him. He doesn’t give the Rokudaime the satisfaction of glancing back to meet his gaze. He can stare all he wants, bore a hole in the back of Sasuke’s head.

“Don’t forget to keep me updated,” Kakashi reminds, at which Tsunade scoffs over her shoulder.

“Like you always kept me updated?” Her barb is sharp, cutting, and coated in waiting vengeance. The new Hokage is alarmed, and the blonde woman laughs. “Just kidding.”

Everyone knows she is not.

Sasuke watches, along with the others, as the two top-tier medics pass the gates. He is the first to turn away, the first to leave. 

He isn’t sure how he feels—odd. As if someone has taken the timeline of his life and...and what? Bowed it, sliced it, knotted it, until it resembles nothing of its former self. 

A hand at his shoulder draws him back. He knows before he turns that it belongs to Naruto.

“Oi, teme, wanna spar?”

Sasuke smirks, shrugging off the familiar gesture. “Let’s go.”

More than Just Dessert.

—

“This is boring.”

Sasuke doesn’t move from his station, leaning along the wall, forearms folded as he braces his weight against it. He and his teammate are posted at the village gates. In the distance, sounds of music and chatter filter into the night, beckoning like the vestiges of a faraway dream. 

Beside him, Naruto sulks. “This is the worst night for patrol—we’re missing all the fun!”

Fun? Fun is sparring and solving puzzles and attaining a new skill. (Fun is making her laugh, getting under her skin, the timid game they play where they see who can enact the most fleeting touches.)

“All they’re doing is eating food and playing games that are no challenge for shinobi to win little goldfish that you release in the river, anyways.” His words are judgemental, but his tone lacks the edge.

Naruto rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass.”

Sasuke doesn’t understand Naruto’s idea of fun—Sasuke doesn’t understand most people’s idea of fun. 

The Star Festival is an excuse to spend too much on food and get lost in crowded streets with too many strangers. It is stifling and loud and too bright. But then he thinks about what else is loud and bright and colorful and happy—a spike of familiar chakra makes him tense, but it disappears. Did he imagine it?

He sighs, exasperated. “Just go, dead-last,” he orders, glancing imperiously over at his partner who barely keeps from vibrating in excitement.

“Really?” 

“Before I change my mind,” Sasuke adds with an aristocratic arch of his brow..

The blond’s smile is too wide for his face. “I’ll be back soon, teme! Thanks!”

In solitude, Sasuke finds solace. Above him, the moon is full and bright (too bright) and obscures nearby stars. Briefly, he thinks of wide eyes and a moon-pale, heart-shaped face. 

She has been gone for three and a half weeks—not long, in the grand scheme of things, but they stretch into eternity. He tells himself he is annoyed because she had not returned his countless shirts prior to leaving and that was just so Sakura wasn’t it, to completely disregard someone else’s needs in favor of her dramatics. (But that is wrong, he knows it’s wrong, because Haruno Sakura is a martyr, a saint, the most unselfish person he knows, and somewhere deep deep down even deeper than his consciousness is aware of he hopes she has taken at least one of his shirts with her on her trip.)

Dark eyes melt to Sharingan red and he turns in time to see a figure appear before him. He doesn’t hesitate when he reaches into his weapons holster.

Her (he knows she is a woman from her delicate form) face is hidden beneath a wide hood, red markings drawn down her cheeks. Her cape is white, lavender in the moonlight, and the dark material of her clothes is visible when she steps down from the ledge with all the litheness of a feline. In her hand is a plate and he, against his years and years of shinobi training, takes it like an idiot. Dango and onigiri.

Her lips, painted red, quirk up in a smile.

“I could kill you,” he mutters. (He doesn’t linger on the question as to why he hasn’t yet.)

The stranger exhales through her nose, a sharp sound, mocking. “I’m the Moon Spirit. You can’t kill the Moon Spirit,” she answers loftily, taking the stick of dango and, with delicate gloved fingers, removes one ball from the skewer.

“Moon Spirit,” Sasuke repeats, eyeing the woman who has joined him on his night watch. She’s not dressed like any Moon Spirit he's ever seen. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, doing other worldly things?” He has still not touched the rice ball.

“Even spirits need a break.”

He watches her a moment longer, trying to sense her presence, her chakra, but he can’t sense anything, as if she is a civilian—Or a spirit. Sasuke snorts at the thought and she tilts her head his way. Her face is hidden in shadows and he wants to call her name—it must be her, it must be—but refrains. What if it isn’t? So he just scowls and takes the onigiri.

“You should be less worried about spirits trying to kill you and more about keeping guard,” she—the Moon Spirit—admonishes. 

Sasuke scowls even harder.

When she laughs, his expression softens against his will.

“I could kill you,” she lobs back at him, swinging her skewer—all the dango eaten—in the air. 

Sasuke rolls his eyes, ‘Shut up, Sakura’ on the tip of his tongue, but he catches himself. And then he hears Naruto yell his name and he glances over to where the blond approaches the gates. The Uchiha turns back to his companion but she is gone.

When Naruto finally appears, he holds out a plate of dango (and of course he doesn’t remember that Sasuke hates sweets) and pauses when his eyes land on the empty plate and skewer—“Wait, you already had some?”

Sasuke shrugs and says “Moon Spirit” as if it is the answer to all the questions the world dares to sling his way. 

.

.

Chapter Text

All My Love I.

—

Weeks become months become a year and in that time Uchiha Sasuke has completed approximately eighty-two missions. 

Trust amongst the Elders and villagers is not immediate, but eventually the missions he is given graduate from C-rank (“Uchiha Sasuke, are you refusing this mission?” asks a much too-amused Kakashi. Of course, Sasuke is in no position to deny any work that comes his way especially if he is attempting to make progress in trust, so the dark haired man scowls and snatches the scroll from the Hokage’s desk.) to A-rank. 

He takes the Chuunin Exams and then immediately applies (demands) to become a jounin. And then immediately after that, tries for Anbu (he is denied).

Uchiha Sasuke is still seen as a criminal; he sees it in the hush that befalls his vicinity, the widening stares as he passes by. He sees it in civilians scurrying to the other side of the street to avoid his path. He sees it everywhere he looks, which is why it is exceptionally annoying that Uzumaki Naruto can’t seem to understand it at all. But Naruto is adored and admired, isn’t he? Naruto is a pillar of hope in their village. 

Sometimes Sasuke wonders if the only reason their shinobi peers are civil to him is because of Naruto—

Don’t be so dramatic! They’re your friends too. We were all friends as genin, everyone cared about you! So maybe some lost hope, but Naruto and I never did and everyone’s glad you’re with us again ok? Quit being such a grump and tell me—have you taken the jounin test yet? 

All my love,

Sakura

Sakura can be so annoying even when she isn’t there.

A small stack of her letters sits on his coffee table and he scoffs from his seat on the couch as he scans her missive. She writes him quite a bit, and though Sasuke doesn’t reply to them all (he convinces himself it’s because she’s annoying and not because he’s genuinely too busy to sit down and respond) he does answer occasionally. 

If it bothers Sakura, she never mentions it; she seems to write out of habit more than anything else. Perhaps she just craves something of home?

I did. You can cut the crap about out-ranking me now. 

— Sasuke

Two weeks later he receives a package of herbs and medicines from Grass. The neat scrawl that comes with it is undeniably Sakura’s:

Congratulations! Because I know you’re stubborn and hate the hospital, here’s some stuff for you to keep at home and bring on missions. Stop making that face, I’m just looking out for you. Someone has too. Even if you don’t use this stuff right away, I know you’ve got your sights set on Anbu and you’ll definitely need these then. Try not to do anything stupid, huh?

