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This prosthetic is about to tip him over.
Naruto, who has had his own for nearly two years, seems blissfully unaware of Sasuke’s discomfort.
“Feels better, doesn’t it?” asks Naruto, bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning like the idiot he is. Perched on the windowsill, Kakashi simply watches. Sakura is at Sasuke’s side, helping him through a series of exercises meant to test the limits of his new limb.
“A little,” admits Sasuke, flexing his new hand. There is more dexterity than he hoped for—indeed, the arm is completely naturalistic in a way he hadn’t expected. He can even feel the pressure of Sakura’s fingers at his elbow and wrist, as she tests its range of motion. “Still weird. Not sure I like it.”
“Well, Sasuke-kun, getting used to a new arm was never going to be easy,” says Sakura. Her teasing words are offset by her blush as she leans in close, directing his arm through the motions. Sasuke watches her in his periphery, while still ostensibly staring at Naruto, because if he looks at her directly he’ll be blushing, too.
He may have his atonement, but atonement means self-reflection, and more often than not he finds himself reflecting on her. And his musings, he finds, are not limited to the times when they are apart.
Sakura clears her throat and releases his arm. “Everything feels normal. How’s the sensitivity? Can you feel anything?”
Sasuke nods, eyes flickering to her hands—now making notes on a clipboard—and away again.
“Good. Tsunade said you should have feeling throughout it. I’m a bit concerned about the nerves in your hand; I want you to tell me if the sensation is reduced compared to your original arm.”
“How?”
She shrugs. “Touch something.”
Unwittingly, Sasuke’s eyes slide over to Kakashi, whose head has turned towards him. There is something about the crinkling of old teacher’s eyes that suggests a smile at Sasuke’s expense. Naruto looks between them, briefly confused, before his expression turns knowing. Internally, Sasuke sighs. For someone who took forever to realize that Hinata Hyuuga was in love with him, Naruto is remarkably fast on the uptake in regards to Sasuke’s feelings.
Sakura, noticing their silent exchange, scowls.
“Naruto, what are you doing?”
“Nothing important, Sakura-chan,” says Naruto, though his enormous grin suggests otherwise. He turns to Sasuke. “Anyways, sorry teme, but I gotta leave—this part’s gonna take forever. If you need us, we’ll be at Ichiraku’s.”
With that proclamation, he grabs an unresisting Kakashi by the collar and tows him out of the room, humming cheerfully. Kakashi lets himself be dragged, his lone eye lingering on Sasuke for far longer than necessary.
Sakura watches them go, baffled, before turning back to Sasuke, eyebrows raised.
“What was that all about?”
He shrugs. “You’ve spent more time with them. You tell me.”
“Fair point,” she laughs. She stops immediately, however, when he reaches for her. He pauses, hand still hovering a few inches away from her person.
“…Sasuke-kun? Do you need something?”
“Give me your hand.”
He is blushing. He knows he’s blushing. Somehow, that makes it worse. If he wasn’t so embarrassed at making the request in the first place, her stunned face might make him laugh.
“Huh?” she says, blankly.
“You said to touch something.”
At least she looks as awkward as he feels. But she doesn’t outright reject him, as he fears she might. Instead she tucks her pencil back into the clipboard and reaches out to rest her palm over his. Her hand is smaller than he remembers; smooth, but not soft—not like when they were genin. There are small scars across her fingers. He notes with some amusement that her nail polish is still green.
He shifts his hand so that their hands are pressed fully together. She watches him, blush not quite faded but her eyes steady and calm. He tries not to meet her gaze. This strange new relationship of theirs has fluid boundaries, and he always fears pushing forward too quickly.
He lets their hands slide just out of alignment and interlaces their fingers.
Now this touch, he remembers.
The memory resurfaces, clear as a bell. The blinding pain of the curse seal. Sakura’s panic. Feeling completely and utterly helpless. Reaching for her, seeking comfort and finding it. An anchor.
That arm is the one whose replacement he wears now. It is a great relief to realize that this prosthetic, new and untested, still recognizes the feeling of Sakura’s skin.
She gives their intertwined fingers a little wiggle. “How does it feel?” she asks. She is smiling, very slightly, but her happiness is palpable, dancing in the light of her eyes and the curve of her cheek.
He squeezes back in response.
“Good,” he says, finally meeting her eyes. “Feels right.”