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Angry streaks of lightning split the sky while rain rattled against the window casement. Thunder rumbled in the distance, drawing closer to the village. Sakura curled on the couch and wrapped her cocoon-like blanket tighter around herself. A dull pain in her lower back warned that she hadn’t moved in hours, but she couldn’t bring herself to shift position. It felt like too much effort, everything felt like too much effort. She welcomed the storm and wondered if she could step into the oppressive darkness as stop existing.
A sharp pang flared to life in Sakura’s chest, one that she’d grown intimately familiar with. She hadn’t known that heartache could be a physical sensation, that it would hurt with the same symptoms of a heart attack. Thick bands squeezed her lungs until drawing breath cost more than it supplied. It wasn’t until she hiccuped through another bout of tears that she realized that she’d started crying.
Sakura had thought the tears would eventually run out, but her body seemed to find new reserves daily. She’d held it together through the funeral, then the carefully veiled apologies and offers of support. The crass remarks from the people who didn’t understand her relationship with Kakashi had angered her enough to push back the hurt, but it lingered on the horizon.
The familiar picture of Team Seven hanging on the wall of Sakura’s apartment hadn’t broken her the way that she’d feared. It had been the orange book lying open on the table that undid her. She and Kakashi had been reading it together, and she’d left the pages open so that they could continue when he got back from his mission. Sakura had dashed the book against the wall in a fury, then scrambled across the room to hug the novel to her chest as the tears fell. She hadn’t been sure they would stop.
For years, Sakura had dealt with grief as an abstract emotion, something that she helped other people through. It was necessary in her line of work. She’d felt it before, of course, but not like this. Those instances were a puddle beside an ocean, and the water was closing over her head. She hadn’t been to work or left the apartment in over two weeks. Ino had brought food and a shoulder to cry on, while Naruto had tried his best to be optimistic, but Sakura shunned them both. Next, Tsunade tried to shame her into honoring Kakashi’s memory by pushing through the grief. Sakura hadn’t answered the knocks since.
Thunder rattled the door in its frame, but Sakura didn’t move. When the sound repeated itself, she frowned. It took her several heartbeats to realize that someone was knocking. She wrapped her arms around her ears to shut out the noise. There was no one out there that she wanted to see, no one who could erase the pain of her loss. The sound stopped, and the door swung inward. Icy wind and rain swirled into the apartment as lightning silhouetted a man in the opening.
Sakura’s lungs seized when Kakashi limped into the room, silver hair slicked to his forehead by the damp. She threw off the blanket and rose on shaky knees. “Y-y-you’re dead,” she managed to stutter.
“Not quite,” Kakashi chuckled, pushing his hair out of his face with one hand. “It turns out that rumors of my death have been greatly—”
Kakashi’s words died in a whoosh of air when Sakura punched him. The man curled forward in pain, but managed to catch the second first in one hand. Sakura’s open palmed slap staggered him to the side. Tears and rain blinded Sakura as she pummeled Kakashi’s armor and chest. A sob lodged in her throat. “I went to your funeral. I saw your name—”
Strong arms closed around Sakura, trapping her fists against Kakashi’s chest. The embrace made it hard to breathe, but it didn’t feel tight enough. “I’m sorry,” Kakashi murmured above her head.
“You’re sorry?” Rage and relief fought a knife-edged battle in Sakura’s chest. “You’re fucking sorry?”
The grip around Sakura tightened, and Kakashi kicked the door shut behind him with one foot. “Yes,” he answered, releasing Sakura and taking a step back. “If I could have let you know sooner, I would have.”
“Don’t ever do that again,” Sakura growled, accenting every word with a sharp poke between two of the man’s ribs.
Kakashi winced and wrapped an arm around his middle. “Okay,” he agreed, sagging forward. “But, we should talk about it later. I’m pretty sure you reopened at least two of my wounds and added a few more.”
A flush heated Sakura’s face as she pulled Kakashi forward. “It’s no less than you deserve,” she grumbled, but the heat had gone out of her words.
Lowering himself to the couch, Kakashi nodded. He closed his eyes and relaxed against the cushions, entire body going lax. Sakura smoothed her hand over his forehead and drew a deep breath in preparation for healing. It felt like the first one she’d taken in weeks.