(And I still technically do out-rank you until you make Anbu!) (Here he can practically see her face in his mind’s eye, eyes closed, tongue out, he almost hears her amused laugh.)

All my love,

Sakura

Her Presence.

—

Haruno Sakura manages to be everywhere even when she is not in the village. 

Sasuke sees her whenever someone stirs honey into their tea (And he thinks that is absurd, why would anyone ruin perfectly good tea?) or if he notices the particularly worn spine of various medical textbooks. He sees her in the blossoming trees and hears her in the clack-clack-clack of heels on tile. He thinks of her when he wraps his fists and forearms (“Not too loose, Sasuke-kun. Tighter and then just flex, I promise it’s better!”) or when he skips a meal (“Are you insane I didn’t just heal all of your injuries for you to go ahead and drop dead from over-exhaustion!”).

He will never admit it but he likes that she worries. She is a medic and he knows she always worries but her fussing has been with him ever since they were young—annoying and soothing and perhaps a bit embarrassing but always always consistent. 

Sasuke stares at the dark ceiling of his room, hands behind his head as he comes to terms with the invariable incontestable truth: Haruno Sakura’s unflapping concern for him feels good.

The last person to care about him was his—

He closes his eyes.

Instead of splattered blood and a Sharingan stare, he is surprised to see wide green eyes and a slanted grin.

Haruno Sakura is everywhere, even behind his eyelids.

Goldfish I.

—

The Moon Spirit has not visited since last year’s Star Festival and Sasuke tells himself over and over that he is not disappointed (ignores the way his stomach twists as the full moon approaches, pretends that dango and onigiri don’t make him tense—they do, but his reaction is too minute for anyone to notice). 

That year he is not on patrol and his friends (he has friends and that is a truly foreign concept to the Uchiha, so much so that he still deigns to refer to them as associates, much to their chagrin) drag him to attend the Star Festival held in the pavilion. To his grateful surprise, the Yamanaka girl no longer hangs off him, squealing his name. On the contrary, she seems to scare off any and all other girls. Confusing but appreciated. He would be suspicious of her intentions if it isn’t clear as day that her eyes are set on the former ROOT agent. 

He tells himself there’s no parallel at all in the Yamanaka (who does not compare to Sakura, not even close, not even a little bit) falling for Sai (his replacement, just as detached and distant). None at all. 

Naruto challenges him to a game of catching goldfish, and despite all their years of growth Sasuke can’t seem to refuse—maybe it’s the way the blond riles him up, hitting him where it hurts, his pride. The Uchiha always, always rises to the bait—and more often than not he wins. But their challenges vary from simple games to who can eat the most (and he has to repeatedly tell himself this is not some crude replication of the sad rivalry between the Copy-Nin and the Green Beast and if it is, he is clearly Kakashi).

Sasuke has caught three fish and calls it off. Naruto whines but relents, swearing he will beat Sasuke at something else.

Lee comments that their rivalry is beautiful and goes off about how he knew his sensei would spark competition in the fiery youth of Konoha. (Naruto doesn’t challenge the Uchiha to anything else for the rest of the night.)

When he disappears, it is amidst a round of sake (The third? Fourth?). 

He slips away with his three goldfish, wondering if he can leave them at the table but not trusting the others to be in the right minds to remember to release them. He makes his way to the river banks, following the string of lanterns that guide the path. 

His body feels warm, and if there is a smile (as small and reticent as it is) on his lips, no one is there to witness it. Reaching for one of the bags, he holds it over the water, kunai in hand and preparing to pop it to free the little fish swimming inside—

“Not like that.” 

He throws the projectile with ease but it is gathered from its trajectory by a quick hand, the handle catching on a delicate finger. She (When did she get here? How long has she been here?) twirls it, amused. 

“If you release the fish in the water, the transition is less jarring,” she goes on (Somewhere in the back of his mind a memory of long pastel hair and large green eyes stirs: the girl’s too high-pitched voice reprimands him when he pops open a bag and the goldfish goes tumbling into the river.) as if she has not just revealed her shinobi reflexes. There is no denying the ease with which she plucked the weapon from the air—this Moon Spirit dressed as she was a year ago, oversized hood, red paint, and all, pretending to be an entity and not the kunoichi he knows she must be.

When she approaches, it is all grace and ease and Sasuke wonders why he doesn’t care that she draws nearer, why he feels distinctly unthreatened. She’s close, close enough to take the bag from him and she does before wading into the shallow banks. With a nod of her head she silently beckons.

Every cell in his body screams he is safe with her, but he still activates the Sharingan (because though his instincts are often always right, he can never be completely certain).

She expels a breath of air as if this amuses her, as if she knows what he’s done even though her back is to him—and he wants to criticize her for such a blatant act of trust. Who in their right mind just puts their back to a stranger? Nevermind that his gut is telling him she isn’t a stranger at all, he has no proof of that besides his inane feeling. 

She lowers the bag into the water and cuts the fish free, tensing when the point of a blade presses into her neck. His arm is around her, trapping her arms at her side.

“I could kill you where you stand,” he growls.

“That’s not something you really announce to your victims,” she whispers. If she’s afraid it’s well concealed. “But when I’m gone, will you at least release those last two fish properly?”

Sasuke blinks. 

She’s...is she teasing him? 

She is all poise even at his mercy and he struggles with how simple it would be to just end her, this woman he has waited an entire year to meet again. 

He releases her and retrieves the remaining two fish, dropping one into her waiting hands. He catches a smile on her red painted lips as he does, but averts his eyes to the river (and ignores the odd fulfillment he feels in being responsible for it).

Sasuke knows this woman, he thinks. He knows her and that’s why he feels compelled to be near her, to trust her—he hopes it’s her , so that she has not gone radio silent on her travels with the former Hokage because silence is terrifying and the anxiety kills him. Of course, he suppresses all of this and frowns as he follows her method to release his fish. They do so at the same time and the little goldfish disappear beneath the water. 

She moves to wade out of the banks but he catches her wrist. He’s not ready for her to leave yet, not ready to say goodbye for who knows how long—another year? So he stops her with his hand, pins her in place with his words: “I know it’s you, Sakura.” 

For a moment, he thinks she will lower her ridiculous hood and turn to look at him with her wide, familiar eyes and crooked grin. 

But she just sighs, places her free hand on his face, fingers carding through his hair and trailing down his neck—

And he falls asleep.

All My Love II.

—

Sasuke-kun! I’m sorry I haven’t written lately, Tsunade-sama and I encountered an epidemic in a village on Iron Country’s borders. Not to mention traveling through Earth gave us little rest and even littler time to keep up with correspondence. But thank goodness we’ve got a reprieve here.

Have you been to Iron? The skies are terrifying but beautiful with the way the lightning flashes across the clouds and the thunder rumbles the ground. I stood out in the rain the other night and just...watched the storm. The air is electric here, makes my hair stand on end. It reminds me of you—the crackling static. I miss (here, there is a messy scratch) home.

How are you? Have you used any of my medic supplies yet? Did you see the instructions for how to—(more scratches) Of course you saw them, you’re probably already familiar with those herbs and chemicals anyways. 

I know you’re not supposed to say but anonymity be damned: have you made Anbu yet?

All my love,

Sakura

Uchiha Sasuke has not heard from her in two months and as he reads her letter, hopeful and optimistic, his fingers wrinkle the edges. So she is just going to ignore their last encounter, is she? Usually he waits until evening to respond but he is annoyedfrustratedangry and so he tears a piece of a scroll and writes back:

You knocked me out.

And then because he doesn’t know when she’ll get another moment to respond, adds:

Whether or not I made Anbu isn’t really your business. 

Dark eyes stare at the characters and he scowls, irritated with himself.

