Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When dawn broke, golden light seeped into their suite, casting a warm glow over the tangled sheets and the heavy silence that hung between them.

Sakura’s eyes fluttered open, her heart racing as the events of the night before crashed into her like a tidal wave. What have we done? she thought, her breath catching as she curled the sheet higher around her shoulders, as though it could shield her from the weight of reality.

Beside her, Sasuke lay still, his breathing even but tense, the space between them brimming with something unspoken. Neither moved. Neither dared to speak.

The memory of each other’s touch lingered like a ghost on their skin, haunting the space between them. No matter how much they tried to steady their thoughts, the rhythm of their hearts betrayed them, quickening with the weight of realization.

Everything had just changed.

Chapter Text

Sakura trudged into her dimly lit apartment at nearly midnight, her scrubs crumpled and her feet screaming from a double shift. She dumped her bag by the door and slumped onto the couch, letting out a groan as her head tipped back against the cushion.

The coffee table groaned under the weight of unopened bills. Rent. Utilities. Student loans. A week ago, she’d felt like she had life semi-figured out—barely surviving her medical residency, sure, but at least she had a roof over her head. Now, with her roommate gone, everything had unraveled faster than a cheap sweater in a washing machine.

She dropped her head into her hands with a groan. “Thanks for nothing, Yumi,” she muttered bitterly, addressing her now ex-roommate, who had packed up and ghosted two days ago with no warning. “No text. No rent money. Not even a crappy note. Just one suspiciously empty closet and half a carton of expired almond milk.”

Sakura looked at the empty carton now sitting innocently in her trash can. “Real classy, Yumi. Top-tier human being right there.”

The rent was due in less than two weeks, and the reality of her situation was grim. Her meager residency paycheck barely stretched far enough for groceries, let alone solo rent. If she didn’t find someone to split the costs—and fast—she’d be Googling “how to turn a cardboard box into a luxury studio.”

She grabbed her laptop with a resigned sigh and opened a new post for a roommate ad.

“Affordable room for rent. Must be clean, quiet, and not steal my stuff. Serial killers need not apply. Rent negotiable”

Sakura paused, squinting at the screen. “Too desperate? Not desperate enough? Should I add ‘no hoarders of dead plants or unpaid bills’?” Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she considered it. The thought of finding another Yumi—a houseplant hoarder with Wi-Fi mooching tendencies—made her stomach churn.

With a groan, she shut the laptop. “This is how people get murdered. Step one: post a roommate ad. Step two: invite a serial killer into your home. Step three: wake up in a crime documentary.”

Her phone buzzed, interrupting her morbid spiral. The screen lit up with a name she knew all too well: Naruto Uzumaki.

Sakura stared at the name for a moment before reluctantly answering. “What do you want, Naruto?”

“Hey, Sakura-chan!” Naruto’s obnoxiously cheerful voice boomed on the other end. “I heard about your roommate problem!”

“Of course you did,” Sakura deadpanned. “Did you call just to remind me how terrible my life is, or are you offering to pay my rent?”

Naruto snorted. “Me? Pay rent? That’s hilarious, Sakura-chan. No, I’m here to help!”

“Oh, this should be good,” she muttered, already regretting answering.

“I have an idea!” Naruto said proudly, and Sakura could practically hear the smug grin on his face.

“Does your idea involve money?”

“No, but—”

“Then it’s useless,” she cut him off.

“Rude!” Naruto huffed, then continued undeterred. “Listen, you just need to post your ad in more places. Like, widen your search, y’know? If you only post in the usual spots, you’ll just get the same old weirdos. Go for the niche websites—like that one where people rent rooms to digital nomads!”

Sakura blinked. “Naruto, do you even know what a digital nomad is?”

“Sure I do! It’s, uh… people who, like, work from their laptops… and travel and stuff.” He paused. “Anyway, the point is, more websites, more options!”

Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose. “So, your big idea is for me to do what I was already doing but… more?”

Naruto laughed nervously. “When you say it like that, it sounds lame.”

“Because it is lame.”

Naruto gasped in mock offense. “Well, excuse me for trying to help, Miss Sassypants! Next time I’ll just let you drown in bills.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Sakura said flatly, hanging up before he could launch into another round of his so-called helpful advice.

She tossed her phone onto the couch and dropped her head into her hands. “Idiot.”

But as the quiet of her empty apartment settled around her, the faint echo of Naruto’s suggestion lingered in her mind. Maybe I do need to broaden the search...

Sakura opened her laptop again, staring at the roommate ad draft. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she begrudgingly typed:

“Bonus points if you’re not a vampire or freeloading artist.”

She hit save and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Great. Now I’m one step closer to starring in a true crime documentary and losing my sanity.”

Chapter Text

Sasuke sat at the café table, arms crossed, and stared blankly at the woman across from him. She was mid-monologue, gesturing wildly as she described her perfect partner—someone adventurous, spontaneous, “always ready to try new things.”

In short, not him.

“I mean,” she continued with the enthusiasm of someone auditioning for a reality TV show, “don’t you think people should be willing to take risks for love?”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow. “I’m an architect. My job is literally to avoid risks so things don’t collapse.”

The polite smile on her face froze. “Oh... I see.”

Her expression shifted into that familiar look of disappointment he’d seen on every blind date. It was the why am I here? look. She stood up abruptly, smoothing down her skirt. “Excuse me, I need to take a call.”

She didn’t come back.

Sasuke glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes. A new record. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he rubbed his temples.

“Another success, I see,” came a voice from behind him.

He didn’t even need to turn around to recognize the warm, teasing tone. Mikoto Uchiha had arrived, looking every bit the doting mother in her cardigan and pearls.

“Why are you here, Mother?” Sasuke muttered, standing up and reaching for his jacket.

Mikoto ignored him, brushing invisible lint off his shoulder. “I wanted to see how it went! She seemed so nice. What happened?”

“She left,” Sasuke said flatly, stepping past her and heading for the door.

Mikoto followed, undeterred. “Why? What did you say to her?”

Sasuke stopped on the sidewalk and turned to face her, his dark eyes narrowing. “I existed.”

His mother rolled her eyes, looking skyward as if seeking divine patience. “You know, this isn’t funny, Sasuke. You’re not getting any younger, and I’m just trying to help. You’ll thank me one day.”

“Thank you for what? For wasting my time?”

“For trying to find you happiness!” Mikoto shot back, folding her arms. “You’re impossible to deal with. That poor girl probably just wanted someone who could hold a normal conversation without glaring at her like she was a blueprint.”

“I don’t glare.”

“You do.”

Sasuke pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Mother, please. Stop setting me up on dates. I don’t want this.”

“Well, you clearly don’t want to make any effort yourself,” Mikoto said, her tone sharp. “What are you planning to do? Stay single forever? Work yourself into an early grave? You’re going to end up alone and miserable!”

“Good,” he deadpanned, walking toward his car.

“I’m serious, Sasuke! You can’t just—”

“Fine!” Sasuke snapped, spinning around to face her. His voice rose just enough to startle her into silence. “I’m getting married!”

Mikoto blinked, her mouth falling open in surprise. “You’re… what?”

Sasuke froze. Why did I say that?

He stared at his mother’s wide eyes and, instead of backtracking, found himself digging in deeper. “Yeah. Married. Soon. So you can stop with the blind dates.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Then Mikoto’s expression morphed into something much worse: pure, unfiltered delight.

“Oh, Sasuke!” she gushed, clasping her hands together like a kid who’d just unwrapped a birthday present. “That’s wonderful! Who’s the lucky girl?”

Sasuke looked away, muttering under his breath, “You don’t know her.”

Mikoto gasped, grabbing his arm. “You have to tell me everything! How did you meet? Is she pretty? What’s her name? Can I meet her? Can I plan the wedding?”

Sasuke yanked his arm free and climbed into his car before she could interrogate him further. “We’ll talk later,” he mumbled through the window.

As he drove away, Mikoto waved enthusiastically from the sidewalk, her phone already in hand, no doubt texting Fugaku about the "good news."

Sasuke gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched as he replayed the conversation in his head.

“Great,” he muttered to himself. “Now I have to find a wife.”

Chapter Text

Naruto leaned back in the booth at Ichiraku, slurping noodles like he’d been stranded in the desert for weeks. Across from him, Sasuke sat, chopsticks suspended midair, his glare sharp enough to dice vegetables.

“You’re telling me,” Naruto began, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “that you told Auntie Mikoto you’re engaged?”

“Hn.”

Naruto froze for half a second before bursting into laughter so loud it startled the old man behind the counter. “Engaged? You? Oh, man, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week!”

Sasuke’s glare intensified, his dark eyes narrowing like he was trying to decide whether Naruto’s demise should involve his chopsticks or the scalding ramen broth. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

Naruto leaned forward, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “Okay, okay. But seriously—who’s the lucky girl? You have a secret girlfriend you haven’t told me about? Or… wait.” His grin widened. “Did you just make it up to get your mom off your back?”

Sasuke’s silence was all the confirmation Naruto needed.

Naruto dropped his chopsticks with a loud clatter. “You lied to Auntie Mikoto? You’re braver than I thought, teme. She’s gonna murder you when she finds out.”

“She won’t find out,” Sasuke said curtly, turning his attention back to his sashimi with a deliberate bite, as though the conversation were over.

“Oh, really?” Naruto smirked, picking up his chopsticks again. “And what happens when she starts asking about wedding dates, the guest list, or, I don’t know, your non-existent fiancée?”

Sasuke paused mid-bite, his jaw tightening as if Naruto’s words were physically painful. He set his chopsticks down carefully and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is why I don’t tell you anything.”

Naruto snorted. “Lucky for you, I’m a genius at fixing dumb mistakes. And you’re in luck, ‘cause I’ve got the perfect solution!”

Sasuke tilted his head slightly, his expression as skeptical as ever. “Do I even want to hear this?”

Naruto grinned wider, like a man about to pitch the deal of a lifetime. “Easy! You should just go through with it—a marriage of convenience!”

Sasuke stared at him blankly, not even bothering to mask the incredulity in his tone. “A marriage of convenience?”

“Yeah!” Naruto declared, waving his chopsticks in the air like he was unveiling the next big invention in ramen toppings. “Think about it—your mom’s happy, you’re off the hook for those awkward blind dates, and you don’t have to fake being in love forever. It’s genius!”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, deadpan as ever. “And who exactly do you expect me to marry?”

Naruto shrugged, grinning as he leaned back in his seat. “Oh, I don’t know. Just pick someone who won’t drive you crazy. Or better yet, someone who’s already crazy enough to agree to it.”

Sasuke stared at him for a long moment, his face perfectly still. Then, with the slow precision of a predator sizing up its prey, he leaned forward.

“You’re an idiot,” he said flatly.

Naruto laughed again, unbothered, as he slurped down the rest of his noodles. “Sure, but you know I’m right.”

Sakura stirred her cappuccino, glaring at the foam art like it had personally offended her entire family. “I’m telling you, Hinata, I’m running out of options. The roommate ads aren’t working, and if I can’t pay rent by the end of the month, I’m toast. Burnt toast.”

Hinata, ever the picture of poise, gave her a gentle smile. “I’m sure something will come up, Sakura.” She took a sip of her tea, pausing just long enough to make Sakura narrow her eyes.

“That tone,” Sakura said suspiciously, leaning forward. “You know something. Spill.”

Hinata’s cheeks tinged pink, and she looked down, fiddling with her napkin. “Naruto mentioned your situation to me, and I… I might have a suggestion.”

Sakura groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh no. If Naruto’s involved, this is already doomed. Is it another one of his ‘get-rich-quick’ schemes?”

“No, nothing like that!” Hinata quickly said, her hands fluttering nervously. “It’s just… unconventional.”

Sakura raised an eyebrow. “Unconventional how?”

Hinata hesitated, then set her tea down with care, as if bracing herself. “What if… you got married?”

The café seemed to go completely silent, the hum of conversation and clinking dishes fading into a void. Sakura blinked at Hinata, sure she had misheard. “Married?” she said, her voice high-pitched enough to draw glances from nearby tables. “Hinata, I love you, but please, for the sake of our friendship, tell me you’re joking.”

Hinata’s blush deepened, but she held her ground. “Not a real marriage. Just… something practical. A marriage of convenience.”

Sakura snorted so hard her cappuccino foam nearly flew out of the cup. “Convenience? What am I, starring in a soap opera now? Am I supposed to marry a secret billionaire who’ll pay my rent in exchange for, what, homemade bento boxes?”

Hinata tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her expression both embarrassed and determined. “I know it sounds strange, but think about it. If you found someone who needed a reason too—like, I don’t know, for tax benefits or family pressure—you could share expenses. It wouldn’t have to be forever.”

Sakura dragged her hands through her hair, staring at her best friend in disbelief. “Hinata, I can barely commit to a shampoo brand, let alone marriage—fake or not.”

“It’s just an idea,” Hinata said softly, looking down at her tea again. “But it would solve your rent problem. And you wouldn’t have to trust a stranger. You could pick someone you know.”

Sakura shook her head, laughing bitterly. “And who’s lining up to marry a broke, overworked resident? No one’s that desperate.”

Hinata hesitated, her expression unreadable for a moment, before she said quietly, “Sometimes, people have their own reasons.”

Sakura frowned at the cryptic tone but waved it off. “You and Naruto are perfect for each other, you know that? You both wake up every day and think, ‘What’s the wildest thing we can throw at Sakura today?’” She pushed her cup away, leaning back in her chair. “Marriage. Honestly.”

Hinata chuckled softly, but her suggestion hung in the air long after the conversation moved on. And later that night, as Sakura sat at her coffee table, staring at the pile of overdue bills, she found herself muttering under her breath:

“Marriage. That’s ridiculous. Isn’t it?”

Chapter Text

The restaurant glowed warmly against the crisp evening air, its golden lights spilling onto the busy downtown street. Sakura paused on the sidewalk, glancing down at her phone to double-check the address Naruto had sent.

Naruto: Hanami Bistro, 123 Aoba Avenue. Let’s catch up! See you later!

Her brows furrowed as she adjusted the strap of her bag. The idea of catching up with Naruto didn’t bother her—it was always chaotic, but in a way that was almost comforting. What bothered her was the ominous lack of detail. This was Naruto, after all. And with Naruto, surprises were rarely pleasant. Before she could take a step forward, the sharp sound of approaching footsteps made her glance up.

Sasuke approached from the opposite direction, his dark coat blending into the shadows of the city. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, and his expression was unreadable, though his eyes flicked briefly to hers.

They stopped in front of the entrance, the shared surprise of seeing each other quickly giving way to guarded suspicion.

“What are you doing here?” Sakura asked, her tone sharper than intended as she slipped her phone into her pocket.

Sasuke’s gaze didn’t waver. “Same as you,” he replied flatly. “Naruto invited me.”

Sakura folded her arms, the faint chill in the air doing little to temper the irritation building in her chest. “Figures,” she muttered, glancing toward the door. “He didn’t mention you’d be here.”

“Neither did he,” Sasuke countered, his voice clipped. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

She forced a tight smile, her fingers curling against her arms. “Well, that makes two of us,” she said, brushing past him to reach for the door.

Before her hand could touch the handle, Sasuke stepped forward and opened it first. His dark eyes met hers briefly, his expression calm. “Don’t make this more of a headache than it already is,” he said evenly, stepping aside to let her pass.

Sakura shot him a glare as she walked inside, the warm air of the restaurant doing little to thaw the frost between them. “Believe me,” she said under her breath, “I’ll be ignoring you completely.”

“Good,” Sasuke muttered as he followed her inside, his tone as dismissive as hers.

The restaurant buzzed with energy, the warm lighting casting a soft glow over the polished wooden tables and bustling waitstaff. Soft jazz floated through the room, mingling with the hum of conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery. The cozy atmosphere should have been comforting, but Sakura’s irritation flared anew when she spotted Naruto waving enthusiastically from a corner booth.

“Oi, Teme! Sakura-chan! Over here!” Naruto’s voice carried over the din, far too loud for the setting.

Sakura winced, her cheeks heating as heads turned. Sasuke sighed audibly, his jaw tightening as if enduring a personal trial.

She followed Sasuke to the booth.Naruto greeted them with his trademark grin, leaning back with the air of someone who thought he was far cleverer than he actually was. Across from him, Hinata smiled softly, offering a small, apologetic wave.

“Late as usual,” Naruto declared as they approached, pointing a chopstick at them as if scolding children

“We’re exactly on time,” Sasuke replied, sliding into the booth with an air of reluctant obligation.

Naruto shrugged, unbothered. “Late by my standards.”

Sakura dropped into her seat opposite Sasuke, her irritation flaring anew. “Naruto, what’s this about?”

“Relax,” Naruto said breezily, waving over a waiter. “Can’t we just have dinner as friends?”

Sasuke’s sharp gaze flicked to Naruto. “You don’t have friends.”

Naruto feigned a wounded expression. “Harsh, Teme. Really harsh.”

Hinata cleared her throat softly, her voice tentative. “Naruto thought it might be nice for all of us to catch up.”

Sakura arched a skeptical brow. “Catching up is fine. But with him?” She jerked her thumb at Sasuke.

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “You’re not exactly a prize either.”

Naruto grinned, clearly enjoying himself as the waiter arrived to take their orders. “Let’s start with some appetizers. Trust me, they’re amazing here.”

Sakura tried not to grind her teeth as Naruto flipped through the menu like it was the most exciting part of his day. She didn’t even want to be here—especially not with Sasuke brooding across the table like some dark cloud ready to rain on her patience. If Naruto wasn’t one of her oldest friends, she’d have walked out already. But then again, where would that leave her? Alone in her cramped apartment with no prospects for a solution to her housing nightmare.

On the other side of the booth, Sasuke shifted slightly in his seat. His expression remained blank, but his mind was far from calm. He didn’t like being dragged into these setups, and he especially didn’t like how Sakura’s irritation mirrored his own. They’d barely spoken to each other, and already she was looking at him like he was the problem. Still, a small part of him wondered why she hadn’t left yet. She had no patience for idiocy, so why was she here? When the waiter left with their orders, Naruto leaned back with a sly smile, eyeing both Sasuke and Sakura like he was sitting on a secret.

So,” he began, drawing out the word, “I was thinking about your problems.”

Sakura, mid-sip of water, nearly choked.

Sasuke’s dark gaze finally lifted, sharp as a blade. “Get to the point.”

“You heard me,” Naruto said with a casual shrug. “Sakura, your roommate situation? Total disaster. And you, Teme—your mom’s this close to putting you on a dating show. Bigger disaster.”

Sakura groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Naruto—”

“Let me finish!” Naruto said, holding up a hand dramatically. “I’ve got a simple solution. Fake marriage, live together, solve each other’s problems. Done.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Sakura stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”

Sasuke’s glare could’ve melted steel. “This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”

“It’s genius,” Naruto countered, grinning as he jabbed a chopstick in Sasuke’s direction. “Sakura gets a place to live, and you get your mom off your back. Everyone wins!”

“No,” Sakura said flatly.

“Absolutely not,” Sasuke agreed, his voice cold.

Hinata shifted nervously, her soft voice trying to calm the waters. “Maybe we should—”

“Hinata,” Naruto interrupted, grinning at her. “Trust me, this is brilliant.”

