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Sakura can hardly see with smoky film drooping over lashes that darken mauve to rose. She can hardly believe that she lasted so long in the hospital without collapsing from chakra exhaustion. Despite pooling chakra into her Yin seal – and discreetly experimenting with other miscellaneous fuinjustu without anyone really knowing during her shift – and performing numerous surgeries, it truly is a miracle that she didn't collapse at Ichiraku for an impromptu dinner because she was sure that she wouldn't have the energy to eat a full meal the moment she slipped into a bath.
Or if Shisui managed to make dinner and very politely herd her to the table like a normal functioning human.
But really, he was asking for too much.
The hospital had decided very much last minute – she thinks darkly to Shī who arrived in Konoha a week ago, bragging about the new medical workshops they set up across the country which boosted a one hundred and twenty percent antidote to poison turnover rate in their stocks and decided that it was time to rub it in Konoha's face, naturally, Tsunade-sama was not going to take his arrogance sitting down – to host a series of workshops to maximize not only antidotes but vaccines and not only did she have to participate in the workshop, but she had to teach a few classes, supervise labs, and still pull a shift in the hospital.
Nevertheless, the moment Sakura gets a free moment, she's going to rope a few Uchiha clan members – note: Shisui, Itachi, Sasuke and if she's really nice, then maybe Fugaku-oji will join – to have a friendly spar with Cloud's delegation.
That should wipe the smirk off Shī's face, she thinks sweetly.
Sakura unlocks her door with her key and scowls at the web of genjutsu – and traps! – that layer her door slowly. Clearly, she isn't important enough to deign such security measures, but Shisui insisted.
And she is weak for his curls and pretty eyes.
She scowls.
She opens her door and is marginally surprised that Shisui isn't in the kitchen primping the new rice cooker and stirring a pot of miso soup – three times because even numbers irritate him and five is too excessive – while ushering her inside with his silly sunflower apron is beyond her.
The dining table is empty sans for a single lilac in her grandmother's white bone porcelain vase.
Sakura tosses her bag on the table—cringing as the vase wobbles on the wooden table like a ring coin on the counter.
By gravity and perhaps her dead grandmother's spirit, the vase manages not to topple over and shatter into a million pieces on her terracotta tiles that she had Kakashi-sensei install after she threatened to burn his kunai-printed bedsheets and color in his Icha Icha books—with permanent markers.
Permanent markers that bleed into other pages.
Kakashi could never promise that she wouldn't be able to find his books because it's Sakura.
She'll take it as a challenge, and he would never have peace again.
"Obaa-chan is probably rolling in her grave seeing how you almost broke her most prized possession," Shisui comments amusedly from the left.
Sakura turns her head to see the bane of her existence – the light of her life – lay on her sofa in dark blue sweats, a mesh top, and a white headband – that she distinctly remembers losing some time during her Kiri mission in April and Sunday dinner with her parents – holding back the mass of dark curls over his head.
He looked more like a soft, dark cloud – not the sad ones, she swears – all cute and cuddly with the little pink cat ears slipping over a couple of ringlets.
Sakura nearly groans and she puts her hands on her hips for a moment to answer, "First of all, her most prized possession are those horrid petunias that she gave Kakashi-sensei despite him never fulfilling her wish of sleeping with him."
Shisui snickers from the sofa and shelves the book that he was reading – Wings of a Bird and Silver Bones – onto the coffee table.
"And second," Sakura slips off her shoes near the door before walking over to the sofa, still in her scrubs and her hair in a messy ponytail. She throws herself – not really because that would require energy that she most certainly does not have – over him, wiggling up his torso so her head rests on the wide expanse of his chest and the crown of her head touches his chin, "She only gave me that vase because it was supposed to compensate for my forehead and lack of a husband."
"I love your forehead," Shisui says offended, and purposefully drops wet kisses along the crown of her forehead and the sides of her face. She giggles despite her protests of wanting a shower. He curls his fingers until the knuckles run down her spine in long, soothing strokes, "And well, the husband part is negotiable."
"But, said potential husband didn't cook dinner," Sakura inhales in his scent deeply before peering upwards at his wry smile, "Color me shocked."
"Yamanaka-san said that you were going out to dinner," Shisui shrugs and tangles his free hand in her hair, pulling her hair out of it's confined prison.
"You saw Ino-pig?"
"At the grocery store. I was going to make curry," he offers and rubs her scalp with the pads of his fingertips. She nearly vibrates out of her skin, the gentle, but purposeful tugs ease the strains in her head and neck. "But she said that Tsunade-sama has the hospital on a military-like schedule – ironic I know – and that she would be dragging you out to dinner because you would be too tired to eat at home."
Sakura frowns, "We could've gotten lunch."
"And interrupt your super-secret fuinjutsu experiment?" Shisui raises an elegant brow and smirks at her gobsmacked expression.
"How did you know?" she yelps.
"Shikamaru. He said you were a slave driver," he chuckles and pulls her higher up his chest, so her face smooshes against his shoulder, "Next time, ask me for fuinjutsu help. I can guarantee that I wouldn't sell you out for grilled mackerel and a nap."
"I'm going to sic Ino on him," Sakura promises darkly, but it loses its intention when she yawns, drowsy from the heat radiating off of Shisui, and the smell of his hair. "Next time."
"Next time," Shisui promises and tugs on her hair a bit harder, "You need to shower."
"Later," she whines and snuggles deeper into the crook of his neck.
He mockingly sighs exasperated and tries to muffle his smile by biting the inside of his cheek. He feigns, "At least give me a kiss. You didn't even greet me properly."
"If I kiss you, will you shut up?"
"Obviously."
Sakura exhales tiredly but leans up and kisses him square on the mouth. Shisui gladly tilts his head to drag out the kiss, slow and sweet, until she feels the sweet dark edges of sleep dampen the sides of her vision. She pulls back to smile and looks at him blearily, "I'm home."
Shisui tucks her back into the crook of his neck and murmurs into her hair, "Welcome home."