And quit standing around in the rain, idiot—you won’t be any help to Tsunade if you catch a cold.

— Sasuke

Nightmare.

—

All correspondence from the medic duo has ceased in the last three months. Sakura’s handwriting from her last letter is not the usual neat characters, but hurried and smudged:

I’m sorry, so busy, I’ll write soon.

All my love,

Sakura

Anyone who knows Haruno Sakura is well-acquainted with her wordiness and her penchant for worrying even though she is miles and miles away. She is rarely so direct and ominous. 

Which is why when he hears the rumors of an organization in Earth Country antagonizing the borders and poisoning villages, he is not surprised. What he does feel is fear. Restlessness. She is a capable kunoichi and traveling with a Sannin—they are fine. They’re fine. They must be fine.

He tells himself this as if it is a mantra. He carves it out on the Training Grounds—Sakura is fine. They’re safe. They’re strong. They know what they’re doing.

When the Star Festival arrives, civilians are still just as happy and content. The shinobi are less thrilled, in fact there is a dark cloud that hangs over their heads because though Tsunade has finally returned with Anbu retrieval, between them hangs a profusely bleeding and unresponsive Haruno Sakura.

He meets them at the front gates with their comrades and Sasuke freezes on the spot, dark eyes taking in the sight of her:

Pastel hair (splattered in blood), unconscious face (bruised and broken), entire torso—red (and he knows knowsknows it’s not because she's wearing red), leg bent at an impossible angle, and then with horrific clarity he traces the gash that travels from the junction of her neck to just below her sternum—

A hand on his shoulder. He blinks, looks at the blonde woman barely standing on her own two feet at his side. 

“She’ll be fine, Uchiha. I’ll make sure of it,” Tsunade mumbles, moving away from the Anbu supporting her.

“Tsunade-baa-chan will help her!” Naruto reiterates, carefully adjusting the dying medic in his arms. “She’ll be okay, ‘ttebayo!” Without wasting another moment, he transports to the hospital.

“You need to replenish your own chakra,” Sasuke declares, attention focused on the former Hokage who looks much older than he remembers.

Tsunade just scoffs, rolls her eyes. “If I wait any longer who knows what you’ll do,” she mutters. The woman prods his cheek, “Now put that away, all the threats have been taken care of,” and disappears with her Anbu escort, following Naruto to the hospital.

It takes a moment for him to realize what the old lady was talking about. And then Sasuke frowns, disengaging his doujutsu. He had not even realized he activated his Sharingan.

Rumor Has It I.

—

“The Moon Medic brought them back to life! She gave up her spirit to save the village!”

“Sakura-hime took down the entire syndicate! Their hideout is just a valley of rubble!”

“Tsunade-sama chased them all along the Earth country border until they surrendered!”

“My cousin in the northern Earth border says the whole area there is now flat desert! Used to be mountains, you know. He says Sakura-san brought it all down to trap the demons beneath the rubble!”

“I heard the Anbu arrived just in time to see Sakura-hime rise from the dead and protect Tsunade-sama! The blade went clean through her—“ (This, Sasuke does fully listen to.)

“Did you see the Uchiha’s reaction when they arrived? He was furious.”

“He’s in love didn't you know?”

.

.

Chapter Text

Moon and Sun.

—

There is no shortage of visitors, shinobi and civilians alike. Sasuke shouldn’t be annoyed by this outpouring of love for the recovering medic, but he is selfish—always has been, he’s well aware and he swears he’s working on it but he can’t seem to help himself when it comes to Haruno Sakura—

He blanches at the realization. 

Haruno Sakura is and always has been, in some quiet subdued part of his mind, an exception. But of course he knows this, knows it like the feel of a kunai in his hand. Wasn’t that why he broke his bonds?

Tried to, his mind sneers. The Uchiha frowns. Tried to. 

It is in the middle of the night when he pays her a visit. He enters through the window and is angry with how easily he is able to access her room (he could be an enemy, entering and leaving with no sign of his presence but a cold body in the bed). He resolves to bring this up to the Hokage later as he approaches her form.

The moon is full but he shadows its light from illuminating her face. He tells himself that is not a metaphor for their relationship.

Sasuke thinks of red painted lips and a white cloak. He thinks of the supplies she sent him after he made jounin. He thinks of wide green eyes and cracking knuckles. 

Bandages are wrapped around her torso, her leg, and her forehead (and he has this sudden urge to unwrap the fabric to study the diamond seal he knows sits in the middle). 

Without thought he stretches a hand to push back an errant lock of pastel pink and her head dips towards it, as if seeking his touch.

His name slips from her mouth, as content and natural as a gentle exhale—“Sasuke-kun.”—and he tenses. 

It is a sigh, a murmur, a prayer, and Sasuke stares as if he has never seen someone like her in his life. And perhaps he hasn’t, or else Sakura would not be the enigma he is so inexplicably drawn to.

Rather than leaving he occupies the empty seat at her bedside and leans forward, elbows propped on his knees. Fingers laced, he rests his chin against his steepled hands in a posture that has never left him from his childhood—he often saw his father adopting such a position when in deep thought. 

And Uchiha Sasuke is in very deep thought.

She is frail, gaunt, and a pathetic caricature of the spectacular force he knows she is in life—neither does she look calm. There is a furrow in her brow that he recognizes as discomfort, there is a quirk to her lips that he knows is distress. And as he sits there, analyzing the young woman with remarkable familiarity, he ignores the fact that he is so well acquainted with every tic of her body, every turn of her mouth. 

They are teammates. His understanding of her nature is simply a testament to their teamwork.

Even as he thinks this, he knows it is a lie.

Sunrise shifts the colors in the room and Sasuke blinks as cascades of orange and pink filter across her face. It suits her, he thinks, to be painted in such warm and gentle hues. 

Without a word, he stands—people will be by soon and really he doesn’t know what to say to explain his presence, he feels as though being teammates is not enough to assuage curious eyes and suggestive accusations anymore and it is all very annoying—and leaves.

He tries to replace the mental image of her bloodied form with one of her sleeping face lit by dawn.

It doesn’t work.

Desperate.

—

Three days pass.

Tsunade has left to continue her mission. 

Sakura is stable but asleep.

Uchiha Sasuke does not visit her again. 

He maintains his facade as best he can, that of detached composure. Only those closest to him can detect the rigidity in his shoulders, the ferocity in his grip, and the carefully controlled rage that threatens to lash from his lips every second of every day. 

He is roiling energy and crackling chakra. Uchiha Sasuke is an explosive tag threatening to destroy. 

Kakashi knows this rage, is familiar with this rage, and rather than risk Sasuke exploding, offers an outlet. “You should try for Anbu, again.”

Breaking Point.

—

When Sasuke wakes, it is in a cell. He is shackled, blood (fresh and dried) staining his alabaster skin. One eye is swollen shut, lacerations crosshatch up his back. He can’t feel his left leg. 

He undergoes rigorous (so fucked up he swears he will confront Kakashi about this because this is inhumane and insane but perhaps that’s the point, to drive out the weak) training and an intense test but Uchiha Sasuke is not weak and he spits blood at his interrogator’s face. 

A beat passes, a ragged breath, and then a chuckle.

“Alright, Uchiha. Good work.”

Sasuke manages a smirk—relief, satisfaction, ecstasy—and then darkness.

A week and a half of irrevocable hell and then Uchiha Sasuke trades his figurative mask for a real one. 

Cat and Mouse.

—

When Sakura wakes it is to bursts of color in an empty room. The first person to see her is her blond teammate, and after that, everyone knows. 

Everyone except Sasuke who is training relentlessly.

Upon coming-to, he hears two things: He has been accepted into Anbu. And Haruno Sakura is awake.