Sakura glared at him. “This is insane, Naruto.”

“Hold on. Just hear me out.” Naruto ignored them, pushing forward with relentless enthusiasm. “You two already argue like an old married couple. Might as well make it official. What’s the harm in pretending for a while?”

“The harm is that it’s ridiculous,” Sakura shot back, crossing her arms. “And besides, do you really think he’d make a good roommate?” She jabbed a finger in Sasuke’s direction. “He doesn’t even talk.” Sasuke’s expression didn’t change, but the faint twitch of his brow betrayed his annoyance. “And you talk too much.”

“See what I mean?” Sakura exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “We’d kill each other before the month was over.”

“Good. Problem solved,” Sasuke said flatly.

“Very funny,” she snapped, her green eyes narrowing.

Naruto leaned back, utterly unfazed by their protests. “You’re both overthinking it. It’s not like you’re actually getting married. It’s just a temporary arrangement.”

Sasuke sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re an idiot.”

“And yet,” Naruto replied smugly, leaning back, “you haven’t left.”

Sakura groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Naruto, I swear—”

“Just think about it,” he pressed, his grin widening. “You don’t even have to like each other. Just fake it for a while. Rent problem solved. Uchiha mom problem solved. Everyone’s happy!”

Sasuke’s sharp gaze flicked to Sakura, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met.

“No,” they said simultaneously, though the hesitation in their voices betrayed them.

Hinata, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally spoke up, her voice calm but firm. “I know it sounds strange,” she began, glancing between them, “but maybe it’s not about being perfect for each other. Maybe it’s about helping each other when you both need it.”

Her words hung in the air, softening the tension just enough to make Sakura glance down at her folded hands on the table. She hated to admit it, but Hinata wasn’t wrong. She did need help. And Sasuke? Well, if his ever-present scowl was anything to go by, he probably needed someone to take the edge off his life, too.

But that didn’t make Naruto’s suggestion any less insane.

Sakura sighed, glancing sideways at Sasuke, whose expression hadn’t shifted an inch. If he was considering the idea, he certainly wasn’t about to show it. His arms were crossed, his eyes fixed on some indeterminate point in the room, as if willing the conversation to end.

Naruto, however, wasn’t about to let it drop. “You’re thinking about it,” he said suddenly, his grin returning. “I can tell. Look at you two—so quiet, so deep in thought.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I knew this would happen.”

“Nothing is happening,” Sasuke said, his tone so cold it could freeze lava. “You’re wasting your time.”

Sakura turned to Naruto with narrowed eyes. “If you think either of us is desperate enough to go along with your ridiculous idea, you’re wrong.”

Naruto shrugged, entirely unfazed. “I don’t know. You’re both here, aren’t you? Maybe this is destiny.” He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis.

“Destiny?” Sakura snorted, folding her arms. “The only thing destined right now is for me to leave if you don’t drop it.”

“Seconded,” Sasuke muttered, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

Hinata cleared her throat, her gentle voice slicing through the mounting tension. “Naruto,” she began softly, placing a hand on his arm, “maybe you should let them decide for themselves.”

Naruto sighed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air as though surrendering to a higher power. “Fine, fine. But I’m just saying—you’re making this harder than it needs to be.” He leaned back with a smug grin. “Fake marriage. Easy solution. You’ll thank me later.”

Sakura groaned, rubbing her temples. “What makes you think we’d even work together?”

“Yeah,” Sasuke added, his glare fixed on Naruto. “If anything, it’d make things worse.”

“Worse?” Naruto scoffed, pointing between the two of them. “How? You already argue like pros! At least this way, you’d have a common goal: solving your problems.”

Sakura shook her head, muttering under her breath. “Unbelievable.”

“Ignore him,” Sasuke said, his voice low and dismissive. “He’s just bored.”

Naruto grinned wider. “I’m a genius, actually. Admit it, Sasuke. You’ve already thought about it.”

Sasuke’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, choosing instead to look away.

And in that fleeting silence, the waiter appeared, holding a tray of drinks and the first round of appetizers. Sakura seized the moment, sitting up straighter as the waiter set down her glass of drink.

“Finally,” she muttered, eager to redirect her attention anywhere but the conversation.

Naruto, however, wasn’t quite done. As the waiter left, he raised his glass with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “To solving problems!” he declared, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Neither Sasuke nor Sakura moved to toast.

Instead, Sakura picked up her water, sipping it as though willing the conversation to end, while Sasuke silently reached for his drink, his glare promising Naruto a painful demise if he said another word.

The rest of the evening passed with stilted conversation and thinly veiled glares. By the time dessert arrived, Sasuke and Sakura were both visibly fed up.

As they left the restaurant, Sakura shoved her hands into her coat pockets, her footsteps brisk.

“Just ignore him,” she muttered, more to herself than to Sasuke.

“I wasn’t planning on saying yes,” Sasuke replied, his voice low and even.

She turned to him, narrowing her eyes. “Good. Neither was I.”

They walked in silence after that, their thoughts spinning.

They walked in silence after that, but the idea refused to leave their minds. Ridiculous or not, Naruto had planted a seed—and now it was growing whether they liked it or not.

Behind them, Naruto and Hinata trailed a few steps behind.

“Do you think those two are going to be alright?”

Naruto shoved his hands into his pockets, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Oh, they’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Hinata sighed softly, shaking her head. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”

Naruto’s grin widened. “It’s my greatest masterpiece.”

And as Sasuke and Sakura disappeared into the night ahead of them—bickering quietly all the way—Naruto couldn’t help but feel proud.

Because whether they knew it or not, his plan was already in motion.

Chapter Text

Three years ago…

The morning rush at Bean & Brews was chaotic. Espresso machines hummed, pitchers clanged, and conversations blended into a noisy din. Among the crowd, Sakura Haruno burst through the doors like a storm, her wrinkled scrubs and swinging tote bag adding to her hurried energy. She barely spared a glance at the bustling café as her eyes locked onto the counter like it was a finish line.

Just get the latte and go, she thought, her gaze flicking to the clock above the barista. Her first hospital shift as a med student was about to start, and she wasn’t going to let a caffeine deficiency ruin her day. But the line moved slowly, held up by oat milk debates and extra-foam requests that threw off her tight schedule. “Next!” the barista called, finally breaking Sakura from her mental countdown.

“Medium vanilla latte, please!” she blurted out, fumbling with her wallet as she shuffled forward. Her fingers trembled slightly from the combination of nerves and impatience. Hurry, hurry, hurry.

Across the café, Sasuke Uchiha stood by the counter, radiating his usual calm precision. Dressed in a sleek black suit, he was the picture of control—except for the faint crease in his brow betraying his irritation. His polished shoe tapped lightly against the tiled floor, a subtle sign of his thinning patience.

Unlike Sakura, Sasuke wasn’t in a hurry—he just had no patience for inefficiency. His café americano was a strategic necessity, a dose of caffeine to sharpen his focus before his first client meeting. And if he had to endure this chaotic coffee shop for a semblance of alertness, so be it.

“Americano for Uchiha!” the barista called, setting the steaming cup on the counter.

Sasuke stepped forward, retrieving his drink with a curt nod just as the barista placed another cup beside it.

“Vanilla latte for Sakura!”

On the other side of the café, Sakura made a beeline for her drink, muttering a rushed “thank you” as she reached for the cup. Her focus was singular: grab coffee, escape chaos.

And then, as if fate had other plans, their worlds collided—literally.

Sasuke, engrossed in a last-second glance at his phone, stepped into her path just as Sakura barreled forward with caffeinated determination. The impact was instant.

Her latte tipped sideways, spilling caramel-colored foam across the front of Sasuke’s pristine white shirt and sleek black blazer. His americano fared no better, sloshing onto his tailored pants with a hiss of steam.

Sasuke hissed sharply, his hand instinctively brushing at his shirt. The heat bit through the fabric, sending a jolt of discomfort rippling through him.

For a moment, the entire café went silent, save for the faint sound of dripping coffee hitting the floor.

“Oh my god!” Sakura gasped, stumbling back with wide eyes. Her tote bag slid off her shoulder and hit the floor with a thud. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking and—oh no, are you okay?”

Sasuke’s jaw clenched as he stared at the mess, his face unreadable, though his dark eyes flickered with irritation. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet hers, his expression as cold and sharp as the morning air.

“Are you blind?” he said, his voice flat but laced with seething disdain.

Sakura blinked, her guilt evaporating as his words sank in. Blind? Was this guy serious?

“Excuse me?” she shot back, her voice rising. “You were standing in the middle of the walkway! Who does that?”

Sasuke exhaled slowly through his nose, brushing at the steaming mess on his blazer with a napkin he grabbed from a nearby table. “Who runs into someone without looking where they’re going?” he retorted coolly.

"You were blocking the walkway!" Sakura shot back, hands on her hips as embarrassment flushed her cheeks. "And you're not exactly hard to miss, you know!"

"Clearly, I need to start wearing neon," Sasuke muttered, his voice heavy with sarcasm as he surveyed the damage.

“Well, maybe you should try paying attention instead of scrolling through your phone like it’s life or death!” Sakura snapped, gesturing wildly toward the soaked phone he’d hastily set on the counter.

Sasuke arched an eyebrow, his dark eyes narrowing. “You don’t seem qualified to lecture anyone about life or death.”

Sakura’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, she was speechless. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “I said I was sorry! What more do you want?”

“How about a warning before you destroy someone’s morning?” he said, his voice cold.

Before Sakura could retort, the café door jingled, and a familiar voice broke the tension.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what’s going on here?” Naruto Uzumaki strode in, his grin faltering as he took in the coffee-stained disaster. His childhood friend, Sasuke, looked ready to commit murder, while Sakura, his med-school acquaintance, was glaring daggers.

Naruto’s gaze flicked between them, his lips twitching with barely contained laughter. “Classic Sasuke and Sakura. You two really know how to make an entrance—or should I say, an exit.”

“Stay out of this, Naruto,” they snapped in unison, their mutual frustration briefly uniting them before they resumed their glares.

Sakura huffed, crossing her arms and stepping back, her cheeks still tinged pink with embarrassment—and irritation. “Look, I’ll check for burns and pay for your dry cleaning, okay? It was an accident.”

Sasuke, now resigned to the soaked mess on his shirt and blazer, glanced at the wallet she held out. His sharp eyes flicked over her, as if assessing whether she could cover more than her latte—let alone the price of his expensive suit.

He raised an eyebrow. Does she even know how much dry cleaning costs for this fabric?

“Forget it,” he said coldly, brushing past her without sparing another glance. “I don’t have time for this.”

Sakura’s irritation flared again, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “Fine,” she muttered under her breath, glaring at his retreating figure. Then, louder: “You’re welcome for the free coffee art!”

Sasuke’s steps faltered for the briefest second, but he didn’t look back. If anything, his shoulders stiffened even further, and he disappeared out the café door without another word.

Naruto practically doubled over with laughter. “Sakura-chan, you are something else! Seriously, you just yelled at Sasuke Uchiha and survived. Most people wouldn’t dare.”

“Uchiha?” Sakura repeated, blinking as the name registered. Her annoyance briefly gave way to confusion. “As in the Uchiha?”

Naruto straightened, his grin widening as he threw an arm over her shoulders like they were old friends. “Yep. Genius architect. Total workaholic. Basically allergic to fun. Sound familiar?”

Sakura groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Perfect. I just ruined some big-shot architect’s morning. Great start to my day.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Naruto said with a shrug, clearly unfazed. “He’s fine. Probably already planning ten new buildings in his head to make up for this ‘inconvenience.’” He added air quotes for emphasis, his expression so smug Sakura considered pushing him into a chair.

“Well, I hope his day gets worse,” she muttered. “He’s rude.”

Naruto laughed again, stepping aside to give her space. “Rude? That’s just Sasuke being Sasuke. Trust me, you’ll get used to it.”

“Not planning on running into him again,” Sakura said firmly, retrieving her tote bag from the floor and adjusting the strap over her shoulder a firm tug. Taking a cautious sip of what was left of her latte, she said resolutely, “I’ve had enough Uchiha drama to last a lifetime.”

Meanwhile, outside the café...

Sasuke adjusted his blazer, grimacing at the dark stain that now marred his once-pristine appearance. The coffee had cooled, but its faint stickiness remained, making his skin crawl.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, his phone vibrating in his pocket. Pulling it out, he ignored the notification and instead stared down at his reflection in the sleek glass screen. His tie, his suit—everything was a mess.

“Maniac,” he muttered again, replaying the scene in his mind. Her wide, startled eyes. The pink hair that practically screamed for attention. And her attitude. Who ran into someone and then started arguing like it was their fault?

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. There was no time for this. He had a meeting to prepare for, and he refused to let an overly caffeinated whirlwind derail his schedule any further.

But as much as he tried to shove the encounter from his mind, the memory of her fiery glare lingered.

A year passed, and life moved on—until fate decided it hadn’t quite had enough fun with them.

Sakura was already having a bad day. Balancing her phone between her shoulder and ear, she pushed her grocery cart with one hand while scanning her list with the other. Her mother’s voice buzzed in her ear, offering unsolicited advice about "proper nutrition for a med student.”

“Mom, I don’t have time for chia seeds and kale smoothies,” Sakura muttered, sidestepping a toddler brandishing a cereal box like a sword. “I’m just trying to survive on coffee and ramen here.”

Her mother’s sigh crackled through the phone. “Sakura, you can’t keep running on empty. Your body—”

“I know, I know,” Sakura cut in, exasperation creeping into her voice as she parked her cart to grab a jar of peanut butter. “But let’s be real, kale isn’t going to magically fix my life.”

And then, it happened.

She rounded the corner too quickly and crashed headlong into another cart. Groceries rattled, a bag of apples tumbled out, and her phone nearly slipped from her grasp.

“Watch it!” she blurted, catching her phone just in time. Then she looked up—and froze.

Of all people, it had to be him. Sasuke Uchiha stood on the other side of the cart, a can of soup in one hand, his other resting on the handle as he surveyed the mess with a raised brow. His sharp eyes locked onto hers, recognition dawning almost immediately.

Sakura’s cheeks flushed as she bent down to grab the scattered groceries. “Of course, it’s you,” she muttered under her breath, shoving a bag of apples back into her cart.

Sasuke crouched down with infuriating calmness, picking up a can of soup that had rolled toward his foot. “We really do need to stop meeting like this,” he said dryly, holding the can out to her.

She snatched it with a glare. “Maybe if you didn’t stand in the middle of every aisle, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

His brow arched slightly. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who turned the corner like you were escaping a crime scene.”

Sakura opened her mouth to retort, but her mother’s voice crackled loudly through the phone. “Sakura? Are you even listening? Honestly, I don’t know how you expect to keep your energy up with all that instant ramen—”

Sakura groaned, pressing the phone against her shoulder as she shoved the rest of the spilled items back into her cart. “Mom, not now,” she hissed.

Sasuke straightened, his hands slipping into his blazer pockets as he watched her struggle. “You always this graceful, or is it just around me?”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, a fiery retort on the tip of her tongue, but she caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his expression. She huffed, turning back to her cart. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Like, I don’t know, anywhere but here?”

He didn’t move. Instead, he nodded toward her phone. “You gonna tell your mom goodbye, or are you just letting her keep narrating your life?”

Sakura glared, but quickly ended the call with a curt, “I’ll call you back, Mom.” She snapped her phone shut and stuffed it into her bag, trying to ignore the growing awkwardness in the aisle. The silence stretched uncomfortably as she tightened her grip on the cart handle, her mind racing for a way to recover some dignity.

“Happy?” she muttered, her voice tinged with irritation as she avoided Sasuke’s piercing gaze.

Instead of responding, Sasuke simply raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk pulling at his lips.

Sakura huffed and brushed past him, her cheeks burning. All she wanted now was to get as far away from him as possible. But just as she turned the corner, her eyes landed on the last jar of marinara sauce sitting precariously on the shelf. It gleamed under the fluorescent lights like some sort of prize in a cruel game.

Her stride quickened, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw him move too.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she muttered under her breath, reaching out just as Sasuke did.

Their hands collided on the cool glass, and for a split second, they froze.

“Let go,” Sakura said sharply, tightening her grip.

“No,” Sasuke replied evenly, his voice maddeningly calm.

Her eyes narrowed. “I saw it first.”

They tugged the jar back and forth, neither willing to relent.

“This is ridiculous,” Sasuke muttered, his patience wearing thin.

“Then let go,” Sakura shot back.

“You let go.”

Before either could react, the inevitable happened. The jar slipped from their combined grip and hit the floor with a loud smash, shards of glass and red sauce spreading across the tile like a crime scene. Sakura gawked at the mess. “Great. Just great.”

Sasuke’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his gaze fixed on the spreading pool of marinara.

A store employee appeared almost immediately, her expression unimpressed as she grabbed a broom. “You’re going to have to pay for that,” she said flatly.

Sakura groaned and pointed at Sasuke. “This wasn’t just me! He pulled too!”

Sasuke crossed his arms, his expression cool but his tone dry. “Really? You’re splitting the blame for a jar of marinara sauce?”

“You’re the one who turned this into a tug-of-war!” she shot back, hands on her hips. “Besides, with your fancy suit, I’m sure you can cover it.”

The employee sighed, clearly fed up. “One of you just pay so I can clean this up.”

Without a word, Sasuke reached into his pocket and handed over a bill. His face was impassive, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his irritation.

Sakura rummaged in her wallet and thrust some cash into his hand. “Here’s my half.”

“I don’t need your money,” he said, his tone clipped.

“Well, take it anyway,” she snapped.

Their standoff continued until the employee rolled her eyes. “You two done yet?” she asked, already sweeping up the glass.

Sakura grabbed a different jar of sauce from the shelf and stormed toward the checkout, her frustration radiating off her like heat.

Sasuke followed at a measured pace, his expression unreadable, though the faintest twitch of his lips suggested he was more amused than annoyed.

“Why does this keep happening every time I see you?” Sakura muttered as she reached the registers.

“You’re the one who keeps running into me,” Sasuke replied coolly, placing his groceries on the belt.

“You’re unbelievable,” she huffed.

“And you’re impossible,” he shot back.

By the time she left the store, Sakura couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh or scream. Sasuke, meanwhile, resolved to avoid the pink-haired menace at all costs.

But, as fate would have it, their paths seemed destined to cross again. Whether it was at a bookstore, a coffee shop, or yet another grocery aisle, the universe clearly had other plans for them.

Present Day

Sakura sat at her desk, the glow of her computer screen casting faint shadows across her tired features. A cold cup of coffee sat forgotten beside a mountain of patient files, but her mind wasn’t on her work. It was still replaying the absurd conversation from the night before.

“Marriage with him?” she muttered under her breath, her pen pausing mid-scribble on a chart. The thought alone was enough to make her stomach churn. “Not in a million years.”

She shook her head sharply, trying to refocus, but the memory of Naruto’s smug grin and Hinata’s soft but insistent encouragement tugged at the edges of her resolve. She scowled at the screen. Just ignore it. They’re being ridiculous.