He goes to see her the moment he is conscious—wrenches from his own medic’s care and runs to her room—

It is empty.

“Where is she?” he demands from an intimidated looking nurse. 

She blinks startled eyes at him. Once, twice. Then, “H-Haruno-san? Oh, she checked out eight days ago. But I believe she’s just left the village—“

She left? “Was she…” he inhales, slow, steady, tells himself the world is incompetent but Sakura isn’t (so there’s no way she would do something idiotic and discharge herself before she is completely healed and healthy), “...well enough to leave?”

The nurse trembles. “It is difficult to argue with Haruno-san—“

“When did she leave?” 

“Hmm, last I heard she was planning to leave this morning—“

He doesn’t wait for the nurse to finish her sentence before he departs.

Sasuke recalls with vivid clarity the night he walked out of the village. She was there, a stroke of lavender in a dimly lit world, visage so painfully sad that he tried his best not to face her. He remembers the look on her face when she stumbled into him, neither surprise nor anger—just sadness.

He still hears her pleas, hears the soft breath that left her as she collapsed. He can still feel the weight of her in his arms, the weight of her words on his shoulders. He memorized the tear trails on her face.

Haruno Sakura has always chased after him, always chased lofty goals that were too far and too fast and too impossible for her to reach—

But she attained them all eventually, didn't she? 

Haruno Sakura is slow but steady.

Uchiha Sasuke is fast and efficient. 

He gives chase to her, racing through the forest. He tracks her like a bloodhound, following her chakra—it calls to him. Where his energy crackles, hers hums.

Dark eyes narrow as he approaches a clearing and he drops down, disrupting a few leaves as he descends.

If she is surprised to see him she doesn’t show it, only offers a soft smile even as he draws himself to full height and fixes her with an unrelenting glare: “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to meet Tsunade-sama in the Land of Rivers.”

“Are you crazy? You almost—“

And then she moves forward, hand reaching his face. He stills under her touch, her palm is warm, her thumb rests just below his eye. “I’m glad I got to see you, Sasuke-kun.”

“Sakura,” he exhales hoping she will breathe in his common sense.

She does not. “I have to go, okay?” 

Sasuke’s jaw clenches, molars grinding practically to dust. With evident patience (because all he wants to do is knock her out, toss her stubborn body over his shoulder, and drag her back to Konoha—and how ironic is that ) he removes her hand from his cheek. “You’re in no condition to travel.” The words are said slowly, carefully, as if he is explaining to a child which end of a kunai to hold. He pretends her hand does not burn against his skin, does not imprint itself there and settle into the grooves of his palm and between his fingers as if they were molded together from the very start.

Green eyes (Like spring, Sasuke thinks before he can help himself.) narrow at his tone and suddenly gentle spring showers become a storm. “I’m sorry, are you the elite medic here?”

If he isn’t so frustrated he might laugh but he is frustrated. So fucking frustrated that this nuisance of a woman can’t see that he’s just worried about her. “You’d think after all these years you’d have grown out of being so goddamn annoying.”

This is not the right thing to say. Spring green eyes harden into relentless winter, the change is so dramatic that Sasuke takes half a step back. He barely has time to observe how beautiful even her wintry glacial demeanor is before she slings words like shuriken. 

“Annoying?!

“How dare you—

“You have your head so far up your ass you can’t even begin to comprehend —

“People need me, Sasuke-kun! Tsunade-sama needs me!”

Each assault is accompanied with a wild gesture and he cringes as she advances. She tracks his movements, always following, always chasing, and Sasuke retreats. The moment is wrong; he frowns, catching her flying wrists. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, this isn’t how they’re supposed to reunite. 

“I need you” he wants to say, but the words get stuck behind clamped teeth because that is not something he can admit out loud; he can barely admit it in silence.

She seethes, chest heaving. Distantly, Sasuke thinks the rage suits her (but he also knows that anything suits her—her face alters and shifts but each facet is mesmerizing and he refuses to linger on this notion).

Sakura speaks again, mistaking his silence for obstinance. This time all the war seeps from her limbs, the ire from her eyes, and she is melting snow. “Please let me go.”

Let her go?

Let her go?

It is the last thing he wants to do, but Sasuke finds it very difficult to refuse her when her voice is so broken. He does not want to break her, he’s tired—so fucking tired—of letting her down. And he knows (just as he knows that she is struggling to breathe, just as he can tell her feet are weary) that he cannot keep her where she does not want to be. 

Sakura is a healing presence, a beacon, a salvation, and she needs to spread her goodness, her light, and heal the world. And then maybe afterwards she can help him heal, as well. But she will not help him if he keeps her. Isn’t he done with being selfish?

“Okay.” The word leaves him and he releases her wrists. He can’t—won’t—be her shackles. “Okay,” he says again for himself. A reprimand to keep his body in line, to keep him from going against her wishes and dragging her back to her village.

At his acquiescence she brightens and crumbles (as expressive as she is, sometimes the messages he reads in her perceptive eyes are contrasting). Sakura has always been a study in contrasts, though, hasn’t she? Hands that both mend bone and shatter earth. Soft smiles and gentle laughter and discordant shouts and harsh lines. 

He isn’t sure which she’ll be until she sets her hands on his shoulders and rises onto her toes. For a moment, he thinks she will kiss him.

What she does is this:

Haruno Sakura runs the tip of her nose up along the bridge of his and he bows his head as if in repentance. And then her mouth finds his forehead and she presses her lips there. He can feel her smile against his skin and exhales as she retreats.

The look on her face is his salvation and he finds he has neither the words nor the gesture to respond.

Luckily for him, she fills in the silence—“Thank you.”—before she transports away, leaving only a scattering of petals where she stood.

As he stares at the spiral pattern in which the petals have fallen, he realizes he did not get to tell her he made Anbu.

All My Love III.

—

Sasuke-kun! 

Why didn’t you tell me! Congratulations! And now we are of equal rank, but I still have seniority and that’s something even you can’t change. Maybe when I return we’ll get to go on missions together again.

Tsunade-sama and I are in Tani; it seems rogue Earth shinobi set up a base here. Before you start accidentally setting this letter on fire with your glare , know that Suna has sent us back-up! Temari and Kankurou say hi, by the way. 

Write soon! We’ll be in Tani for a few weeks!

All my love,
Sakura

.

.

Sakura

I might have mentioned it if you hadn’t just up and left in a literal flurry of petals (a bit on the nose, isn’t it?) I was not glaring at the letter but I know you—don’t go overestimating your abilities (I know you’re strong, I’m not saying you’re not but those rogue nin are clearly not easily handled if your last state of return was any indication). 

Are they people I should know?

— Sasuke

.

.

Sasuke-kun

Don’t be rude! You know Temari and Kankurou. I told them you said ‘hi’ back as any decent person would have done . There’s a woman here who says she knows you. Amaya, do you remember her? She insisted you would. She asked after you and I told her you’re doing well back home. She seems very nice.

I’ve sent you a package of rare River Country plants. Take them with you on your missions. I’m serious. Stuff some into your pouch, alright? The dried flowers can be made into a paste and act as an adhesive to keep open wounds covered until you can properly wash and clean them. Much better than bandages.

Be safe.

All my love,
Sakura

.

.

Amaya, oh yes I definitely remember her. Certainly tell her I say ‘hi.’  You’ll never stop sending me flowers, huh?

— Sasuke

.

.

They exchange letters through civilian post as things are rarely pressing. Which is why Sasuke scowls when he hears the distinct ‘tap, tap’ of a talon against his window. He expects it to be a missive from the Hokage and is endlessly amused to realize it is from Sakura:

Oh shut up. 

He laughs.

.

.

Chapter Text

Goldfish II.

—

Uchiha Sasuke expects a quiet village when he returns from his first Anbu mission. He expects silence and stillness and homes with their lights on. What he sees are lanterns. What he hears is muted laughter. 

The shadow of a smirk tugs at the edge of his lips behind his panther mask—the Star Festival. It has been a year since Haruno Sakura was on the brink of death and he knows from her letters that she is well. He wonders if there is another one waiting for him and he tells himself his eagerness to return home is because he is in desperate need of a shower.

He enters his apartment, tugging the mask up onto his head and walks into his room and stops—

The window is open.

Dark eyes harden and he tenses before he realizes just what is perched on the sill.

A goldfish swims in circles in its plastic bag.

.

.

He finds her, of course he does. He wastes no time in removing his gear and transports to the river banks. 

She jumps at his appearance and tries to maintain her guard but it is the first time Sasuke has startled this Moon Spirit and he wants to push forward and make her stumble, make her slip, make her finally just admit who she is.

“This could have died,” he says, gesturing to the goldfish between them.

Sasuke watches red lips form words, reads them rather than hears them because there is a rushing in his ears (and a squirming in his gut that he forces himself to ignore). He isn’t sure why he’s so riled, but it has little to do with the high from a mission and everything to do with the young woman standing before him.

“I knew you’d be back tonight,” she says dismissively, with all the airs of an ethereal spirit.

He scoffs, “There’s no way you could have known.” He scowls behind his mask—because Anbu is supposed to be anonymous and he should be a nameless face. Nevermind that he believes he knows who she is. Nevermind that now she knows anyways because he clearly returned to his apartment where the fish was left behind.

The woman shrugs, and the gesture is so familiar that he is angry she even bothers to pretend. “I’m the Moon Spirit. I keep vigil over fragile hearts in the night. I see words on paper and words left unsaid.” When she touches the panther, he wishes her hand is against his skin instead. “I have to go.”

No—no—

But she disappears again, in a flurry of petals. His Sharingan spins and he follows her trail.

She is on the bridge, she dives. 

He gives chase, goldfish forgotten on the banks.

To normal eyes, the Moon Spirit seems to have disappeared, but his Sharingan can see remnants of her chakra and he swims after her, into a tunnel hidden beneath the river. There’s something gratifying about knowing how she enters the village unseen, undetected. He wonders how many are aware of this path and presses on. Her white cloak is up ahead and then suddenly she shoots up.

He rises, on her heels, and emerges in a little pond that is deceptively deep and without so much as a second thought, tackles her.

The second time that night she is surprised, and his Sharingan eyes memorize the exact shape of her mouth in that moment before he blinks, red receding to black.

“Why do you do this?” he rumbles, pinning her to the damp forest floor. Only then he realizes his mask is tilted atop his head, his hair is drenched, dripping water onto her face.

She catches his cheek and it takes every ounce of strength he has to keep from leaning into her touch. Thumb beneath his eye, she smiles. “I’m weak,” she whispers. “Sometimes I...need to…”

See him.

She doesn’t need to finish, he knows exactly how she feels.

Without warning, he braces himself on a single elbow and tugs the hood from her face, flattening his palm on the earth beside her head. He can feel her puffs of breath on his chin, feel her gentle curves against the planes of his chest. He dips his head down—

“You have to let me go, Sasuke-kun.”

—and freezes.

Green eyes are shadowed beneath the canopy, what little moonlight filters through the branches dapple her in silvery white and he thinks she has never looked more like the Moon Spirit than she does now. Hair glowing lavender is splayed beneath her, the red paint down her cheeks begins to run. He thinks of blood and hesitates.

“Why do you keep coming back?” the Uchiha demands. “Why do you keep coming back and leaving again? Why a disguise—a bad one, at that?”

A gentle snort escapes her, but then it is overshadowed with acute self-awareness. “Because I’m not ready to face you yet.”

Just like that, he understands.

People need Haruno Sakura; she goes off on her journey to help whoever is in need, but the purpose of her mission is not solely devoted to those affected by war and disease—it is a journey for her. 

Haruno Sakura heals people, but she also needs to heal herself.

So Sasuke lets her go.

He returns to Konoha, walks through the gates, and pauses at the bridge.

Before going home he releases the goldfish he abandoned. It’s the least he can do.

Guilt.

—

He can’t even begin to fathom the pain and turmoil she has faced (and he hateshateshates that he hasn’t thought about what he has put her through). 

Sasuke was under the impression that she has healed, that she has accepted him and them and that all the cracks that threatened to break the foundation of their bonds were mended, or at least filled with gold—but of course she is Sakura and though she still wears her heart on her sleeve, she no longer bears her weaknesses. He wonders how difficult it was for her to maintain friendliness, openness, he wonders what sifted through her mind in those three months they spent repairing the damage he had done. 

He wonders if he was the one who drove her away because she was scared.

And he can’t even be mad that she ran because it was exactly what he would have done—had done. It was too comfortable, too easy, and too fast.

Uchiha Sasuke had his time.

Haruno Sakura needs hers, too.

Upon returning to his apartment, he tears off his Anbu gear, throwing first his mask then his arm guards so they hit the wall with a ‘thud’.

Anger simmers just beneath his skin, boiling through his veins in a way that it hasn’t in a long, long time. He’s mad at himself for succumbing to their little game, allowing her to flitter in and out of his life at her leisure (and angry at himself at the irony of that). He’s angry that every time she failed to show up he was upset, or anxious, or disappointed. He’s angry that he had to watch her go, had to let her go (again!). 

But most of all he’s angry that he can’t be angry at all because damn if he doesn’t understand her motives, her fears, her hesitation. 

Because he knows her pain.

As he sits on the edge of his bed after divesting himself of his attire, leaving him pale and exhausted in the darkness of his room, fingers raking through his still damp hair, hands cradling his head as if it has suddenly become far too heavy to carry, he comes to the irrefutable, damnable realization that he loves Haruno Sakura. He loves her, broken and all, and as much as he hates her for walking away, for being afraid to accept him fully, he admires that she is strong enough to do so because he resolves never to be the one to cause her pain ever again. 

And that can only ever be true if, when she does finally return, she is healed.

Stars Refrain.

—

Oshika is not a particularly notable town. Sure, it boasts sprawling hills and valleys and an admittedly crystal clear lake, but the village itself is small and unassuming. Perhaps that is its appeal—Oshika is a small community, mostly untouched by problems of the shinobi world. If they have a daimyo, he lives far and doesn’t bother with such a small place. 

Uchiha Sasuke is surprised his mission sends him there, but it seems some noble has fallen in love with a daughter from Oshika, and the noble who claims to be a distant (very distant) relation to the daimyo pays well. Really, he is of the pretentious breed that Sasuke is well acquainted with (he, afterall, is The Last Uchiha). He shouldn’t complain, it is easy money and it gets him out of Konoha, out of his head, and far away from anything that might remind him of his sins and a certain pink-haired—

“Thank you, Uchiha-san.”

Dark eyes blink, flickering to the nobleman. Of course, he doesn’t speak.

“Your presence has been a comfort on this journey, I truly loathe traveling through shinobi territory.” The noble shudders as if the very idea of ninja repulses him (which is maddening because doesn’t he realize he hired a ninja for protection?). “You have done your job and done it well. Here’s some money to stay the night.”

Sasuke does not take the proffered coins, simply leveling a most indolent stare at the pathetic excuse of a noble. “Keep it,” he says at last. “For your honeymoon.”

He is about to leave but something keeps his sandals firmly in place.

There is no mistaking that chakra, the withering pulse, feather-light in their fluttering, bright, blinding, and warm like fires brought to life by Uchiha fans. The Sharingan melts into existence and he scans the village and he can see traces of her on the road, on the buildings, and now, so hyper-aware of her presence, he wonders how he missed it in the first place. 