Across the city, in the corner office of an immaculate high-rise, Sasuke adjusted his tie in the reflection of the glass wall. The city sprawled behind him, vibrant and chaotic—a stark contrast to the calculated precision of his workspace. Yet even here, the memory of last night clung to him like a persistent shadow.

“Marriage with her?” he muttered, his voice cold and flat as he reached for a stack of blueprints. His fingers hesitated for a brief moment. “Ridiculous.” Sasuke turned back to his desk, intent on burying himself in work, but his focus wavered. He could still hear Naruto’s grating enthusiasm and Sakura’s sharp rebuttals echoing in his mind. He scowled, setting the blueprints down harder than necessary. I don’t have time for this nonsense.

And yet, despite their shared resolve to brush it aside, the thought lingered—a quiet, unwelcome echo in the back of their minds. Sakura’s pen hovered over the page, her focus drifting to the memory of Sasuke’s piercing gaze and maddening composure. Meanwhile, Sasuke stared at the open blueprint in front of him, the sharp lines blurring as Sakura’s fiery words and relentless energy crept into his thoughts.

Like an ember buried in the ashes, the chaos between them refused to fade—waiting, perhaps, for the perfect spark to reignite the flame.

Chapter Text

Sakura hadn’t stopped thinking about that dinner all week.

It wasn’t just the way Naruto had flippantly suggested marriage like it was some casual fix to their problems, or even Hinata’s gentle reasoning that had somehow made the absurd idea sound... logical. What lingered most was the way her mind kept circling back to it, no matter how ridiculous it seemed.

Now, she sat slumped on her worn-out couch, the glow of her phone screen casting faint shadows on the cluttered coffee table. Another roommate application lit up her screen: “Can I convert your living room into a meditation zone for my exotic pigeons?” A disbelieving laugh escaped her, bitter and hollow. She tossed the phone aside, where it landed next to a precarious stack of unpaid bills.

The silence of the apartment pressed in on her. Rent was due in less than two weeks. The thought alone made her chest tighten. Time felt like sand slipping through her fingers—no matter how tightly she tried to hold onto it.

Her gaze drifted to her residency planner, spread open amidst the chaos on the table. The upcoming week stared back at her in a blur of color-coded obligations: back-to-back hospital shifts, a mandatory training seminar, and meetings she’d already rescheduled twice. She reached up, dragging a hand through her hair. Her ponytail, frayed from the day’s wear, mirrored how she felt—worn thin and barely holding together.

Even thinking about squeezing in more shifts felt like trying to move a mountain with her bare hands. “This is officially rock bottom,” she muttered, the sound of her voice barely breaking the stillness. She let her head fall back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as if the answer to all her problems might appear there.

Why can’t anything just be simple?

Unbidden, Sasuke’s face flashed through her mind, his cold, sharp stare cutting through her frustration. She sat up with a scowl, the memory of his arrogance sparking a fresh wave of irritation. The man was insufferable, emotionally constipated, and far too comfortable in his monochrome world. Marrying someone like that was unthinkable.

And yet…

Her eyes flicked to the bills again, the weight of them sinking into her bones. As ridiculous as it sounded, Naruto’s suggestion was starting to feel less like a joke and more like a lifeline.

Her phone buzzed, shattering the silence. She snatched it up, her stomach twisting when she saw the name on the screen.

Mom.

She hesitated, then answered, forcing cheer into her voice. “Hey, Mom.”

“Sakura! How’s everything going?” Her mother’s voice was warm, filled with the kind of effortless optimism that made Sakura feel like she was suffocating.

“Good,” Sakura lied, her gaze flicking to the pile of bills. They sat there like silent witnesses to her demise.

“That’s wonderful! You should visit soon—we haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she replied weakly, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. What could she say? I’m drowning, Mom. My roommate vanished without paying rent. I might have to marry a brooding architect just to keep a roof over my head.

Her mother’s voice softened. “Take care of yourself, okay? You’re working too hard. I can tell.”

The words landed like a gut punch. Sakura forced a weak laugh. “I’ll try.”

When the call ended, she sat there staring at the phone in her hands, her knuckles white from how tightly she gripped it. A bitter resolve settled over her like a storm cloud.

She couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. Something had to change.

But marrying Sasuke Uchiha? That had to be her last, last resort. Right?

Meanwhile, Sasuke’s week was no better.

Mikoto’s calls had become a relentless daily ritual, each one more intrusive than the last. They started innocently—cheerful questions about his day, gentle reminders to eat—but without fail, they veered into dangerous territory.

“What’s her name, Sasuke? When can we meet her?”

"Will it be a formal wedding? I can’t wait to see you in a tux—it’s been so long since you dressed up!" “Don’t wait too long, sweetheart—you’re not getting any younger.”

By the third call of the week, Sasuke was dangerously close to snapping. His grip on the phone tightened as he paced his office, the faint hum of his computer doing little to drown out his mother’s excited chatter.

He’d nearly blurted out the truth—a curt There is no fiancée, Mother!—but something about the inevitable disappointment in her voice stopped him.

Her warmth, though suffocating, was genuine. Mikoto’s enthusiasm wasn’t manipulative—it was hopeful, unfiltered, and entirely misplaced. Disappointing her would mean extinguishing that light. And for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely, that sat uneasily in his chest.

Still, he couldn’t dodge her forever.

By the fourth call, he didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I’m busy,” he said as he sank into his chair, keeping his tone clipped.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’ll just take a second,” Mikoto cooed, undeterred. “Have you thought about a venue yet? I have a friend who can get you on the waitlist for that lovely garden downtown—it’s perfect for spring weddings!”

Sasuke pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly through his nose to keep his patience intact. “I’ll handle it,” he said tersely. “Of course, of course,” Mikoto replied, her tone still brimming with enthusiasm. “I just want to help, Sasuke. You’ve waited so long to settle down, and I’m so happy you’ve finally found someone.”

Her sincerity twisted his stomach into knots.

“Right,” he muttered. It wasn’t an answer, just a placeholder to end the conversation.

After hanging up, Sasuke stared at his phone, his mind circling back to Naruto and Hinata’s ridiculous suggestion from the other night.

A fake marriage? The idea was laughable. Insane. Beneath him.

And yet, as absurd as it sounded, the logic clawed at the edges of his mind. His mother’s relentless pressure wasn’t going anywhere. The looming family dinner promised yet another interrogation. And the whispers—the quiet, murmurs that snaked their way through his professional circles—threatened to undermine the meticulous control he’d built over his life. A solitary man, they said. Closed-off. Unapproachable. Is he hiding something?

His entire situation was already absurd.

Would adding one more layer of madness even make a difference?

He turned back to his laptop, but the spreadsheets and design mockups blurred together. His focus, usually razor-sharp, wavered dangerously. For the first time in a long while, Sasuke felt something dangerously close to indecision.

He hated that feeling most of all.

When Naruto texted him, suggesting a night out for drinks, Sasuke was tempted to decline. But after his mother’s latest voicemail—one where she mentioned researching honeymoon destinations—he decided he needed a break.

Sakura, too, had planned to turn Naruto down until he dangled the one offer she couldn’t refuse: “It’s my treat!”

And so, a week after that dinner, Sakura found herself sliding into the booth of a dimly lit bar, her phone buzzing incessantly in her bag. She ignored it, instead focusing on the amber glow of the string lights draped across the ceiling and the faint hum of chatter that filled the room.

Sasuke was already there, sitting across from her with a beer in hand, his suit jacket neatly folded on the seat beside him. Typical, she thought, her lips curving into a wry smile. Always so put together, even in a bar.

“Alright!” Naruto’s voice boomed as he plopped down beside her, his grin wide and unapologetically bright. “Here’s to a less terrible week!”

Hinata slid in next to Sasuke, her movements graceful as ever. “And to finding solutions,” she added softly, lifting her glass.

Sakura raised an eyebrow but lifted her wine glass anyway. Sasuke, ever the stoic, tipped his beer bottle in acknowledgment.

The first round of drinks disappeared quickly, and with it, some of the tension. Naruto launched into a dramatic retelling of how he’d accidentally sent a work email to the wrong client, earning reluctant smirks even from Sasuke. Hinata chimed in occasionally, her quiet laugh softening the edges of Naruto’s chaotic energy.

By the time the second round arrived, the conversation had grown more relaxed. Even Sakura found herself laughing at one of Naruto’s ridiculous stories about their school days, though her laughter faded when he leaned forward with that familiar glint in his eye.

“So,” Naruto began, resting his elbows on the table, “have you two thought about my idea?”

Sakura groaned, setting her glass down with a soft clink. “Naruto, seriously? You’re bringing that up again?”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he replied, raising his hands defensively, “it’s not like either of you is having a great time doing things your way. You could help each other out.”

Sasuke exhaled through his nose, the faintest sign of irritation flickering across his face. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope,” Naruto said cheerfully, leaning back in his seat.

Hinata, ever the peacemaker, leaned in slightly. “It really wouldn’t have to be forever,” she said gently, her eyes darting between Sakura and Sasuke. “Just… a temporary solution. You both seem so stressed lately.”

Sakura swirled her wine in her glass, watching the liquid spiral like a tiny whirlpool. She didn’t respond immediately, letting Naruto and Hinata’s words settle over her like the faint buzz of alcohol warming her skin.

She thought about the apartment—about the overdue notices piling up, roommate ads unanswered. And despite Sasuke’s aggravating aloofness, she had to admit… he wasn’t entirely unbearable.

“You know,” she said finally, her voice softer now, “it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Naruto froze mid-sip, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Wait—are you actually considering it?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Sakura shot back quickly, her cheeks flushing. “I’m just saying… he’s quiet. I can live with quiet.”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. “You don’t take up much space. I could live with that.”

Naruto nearly dropped his glass, looking between them with a grin so wide it could light up the whole bar. “Oh my God. You’re actually doing it!”

“Shut up,” they said in unison, their glares snapping toward him.

Hinata laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hand. “You two really are impossible.”

For a moment, the table fell silent. Sakura glanced at Sasuke, her expression unreadable, while Sasuke met her gaze with his usual calm detachment.

Maybe this could work, she thought, the tiniest spark of hope flickering to life.

For Sasuke, the idea was already taking shape. It wasn’t ideal, but it was practical. Logical. Most importantly, it would stop his mother from calling every day to ask about wedding cakes.

Naruto raised his glass. “To the world’s weirdest marriage!”

Sakura groaned, clinking her glass against his reluctantly. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You’re not wrong,” Naruto said with a laugh, clinking glasses with Sasuke as well.

As they prepare to part ways for the evening, the absurdity of their agreement lingered in the air.

Naruto, still grinning like he’d just won a game he wasn’t supposed to be playing, threw his arm around Hinata’s shoulder as they waved goodbye, leaving Sakura and Sasuke alone at the table.

Sakura sighed, leaning back against the worn leather of the booth. The faint hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded them, but the weight of what they’d just discussed made the air feel heavy.

“Are we actually doing this?” she asked, her voice low but tinged with disbelief.

Sasuke didn’t answer right away. He reached for his beer, taking a long sip before setting the bottle down deliberately. When he finally met her gaze, his dark eyes were steady and unyielding. “It makes sense,” he said simply.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “I’m not saying it doesn’t, but… this is insane, right? People don’t just decide to fake a marriage to solve their problems.”

“You’re the one who said it wasn’t the worst idea,” he countered, his tone even.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean we’d actually do it,” she muttered, rubbing her temples as though that could chase away the growing headache. “Do you even hear how ridiculous this sounds?”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp. “You need a solution. So do I. We can waste time arguing about how ridiculous it is, or we can figure out if it’s worth doing.”

Sakura opened her mouth to retort but found herself momentarily speechless. As much as she hated it, he wasn’t wrong. She crossed her arms, leaning back against the booth with a frustrated sigh. “And what if we hate each other by the end of this?”

Sasuke’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk breaking through his stoic exterior. “We already do.”

The retort caught her off guard, and a reluctant laugh escaped her lips. “Fair point.”

Silence settled between them again, the kind that teetered between discomfort and understanding. Then, without a word, Sasuke reached into the inner pocket of his coat. His movements were deliberate, almost calculated, as he placed a small black box on the table.

Sakura’s eyes widened. “What… is that?” she asked, her voice faltering.

“A ring,” he replied matter-of-factly, sliding it toward her.

She stared at the box like it might explode. “You just… carry a ring around?”

“I bought it this afternoon,” he said, his tone as flat as if he were discussing blueprints. “If we’re doing this, it needs to be believable. My mother’s relentless. A ring will stop the questions.”

For a moment, Sakura just stared at him. “You’re serious about this,” she said, the words more observation than question.

“I wouldn’t waste my time if I wasn’t.”

She reached for the box slowly, her fingers brushing against the cool surface. When she flipped it open, the ring inside caught the dim light—a simple yet elegant band. Its understated design both practical and—she had to admit—thoughtful.

“I didn’t know you had taste,” she muttered, a weak attempt to break the tension.

“I’m full of surprises,” he replied dryly.

“So,” she said, her tone sharp as she crossed her arms. “Are you actually expecting I’d agree to this?”

Sasuke’s gaze didn’t waver. “No,” he replied calmly. “But I have to be prepared since I need to find a fake bride.”

The bluntness of his answer left her momentarily speechless. She leaned back, studying him like he was some strange, unsolvable puzzle. “You actually thought this through.”

“You didn’t?” Sasuke shot back, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course not!” she exclaimed, gesturing to the ring. “I didn’t plan on fake marrying someone this week—or ever, for that matter!”

He shrugged, leaning back against the booth. “Then say no. But if you’re in, you’d better wear the ring.”

Without thinking too much, Sakura plucked the ring from the box and slipped it onto her finger. The perfect fit sent a jolt through her, grounding her in the surreal reality of what she’d just agreed to.

“There,” she said, holding up her hand and wiggling her fingers. “Happy?”

Sasuke’s gaze lingered on her hand for a moment before he leaned back in his seat, satisfied. “It’s a start.”

As they stepped onto the quiet sidewalk, the cool evening air brushed against them, carrying the weight of their unspoken thoughts. Sakura adjusted her bag, still reeling from the abruptness of Sasuke’s proposal—and her own willingness to go along with it.

“Start packing your things,” Sasuke said suddenly, his tone as sharp as ever. “You’re moving into my apartment.”

Sakura blinked, her mouth opening slightly as if to protest, but no words came. Instead, she nodded, her fingers absently twisting the ring now sitting on her finger.

Without waiting for her reply, Sasuke turned and walked away, his figure dissolving into the shadows cast by the streetlights.

Left standing alone, Sakura let out a slow breath, staring down at the small band of metal that now encircled her finger. It caught the light faintly, like a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep.

“This is either the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, “or the absolute dumbest.”

A block away, Sasuke’s pace slowed. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression as composed as ever, though his thoughts echoed hers with troubling clarity.

“Probably both,” he thought, slipping his hands into his pockets as he disappeared into the shadows of the darkened street.

Chapter Text

Sakura stood in front of the sleek, black door. Her tote bag slung over one shoulder and a duffel bag on the other. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she double-checked the number on the door to make sure she had the right place, though there was no mistaking it.

Sasuke Uchiha’s apartment.

Sasuke had texted her his address earlier along with his curt reminder to “be on time.” But now, standing at the door, the weight of the past few days hit her like a wave.

Her roommate issue, their agreement, the ring—it all blurred together in her mind, like a movie playing on fast-forward. She hadn’t even worn the ring since then. It sat in her bag, tucked into the smallest pocket as though keeping it out of sight could somehow make the whole arrangement feel less real.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed the doorbell, trying to shake the nagging feeling of nerves clawing at her stomach. She didn’t know why she felt nervous. She couldn’t quite pinpoint why she felt nervous. This wasn’t even a real marriage—it was simply a practical arrangement, a solution to a mutual problem. She repeated that to herself over and over as the sound of footsteps approached on the other side.

When the door swung open, Sasuke stood there, dressed casually in a plain black T-shirt and dark gray sweatpants, his hair still slightly damp from what must’ve been a recent shower. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze carried the usual cool indifference that screamed, I’m already over this.

“You’re late,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

“By five minutes,” Sakura shot back, brushing past him.

“I had to carry my own bag, you know. A real gentleman would’ve offered to help.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Of course you’d say that,” she muttered, rolling her eyes

The moment she entered, Sakura froze.

The apartment was perfect—too perfect, really. The kind of place she’d never imagined herself living in, let alone sharing with someone like him. Her old apartment had been messy, lived-in. This? It looked untouched. She hugged her arms to herself briefly, feeling like a misplaced piece in someone else’s puzzle.

The monochromatic color palette—black, gray, and white—gave the space a cold, almost clinical feel, like it had been plucked straight out of a home design magazine. The walls were bare except for two minimalistic black-and-white prints hanging near the couch, and the massive arched mirror leaning against the wall made the space feel even larger.

A sleek, low-profile entertainment unit spanned the wall, with a flat-screen TV so pristine it looked like it had never been turned on. The coffee table was as spotless as the rest of the apartment, with only a small tray of decorative items—candles, a sculptural centerpiece, and what appeared to be a tiny bonsai tree—giving any sense of personality.

The couch, a sharp-edged sectional in muted gray, sat perfectly arranged on a black area rug, its throw pillows placed with military precision. Floor-to-ceiling windows filled the room with soft natural light, highlighting the polished gray tiles beneath her feet.

“Whoa,” Sakura said, looking around with wide eyes. “You live here?”

“Yes,” Sasuke replied flatly, closing the door behind her.

“It looks like you’ve never even sat down on that couch.”

Sasuke walked past her, gesturing toward the living room. “I sit.”

“Uh-huh,” she muttered, running her hand along the edge of the couch as if testing for dust. There wasn’t a speck. “This place is ridiculous. Do you have a housekeeper, or are you just this neurotic about cleaning?”

“I keep things organized,” Sasuke replied simply.

Sakura turned toward him, her eyebrow arched. “Right. Well, don’t get too attached to this perfection. I’m about to move in and ruin it.”

Sasuke didn’t respond to her jab. Instead, he motioned for her to sit.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, settling into the armchair across from her.

Sakura plopped onto the couch and sank into the surprisingly plush cushions. “Wow, not even a ‘welcome to my home’? I can already tell this is going to be so much fun.”

“Ground rules,” Sasuke said, ignoring her sarcasm. He picked up the notebook and pen sitting neatly on the coffee table and flipped it open to a blank page. “We need to establish boundaries.”

Sakura leaned back, crossing her legs as she gestured for him to continue. “Alright, fine. Let’s hear it, Mr. Rules.”

Sasuke picked up the pen, his handwriting sharp and deliberate as he wrote the first few rules:

1. No interfering in each other’s personal lives.

He slid the notebook toward Sakura without looking up. “Rule one.”

Sakura raised an eyebrow, leaning forward as she scanned the line. “No interfering, huh? What, are you afraid I’ll dig up some secret life where you’re actually a superhero vigilante at night?” Sasuke gave her a flat look. “I don’t have a secret life.”

“Sure,” she drawled, smirking as she tapped the pen against her chin. “That’s exactly what someone with a secret life would say.”

Sasuke ignored her, folding his arms. “You’re the one I’m worried about. I don’t want you dragging me into whatever chaotic messes you call your ‘social life.’”