So he flares his own chakra, spikes it like a beacon. He wants to seek her out but he won’t, if she wants to see him, she can find him. He won’t push her, won’t follow her, not when she told him to let her go. 

It takes every ounce of restraint (Which should be simple but Haruno Sakura is and always has been an exception for him, hasn’t she? Ever since they were young. So much has changed in their lives and yet that one frustrating fact has not.) not to track her down on his own, but he plants himself onto a tall hill that overlooks the village and the expanse of seas along the country border. He sits and he breathes in the heat of the sun and he waits.

By the time she arrives, the sun has long ago set.

He feels her first, her energy, but it is muted as if she is trying to suppress it. He knows if she wanted to she could wink it out of existence, but she doesn’t. Sasuke thinks she simply wants to maintain her cool composure, pretend she isn’t excited to see him, pretend his appearance in that village does not make her heart race, but he knows that is bullshit because he and Sakura have always had an inexplicable connection and his heart is pounding a military tattoo against his ribcage and he knows hers must be too. 

Sakura lays out a blanket and, without a word, sits on it. She doesn’t need to invite him, he simply stands and moves over to join her, and they both watch the stars wink into existence and listen to the invisible sea.

“I was called over to help deliver a baby,” she says.

“Hm. Same,” Sasuke quips.

She glances his way, disbelief clear on her face, and her stare is so unshakeable that the Uchiha can’t help but look over. A smile has stretched across her lips. “Did you just  make a joke?”

He snorts, returns his eyes to the endless, deep velvet skies. “Shut up, Sakura.”

Time passes easily, swiftly as the shooting stars he tracks (Fourteen, he counts, accompanied with a wish on every single one by his companion), exchanging updates.

When conversation lulls, the weariness in his eyes suggests the ungodly hour but neither makes a move to leave.

They lie back on the blanket, peaceful, content.

His hand reaches out to trace her scar and she exhales, inhales, but does not tell him to stop.

The stars wheel above them, threatening to bring destruction to the world below, but they refrain. Sasuke thinks that the stars, too, recognize the beauty in the world, or, if not the world, then the beauty that is Haruno Sakura.

.

.

Chapter Text

Legacy.

—

It is another three months before they reunite in Konoha.

She arrives with Tsunade in the midst of a rainy afternoon. There is nothing about that day that suggests the return of a Sannin and her apprentice; it is dull, dreary, anticlimactic. No one had known they arrived but word cracked through the shinobi network like lightning. 

Sasuke finds out as he is sitting down to lunch: 

Naruto’s eyes are wide and bright and filled with an excitement anyone would associate with a five-year-old as he breaks apart his chopsticks and practically sings itadakimasu. And then their friends walk by chattering about something and Yamanaka peeks her head into the ramen stand—

“Didn’t expect to see you two sitting here when Forehead’s finally back—”

Finally back. Does that mean—?

Naruto swivels his head so quickly Sasuke only has half a moment to wonder if it has come unscrewed.

“What? Sakura-chan’s back? For good?”

Sasuke keeps his eyes trained on his bowl, hand gripping his chopsticks with controlled strength to keep from snapping them in two. He had known Sakura’s mission was coming to an end, but her latest missive made it seem like months away. He resists the urge to procure the letter burning a hole through his flak jacket pocket and reread it just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. (That is impossible, he has read and reread every letter she sends a million times over, committing every stroke, every ‘All my love’ like a man starved. But he is, isn’t he? Starved.)

He can practically hear the sly grin in Ino’s voice when she answers: “Yep.” Her eyes are on him. He can feel it. The back of his neck burns.

“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go see her!”

Sasuke makes a show of appearing bothered, frowning and about to protest when Naruto clambers off the stool and waves to Teuchi that he’ll be back for his ramen with his whole team. Sasuke grunts his acquiescence and turns, meeting Ino’s cunning gaze. She is smirking at him.

He is grateful for Naruto in that moment, stealing Shikamaru, Choji, and Sai’s attention as he leads the way to the village gates. No one bears witness to the blonde watching Sasuke with far too much amusement for his liking. “You must be ecstatic,” she teases.

Sasuke scowls but does not deny it. There would be no point, Ino knows how he feels. 

“Here, I took the liberty of arranging this for you to give her,” Ino purrs, offering the bouquet in her hands.

Oh, she is definitely enjoying this.

Sasuke rolls his eyes and stalks off as quickly as he can, but there is no escaping Ino’s laughter.

.

.

There is a small audience. Of course there is. Sakura is welcomed home with literal open arms. Sasuke swats away the gnat of irritation he feels when Lee embraces her for a second too long. It is made easier when green eyes find him and it is as if the rain has stopped completely. A warm and honest smile blooms across her face and Sasuke cannot hear the thrum of the storm, the chatter of his comrades; he cannot feel the cool wetness of the rain flattening his hair against his face. 

He feels only warmth—

“Oh, Forehead, before I forget. Sasuke ordered these,” Yamanaka announces to the entire goddamn group as she hands the bouquet to her friend, “but forgot to grab them in his excitement to come see you.”

Sasuke’s face burns. He is not sure when he started becoming a running joke with their peers (though he suspects Sakura must have written something to Ino mentioning their run-in at Oshika) but it is annoying.

Sakura takes the flowers. “Nice try, Pig, but Sasuke-kun has better taste than this.”

The warmth she brings strengthens tenfold.

.

.

They are at dinner in a restaurant when Tsunade announces her retirement, bestowing the mantle of Sannin to the startled rose-haired apprentice sitting beside her. 

Sasuke has the perfect view of her reaction:

Contentment in her features (She looks good, he thinks, better than she has every time he’s seen her. She looks at peace.), eyes fluttering shut as she places a piece of grilled meat on her tongue. He knows rather than hears the soft hum of satisfaction as she chews. Her lashes tangle in the corners, head imperceptibly cants to the side. The line of her shoulders betrays her mood: fully, incandescently happy.

“I’m retiring. Sakura will be the new Sannin.”

And then the chewing stops, her eyes open and meet Sasuke’s stare. There’s a question in her gaze, confusion. He resists the urge to smirk, though he can feel the edge of his lips quirk, just slightly, in response. That is all the confirmation Sakura needs.

She turns and he takes the moment to admire her profile: the bridge of her nose, the sharpness of her chin, the curve of her neck—

“Shishou—”

Tsunade just lifts a small cup of sake, softly bumps it against the lavender diamond at the center of her apprentice’s forehead.

“To Sakura,” the blonde interrupts. 

Sakura is unable to tear her eyes from her teacher, her mentor, her guidance. Sasuke thinks he sees a sheen of wetness cloud over brilliant, mesmerizing green. A tremulous smile, and a curt nod and the table toasts the new Sannin.

Over their cups, charcoal burns through summer leaves.

Rumor Has It II.

—

“Have Lady Tsunade and Sakura returned?”

“I saw them at the bbq spot. I heard Sakura has finally surpassed her teacher.”

“Did you see the way the Uchiha was watching her?”

“It was as if no one else was in the room!”

“What I’d give to have someone look at me that way—“

“Nevermind all that. Did you see him walking her home?”

“I swear they kissed.”

“They did not—“

“I bet my left buttock they did—!”

“No one wants your left buttock, Ami.”

Baby Steps.

—

He waits to accompany her home after quiet, excited goodbyes.

The rain has stopped but the moisture hangs in the air, swathes them in comfortable warmth. 

“You don’t have to walk me,” Sakura says when she notices that he has not begun his trek home. 

They linger outside the restaurant, standing feet apart but even so, her scent invades him. It suffocates him and he has never been more keen on drowning—

“I’m not that drunk. Besides, training under Tsunade? I’ve built up quite the tolerance—”

“Don’t be annoying.”

If they were still children she would crumble at the phrase, but Sakura just grins. “If I’m so annoying then why walk with me?”

The Uchiha rolls his eyes, hands in pockets, and turns to meander down the road. “Maybe I want to walk with you?” is both guarded and casual. Even so, the weight of the words fills his chest with lead. Those are not words he can take back. The implication that comes with them is not something he can feign ignorance at.

Sakura takes only a fraction of a second before she falls into step at his side. She does not pry. (Maybe she doesn’t need to? She knows, she must know.)

As they walk, they maintain a distance, casual enough to be understood as friends, but far enough to keep it from being anything more. Except when his pocketed hands sometimes graze her knuckles. She moves over to give them more space, but it happens again. The third time it happens, she glances his way. 

“If you want to hold my hand so badly why don’t you just do it,” she challenges. 

Sasuke scoffs, grumbles half-hearted denial. You’re crazy.

She barely has time to roll her eyes when his hand reaches for hers. 

Sakura hesitates before accepting his hold. They walk in companionable silence, fingers laced, palms wet from the air, warm from the sake and something else that neither are ready to face just yet. But this quiet acceptance, understanding, this is enough for now.

He walks her to her door and lets her go, instantly missing her touch. She turns to face him and he realizes for the first time how much she’s actually grown. the seal on her forehead is stark against her skin, and she’s grown into it, he thinks, or maybe the layered rose strands just frame her perfectly. her eyes are still fiery, but there’s wisdom there—still wide and expressive but lacking the naivete. Instead they are calculating, maybe even sultry. 

For a moment he thinks she will invite him in and his stomach does a nauseating feat of gymnastics at the prospect.

But she just smiles and he cannot help but admire the way the moon lights up her eyes, the way the shadows accentuate her gentle smile. (And he can’t help but wonder just when did Haruno Sakura become so goddamn beautiful—?) “Goodnight, Sasuke-kun.”

Interlude.

—

Days pass in vibrancy.

Weeks are marked by laughter and tears and inside jokes and something blooming in full force.

Sakura returned four months ago, in the springtime, and it could not have been a more perfect moment. 

Do you believe in fate? She asked him this once, long ago, back when she still had long hair and he had not made up his mind to leave everything behind. At the time, Sasuke scowled, told her everyone is a product of their actions. Fate is nothing more than a notion people use to hide behind, to blame their problems on. A crutch.

But as he watches her spar with Naruto, water bottle half-way to his lips, he reconsiders.

Fate brought her back into his life in the spring . The time for rebirth. Growth. Starting new .

Fate led them all down separate paths only to wind together again, this time with the proper experience and wisdom to truly begin again.

(“Oi! Sakura-chan, that was an unfair hit! Teme, aren’t you watching?! Would you get your head outta your ass and make the right calls, what kind of ref are you?”

“We never agreed no chakra!”

“Yes we did!”)

Sasuke scoffs, quirks a brow. “We never agreed no chakra,” he parrots at which Naruto grumbles that of course he would side with Sakura.

They devolve to bickering and Sasuke leans back against a tree as Sakura agrees to a do-over, this time with clearer boundaries.

As the sun crests the sky, he cants his head to welcome its warmth.

Do you believe in fate?

Yes, he thinks, I do.

.

.

Chapter Text

Friendship.

—

He races through the trees, eyes locked up ahead. They are assigned on a two-day recon mission in a neighboring country and fully intend to complete it in one. Far too easy (in fact, it borders on insulting that the Hokage would send them on such a simple mission). 

It is their fourteenth assignment together (not that Sasuke is counting).

Kakashi quickly concluded that pairing a Sharingan-user with a top medic-nin yields remarkable results (the occasional demolition of property not-withstanding). 

Sasuke can’t complain, not when he’s been able to spend a copious amount of time alone with spring personified. They are getting closer, he can feel it with every teasing retort from slightly chapped lips, with every lingering stare she thinks he does not catch.

She is finally, finally, opening herself up to the possibility of—

Of what? 

He frowns. 

Now is not the time to dwell on whatever is manifesting (has been manifesting since the end of the war, perhaps far longer than that if he’s being completely, entirely honest with himself—which he is not) between them.

Green and brown scenery blurs around him, then a shock of pink invades his periphery. That is his only warning that she has caught up to him before she leaves him in the dust. A distinct prod against his temple is her silent message for him to ‘hurry up’ furrows his brow even more.

So unprofessional, he thinks. So annoying.

But he is unable to stop the grin from quirking up a corner of his mouth at her antics, at her challenge, as he effortlessly picks up the pace. 

They complete their mission in half a day.

.

.

Sasuke stares coolly at the Rokudaime, arms crossed over his chest. 

The silver-haired leader regards the duo with an unimpressed eye. “You were given two days for this,” Kakashi opens, giving his former students the opportunity to explain precisely why they are a day late in returning.

Sasuke parts his mouth to speak but Sakura beats him to it: “As per my report—“ (Sasuke smothers his chuckle with a cough into his fist.) “—there was an infection outbreak in the village. I stayed to control it.” 

Before Kakashi is able to reply, Sakura barrels on. 

“And before you reprimand us about this change in plans and not alerting you, I’ll have you know that we were smack dab in the middle of enemy territory and did not want to risk intercepted messages.”

“And,” Sasuke cuts in, not giving the Hokage a chance to speak, “are we not currently in the process of endearing ourselves to that region’s daimyou? Sakura deciding to stay and help surely won us some favor.”

Kakashi studies the pair for a long moment, then sighs—“Right. Sure. Of course.”—and waves them out of his office.

Sasuke swears he hears the older man mutter ‘Those two will be the death of me’ as they walk out.

All My Love IV.

—

Sasuke-kun,

I know you likely won’t get this anytime soon, and you’ll likely not be able to reply, but I thought I’d go ahead and update you on your favorite village (don’t roll your eyes at me, you know you’re dying to learn the latest gossip)!

Shikamaru and Temari are engaged! Make sure to congratulate them next time you see them. 

Kakashi-sensei told me he’s waiting to pass the mantle of Hokage to Naruto soon! Just waiting for Naruto to mature a bit more. (I think he’s being a bit overly-optimistic about just when Naruto might be ‘mature’ enough to become Hokage.)

The critical condition Anbu are all stabilized and before you waste ink and paper and time worrying: Yes, I’m getting lots of rest. Yes, I’m eating three meals a day. 

Tell Naruto I say hi! I miss you both. How’s it working with him instead of me this time?

All my love,

Sakura

.

.

Sasuke-kun,

Now that my Anbu patients are well, I can’t help but wish I had been released to go on this mission with you! I’m itching to get out of the village and flex our stealth skills. We still need to determine (in a FAIR way) just who can be sneakier!

I’m holding you to that challenge, Avenger.

All my love,

Sakura

.

.

Sasuke-kun,

If all went to plan your mission should have ended three days ago. I know you tell me not to worry but you know me. I always worry. I don’t even know if you’re getting these letters, I only have a vague idea of your locations. I wrote to Naruto, too, and I can always count on him to reply, but I haven't heard a thing.

Be well, be safe.

All my love,

Sakura

.

.

Sasuke-kun,

I was just informed that all contact with you and Naruto and the village has been radio-silent this past week. I trust you to be doing whatever you need to come out of this successfully. You and Naruto are an unstoppable duo and I believe fully in your skills but please don’t forget that you have people who care about you   remember the nature of this mission was stealth, not combat   it’s been over a week without word and I’m doing that thing that you always tell me not to. 

What was it again?