“Excuse me?” Sakura shot back, sitting up straighter. “I’ll have you know my social life is completely normal.”

Sasuke tilted his head, unimpressed. “You were kicked out of a karaoke bar for starting a sing-off last month.”

Sakura gaped at him. “How did you—?”

“Naruto.” She groaned, throwing her hands up. “Of course it was Naruto. Can we not act like you don’t have your own issues? If anyone here’s going to drag the other into a mess, it’s you with your emotionally repressed energy and ‘do not disturb’ vibe.”

“I don’t create messes,” Sasuke replied coolly.

“No, you just attract them,” Sakura shot back, grinning as she scribbled something beneath his rule.

1a. Unless it’s life-threatening, don’t drag me into your drama.

Sasuke stared at her addition, unimpressed. “That’s unnecessary.”

“Oh, it’s very necessary.” Sakura smirked, holding up the pen like a mic drop. “I’m just setting realistic expectations for this perfectly healthy fake marriage.”

Sasuke shook his head and grabbed the pen. Without hesitating, he wrote:

2. No dating anyone while married.

He again slid the notebook toward her without a word.

Sakura scanned it, then snorted. “No dating? What, afraid I’ll bring someone home and ruin your broody bachelor vibes?”

“It would complicate things,” Sasuke said matter-of-factly, leaning back in his chair. His tone was calm but carried an unspoken finality. “If we’re pretending to be married, dating other people would raise suspicion.”

“Sure, sure,” Sakura said, waving a hand dismissively. “Can’t have me sneaking around, tarnishing the great Uchiha name.” She paused, tapping the pen against her chin thoughtfully. “Guess this means you’ll be crying yourself to sleep over all those missed dating opportunities, huh?”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “I’ll manage.”

“Fine, rule two,” Sakura quipped, smirking. “No dating. Guess I’ll just have to break a hundred hearts while I’m off the market.”

“Tragic,” Sasuke replied simply, sliding the notebook back toward him.

Sakura leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Wow, Uchiha. That was almost too easy. No snarky remarks? No witty comebacks?”

“You agreed. No need to complicate it,” he said, flipping to the next page.

“Guess that’s what I should expect from you,” Sakura stuck out her tongue before scribbling beneath his rule:

2a. If I’m giving up dating, you’re not allowed to act jealous when someone flirts with me.

Sasuke glanced at the addition, his brow raising ever so slightly. “Jealous?”

“You never know,” Sakura said with a wink. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Not that strange,” Sasuke retorted, taking the notebook from her.

Sakura rolled her eyes with a grin, muttering, “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Uchiha.”

He ignored her, but the slight twitch of his lips didn’t go unnoticed.

3. Stay out of each other’s rooms.

“You say that like I’m dying to see what’s behind Door #1,” Sakura quipped, rolling her eyes. “What are you hiding, Uchiha? A secret shrine to your ego?”

Sasuke didn’t even blink. “More like a shrine to my peace and quiet.”

“Ha ha,” she said sarcastically. “Don’t worry, I have zero interest in your broody little bat cave.”

“It’s not up for debate,” Sasuke replied, sliding the notebook back to her. “Stay out.”

“Fine,” Sakura huffed, grabbing the pen. “Then we’re also splitting chores. I’m not doing all the work just because you’re busy brooding.”

4. Shared Responsibilities: We split household chores 50-50. No complaints, no exceptions.

Sasuke leaned back slightly, an eyebrow raised. “You’re assuming I make a mess.”

“Oh, no. You’re the type who probably vacuums in straight lines and freaks out when someone moves a coaster,” Sakura teased, tapping the pen against her chin. “But I’m not about to be Cinderella while you sit there organizing your socks.”

“I don’t organize my socks,” Sasuke said flatly.

Sakura paused mid-scribble, shooting him a look. “You totally organize your socks.”

“I don’t,” he repeated, his tone dry but the faintest twitch of his brow betrayed him.

“Color-coded?” she pressed, grinning. “Or by pattern?”

He didn’t respond, which only made her grin widen.

“Uh-huh. Thought so,” Sakura said smugly.

5. Guest Policy: No unapproved guests, especially Naruto.

Sasuke exhaled sharply. “Agreed.”

“Good, because I’m not dealing with him bursting in here and calling us lovebirds,” Sakura said, crossing her arms.

Sasuke gave a slight nod before taking the notebook back. “This is necessary, too.”

6. Respect the Schedule: Keep noise to a minimum after 10 PM. This includes blasting music, loud phone calls, or slamming doors.

“Really?” Sakura deadpanned, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Are you making a noise curfew? What are you, my RA?”

“I like quiet,” Sasuke replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Fine, but only if we also add a meal rule,” Sakura said, scribbling below his note.

7. Meal Agreements: We’ll take turns cooking or agree to our own meals. No judgment on food choices.

Sasuke raised an eyebrow. “No judgment?”

“Exactly,” Sakura said with a grin. “So when I bring home instant ramen for dinner, I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

“Your choices are your own,” Sasuke muttered, though his tone carried a hint of resignation.

“Good,” Sakura said smugly. “Because sometimes, I’ll be having chips for breakfast, and I don’t need your side-eye.”

Sasuke’s expression didn’t budge, but there was a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” Sakura countered, pointing at him with the pen, “look like the type who weighs your meals down to the gram and eats exactly six almonds for a snack.”

Sasuke gave her an unamused look. “I don’t snack.”

Sakura blinked, genuinely taken aback. “Wait. What? You don’t snack? Ever?”

“Snacking is inefficient,” he replied flatly.

Sakura stared at him, horrified. “Who hurt you, Uchiha? Snacks are a basic human right.”

Ignoring her dramatics, Sasuke started writing in the notebook. “Are we done discussing your chips, or is there a clause you’d like to add about hoarding the pantry?”

“Fine, fine,” Sakura said, laughing as she snatched the notebook from his hands again. “But when I catch you sneaking a bite of my ramen because you’re starving between meals, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Without waiting for a reply, she flipped to the next blank line, her tone turning mock-serious. “Oh, this one’s crucial. Pay attention, Uchiha.”

8. No Public Displays of Affection: Only act affectionate when necessary—like in front of your mom or anyone who might ask questions. Otherwise, don’t overdo it.

Sasuke paused, his brow twitching slightly. “You’re assuming I’d overdo it?”

Sakura snorted. “I’m covering all bases. You never know—maybe you’ll get too into character.”

“Unlikely,” he replied coolly, though his sharp tone didn’t completely mask the faintest flicker of offense.

“Oh, come on,” Sakura teased, prodding further. “What if you suddenly discover you’re a natural at sweeping someone off their feet?”

Sasuke gave her a deadpan look, his voice flat. “If anyone’s feet are getting swept, it won’t be yours.”

“Ha! Like you could handle sweeping me off my feet,” Sakura shot back, grinning. “I’d probably break your back.”

Sasuke scoffed, crossing his arms. “You have an overinflated sense of importance.”

“And you have an overinflated ego,” Sakura countered, wagging the pen at him. “All I’m saying is, if I catch you acting too convincing, I’ll know you’ve been rehearsing in secret.”

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe,” she replied cheerfully, scribbling the rule into the notebook. “But at least I’m not boring.”

Sasuke didn’t respond, but the pointed glance he gave her said everything.

Sakura leaned back against the couch, tapping the pen thoughtfully against her chin. “One more thing.”

9. Respect Personal Time: Sunday evenings are personal time—no unnecessary interruptions.

Sasuke tilted his head slightly. “Personal time?”

“Yep,” Sakura said. “You do whatever you want—work, meditate, stare at a wall—while I binge-watch shows, eat snacks, and ignore reality. It’s sacred.”

Sasuke gave her a flat look. “Staring at a wall would be more productive than whatever you’re planning.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Mr. Excitement,” Sakura shot back. “Don’t pretend you don’t have your own weird habits.”

“I keep things efficient,” Sasuke replied, his tone clipped.

Sakura smirked. “Efficient? Is that code for ‘Sundays are for counting all the reasons you’re better than everyone else?’”

“If it keeps you out of my way, I’ll call it whatever you want,” Sasuke said smoothly.

“Good,” Sakura said, grinning. “Because when I’m camped out on the couch with chips and a rom-com marathon, I don’t want you hovering and ruining the vibe with your efficiency.”

“Don’t worry,” Sasuke replied without missing a beat. “I’ll pretend you don’t exist.”

“Perfect,” Sakura said, scribbling the rule down with exaggerated satisfaction. “Mutual avoidance achieved. Sundays will be glorious.”

Sasuke gave her an unimpressed glance but didn’t argue, reaching for the pen and notebook to add his next clause.

10. No emotional involvement.

Sakura leaned forward, squinting at the neat handwriting sprawled across the notebook page. Her lips curved into a small smirk as she read aloud, “No emotional involvement.” She let the words hang in the air for a beat before raising an eyebrow. “Wow, that’s... blunt.” “It’s practical,” Sasuke said without looking up.

“Practical,” Sakura echoed, leaning back into the couch. “Right, because emotions are so impractical. Can’t have them messing up our tidy little arrangement.”

“Emotions complicate things,” Sasuke replied, the corner of his mouth tightening ever so slightly.

Sakura tilted her head, watching him with a teasing glint in her eye. “Okay, but what happens if we break this sacred, logical rule? The universe implodes? You start wearing a color other than black? Your perfectly styled hair finally rebels?”

Sasuke paused, pen hovering midair. He met her gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. “If it happens,” he said slowly, “this stops being... manageable.”

Sakura blinked, momentarily thrown off by the shift in his tone. “Manageable,” she repeated, her voice softer now. “So that’s what this is about—keeping things under control.”

“It’s about keeping things simple,” Sasuke clarified, his voice steady but quieter than before.

Sakura let out a soft laugh, though it lacked her usual bite. “You sound like you’ve been burned before.”

He didn’t respond, but something in his gaze flickered—so brief that she almost missed it.

For a moment, the room seemed heavier than it should’ve been. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to smile. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not the ‘catch feelings’ type. This heart of mine? Totally locked down. No complications here.”

Sasuke’s lips twitched, just slightly. “Good,” he said simply, his tone carrying the faintest hint of relief.

“Great,” Sakura shot back, her grin returning in full force. She picked up the pen and scribbled onto the page with mock seriousness.

10a. Absolutely no brooding over how amazing I am.

“Impossible,” Sasuke deadpanned, his expression as flat as ever.

Sakura gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in exaggerated offense. “Wow. Harsh. You’re lucky this fake wife of yours is so forgiving.”

“Forgiving?” Sasuke echoed, one eyebrow arching.

“Yep,” Sakura quipped, crossing her arms smugly. “Because I could totally add another rule: No insulting the person keeping your fake marriage interesting.”

Sasuke leaned back in his chair. The notebook sat open on the coffee table between them, already half-filled with their carefully negotiated clauses.

Without looking at her, he spoke. “One more rule.”

11. Emergency Clause: If one of us needs real help, we drop the pretense and actually show up.

Sakura blinked at the words, her eyes lingering on the carefully written line. “Huh,” she said softly, tilting her head in mock contemplation. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Uchiha. Who knew the Ice King had a soft side?”

He ignored her teasing, leaning back into his chair as if the conversation were already over. But for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, the clause stuck with her—unexpectedly thoughtful, unexpectedly human.

She smirked, refusing to let the moment slide. “Seriously though, who hurt you? Did someone forget to text you once, and now you’ve sworn off caring forever?” He gave her a pointed look, his expression a study in unbothered calm. “It’s called being efficient.” “Efficient?” she echoed, leaning forward and resting her chin in her palm. “Right, because nothing screams efficiency like writing rules about basic human decency.” She let the words hang in the air, her grin widening when she saw the faint twitch of his brow.

“It’s not about decency. It’s about avoiding unnecessary problems.” Sasuke’s tone was sharp but even.

Sakura snorted, her teasing taking on a dramatic edge. “Sure, sure. But admit it—you’d feel bad if I were stranded in a ditch somewhere. You do have a heart under all that broodiness, don’t you?”

His dark eyes flicked to hers, a glint of dry humor breaking through his usual stoicism. “I’d feel bad about the paperwork.”

She gasped, clutching her chest with exaggerated offense. “Wow. You’d let me freeze out there just to dodge bureaucracy? Truly heartwarming, Uchiha.”

“Don’t get in a ditch,” Sasuke replied smoothly, flipping the pen in his fingers like the entire conversation bored him. “Problem solved.”

Her eyes narrowed playfully as she leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. “Fine, but when you need rescuing someday, don’t expect me to lift a finger. I’ll be there with popcorn and a front-row seat.” Sasuke raised an eyebrow, meeting her gaze with unshakable calm. “I won’t need rescuing.”

Sakura arched a brow, her grin sharpening. “Oh, right. Because you’re invincible, huh? What if you get food poisoning from all that bland chicken and rice you eat? Pretty hard to brood when you’re glued to the bathroom.”

“I don’t,” he replied flatly.

“Yet,” she countered, jabbing a finger at him. “Everyone’s luck runs out eventually, Uchiha. And when it does, I’ll be there, ready to capture it all on camera for posterity.”

Sasuke exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was reevaluating every choice that had led him to this moment. “You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re stuck with me. Life’s funny like that,” Sakura said brightly, throwing her arms out in a grand gesture.

Sasuke didn’t respond immediately, his dark eyes flicking back to the notebook as if to dismiss her antics. But she caught it—the faintest twitch of his lips, a reluctant almost-smile that he probably thought she hadn’t noticed.

Sakura grinned triumphantly, her victory sealed. “Admit it, Uchiha,” she said, reclining against the couch with all the smugness of a cat in the sun. “You’d miss me if I weren’t around.”

“Unlikely,” he replied, flipping the page of the notebook with deliberate precision.

She raised an eyebrow, catching the faintest quirk of his lips before it disappeared. “Oh, sure,” she said, her tone teasing. “You’d definitely miss the peace and quiet I ruin every day.”

“We need a time limit,” Sasuke said suddenly, the words low but firm.

Sakura blinked, the teasing edge fading from her expression. “A time limit?”

“This isn’t permanent,” he said, tone matter-of-fact but final. “Three years. That’s enough time to deal with your rent situation and for my mother to lose interest.”

Sakura tilted her head, digesting the words. Three years. It wasn’t an unreasonable length of time—it was practical. Her thoughts flicked briefly to her residency, knowing that timeline would carry her just past its end.

“Three years,” she echoed, her voice softer now, the weight of the statement settling over her. “Alright. That works.”

She reached for the notebook, her fingers brushing lightly against the pen before she picked it up. With a quiet exhale, she wrote the final rule, pressing the letters deliberately into the page:

12. This marriage lasts three years. After that, no obligations to continue.

Sliding the notebook back toward Sasuke, she leaned back against the couch, her arms crossed. “There. Three years to be the perfect pretend spouse. I hope you’re ready for the challenge.”

Sasuke’s lips twitched faintly—not quite a smile, but close enough. “I should be asking you that.”

Sakura smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, please. I was born ready.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of what they’d just agreed to hung between them like an invisible thread, heavy and unspoken. Sakura could feel it pressing against her chest, but she wasn’t about to let the mood get too serious.

“Well, look at us,” she finally said, her voice laced with forced cheer. “Two responsible adults handling this like pros.”

Sasuke’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, cool and calm. “We’ll see.”

Sakura huffed dramatically, crossing her arms as she flopped back against the couch. “You’re lucky I’m a professional, Uchiha. Otherwise, this would already be a disaster.”

“Isn’t it already?” Sasuke replied smoothly, his tone neutral but his words cutting in that typical, infuriating way of his.

Sakura gasped, clutching her chest theatrically. “Wow. Rude. And here I thought we were bonding.”

Sasuke’s lips twitched—barely noticeable, but enough to make her feel like she’d won something.

Flopping back against the couch with dramatic flair, Sakura threw an arm over her eyes. “Oh, just wait. It’s going to be glorious.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms resting loosely on the armrests as he studied her with a faint, almost imperceptible shake of his head. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp gaze betrayed the quiet calculations still running through his mind.

And just like that, the most absurd arrangement of their lives was officially underway. For better or worse, they were in it together.

Chapter Text

“The second room is down there. You can set it up however you want.”

Sasuke’s tone was as neutral as ever, but his gaze flicked to her duffel bag for a fraction of a second before he turned and started walking toward the hallway.

Sakura adjusted her grip on her bag, trailing behind him. “Let me guess—empty room, neutral walls, zero personality?”

He stopped in front of the door, his hand resting on the handle as he gave her a side glance. “Use it or don’t. I don’t care.”

When he opened the door, her initial assumption wasn’t far off. The room was sparse—a bed with plain white sheets, a simple desk, and a wardrobe. The walls were, indeed, neutral gray. Still, it was larger than she expected, and the window let in plenty of light, softening the otherwise sterile feel.

“Well, this is... functional,” Sakura muttered, stepping inside and scanning the space. She shifted her duffel bag from her shoulder to the floor with a thud.

“It’s temporary,” Sasuke said, his tone flat. He stood at the threshold, hands in his pockets, not stepping inside but not leaving either.

Sakura turned to face him, quirking an eyebrow. “Temporary or not, you could use a plant. Maybe a splash of color. You know, something that says human lives here.”

He ignored the jab, his gaze briefly catching on her bag. “If you need anything, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll be in the living room.”

Sakura watched him turn and head back down the hall. With a sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed and glanced around the room again. It wasn’t much, but it would do. Just like their arrangement, she told herself. Temporary. Practical. No need to make it more complicated than it already was.

“Hey, Sasuke,” Sakura called out as she padded down the hallway and into the living room, where Sasuke sat on the couch, the notebook from earlier open on the coffee table in front of him. He looked up as she entered, his dark eyes giving away nothing.

He set the pen down but didn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue.

“About this whole setup...” she started, hesitating for a moment. “What’s the rent situation? We never actually talked about it. So, what’s the deal?”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “There is no deal,” he said simply.

Sakura furrowed her brow, walking toward the couch. “What do you mean, ‘no deal’? I’m not living here for free.”

“It’s my apartment,” Sasuke replied, his tone matter-of-fact. He flipped a page in the notebook, his pen gliding across the paper. “I don’t need the rent. Focus on your own expenses.”

Her jaw dropped slightly as she processed his words. “Are you serious? You’re just... letting me live here without paying anything?”

He shrugged. “Why would I charge you? This isn’t about money.”

“Because it’s your apartment!” Sakura exclaimed, gesturing to the space around her. “Do you even know how expensive a place like this is? You have a skyline view! Hardwood floors! Furniture that probably costs more than my entire med school tuition!”

“Yes,” he said. “So, there’s no rent. Focus on your own expenses—bills, groceries, whatever you need.”

“Absolutely not!” she shot back, crossing her arms. “I’m not freeloading off you. That’s not how this works.”

Sasuke arched an eyebrow. “Freeloading isn’t the point. This arrangement isn’t about charity.”

“Exactly,” she countered, her voice firm. “Which is why I’ll pay rent—something fair. This is a high-rise apartment in the middle of the city. It’s not like I can just stay here for free and pretend that’s normal.”

He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before finally closing the notebook with a soft snap. “Fine,” he said, setting it aside. “Pay what you paid at your old apartment.”

Sakura hesitated, thrown off by his quick concession. “Wait—really?”

“Yes,” Sasuke replied, crossing his arms. “If you insist on paying rent, then pay what you’re used to. I don’t care about the amount.”

“That doesn’t feel right,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at him.

“It’s what you wanted,” Sasuke pointed out, his tone clipped. “Unless you’re arguing just to argue.”

Sakura opened her mouth to respond but quickly shut it, realizing she’d boxed herself in. “Fine,” she muttered, exhaling as she dropped onto the couch. “I’ll pay my old rent. But only because you’re being weirdly stubborn about this.”

“Noted,” Sasuke said flatly, picking up the notebook again and flipping back to their list of rules. “If that’s settled, we need to finalize this.”

Sakura raised an eyebrow as she watched him set the notebook in front of her, turning it so the page faced her. “Sign.”

As Sakura stared at the notebook, her gaze caught on the neat lines of their names written side by side. Sasuke Uchiha. Sakura Haruno. The pairing was as stark and formal as everything about this arrangement, yet it tugged at something inside her. The sight made her pause, an odd flutter stirring in her chest. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why it felt significant—why it felt like more than just ink on a page. Shaking the thought away, she forced herself to focus on the moment. “You know,” she said, leaning forward to scan the list of rules once more, her tone light but pointed, “this is starting to feel less like a marriage and more like a business transaction.”

“That’s what it is,” Sasuke replied without hesitation, his voice as steady and even as his gaze. He handed her the pen, his calm demeanor daring her to argue.

Sakura hesitated, her fingers curling around the pen as she studied the blank space beside his name. With a quiet exhale, she leaned in and began to write, her strokes deliberate and steady, pressing each letter with more force than necessary. As her signature took shape, she felt the weight of finality settle over her, heavier than she’d anticipated.

There. Done. Just business, she told herself firmly, though the words didn’t sit right. Something about them rang hollow, as if she were trying to convince herself.

Snapping the cap back onto the pen, she set it down with a soft click and leaned back in her chair, raising an eyebrow at him. “There. Happy now?”

Sasuke’s dark eyes flicked to the page, scanning it briefly before he nodded once. “It’s done.”

“Well,” she said, her voice carefully casual, “I guess this makes us official.”

Sasuke didn’t respond immediately, his focus returning to the notebook. “It makes things official,” he corrected, his tone clipped but not unkind.

“I guess I should start unpacking.” Sakura said a moment later, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans.

Sasuke nodded, his attention already on his cellphone.

As she turned to leave, her eyes drifted to him. “You know, this whole thing—this arrangement... It’s going to be weird, right?”

“Probably,” he admitted without missing a beat.

Sakura laughed softly, shaking her head as she walked back toward her room. “Good to know you’re just as awkward about this as I am.”

He didn’t reply, but she could feel his gaze following her as she disappeared down the hall.

Once in her room, she sat on the edge of the bed again, staring at her duffel bag. The weight of the past few days hit her again, but this time, it felt less overwhelming.

Weird or not, she thought, pulling the zipper open, I’ll figure it out. We both will.

Sakura’s hand brushed against a familiar wooden frame. She pulled it out carefully, revealing a small photo of her and her parents, all three of them beaming in front of a sunlit beach. It had been taken years ago, during one of the rare vacations they’d managed to steal away from their hectic schedules. Her mother’s arm was wrapped around her shoulder, and her father’s grin was as wide as the horizon behind them.

Sakura ran her fingers over the smooth edge of the frame, her expression softening as a pang of nostalgia settled in her chest. The warmth of the memory felt worlds away from her current situation.

Standing, she placed the frame gently on the desk, adjusting it slightly until it faced just the right angle. Her gaze lingered on the photo, as though anchoring herself in its familiarity.

Then, she glanced around the room again. The stark walls and muted tones seemed even more impersonal now, the clinical neatness of the space a sharp contrast to the warmth emanating from the picture. For a moment, Sakura felt like a vivid splash of color trying to find her place in a black-and-white picture that wasn’t her own.

She sighed softly, brushing her fingers through her hair as she turned back to her bag. It’s just temporary, she reminded herself. I’ll make it work. But the thought did little to ease the gnawing sense of displacement. In the living room, Sasuke set the notebook aside, leaning back against the couch and staring at the ceiling. He’d agreed to this for practical reasons, but now that Sakura was here, unpacking in the room down the hall, he realized just how much it would disrupt the quiet order of his life. It wasn’t the clutter that unsettled him—it was the unpredictability. She was a variable he hadn’t planned for

Three years, he reminded himself, closing his eyes. Just three years. How hard can it be?

Chapter Text

By the time Sasuke left for work early the next morning, Sakura had already started moving in. She’d been up since dawn, hauling box after box into the apartment. It was exhausting work—she’d never realized how much stuff she owned until she had to carry it—but somehow, the satisfaction of dropping each box in her new space made it worth it.

The once-empty room was quickly filling with mismatched chaos: a half-assembled bookshelf leaned precariously against the wall, a pile of clothes was already spilling from her duffel bag, and a couple of old posters sat rolled up in the corner, waiting to be hung.

When Sasuke returned, briefcase in hand, he paused in the doorway of the living room to take in the sight before him.

It had become her temporary staging area.

He found Sakura cross-legged on the floor, screwdriver in hand, glaring daggers at the wobbly bookshelf in front of her. Surrounding her were scattered books, a tangle of fairy lights, and a box of trinkets spilling out onto the rug.

“You’re doing that wrong,” Sasuke said, his voice breaking the silence.

Sakura’s head shot up, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me, Mr. Expert? Care to enlighten me?”

Without answering, Sasuke placed his briefcase by the door, walked over, and crouched beside the bookshelf. With practiced ease, he adjusted one of the shelves, tightened a screw, and stabilized the whole thing in less than thirty seconds.

Sakura stared as the bookshelf suddenly stopped wobbling.

“…Show-off,” she muttered, reaching for a stack of books to cover her embarrassment.

“You’re welcome,” Sasuke replied dryly, standing and brushing off his hands.

Sakura shot him a glare that lacked any real heat. “You know, you don’t have to just stand there judging me. You could help.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” Sasuke said, though he didn’t move away.

“Too bad,” Sakura replied with a grin, shoving a box toward him with her foot. “Consider it practice for when your mother comes over. You don’t want her thinking I’m doing all the work, do you?”

For a moment, Sasuke just stared at the box, clearly debating whether or not this was worth his time. Finally, with a sigh, he crouched down and opened it, pulling out a tangled mess of fairy lights. He held them up like they were something offensive.

“Why do you even have these?”

“They’re cozy,” Sakura replied, smirking. “Don’t worry, I won’t put them in your room, Mr. Minimalist.”

Sasuke sighed but said nothing, setting the lights aside and reaching for the next item—a photo frame with a cheerful group picture inside.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, to Sakura’s surprise. They fell into a rhythm as they worked, the quiet occasionally broken by sarcastic comments and snarky retorts.

By the time they finished, the sun had dipped below the city skyline. The bookshelf was full, the boxes had been mostly emptied, and Sakura’s room was beginning to look like hers. Colorful chaos amid Sasuke’s monochrome world.

Sasuke stood, dusting off his hands. “You’re welcome.”

“For what?” Sakura asked, stacking one last book onto the shelf.

“For keeping you from breaking the bookshelf,” he replied, deadpan.

Sakura snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, dear.”

He turned to leave, but paused when Sakura called after him.

“Hey, Sasuke?”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” she said, this time more sincere.

He nodded once before disappearing down the hall, leaving Sakura alone in her colorful chaos with the faintest trace of a smile on her face.

And there it was—her first day in Sasuke’s impossibly perfect apartment.

She had a feeling that three years might be a lot longer than it sounded.

The first morning of Sakura and Sasuke’s cohabitation wasn’t a peaceful transition. It was more like two planets colliding in slow motion.

Sakura, half-asleep and running on autopilot, shuffled out of her room with a toothbrush in hand. Her hair stuck out at odd angles, resembling a bird’s nest after a hurricane, and she muttered incoherently about needing coffee as she stumbled toward the bathroom.

What she didn’t expect was to open the bathroom door and find Sasuke already inside.

He stood at the sink, shirtless, the soft morning light filtering through the frosted window and accentuating the sharp contours of his toned back. His dark hair, damp from the shower, clung to the nape of his neck in messy strands. A towel hung loosely around his shoulders, and the low-slung gray sweatpants he wore completed the picture of someone who looked effortlessly composed—even when caught off guard.

For a moment, Sakura froze, her brain short-circuiting as she took in the sight before her.

Sasuke turned his head slowly, his expression calm but mildly annoyed, as if this intrusion was merely another minor inconvenience in his meticulously ordered life. “Do you knock?” he asked, his voice flat but edged with irritation.

“Do you lock?” Sakura snapped back instinctively, gripping her toothbrush like a weapon and glaring at him with all the indignation her sleep-deprived state could muster.

His eyebrow arched, his tone unwavering. “It’s my apartment.”

“And now it’s mine too!” she retorted, still rooted to the spot.

Sasuke didn’t respond. With the same detached calm he carried into every situation, he grabbed his toothbrush from the counter and brushed past her without so much as a second glance.

As the door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone inside, Sakura groaned and slapped her forehead. “Why me?” she muttered, glaring at her disheveled reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were bright red, and her wild bedhead was doing her no favors.

Still grumbling, she stepped into the shower and turned on the water, hoping to wash away the awkwardness of the encounter. But no matter how hard she tried, the image of Sasuke’s stupidly perfect posture, stupidly perfect towel, and stupidly perfect everything refused to leave her brain.

“Great,” she mumbled under the spray, scrubbing furiously at her hair. “Now I can’t even take a shower without imagining Mr. Uptight Uchiha lurking around.” Little did she know, Sasuke, now in the kitchen sipping his morning coffee, was thinking something similar.

While his reaction at the time had been minimal, the brief encounter replayed in his mind. Her wide-eyed expression, the oversized shirt she’d been wearing that barely hung on one shoulder, and her general aura of disheveled chaos—it was hard not to find it at least… a little amusing.

Still, he frowned, setting down his coffee with precision. She really should learn to knock.

The quiet didn’t last long. Sasuke had just started to enjoy the stillness when a jarring noise ripped through the apartment.

Sakura was singing in the shower.

Off-key.

And loudly.

Sasuke froze, his coffee cup hovering near his lips as he processed the auditory assault. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened with every offbeat note that echoed through the walls.

When the singing finally stopped, he exhaled in relief.

Then it started again—louder this time, as if she were performing for an imaginary audience.

“Sakura,” Sasuke called sharply, striding toward the bathroom door. “What are you doing?”

Her voice carried over the running water, cheerful and unapologetic. “What does it sound like? I’m singing!”

“It sounds like someone strangling a cat,” Sasuke replied, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

The water shut off abruptly, followed by Sakura’s voice ringing out from inside the bathroom. “Noise curfew’s after 10 PM, Uchiha. It’s morning. Deal with it!”

Sasuke’s expression remained unreadable as he muttered something under his breath and strode back to the kitchen.

There, he resumed with his coffee with the kind of precision that suggested it was the only thing holding his world together.

By midweek, Sasuke was beginning to regret every decision that had led to this arrangement.

Sakura’s so-called “organized chaos” was slowly invading his meticulously maintained apartment. It started small—a tote bag crammed with who-knows-what shoved halfway under the couch, a pair of sneakers inexplicably left in the hallway. But it wasn’t long before a full-on assault began. A stack of papers had materialized on the coffee table, interspersed with random pens and a half-empty mug of tea. Some of her hair ties had mysteriously migrated to the kitchen counter. And worst of all, a pink throw blanket—a loud, garish splash of color in his otherwise monochrome living room—had been draped over the back of his sleek gray sectional like it belonged there.

“Why is this here?” Sasuke asked, plucking the blanket off the couch with two fingers as though it were radioactive.

“It’s cozy,” Sakura replied from the floor, where she was sprawled with a bowl of popcorn. Her eyes stayed glued to the TV, where some absurdly predictable rom-com was playing.

Sasuke looked at the screen, his brow furrowing. “You’ve watched this before.”

“And?”

“And why are you watching it again?”

Sakura finally turned her head to glare at him, her lips pursing. “Because I like it, Uchiha. Not everyone sits around reading architectural blueprints for fun.”

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You already know how it ends.”

“Yeah, well, I also know how rice tastes, but that doesn’t stop you from eating it every day,” she shot back, grabbing a handful of popcorn and stuffing it into her mouth.

Sasuke stood there, blanket still dangling from his fingers, as he considered her logic. “That’s not the same thing,” he muttered, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“If you don’t like rom-coms, then go stare at a wall or something,” Sakura added with a dramatic wave of her hand, her tone oozing mockery.

For a moment, Sasuke just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, he folded the blanket into a neat square and set it back on the couch.

“I don’t know how you live like this,” he said, shaking his head as he turned to leave.

“Like what?” she called after him, grinning now. “Comfortably?”

He muttered something under his breath as he disappeared down the hall. Sakura didn’t catch all of it, but she was pretty sure she heard the word “ridiculous.”

Saturday morning found Sakura and Sasuke standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring into the fridge as if expecting food to materialize out of thin air.

“I thought you were getting groceries,” Sakura said, crossing her arms and shooting Sasuke a pointed look.

“I bought groceries last week,” he replied evenly, his expression as impassive as ever. “Yeah, and we ate all of it,” Sakura shot back, gesturing toward the empty shelves.

Sasuke sighed, glancing at the clock as though debating whether this conversation was worth his time. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later, they were at the grocery store, weaving through the aisles.

“Stick to the list,” Sasuke said, gripping the cart’s handle like a seasoned pilot navigating turbulence.

Sakura snorted, plucking a bag of chips off the shelf and tossing it into the cart. “Snacks weren’t on the list, but guess what? They are now.”

Sasuke came to a halt, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “We’re buying what’s necessary.”

“Snacks are very necessary,” Sakura countered, giving him a smug smile. “What, do you survive on pure discipline?”

“Discipline is efficient,” Sasuke replied flatly, reaching for a bag of organic rice and placing it neatly beside her chips.

“You’re the most boring grocery shopper ever,” she muttered under her breath before grabbing a box of instant ramen and dropping it in the cart with a flourish.

Sasuke’s eyebrow twitched, but he said nothing, opting instead to inspect the expiration dates on a carton of eggs as if his life depended on it.

The rest of the trip was a tug-of-war between their different priorities: Sakura stealthily adding chocolate bars and cookies while Sasuke countered with quinoa and leafy greens. By the time they reached the checkout, the cart was a chaotic mix of meticulously stacked staples on one side and haphazard piles of junk food on the other.

As the cashier scanned the items, Sasuke gave her a pointed look. “You’re paying for the snacks.”

Sakura grinned, pulling out her wallet. “Totally worth it.”

Later that evening, Sakura stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips, surveying the sink full of dishes like a battlefield commander assessing enemy troops.

“Your turn,” she called out, her voice cutting through the quiet apartment.

When there was no reply, she marched down the hallway and knocked firmly on Sasuke’s door. “Hey, Uchiha. Dishes!”

The door opened, revealing Sasuke looking as composed as always, his shirt sleeves rolled up with the precision of someone who took ironing very seriously. “I’m working,” he said simply.

“And I cleaned the bathroom last night,” she replied, crossing her arms. “Fair is fair. No exceptions.”

Sasuke exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose with the weariness of someone questioning all of life’s choices. “You leave tea stains in the mugs. It takes extra effort to clean them.

Sakura’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious? You’re nitpicking about tea stains?”

“It’s inefficient,” Sasuke replied with a faint shrug, as if the answer were obvious.

“Oh my God,” Sakura groaned, throwing up her hands. “Fine. I’ll do the dishes. But next time, you’re scrubbing the tub after my bubble bath.”

“Unlikely,” he replied without missing a beat, retreating into his room before she could retort.

The next morning, Sasuke entered the kitchen to find it spotless. The dishes were cleaned, dried, and arranged with the precision of a military inspection. A pink sticky note was taped to the counter:

I win this round. Your turn next.

Sasuke picked up the note, his lips twitching faintly as he crumpled it and tossed it in the trash.

“Childish,” he muttered under his breath.

But the faint smirk on his face betrayed him.

Despite their constant bickering, the first week of their arrangement wasn’t entirely terrible.

Sakura had started to figure out how to navigate Sasuke’s obsessive need for order, while Sasuke had begrudgingly accepted that a certain level of chaos was unavoidable with her around.

He still muttered under his breath every time her papers spread across the coffee table like an invading army, and she still made a point to shift his perfectly aligned throw pillows just to watch him quietly fume.

Sunday evening found them in an unexpected moment of calm.

Sasuke was perched on the couch, a book open in his hands, his posture as sharp and disciplined as ever. At the other end, Sakura was cross-legged, her planner balanced on her lap, her pen scratching noisily against the paper as she scribbled in her usual chaotic scrawl. The only sounds were the faint scratching of her pen and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall.

It was almost… peaceful.

Almost.

“This is never going to work,” Sasuke said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence without so much as a glance away from his book.

Sakura paused, raising an eyebrow as she looked up at him. “You say that,” she replied, flipping a page in her planner with deliberate nonchalance, “but we haven’t killed each other yet.”

“Yet,” Sasuke muttered, his voice so dry it could have turned the air to dust.

Sakura grinned, leaning back against the couch and propping her feet up on the coffee table. “Face it, Uchiha,” she said with mock cheerfulness. “You’re stuck with me for three years. Better start getting used to it.”

His eyes flicked briefly to her feet on the coffee table, a faint frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Sakura’s smirk widened. She knew her casual sprawl was probably driving him insane. Sasuke didn’t bother responding, returning his attention to his book as if she weren’t worth the energy. But the faintest twitch of his lips betrayed him—a subtle hint of amusement that even he probably didn’t realize was there.

Sakura caught it, though. And as she leaned forward to continue writing, her grin widened. Maybe, she thought, this won’t be so bad after all.

For now, their uneasy truce held. But deep down, both of them knew this was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

The text came at 8 AM sharp, disrupting the quiet morning truce between Sakura and Sasuke.

“Sasuke, we’re coming over for dinner tonight to meet my future daughter-in-law. Don’t even think about saying no. Love, Mother.”

Sasuke stared at his phone, his jaw tightening slightly as he reread the message.

Sakura, still groggy and halfway through her first cup of coffee, noticed his expression and arched an eyebrow. “You look like someone just told you your favorite architect designed a building shaped like a donut. What’s going on?”

Sasuke lowered his phone, his face unreadable as always. “My family is coming over for dinner tonight.”

Sakura blinked, nearly spilling her coffee. “Wait. Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They want to meet you,” Sasuke said flatly, as though the answer was obvious.

Sakura froze, her eyes widening. “Meet me? As in fiancée meet me?!”

“That’s the idea,” Sasuke replied, already scrolling through his phone like he could somehow will the evening to disappear.

Sakura slammed her mug onto the table with a loud clatter. “Sasuke, we’re not ready for this! They’ll going to figure it out!”

“They won’t,” he said, betraying only a faint hint of unease. “As long as we don’t do anything suspicious.”

Sakura waved an arm wildly around the dining room. “Suspicious? Look at this apartment! It doesn’t scream ‘happy couple.’ It screams ‘I live alone and like things gray!’”