Right—worrying.

Please come home.

All my love, 

Sakura

Mentors.

—

“How is she doing?”

He inhales, filling his lungs with crisp morning air until they feel like they will burst before exhaling, slow and steady.

The woman laughs. “That well, huh?” She sighs, shakes her head, and sips on the contents of her cup that, to any passer-by, appears to be tea but her company knows better.

Kakashi drags a hand through his silver hair. “It’s been a week since their mission should have ended,” he says. 

He isn’t sure why he bothers to say this. Tsunade is more than capable of counting days. She may be old but she is far from decrepit. Even so, the Copy-Nin sinks into his seat as if the haori bearing the Leaf insignia weighs heavily on his shoulders.

“She’s restless—wants to go after them.”

Tsunade hums in thought, eyes studying the edge of her cup. “Give them a few more days,” she declares. “Now are you going to force an old woman to drink on her own?”

Kakashi stares out the window as he pushes his cup towards the Godaime to fill.

A few days is the difference between life, death, and insanity.

Tadaima.

—

She is decked in Anbu white, owl mask tilted atop her head. 

Even as he swiftly loses consciousness he still detects the sheer panic on her face—the fact that he’s missed her hits him like a well-placed chidori, electrifies him.

Sakura, Sorry I’m late, he wants to say, but her name is all he manages to mutter before he topples off the ledge of her window sill.

He does not hear her call his name.

Revelation.

—

“I come bearing gifts!” booms from the hall.

Sasuke does not think he will ever become accustomed to Naruto’s obnoxious yelling. 

True to his word, the blond bursts through Sasuke’s hospital door with an armload of baskets, bouquets, and cards. (How the hell is Naruto standing on two feet, looking as lively as ever? Sasuke recalls the state they were in when they returned home, Sasuke practically dragging a bleeding blond to the hospital entrance before immediately heading off to find Sakura—)

“And here I thought your fan club ended when you abandoned the village,” Naruto grumbles, unceremoniously dumping the items on the table by the window. He turns back to the Uchiha, holding out a neatly packed bento.

Sasuke has not seen hide nor hair of Haruno Sakura upon waking two days prior. She has not visited— not early in the mornings when he pretends to be asleep, not in the ungodly hours of the night where he forces himself to stay up to catch her. 

He does not see Sakura yet she is still everywhere.

Sasuke sees her in the sliced apples at his bedside, in the vase of daffodils. He sees her in the morning light that filters through the white curtains. He sees her in the summer green leaves of the tree just outside. He sees her in the carefully displayed ‘Get Well’ cards on the nearby table, and the thoughtfully packed bento of his favorites: tomatoes, onigiri, and miso soup.

It is when he eats his meal that he overhears two nurses down the hall:

“I’d never seen Sakura such a mess.”

“Didn’t you hear? She was worried sick about her teammates!”

“The Uchiha, you mean.”

“That’s your supervisor you’re spreading gossip about!”

“Oh please, it’s not gossip if the whole village knows! Sakura-san practically admitted it to everyone when she—”

“Eh? What’s got you smiling like an idiot?” a prying Naruto wheedles. 

Sasuke blinks, frowns, and turns his head away from his teammate. “Nothing, dead-last.”

“Oi, I’m the one who healed first! If anything, you’re the dead-last here—!”

Uchiha Sasuke will never admit it, but he finds comfort in Naruto’s predictability.

Rumor has it III.

—

“Oh she was definitely chewing out Hokage-sama about the delay! I passed right by the tower in the middle of her yelling—”

“It’s no wonder she never left his side while he was still in critical condition.”

“The operating room was a mess—“

“—she was a mess—”

“She tapped into her yin seal to get the job done! Nearly killed herself saving the Uchiha. Screamed herself hoarse ordering people around.”

“I don’t think she would have trusted anyone else to help with Naruto, either. Luckily Tsunade-sama was here.”

“Pfft, please. There’s no doubt who she would have chosen to save—“

“Hush! It would have broken her heart to have to make that choice! Those two are her lifelines—”

“She threatened to abandon the village to go after them both!”

“Deny it all you want but there is only one man she nearly destroyed herself saving.”

“But why would anyone be so desperate?”

“She’s in love didn’t you know?”

Okaeri.

—

When he comes-to on the fifth day, it is as it had been the previous mornings: to the smell of daffodils and apples.

His waking is unremarkable except for the fact that it is difficult to breathe. Fear grips him—is he dying? Is this how he is to pass? Without having seen the woman who has been his beacon, his refuge, his salvation one last time?

Because that is what Haruno Sakura is: she is his hope. Hope for a better future, hope for a family. This does not come as a realization during his last moments, no, this is a truth that has been quietly growing, integrating itself deeply into his core. 

Uchiha Sasuke knows many things, but above all else he knows that he belongs to her, wholly, unequivocally.

The pressure on his chest stirs, draws him from his thoughts, and he pries open a single dark eye. Pink greets his bleary vision. Soft, pastel pink, then a magnificent green that he has long ago committed to memory.

Sakura gasps, throws her arms around him, and he bites back the pain because he doesn’t want her to let go. Belatedly, he feels her tears soak through the fabric of his shirt.

Before he can speak, she kisses him, and it tastes like apples and salt and something entirely Sakura (and he is soaring, higher and faster than the wings of the cursed mark could ever bring him) and when he reaches up to catch her face, bury his fingers into her hair to deepen the kiss, he winces. 

She admonishes him—“You have to take it easy, you’re still recovering!”—and he scowls because she hasn’t stopped by to see him in days and she kissed him but now she’s stopping it when all he wants to do is taste her again (he wants to fly again) and he is in no state to explain any of these thoughts so what comes out is this:

“Might want to tell my girlfriend that.”

...

Sakura blinks, stares.

Sasuke stares right back. (There is no returning from this precipice, he knows. But he was a man on the verge of death and though he’s been there before, he never quite had the possibility of something more waiting for him, within his reach, and now? Now he has Haruno Sakura and she is everything.)

One beat.

Two.

The panic begins to set in. Maybe this was a mistake—was I too presumptuous—?

And Sakura laughs which only makes Sasuke scowl because what the hell is so funny?

She sniffs, prods his shoulder where she knows it’s sore. “I wasn’t made aware that you had one.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t tell many people, she’s annoying.” 

Sakura laughs (and he allows himself to bask in her warmth). “Annoying, huh? So why are you with her, then?”

He catches her face, thumb just beneath her left eye (As she did for him when she hid beneath an oversized hood and a celestial name and that feels like an entire life-time ago, how far have they come?) and leans his forehead against hers. 

When he answers, it is as natural as an exhale and just as soft: “Because I love her, didn’t you know?”

Goldfish III.

—

Hanging lanterns line the path to the river. Laughter mixes with the cicadas chirping. The smell of grilled meat and sweet confections permeate the air. 

All of this, and still all he can see are the freckles dotting the bridge of her nose, loose hair behind ears and tied into a low bun, the curve of her jaw as she tips her head up to greet the night air. Her eyes shut, lashes tangling in the corners and he knows that when she opens them they will shine brighter than the swarm of stars in the sky.

She glances at him and he cannot breathe.

She is the Moon Spirit and she smiles, gestures for him to join her.

So he does.

They stand along the banks of the river, water soaking half-way up to their knees. She is a vision in white and red, as always. But this time she has company:

A dragon—the mask is navy and white and entirely uncomfortable, but she insisted the Moon Spirit could not be seen fraternizing with a mere mortal and so he is a dragon. To protect her. (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been out and threatened to be killed, she had said with a cheeky grin.)

Together, they submerge a little bag into the water and set the goldfish free.

It swims away and the Moon Spirit smiles and the Dragon is, at long last, home.