“I do like things gray,” Sasuke muttered, only to receive a withering glare from Sakura.

“And… and what are we supposed to talk about? What if they ask how we met or—I don’t know—where we went on our first date? What if they notice we don’t even sleep in the same room?”

Sasuke exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll figure it out. Just… make dinner.”

“Me? Cook?” Sakura looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I burn toast, Sasuke!”

“You’re not burning anything,” Sasuke replied, brushing past her toward his room. “Just keep it simple.”

Sakura groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “This whole thing is going to be a disaster,” she muttered under her breath, already regretting every decision that had led her to this point.

As the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting a warm golden glow through the kitchen windows, Sasuke stepped into a scene of culinary chaos. Sakura paced nervously, yanking open cabinet doors and muttering under her breath. She stopped in front of the spice rack, hands on her hips, glaring at it as if sheer determination alone could conjure a solution.

“It’s okay to ask for help,” Sasuke said calmly, breaking the tense silence.

Sakura spun around, her eyes narrowing. “Wait. You’re offering to help? Since when do you even step foot in the kitchen for anything other than coffee?”

Sasuke leaned against the counter, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You’re struggling,” he said simply. “I’d rather not eat something half-burned because you’re too proud to ask.”

Sakura huffed, crossing her arms. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of cooking!”

His gaze flicked to the spice rack, then back to her. “You’ve been staring at oregano for five minutes like it holds the secrets to life. I’m skeptical.”

Sakura narrowed her eyes, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Strategizing is a critical part of cooking, you know.”

“Right,” Sasuke said flatly. “Says the one who burnt toast.”

Her lips parted in protest, but before she could retort, Sasuke pushed off the counter, his movements deliberate as he stepped toward the fridge. “If you’re done proving a point, we can start.”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard by his sudden take-charge attitude. “Wait—are you saying you actually know how to cook?”

“I know enough,” he replied, grabbing a few ingredients with practiced ease. “Do you want to keep pacing, or do you want to learn something?”

Sakura bristled at the faint amusement in his tone but couldn’t suppress her curiosity. “Fine. Teach me, Master Chef.”

Sasuke handed her a knife and a cutting board, his movements precise and efficient. “Start with the vegetables. Small, even pieces. Don’t rush.”

She raised an eyebrow, her fingers curling around the knife’s handle. “You sound like you’re prepping for surgery.”

“Precision matters,” he said evenly, stepping toward the stove and igniting the burner.

The clatter of knives and the soft sizzle of onions soon replaced the earlier tension, their movements falling into rhythm. Sasuke moved with quiet confidence, his eyes sharp and focused, while Sakura struggled to match his steady pace.

“You’re cutting too shallow,” he said softly, stepping closer behind her. She barely had time to respond before his hand slipped over hers, steadying her grip on the knife. The cool touch of his fingers against her skin sent an unexpected shiver up her spine.

“Like this,” he murmured, his voice a low timbre that seemed to resonate in the space between them. His breath brushed against the side of her temple as he leaned in slightly, his proximity close enough that she could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. His fingers lingered over hers, guiding her movements with careful precision. “Keep your wrist steady. Let the blade do the work.”

Sakura’s breath hitched, her heart stumbling over itself as her senses heightened. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the aroma of fresh vegetables, grounding her and disarming her all at once. She focused on the cutting board, willing her hands not to tremble under his touch.

“Since when are you a culinary expert?” she asked, trying to inject some lightness into her tone as her lips curled into a small, tentative smile.

“I’m not,” Sasuke replied, his voice steady but softer now. He didn’t move away, his dark eyes focused on their shared task. “But college taught me it’s cheaper to cook than eat out.”

“Let me guess,” she said, stealing a sidelong glance at him. “Another example of your efficiency.”

A faint twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed the beginnings of a smile—subtle, but there. “Something like that.”

For a moment, the world outside the kitchen seemed to blur, the quiet hum of their shared rhythm wrapping around them. Sakura dared to look up, her gaze catching the faintest hint of warmth in Sasuke’s expression. It was fleeting, but it lingered enough to set her chest alight with an unfamiliar sense of ease.

“Well,” she said, her voice softer now as she turned her focus back to the vegetables, “looks like I’m learning from the best.”

Sasuke’s hand withdrew, leaving her skin tingling in its absence. He stepped to the stove with his usual composure, but she caught the faintest flicker of softness in his gaze before he turned away.

And for the first time that day, the tension in the air felt lighter—less like a burden.

As they worked side by side, Sakura found herself cracking a joke about how much her knife cuts resembled a toddler’s art project, and to her surprise, Sasuke actually responded.

“They’re not that bad,” he said dryly, tossing the chopped pieces into the pan. “Maybe preschool level.”

“Gee, thanks,” she retorted, rolling her eyes but smiling despite herself.

By the time the food was plated—a beautifully prepared pasta dish with perfectly roasted vegetables—the kitchen was bathed in the soft hues of early evening. The scent of fresh basil and garlic filled the air, mingling with the faint sound of distant traffic outside.

Sakura leaned against the counter, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. Her earlier panic had been replaced by cautious pride. “Not bad,” she said, surveying their handiwork.

“Not bad,” Sasuke echoed, his tone as neutral as ever, though the faint approval in his eyes didn’t escape her notice.

Their eyes met, and Sakura felt an unfamiliar sensation bloom in her chest—a quiet warmth, like the satisfaction of solving a problem together or the calm after a shared effort. It wasn’t just relief or pride; it was a connection, fleeting but undeniable.

She cleared her throat, breaking the moment. “Well,” she said, straightening and gesturing toward the table, “let’s just hope your parents don’t find out you’ve been hiding your inner Gordon Ramsay all these years.”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow at her, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he picked up the serving dishes and began arranging them on the table with his usual methodical efficiency.

Sakura watched him for a moment longer, wondering how someone could make something as mundane as cooking dinner feel so... significant.

The sound of the clock chiming in the distance broke her thoughts, and she exhaled, straightening her apron. “Alright,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “Time to face the music.”

But as they stood in the now-quiet kitchen, the lingering warmth of their shared effort stayed with her—an unexpected solace before the evening to come.

By the time Sasuke’s family arrived, the apartment looked surprisingly presentable.

Sakura had reluctantly hidden her beloved pink throw blanket, grumbling under her breath about “erasing all traces of humanity,” while Sasuke’s precise organization had transformed the space into a polished showcase of domestic harmony. The result was a scene straight out of a lifestyle magazine: tasteful, organized, and painfully rehearsed.

But no amount of tidying could scrub away Sakura’s nerves.

When the doorbell rang, she froze mid-step, dishtowel clutched in her hand like a lifeline. Her eyes darted to the faint gleam of the engagement ring on her finger, its simple design mocking her with how real it looked.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice barely above a squeak. “They’re here. I can’t do this. I’m going to blow it. They’ll know.”

Sasuke stood by the door, his posture calm but his gaze sharp. “You’re not going to blow it,” he said, his tone as even as ever.

“You don’t know that!” Sakura hissed, waving the dishtowel like a flag of surrender. “What if I say something stupid? What if they ask how we met and I forget the story? What if they see through this whole thing?!”

Sasuke stepped closer, his gaze flicking briefly to the ring on her finger before meeting her wide-eyed stare. “Then don’t forget,” he said simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, wiping her clammy hands on the dishtowel before pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re naturally impossible to read. I’m an open book with highlighted sections!”

The doorbell rang again, and Sakura jumped, nearly dropping the dishtowel. Sasuke sighed, his calm demeanor unshaken as he reached for the doorknob. “Just act natural,” he said, pulling the door open to reveal the impeccably dressed figures of Mikoto, Fugaku, and Itachi standing on the threshold.

As Mikoto stepped forward with a radiant smile, Sakura forced her lips into what she hoped was a convincing grin, her fingers instinctively curling around the ring.

“Hello!” Mikoto greeted brightly, her voice brimming with warmth and enthusiasm. Her eyes immediately softened when they landed on Sakura, and without hesitation, she reached out to clasp both of Sakura’s hands in hers. “You must be Sakura! Oh, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you!”

Sakura’s heart pounded under Mikoto’s affectionate gaze, the kindness in her voice both comforting and overwhelming.

Sakura managed with a nervous laugh, darting a glance at Sasuke.

He gave her the faintest nod, his expression steady as ever, but it did little to calm the fluttering panic building in her chest.

“When Sasuke told us about you, I knew right away you had to be someone special,” Mikoto exclaimed, her smile widening. “And now that I see you…” She let out a delighted laugh, squeezing Sakura’s hands lightly. “You’re even more lovely than I imagined!”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard by the genuine affection radiating from Mikoto. “I—thank you, Mrs. Uchiha,” she stammered, unsure how else to respond.

“Oh, you’re family now,” Mikoto said, waving a hand dismissively as she pulled back slightly, her gaze sweeping over Sakura with a look of pure joy. “And that means no formalities, alright? Just call me Mother.”

Sakura’s breath hitched, her smile faltering. “I, um…”

“Mother,” Mikoto repeated insistently, her eyes twinkling with encouragement. “It’s simple, isn’t it? Oh, it has such a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“M-Mother,” Sakura echoed, her voice breaking slightly. “Sure. Got it. Mother.”

Mikoto beamed. “Oh, I knew I’d love you! And just wait until you meet Izumi—she was heartbroken to miss this dinner, but there’s some big international event she’s handling overseas. She made me promise to tell you how excited she is to meet you.”

“That’s—” Sakura began, scrambling to keep up. “I’d love to meet her too. Absolutely.”

“And she’ll love you, I just know it,” Mikoto declared with absolute certainty, clapping her hands together.

“It’s good to see you again, Mother. Father,” Sasuke said, stepping in to gently draw attention away from Mikoto’s overwhelming enthusiasm. He gave his mother a brief but polite embrace before offering Fugaku a respectful nod. With a subtle motion toward the living room, he added, “Please, come in.”

Fugaku followed, his sharp gaze sweeping the apartment like a scrutinizing spotlight. He lingered on the orderly space, then gave a curt nod.

“Nii-san,” Sasuke said neutrally as his older brother stepped inside. Itachi’s sharp gaze flicked briefly over the apartment before settling on Sakura with a glint of intrigue in his eyes.

“So,” Itachi began, his voice calm but laced with amusement, “this is the mysterious fiancée.”

Sakura felt her grip on the dishtowel tighten, her cheeks warming under his scrutiny. “That’s me,” she said, forcing what she hoped was a cheerful tone.

Without a word, Sasuke’s hand slid to her waist, his touch firm and steady, anchoring her against the weight of Itachi’s attention. The gesture, though subtle, sent a jolt through Sakura, momentarily silencing her racing thoughts.

Itachi’s gaze flicked to the hand resting on her waist, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Shouldn’t you be complimenting the host,” Sasuke said coolly, his tone low and pointed, “not interrogating them?”

Itachi raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “I wasn’t aware she needed defending.”

“She doesn’t,” Sasuke replied evenly, his hand still resting protectively at Sakura’s side.

Sakura swallowed, her cheeks flushing, but she managed a smile, her fingers curling slightly over the dishtowel for support. “I’m sure your brother just likes to keep things interesting,” she said lightly, forcing herself to meet Itachi’s sharp gaze.

Itachi chuckled softly, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Something like that.”

Mikoto, oblivious to the tension, clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we continue this over dinner? Everything smells absolutely delicious.”

“Sakura cooked dinner,” Sasuke said plainly, his voice steady but unmistakable.

Sakura’s stomach flipped, her head snapping toward Sasuke in surprise. “Oh, it’s nothing fancy,” she said quickly, forcing a lightness into her tone as her gaze darted to him. “Just a simple dish—though Sasuke helped a lot. I’d probably still be staring at the spice rack if it weren’t for him.”

Mikoto’s eyes lit up, her gaze flicking between the two of them. “How lovely! Cooking together is such a wonderful way to bond.”

Sakura laughed nervously, her cheeks warming. “Well, I wouldn’t call it bonding, but it got the job done.”

As the family moved toward the table, Sakura let out a quiet breath, the weight of Mikoto’s praise settling heavily on her shoulders. She risked a sideways glance at Sasuke, who had already moved ahead with his usual composed efficiency, pulling out a chair for his mother before turning his attention to Sakura.

When he caught her looking, his dark eyes lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, a fleeting emotion flickering across his expression. It wasn’t exactly reassurance, but it steadied her nerves just enough.

“Here,” he said, his voice low as he pulled out a chair for her. His hand briefly grazed her elbow—a small touch that Sakura wasn’t sure was intentional but sent a jolt through her nonetheless.

She sank into the chair, offering him a faint smile in return, though her stomach was still twisting itself into knots.

Perfect, Sakura thought wryly as Mikoto began gushing about how beautifully the food was plated. This is going to be a very, very long dinner.

The clink of silverware echoed softly as the Uchiha family settled at the table, each person bringing their distinct presence to the room. Mikoto’s warm enthusiasm radiated brightly, a stark contrast to Fugaku’s quiet, calculating demeanor. Across the table, Itachi’s calm composure masked an edge of curiosity and amusement, his glances sharp yet unassuming.

The scent of freshly roasted vegetables and herbed pasta mingled with the warm glow of the overhead light, casting an almost serene atmosphere that belied the tension tightening Sakura’s chest.

Mikoto was the first to break the silence, unfolding her napkin with a graceful flourish. “Everything looks wonderful,” she said warmly, her gaze sweeping over the table before landing on Sakura. “You’ve really outdone yourself, dear.”

Sakura managed a polite smile, though her fingers betrayed her nerves as they fidgeted with the edge of her napkin. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice steady despite the flutter of anxiety in her chest. “I just hope it tastes as good as it looks.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Mikoto said with a twinkle in her eye. “Sasuke has always had excellent taste, after all.”

Sakura froze for a split second, the weight of the compliment catching her off guard. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks as she ducked her head, reaching for her water glass to give herself a moment to recover.

Across the table, Itachi’s dark eyes flicked between them, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smirk. He leaned back in his chair, exuding effortless confidence.

Fugaku, on the other hand, was methodical, his sharp gaze sweeping the meal before him. He took a deliberate bite, his expression betraying no hint of his thoughts as he chewed. Finally, he gave a curt nod, setting his fork down. “It’s well-prepared,” he remarked, his tone as neutral as ever.

Sakura exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, nodding mutely. Across the table, Itachi’s gaze lingered on her, sharp and assessing.

“High praise from Father,” Itachi said smoothly, his dark eyes flicking to Sasuke, who had been quietly eating with his usual stoic demeanor. “You must be proud, little brother.”

Sasuke didn’t even glance up, his tone calm and measured. “The credit goes to Sakura. She made most of it.”

The unexpected acknowledgment made Sakura’s head snap toward him, her eyes wide. For a moment, she caught a subtle, fleeting expression, but enough to make her heart skip.

Sakura barely had time to respond before Mikoto leaned forward slightly, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Sakura,” she began, her tone inviting, “you must tell us everything. How did you and Sasuke meet?”

Sakura’s stomach dropped. This was it. The question she had rehearsed over and over suddenly felt impossible to answer. She opened her mouth, but her mind had gone completely blank.

“Oh, um...” she started, her voice faltering.

“We met through Naruto and Hinata,” Sasuke interjected smoothly, his hand brushing against hers in a gesture so natural it made her pause. The warmth of his touch startled her, but she quickly masked it with a tight smile. His tone was calm, composed as always, but the next words he spoke caught her entirely off guard.

“But I first saw her at a lecture hall.” Sasuke added, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.

Sakura blinked, glancing at him, her lips parting slightly in surprise. What?

“A lecture hall?” Mikoto echoed, her curiosity piqued as she clasped her hands together.

“It was a community panel discussion,” Sasuke continued, his dark eyes steady on Mikoto as though recounting an ordinary event.. “I was invited to speak on the panel. She was sitting near the back.”

Sakura’s mouth opened slightly, scrambling to process the memory. “I—well, yeah. I guess that’s true,” she stammered, laughing nervously.

“And?” Mikoto prodded gently, her eyes sparkling. “What did you think of her, Sasuke?”

For a brief moment, Sasuke hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Sakura before he answered. “She stood out,” he said evenly. “It was hard not to notice her.”

Sakura’s face burned under the combined weight of Mikoto’s delighted gaze and Sasuke’s unexpected admission. She fumbled for a response but couldn’t form words.

Itachi’s sharp laugh broke the moment, his tone laced with playful disbelief. “Romantic,” he mused, leaning back. “For you, that is.”

“It’s unusual, I admit,” Fugaku added, his deep voice carrying weight as his sharp eyes settled on Sakura. “Unexpected, even.”

“It’s meant to be,” Mikoto interjected quickly, her tone light but resolute, waving off Fugaku’s skepticism with a graceful hand. “Sometimes, these things happen fast. When you know, you know.”

Sakura glanced at Sasuke, the weight of Mikoto’s words making her chest tighten. Meant to be. The phrase lingered in her mind, echoing as she tried to focus on the evening ahead.

“Do you?” Itachi murmured, his smirk widening as he turned his attention to Sakura. “Know?”

Sakura’s grip on her glass tightened, her stomach twisting under the scrutiny. “I think so,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Fugaku’s gaze lingered, moving briefly to the engagement ring on her finger before returning to her face. “It’s rare for things to align this conveniently,” he remarked, his tone cool but pointed. “What do your parents think of all this?”

Sakura stiffened slightly, her smile faltering. “Oh, um, they’re supportive,” she replied quickly, her voice carefully controlled. “They’re happy I’ve found someone.” Her chest tightened at the words, she hadn’t told her parents yet and planned to delay that revelation for as long as possible.

“And your work?” Itachi asked, his tone deceptively casual as he studied her reaction. “I imagine it must be difficult balancing a career with planning a wedding.”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “It’s... challenging,” she admitted, her fingers fidgeting slightly with her napkin. “Residency is demanding, but I’ve managed so far.”

Fugaku leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. “Residency,” he repeated, his tone carrying an edge of skepticism. “Still climbing the ladder, then.”

Sakura felt her chest tighten but nodded firmly. “Yes. It’s a long process, but I’m committed to it.”

Mikoto’s face lit up with pride, her hands clasping together. “A resident physician! That’s wonderful, dear. You must be so dedicated. How do you find the time?”

Sakura offered a shy smile, grateful for Mikoto’s encouragement. “It’s not easy, but I enjoy what I do.”

“Impressive,” Fugaku said, though his tone remained cool, his eyes sharp as though evaluating her ambition.

As the conversation paused, Sakura shifted uncomfortably under Fugaku’s scrutiny. Her heart pounded, the weight of his judgment pressing heavily on her.

Sasuke, noticing the tension in her posture, set down his glass with deliberate calm. His dark eyes flicked to his father, his tone even but resolute. “She’s capable,” he said simply, his tone carrying an air of finality. “Residency isn’t for the faint of heart. Her work speaks for itself.”

Fugaku’s gaze lingered on his son for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gave a curt nod, as though conceding some unspoken point. “It must,” he said simply, returning his attention to his plate.

Mikoto, ever the diplomat, clapped her hands lightly to redirect the atmosphere. “Well, I think it’s wonderful that we’re all here together,” she said brightly, her gaze softening as it landed on Sakura. “Sakura, if you need any help with the wedding planning, you mustn’t hesitate to ask. I’d love to be involved.”

Sakura smiled, the warmth in Mikoto’s tone easing some of her unease. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

As the dinner progressed, Itachi’s sharp eyes rarely left Sakura. His playful tone continued to mask his deeper curiosity, but there were moments—small, fleeting ones—where his questions carried an almost surgical precision.

“So, Sakura,” he began smoothly, his gaze flicking to Sasuke before returning to her, “what’s it like being engaged to my little brother? I imagine it’s... an experience.”

Sakura laughed nervously, fumbling for a response. “Oh, it’s definitely an experience,” she said, her tone light. “He keeps me on my toes.”

Itachi’s smirk deepened, but his dark eyes softened slightly as they studied her. “I’m sure he does,” he said evenly, his voice carrying a weight that made Sakura’s pulse quicken. “Sasuke doesn’t let people in easily. You must be... very determined.”

The subtle shift in his tone caught her off guard, and for a moment, Sakura felt as though he could see straight through her. She forced a smile, her fingers tightening around her fork. “Determination is part of the job, I guess.”

“Indeed,” Itachi murmured, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered on her for a beat too long before turning to Sasuke, who had been silent throughout the exchange. “You’ve chosen well, little brother.”

Sasuke’s eyes met his, cool and steady. “I know.”

The faintest flicker of intrigue passed through Itachi’s eyes, but he said nothing more, leaving Sakura to wonder if his words carried more than just familial teasing.

By the time dessert was served, the mood had lightened significantly. Mikoto beamed as she brought out a box of delicately arranged pastries, her delight infectious.

“You must try these,” she said, placing it in front of Sakura. “They’re a family favorite.”

Sakura picked up a small pastry, her fingers steady now as she took a bite. The delicate sweetness melted on her tongue, and she smiled genuinely. “It’s delicious,” she said, her voice warm.

Mikoto’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “I’m so glad you like it.”

Across the table, Sasuke watched the exchange silently, his dark gaze softening as he took in the rare ease on Sakura’s face.

When dinner finally wound down, Mikoto clasped her hands together. “Sakura, you truly have a gift. Dinner was delightful.”

Fugaku gave a rare nod, though his expression remained impassive. “Well done,” he said, the approval in his voice faint but present, tempered by his usual reserve.

“Thank you,” Sakura said, her voice steady despite the knot of nerves tightening in her chest.

Mikoto stepped forward and pulled Sakura into a warm embrace. “It was so nice to finally meet you, dear,” she said softly, her voice carrying a genuine affection that made Sakura’s throat tighten. “I can see why Sasuke is so taken with you.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sakura stammered, glancing at Sasuke, who stood nearby with his hands in his pockets, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

As Mikoto and Fugaku began gathering their things, Fugaku signaled for Sasuke to step aside. Sakura’s gaze followed them, curiosity flickering in her eyes. Fugaku’s voice was low, too quiet for Sakura to hear, but the tension in Sasuke’s jaw was unmistakable. He gave a curt nod, his expression betraying little, though the exchange left Sakura uneasy.

Meanwhile, Itachi lingered near the door, his sharp eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and intrigue as he glanced back at Sakura. His smirk deepened as he spoke, his words polite but laced with a subtle edge. “Thank you for the wonderful evening,” he said, his tone carrying an undertone that unsettled Sakura. “I must say, I didn’t expect my little brother to settle down so quickly. A whirlwind romance, indeed.”

Sakura’s stomach churned at the remark, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. But she forced a polite smile, willing her voice to remain steady. “Life has its surprises,” she said, her tone light but carefully measured.

Itachi inclined his head, his smirk lingering. “It certainly does,” he agreed smoothly. His gaze flicked briefly to Sasuke before returning to Sakura, the glint of mischief in his eyes unmistakable. “I look forward to the wedding,” he added, his voice deliberate, each word carrying a weight that hung in the air. “It promises to be... interesting.”

As the door to the apartment clicked shut behind the Uchihas, Sakura leaned against the wall, her shoulders sagging as she let out a long, weary breath. “Well, that was... intense,” she murmured, her voice light but tinged with exhaustion. Pushing off the wall, she crossed to the couch and sank into it, her arms draping over the cushions as though trying to melt into their soft embrace.

Sasuke locked the door with a quiet click, his movements deliberate and measured. For a moment, he stood still, his gaze drifting to Sakura. She looked drained, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, as if trying to dispel the lingering tension of the evening. Without a word, he crossed the room and sat in the armchair opposite her. His posture was relaxed, but the distant look in his eyes betrayed the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind.

“Your position comes with expectations. You need someone who can elevate you, strengthen our family—not someone who’ll struggle to keep up.”

His father’s words echoed in his head, sharp and cutting. Sasuke’s jaw tightened slightly, his fingers curling over the armrest. Fugaku’s expectations were nothing new—he had lived under their weight his entire life—but tonight, they felt heavier, more personal.

His gaze shifted back to Sakura. She sat curled on the couch, her hands now still, her head tilted slightly as if lost in her own thoughts. The lines of her posture, the subtle tension in her shoulders, spoke volumes. Despite the evening’s strain, there was no sign of collapse in her. She was steady—resilient in a way his father had failed to see.

Struggle to keep up? The phrase grated against his thoughts. Fugaku didn’t know her—not the quiet determination in the way she faced challenges, not the resilience that carried her forward, even in unfamiliar territory she now called home. Over the past few days, he had watched her stumble, adapt, and push on. She wasn’t perfect, no, but she was far from weak.

He exhaled sharply, the sound breaking the stillness. Leaning back in the chair, he stared up at the ceiling. Capable isn’t always enough, Fugaku had said, but as Sasuke’s thoughts circled back to Sakura, a quieter truth emerged, settling like a weight in his chest.

Sometimes, capable is more than enough.

The silence stretched between them until Sakura spoke, her voice breaking the quiet. “Your family is... a lot,” she said with a small, tired laugh.

He leaned back further, his hands resting loosely on the armrests. “They’re just like that,” he replied simply, his tone calm.

Sakura arched an eyebrow, sitting up slightly. “Just like that? Your mom was lovely. But your brother practically dissected me with his eyes, and your dad... well, let’s just say he’s not my biggest fan.”

Sasuke’s jaw tightened, though his tone remained measured. “He’s cautious.”

“Cautious?” Sakura echoed with a scoff, straightening her posture. “I think ‘cautious’ is putting it mildly.”

Sasuke didn’t respond immediately, his gaze softening slightly as he considered her words. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a rare gentleness. “You handled yourself well tonight.”

Her eyes widened, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. “Thanks,” she said softly, her fingers resuming their restless motion. The sincerity in his words, though understated, settled over her like a quiet reassurance.

Sakura’s gaze shifted to him, searching his face. “Did your father say something to you?” she asked, her tone more tentative now.

Sasuke hesitated, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he weighed his response. Finally, he shook his head. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he said, his voice low but steady.

Her brows furrowed, a flicker of doubt crossing her features, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she leaned back against the couch with a sigh, her exhaustion evident. “Well, at least your mom likes me. That’s... something.”

Sasuke’s lips twitched faintly, almost imperceptibly, at her words. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he spoke, his voice quieter now. “That’s more than something.”

Sakura glanced at him, her tired smile softening further. For a brief moment, the weight of the evening seemed to ease, a quiet sense of connection settling between them. But just as quickly, Sasuke’s gaze turned away, retreating into his thoughts once again.

Chapter Text

Itachi Uchiha was anything but indifferent to Sasuke. Though their relationship had long been marked by contrasts—Itachi’s quiet brilliance versus Sasuke’s simmering intensity—he couldn’t deny the threads of protectiveness and curiosity woven into his view of his younger brother. It was an unspoken truth that Itachi, while rarely overt in his concern, watched Sasuke closely, ensuring he navigated life’s storms with some semblance of grace.

So when Mikoto called, her voice brimming with uncontainable excitement, and uttered the words “Sasuke’s engaged!” Itachi froze.

“What?” His tone betrayed none of the sharp intrigue slicing through his thoughts.

“Sasuke’s engaged!” Mikoto repeated, as if to ensure he hadn’t misheard. “To a wonderful girl named Sakura. Oh, Itachi, you’ll adore her! We’re having dinner at his apartment this week to meet her properly.”

Itachi leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes narrowing. Sasuke, engaged? The idea seemed ludicrous. Sasuke barely tolerated small talk, let alone a relationship significant enough to result in an engagement. Yet Mikoto’s joy was unmistakable, and for now, Itachi chose not to deflate her enthusiasm.

“That’s... surprising,” he said finally, his voice calm. “And sudden.”

Mikoto laughed lightly. “Love often is. Don’t be so skeptical, Itachi. Sasuke’s finally found someone special. You should be happy for him.”

“I am,” Itachi replied smoothly, though his mind raced. “I look forward to meeting her.”

When the call ended, Itachi set his phone down, his gaze distant. Across the room, Izumi glanced up from where she’d been arranging flowers, her head tilting as she caught the flicker of thought in his expression.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, setting the vase aside and crossing to him.

“Sasuke,” Itachi said simply, the faintest smirk playing at his lips. “He’s engaged.”

Izumi blinked, her surprise mirroring his own. “Sasuke? As in your Sasuke? Engaged?”

Itachi inclined his head. “So it seems.”

She chuckled softly, perching on the armrest of his chair. “That’s... unexpected.”

“It is,” Itachi agreed. “And highly suspect.”

Izumi arched a brow, amused. “You think there’s more to it?”

“I know there is,” Itachi said, his tone quiet but resolute. “And I intend to find out.”

By the time the family gathered at Sasuke’s apartment, Itachi was ready to observe. His sharp eyes missed nothing as he stepped inside—the pops of color, the misplaced decor, all foreign to Sasuke’s meticulous style. Sakura’s polite smile and subtle glances to Sasuke didn’t escape him either. Every move felt rehearsed.

Throughout the meal, Itachi observed quietly, letting Mikoto’s enthusiasm and Fugaku’s sharp questions dominate. Sakura answered with practiced ease, but her hesitations, though brief, betrayed her nerves. Sasuke, ever composed, supported her seamlessly—too seamlessly. When asked how they met, Sasuke mentioned noticing her at a lecture, a detail that even caught Sakura off guard. Improvised, but effective, Itachi mused.

By the time the evening wound down, Itachi had gathered enough. As they stood by the door, he inclined his head slightly, his smirk lingering as his sharp eyes swept between Sasuke and Sakura. “I look forward to the wedding,” he said smoothly, his voice laced with subtle amusement. “It promises to be... interesting.”

His gaze lingered on Sasuke for a beat longer, saying nothing. The unspoken challenge hung in the air as Itachi stepped past him into the night, his mind already piecing together the inconsistencies.

Sasuke may fool them, he thought. But he won’t fool me.

The ride home was quiet, save for Mikoto’s occasional musings about Sakura. She spoke with the warmth of a mother already convinced, painting Sakura as a perfect match for Sasuke. Itachi, however, leaned back in his seat, letting her words wash over him as he pieced together the evening in his mind. Mikoto’s belief in the engagement was genuine, and Fugaku’s measured skepticism was expected. But for Itachi, it wasn’t belief or doubt that preoccupied him—it was the odd cadence of it all. The tension in Sakura’s shoulders, the careful precision of Sasuke’s responses, the way their glances spoke volumes in the spaces between their words. If this engagement was real, it was one crafted with purpose rather than passion.

Mikoto turned in her seat to face him, her voice breaking his thoughts. “You didn’t say much tonight, Itachi. What did you think of Sakura?”

“She’s poised,” he replied simply, his tone neutral.

Mikoto’s lips curled into a smile. “Isn’t she wonderful? So intelligent and kind. I can see why Sasuke chose her.” Itachi’s gaze flickered briefly toward her. “She certainly has qualities you admire.”

Fugaku, seated in the front passenger seat, glanced at Itachi through the rearview mirror. “Qualities are one thing. Suitability is another.”

“Dear,” Mikoto interjected, her voice soft but firm, “she’s exactly the kind of person we’d want for Sasuke—hardworking, grounded, and driven. She’s perfect for him.”

Fugaku’s response was a quiet, deliberate sigh. “We’ll see.”

When Itachi finally returned home, the soft glow of the entryway light illuminated Izumi waiting for him at the door. Her warm smile chased away the lingering weight of the evening, softening his expression as their eyes met.

“You’re home?” Itachi asked, his voice calm but carrying a hint of surprise.

“The event ended early,” Izumi replied, stepping forward and wrapping her arms lightly around his waist. “I flew back right away. I missed you.”

Itachi’s hand settled on the small of her back, pulling her closer in a quiet but firm embrace. “You shouldn’t have rushed,” he murmured, though his hold betrayed his contentment at her presence.

Izumi tilted her head up, her smile soft. “And miss seeing you tonight? Not a chance.”

For a brief moment, the quiet intimacy of the moment dissolved the sharp edges of his thoughts. He leaned down, pressing a light kiss to her temple, and then stepped back just enough for her to hand him a glass of tea.

“Well?” Izumi asked as they moved to the couch, her curiosity gleaming as she settled beside him. “How was the grand introduction?”

Itachi took a measured sip of the tea, letting the question linger. Finally, he set the cup down on the table, his voice calm as he replied, “Enlightening.”

Izumi raised an eyebrow, the faint teasing in her tone softening her words. “Meaning?”

“Sasuke has certainly put effort into selling this engagement,” he said, his tone even but edged with intrigue. “Too much effort, perhaps.”

Izumi leaned into his side, her hand finding his. “You think it’s not genuine?”

His smirk returned, subtle but unmistakable. “I think it’s strategic. Whatever this engagement is, it serves a purpose.”

Izumi chuckled, squeezing his hand lightly. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely,” he admitted, though there was no malice in his tone. His mind returned to the way Sasuke’s hand lingered on Sakura’s back, to the fleeting looks exchanged during moments of pressure. Purposeful, he thought again.

As Itachi leaned back against the couch, Izumi shifted, resting her head on his shoulder. “Don’t make it too difficult for him,” she murmured. “Sasuke’s not like you—he’s still figuring things out.”

Itachi’s gaze softened as he glanced down at her. He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “Figuring things out is exactly what I plan to help him with,” he replied, his tone lighter than before.

Izumi smiled, her fingers brushing against his. “Then be kind while you do. You’re not the only one who’s capable of strategy, you know.”

As the quiet of the evening settled around them, Itachi’s thoughts lingered on Sasuke and Sakura’s carefully constructed facade. He didn’t doubt their ability to maintain it for a while longer, but cracks always formed in time. And when they did, he would be ready.

“Beautiful, perhaps,” he murmured under his breath, his hand idly tracing circles against Izumi’s palm. “But beauty rarely comes without a cost.”

Izumi, half-asleep now against his shoulder, didn’t stir, and for once, Itachi allowed himself to enjoy the fleeting calm.

The flowers Izumi had chosen sat neatly in his hand, a splash of cheerful color against his dark coat. As much as the gesture was meant to soften his visit, Itachi had his own reasons for being here. He wasn’t one for idle curiosity, but tonight, the puzzle of Sasuke and Sakura demanded his attention.

It’s just a friendly visit, he told himself, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips suggested otherwise. When the door to Sasuke’s apartment stood ajar, his curiosity only deepened. A careless mistake? Carelessness didn’t align with his brother’s meticulous nature. How unlike you, Sasuke, he thought as he stepped inside silently, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

He saw Sakura stood in the living room, her posture rigid as she clutched a worn notebook to her chest. Her cheeks were flushed, her voice rising in frustration.

“You can’t just decide to change the rules, Sasuke!” she hissed, her voice sharp but faltering as though the weight of her words had caught up to her. Her hands tightened around the notebook as though it were armor against whatever argument was brewing. “Do you even realize how exhausting it is pretending to be your fian—”

She froze mid-sentence, her eyes darting to the doorway. Itachi stood leaning casually against the frame, his dark eyes gleaming with faint amusement. In one hand, he still held the bouquet—its brightness now feeling like an ironic footnote to the charged scene before him.

“Well,” he drawled, stepping fully into the room with deliberate ease, “this is certainly... enlightening.”

The tension in the room shifted sharply. Sakura’s face paled, then flushed an even deeper red, the notebook trembling slightly in her hands as though she wanted to hide it but didn’t know how.

Itachi's eyes lingered briefly on her hands, but any expectation of a sparkling ring was met with nothing but bare fingers. The absence was telling—perhaps intentional.

Still, he said nothing. His silence was deliberate, allowing the moment to hang heavy in the air, heightening the tension that practically vibrated between the two of them.

Sasuke, ever composed, turned to face his brother. His jaw tightened, but his voice remained even.

“Nii-san, what are your doing here?” he said flatly, his words clipped.

Itachi inclined his head, his smirk widening as his gaze flicked between the two of them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Sasuke replied, his tone cold, but the warning beneath it wasn’t lost on Itachi.

“Oh, good.” Itachi’s voice was deceptively light as he stepped further into the room, placing the bouquet on the nearby coffee table with a deliberate slowness. The brightness of the flowers felt almost mocking against the tense atmosphere. Izumi always did have a knack for making thorns seem harmless, he mused.

His sharp eyes landed on the notebook Sakura clutched like a lifeline. “And what’s this?”

“It’s nothing,” Sakura blurted, her voice cracking slightly as she instinctively pulled the notebook closer to her chest. She shifted her stance awkwardly, trying to shield it from his view.

“Nothing,” Itachi repeated softly, his smirk growing. He glanced at Sasuke, whose expression betrayed no reaction—though the stiffness in his posture spoke volumes. “Care to explain, little brother?”

Itachi didn’t miss the slight tightening of Sasuke’s hands at his sides or the flicker of his gaze toward Sakura. It was subtle, but to Itachi, it was a crack in the armor—a rare tell from his otherwise unreadable brother. Sasuke’s icy calm was a shield, but even shields faltered under pressure.

Before Sakura could react, Itachi moved with fluid precision, plucking the notebook from her hands. She gasped, lurching forward to grab it back, but he easily stepped out of reach. His movements were unhurried, almost languid, as he flipped open the cover.

“Nii-san!” Sasuke’s voice cut through the air, sharper now, but Itachi ignored him, his sharp eyes scanning the pages. What he found there only confirmed his suspicions: neat lines of rules, contingencies, and scribbled timelines. His lips twitched, a smirk breaking through as he turned another page.

“Well, well,” he murmured, snapping the notebook shut with deliberate finality. “This explains a lot.”

Sakura’s face burned crimson as she scrambled for words. “It’s not what it looks like!” she stammered, her voice rising in panic.

“Really?” Itachi’s tone was soft but razor-edged, dripping with amusement. “Because it looks like a carefully structured agreement. Rules, contingencies, even a timeline...” He gestured faintly with the notebook before handing it back to her. “So, tell me, little brother, what drove you to this?”

Sasuke’s dark eyes narrowed, his tone clipped. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Isn’t it?” Itachi countered smoothly, taking a single step forward, his presence filling the space between them. “An engagement built on rules and pretense?” Itachi’s voice was deceptively soft, but his words cut through the room like a blade. “What inspired such... creativity? A desire to avoid Mother’s questions? Or something more urgent?”

He turned to Sakura, his tone still polite but laced with steel. “And you, Sakura? What compelled you to take part? Duty? Necessity? Or something you’re not telling us?”

Sakura swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the notebook. Sasuke’s gaze flicked toward her, a fleeting glance that Itachi didn’t miss.

“Was it her idea?” Itachi continued, his voice soft but relentless. “Or yours?”

“Enough,” Sasuke said coldly, his tone cutting through the room. “This is none of your business, Nii-san.”

“Oh, but it is,” Itachi replied, his calm undeterred by the frost in Sasuke’s voice. He turned his attention to Sakura, his sharp eyes pinning her in place. “What about you, Sakura? Why would you agree to this?”

Her lips parted, her expression faltering as if the words wouldn’t come. She glanced at Sasuke again, her gaze searching for a cue, for support, for anything.

Itachi’s smirk deepened. “A silence like that speaks volumes,” he murmured.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sasuke interjected, stepping forward to place himself between Sakura and Itachi’s line of sight. “The reasons are irrelevant.”

“Are they?” Itachi asked, tilting his head slightly. “Mother and Father believe in this engagement—your engagement. They’ve invested their hopes in the idea of you two. Don’t you think they deserve to know what it’s built on?”

“That’s not for you to decide,” Sasuke replied evenly, his voice laced with an unspoken challenge.

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension so thick it felt tangible. Itachi studied them both. Slowly, his smirk returned.

He turned toward the door, adjusting his coat with calm precision. “Whatever game you’re playing, it won’t last long under scrutiny,” he said over his shoulder, his tone deceptively mild. “And when it falls apart...” He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. “I’ll be here to see how you handle the fallout.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving silence in his wake.

As he walked down the hallway, Itachi’s thoughts lingered on the confrontation. He could feel the fragility of their constructed narrative, a delicate balance between mutual necessity and shared desperation. Whatever reasons they had—whether practical, personal, or a blend of both—they had clearly staked everything on this facade.

Convenient partnerships crumble easily under pressure, he mused, the corner of his lips curving upward. And yet, the defiance in Sasuke’s eyes and the desperation in Sakura’s told him they’d fight to hold their story together—for now.

Reaching the cool night air, Itachi exhaled softly, his amusement laced with intrigue. Let’s see how long you last, little brother.

Chapter Text

The wedding date was set, thanks to Mikoto’s relentless determination.

What began as a minor inconvenience—a few simple preparations—had, in a matter of days, spiraled into something suspiciously akin to warfare.

As Sakura crossed the threshold of the Uchiha mansion, she paused, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of the place.

Even the furniture looks like it has an attitude, she thought wryly, adjusting her bag as she tried not to dwell on her own imperfections. Mikoto had greeted them with her usual poise, ushering Sakura and Sasuke inside with an almost conspiratorial excitement. “We have so much to discuss!” she’d exclaimed, barely giving them time to settle before the wedding planning took over entirely.

The Uchiha living room had been transformed into ground zero for what could only be described as wedding warfare. The normally serene space now resembled a tactical planning zone, complete with piles of fabric swatches, floral arrangement samples, catering menus, and an open laptop displaying a seating chart. At the center of it all stood Mikoto, the unflinching general of this matrimonial campaign.

“Simple,” Sasuke had said, his tone flat and final as he sat across from his mother, his arms crossed like this was just another negotiation.

“Elegant?” Sakura added hastily, sat cross-legged on the floor, a sea of seating charts surrounding her. She flashed Mikoto her best please-don’t-fight-me-on-this smile.

Mikoto’s eyes darted between them, her lips pressing into a tight line as though she couldn’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or launch into a full-blown lecture. Her gaze finally landed on Sakura, her tone incredulous. “Simple? Elegant?” she echoed, incredulity dripping from her tone. “You’re marrying into the Uchiha family, Sakura dear. This isn’t just any wedding—it’s the wedding!”

“A simple ceremony is efficient,” Sasuke replied, his delivery as casual as if he were ordering coffee.

Mikoto’s eyes immediately snapped to Sasuke, narrowing as though he’d just uttered the most offensive word imaginable. “Efficient,” she repeated, her tone dripping with disbelief. Then, as if appealing to reason, she turned to Sakura, her expression softening into something almost pleading. “You can’t possibly agree with this.”

Sakura hesitated, her thumb instinctively brushed over the smooth metal of the engagement ring circling her finger as Mikoto’s hopeful gaze burned into her. “We don’t need anything too extravagant. Just something small and meaningful.”

“Small? Do you hear yourselves? Small weddings are for people without legacies. You’re marrying an Uchiha! It needs grandeur! What about guest? A guest list with at least 200 people—”

“Thirty people, max,” Sasuke interjected, cutting her off with the precision of a scalpel.

“Thirty?” she murmured, staring at the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention.

The room went silent for a beat before Mikoto gasped, clutching her chest with both hands as though they’d just delivered her the most devastating news imaginable.

She stumbled toward the sofa, dropping onto it with a dramatic sigh. Her hand flew to her forehead as though she might swoon.

Sakura froze mid-reach for a seating chart, her wide eyes darting between Mikoto and Sasuke. “Should I… uh, get her some water?”

“No,” Sasuke replied dryly, flipping through his phone. “She’ll recover. She always does.”

“How is that even a wedding? That’s—” Mikoto stopped herself, her face tightening as her tone shifted into something deceptively sweet. “Fine. If you want it to be barebones, I’ll respect your wishes.”

Sakura’s shoulders sagged in relief, but the reprieve was short-lived as Mikoto suddenly straightened with a determined gleam in her eye.

“Sakura, dear,” Mikoto began, her voice deceptively gentle as she held up two floral arrangement mock-ups, “have you decided on the flowers yet? Peonies are elegant, but roses are timeless. Oh, or maybe orchids—so chic and exotic.”

“Um…” Sakura hesitated, glancing at the floral mock-ups as if they might answer for her. Her gaze shifted to Sasuke, silently pleading for help.

Sasuke had been scrolling through his phone, his thumb lazily swiping across the screen as though the chaos around him didn’t exist. Without looking up, he said flatly, “Roses are fine.”

Mikoto gasped, clutching her pearls as though Sasuke had just suggested they get married in a drive-thru chapel. “Fine? Sasuke, you might not care about your wedding, but Sakura deserves better!” Sakura, caught in the crossfire, managed a strained smile. “Roses sound… classic. Let’s go with that and… maybe hydrangeas for volume?”

Mikoto’s dramatic frown wavered, replaced by a tentative smile. “Hydrangeas,” she said softly, as though savoring the word. “Yes… hydrangeas could work.”

“Perfect,” Sasuke said, his tone flat. “Problem solved.”

Mikoto shot him another glare but didn’t argue. Instead, she leaned back into the sofa with an exaggerated sigh. “Honestly, Sakura, I don’t know how you put up with him.”

“I’m still figuring that out,” Sakura muttered, earning a faint smirk from Sasuke.

Just as they thought they were managing to maintain their footing—Enter Naruto.

The door to the Uchiha living room burst open with the subtlety of an explosion. Naruto strode in with all the confidence of someone who had been invited (he hadn’t).

“I heard you needed a best man, so obviously I’m the guy!” he announced, practically launching himself onto the pristine couch. His dramatic landing set a precarious stack of tablecloth samples wobbling, teetering dangerously on the brink of disaster.

Sasuke’s glare was instant and murderous. “You’re not the best man.”

“Of course I am!” Naruto declared, throwing an arm around Sasuke’s stiff shoulders. “I’m your best friend! Your rival! Your—”

“Biggest mistake,” Sasuke muttered, shrugging Naruto’s arm off with practiced ease.

Undeterred, Naruto continued, “Who else are you gonna pick? Itachi?”

At that moment, Itachi entered the room, holding a perfectly brewed espresso in one hand, as if summoned by the sheer mention of his name. He raised an eyebrow at Naruto’s declaration. “I’m flattered by your confidence in me,” he said smoothly. “But I think I’ll pass.”

Naruto turned back to Sasuke with a triumphant grin. “See? Even Itachi agrees I’m the obvious choice!”

“No,” Sasuke said flatly.

“Oh, come on!” Naruto whined, flopping back dramatically against the couch cushions. “I’ll throw you the best bachelor party—”

“Absolutely not,” Sasuke interjected coldly, cutting him off before he could finish.

Naruto sat up, his expression a mixture of disbelief and offense. “What? Why not? It’s a rite of passage!”

Sasuke leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “It’s a waste of time. I’m not interested.”

Naruto gaped at him, looking like Sasuke had just declared he hated ramen. “Not interested? Teme, it’s tradition! You can’t just skip a bachelor party!”

“I just did,” Sasuke replied flatly, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Sakura, seated on the floor, now buried in a chaotic pile of invitation samples, couldn’t suppress the small smirk that tugged at her lips. She didn’t even look up as she muttered, “You’re really saving everyone a headache, Sasuke.”

Naruto pouted like a scolded child. “Fine. No bachelor party. But I’m still the best man!” He reached into his jacket pocket and whipped out a crumpled sheet of paper with a triumphant grin. “I even brought ideas for your wedding vows!”

Sasuke snatched the paper from Naruto’s hand before he could start reading. The faintest sound of paper shredding followed.

“Hey!” Naruto protested. “That took me hours to write!”

“Clearly a waste of time,” Sasuke muttered, tossing the shredded remains into the trash.

From her perch at the dining table, Mikoto had been watching the scene unfold with unbridled delight. She clapped her hands together. “This is wonderful! Naruto, you’ll bring so much energy to the wedding!”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Sasuke muttered darkly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Naruto leaned over, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear. “You’re just scared I’ll outshine you, huh?”

Sakura couldn’t suppress her laugh, even as Sasuke shot her a withering glare.

The next wave of chaos came not from Naruto alone, but from Naruto and Itachi working in tandem—a nightmare pairing that Sakura and Sasuke hadn’t anticipated.

It started innocently enough—or so it seemed.

“You know,” Itachi began, seated on the couch with his usual air of unshakable composure, “you two should really consider taking a few Prenup photos.”

Sasuke, who was now flipping through catering options, froze mid-page. He turned his head slowly, his expression flat and unimpressed. “What?” Naruto, who was lounging on the floor with a bag of chips and an almost mischievous determination to "help" Sakura (whether she wanted it or not) with the ribbon samples, perked up immediately. “Prenup photos? That’s a great idea!” Sakura blinked up at him, momentarily thrown. “Oh, uh… we hadn’t really thought about that.” Itachi leaned back, resting one arm on the couch’s armrest. “You should. You’ll want something to look back on. They add a personal touch to the wedding.”

“And!” Naruto chimed in, pointing dramatically with a chip in hand. “They’re super fun! Imagine Teme holding you, Sakura-chan, bridal-style—like he’s rescuing you from a dragon or something!”

“No,” Sasuke said flatly, setting the catering list aside with a deliberate calm that suggested his patience was hanging by a thread.

“You’re missing the point,” Itachi said, his tone betraying none of the amusement lurking in his gaze. “The photos are about capturing the moment. Making it feel… authentic.” Naruto nodded, as though he’d suddenly become an expert on authenticity. “Yeah, Teme. You don’t want people thinking this is just a business deal. You’ve gotta sell the romance!” Sasuke’s sharp glare flicked between them. “I don’t need to sell anything.”

“Clearly,” Naruto replied, rolling his eyes. “That’s why Itachi and I are here—to help you with that ‘charm’ thing you’re so bad at.”

Sakura couldn’t help but laugh, though she quickly masked it with a cough when Sasuke turned his glare on her.

“You’re not helping,” Sasuke said, his voice clipped.

“That’s a good point,” Mikoto chimed in. “Prenup photos are a must! They’ll make such wonderful memories—and we can display them at the reception!”

Sasuke’s jaw tightened, his glare snapping to his brother and Naruto with the force of a blade.

Naruto ignored him entirely, leaning forward with enthusiasm. “Okay, hear me out: a ninja-themed shoot. You and Sakura in shinobi gear, maybe throwing kunai at targets while staring lovingly into each other’s eyes.”

“No,” Sasuke snapped.

“Fine, no kunai,” Naruto said, undeterred. “But what about props? Big wooden signs that say stuff like ‘Forever Together’ or ‘Always and Forever.’ Super romantic, right?”

“I think matching scarves would work better,” Itachi interjected, sipping his coffee with an air of detached authority. “It’s practical, and it adds visual texture to the photos.”

Naruto gasped, pointing at Itachi. “See? This is why you’re my favorite Uchiha. Great minds think alike!”

“Both of you, stop,” Sasuke said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We don’t need that.”

“It’s not about need, Sasuke,” Mikoto countered, clasping her hands together as her enthusiasm bubbled over. “It’s about capturing the moment. Your father and I have our photos framed in the living room, remember?”

Sasuke didn’t reply, but the faint twitch of his eye spoke volumes.

“It’s settled, then,” Itachi said smoothly, ignoring his brother’s silent protests. “I know an excellent photographer. I’ll send you their contact information.”

Naruto clapped his hands together with an air of theatrical determination. “This is going to be legendary! Okay, so we’ll do three locations—”

“Three?” Sakura interrupted, her voice rising in alarm as she paused mid-ribbon tie.

“Minimum!” Naruto declared, gesturing dramatically like he was unveiling a masterpiece. “One indoor, one outdoor, and one… surprise!”

Sakura raised an eyebrow. “What kind of ‘surprise’ are we talking about?”

“Exactly!” Naruto said, as if she’d just agreed with him. “You’re catching on, Sakura-chan! You need a mystery location to keep things spicy.”

“Absolutely not,” Sasuke snapped, his voice cutting through Naruto’s enthusiasm like a blade.

Naruto waved him off without missing a beat. “You don’t get a vote, Teme. It’s for the greater good.”

Sasuke stared at him, incredulous. “The greater good?”

“Obviously,” Naruto said, leaning forward with a grin that practically radiated mischief. “You don’t want people thinking Sakura’s out of your league, do you?”

Sakura froze, her hands still gripping the ribbon, her cheeks instantly warming. She opened her mouth to protest, but Sasuke’s glare was already sharp enough to slice through steel.

“Out of my league?” Sasuke repeated, his tone flat but dangerous.

Naruto leaned back, utterly unfazed. “I mean, she’s got brains, looks, and charm. You’ve got… well, you’re rich. So, yeah, you need these photos to even things out.”

Sakura stifled a laugh, but the sound slipped out, earning her a sideways glance from Sasuke. She quickly busied herself with her ribbons, pretending not to notice.

“Get out,” Sasuke said, his tone dangerously calm.

“Not until we finalize the locations!” Naruto shot back, folding his arms like he was the one in charge.

From the couch, Itachi spoke up, his calm voice adding fuel to the fire. “He does have a point, you know. The right photos could elevate your image. Balance the dynamic.”

Sasuke turned his glare on his brother, who sipped his coffee with an infuriatingly serene expression.

“It’s settled then!” Naruto said, jumping to his feet. “I’ll draft a location list and send it over by tomorrow.”

“No one’s asking you to—”

“You’re welcome!” Naruto called, already halfway to the door, dragging Itachi with him like a victorious general retreating from battle.

The car was quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional swish of passing cars. Sakura sat in the passenger seat, her head tilted against the window as the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white.

After a day filled with Naruto’s relentless energy and Itachi’s sly, perfectly-timed comments, the silence felt almost sacred.

She let out a sigh, hugging her arms to herself as she glanced sideways at Sasuke. His hands rested lightly on the steering wheel, his posture relaxed but focused. The muted glow from the dashboard cast soft shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more unreadable than usual.

“Your brother and Naruto as a team?” she muttered, her voice still tinged with exhaustion. “We’re doomed.”

Sasuke’s dark eyes flicked to her briefly before returning to the road. “You’re just realizing this now?”

She laughed quietly, the sound light but genuine. “No. I think it just hit me harder today.”

They fell into silence again, the rhythmic sound of tires against asphalt filling the space between them.

“Maybe we should cancel the Prenup photoshoot,” she said suddenly, her tone half-joking but laced with sincerity.

Sasuke arched an eyebrow, glancing at her again. “Do you honestly think they’d let us?”

Sakura groaned, letting her head fall back against the seat. “No. But some of their ideas weren’t completely terrible.”

Sasuke’s lips twitched—almost a smile. “High praise.”

Sakura turned her head toward him, a small, reluctant grin tugging at her lips. “I guess if we’re going down, we might as well look good doing it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sasuke replied, his tone so dry it took her a moment to catch the tease beneath it.

She blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Was that… a joke?”

He shrugged, one hand leaving the wheel briefly to adjust the collar of his jacket. “Don’t get used to it.”

For a moment, Sakura just stared at him, her smile softening into something quieter. The faint glow of the city lights played across his face, and she realized how easy it felt to share this silence with him.

“Noted,” she murmured, her voice almost too soft to hear.

Sasuke didn’t reply, his gaze fixed ahead, but the faintest upward curve of his lips didn’t go unnoticed.

As the car turned onto their street, Sakura let her eyes drift closed, her head resting against the cool glass. Despite the chaos of the day and the madness still to come, she felt a little less burdened.

And somewhere between the silence and the steady rhythm of the car, she thought to herself: Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

Maybe this is so bad after all.

Two days later, Sasuke and Sakura found themselves in the middle of what could only be described as an elaborate production.

The Prenup photoshoot, orchestrated by Naruto’s boundless enthusiasm and Itachi’s subtle meddling, had spiraled far beyond the simple session they’d initially envisioned.

“Just one photoshoot,” Sakura had said, her tone optimistic and hopeful.

“Efficient,” Sasuke had called it, fully believing they’d be in and out in under two hours.

Now, as they stood at the first location, watching Naruto juggle a bag of chips in one hand and an inexplicably detailed clipboard in the other, both of them were coming to terms with how utterly wrong they’d been.

What was supposed to be a straightforward session had morphed into a day-long event, complete with wardrobe changes, overly creative concepts, and enough choreography to rival a Broadway show.

The day began at Sakura’s favorite park, a picturesque haven with cherry blossoms in full bloom. Pink petals floated down like gentle rain, creating a natural backdrop that Naruto insisted was “pure romance.”

“Alright, lovebirds, sit on the bench,” the photographer instructed, motioning to the wrought iron seat nestled beneath the largest tree. “Sakura, lean into him slightly. Sasuke, wrap your arm around her shoulders—yes, just like that!”

Sasuke stiffened as his arm settled across Sakura’s shoulders, his posture radiating discomfort.

“Try to look natural,” Naruto called out, munching loudly on his chips. “Right now, you look like you’re being held hostage.”

“Because I am,” Sasuke muttered under his breath.

Sakura bit back a laugh, her lips twitching. She adjusted her posture to lean more comfortably against him, her head tilting to rest just barely on his shoulder.

The photographer snapped a few shots, then paused. “Hmm. It’s almost perfect, but—”

A sudden gust of wind swept through the park, scattering petals everywhere.

Sakura squeaked as a cascade of blossoms landed directly in her face, her arms flailing slightly. Sasuke, his usual stoicism momentarily cracking, reached up to brush the petals out of her hair. His touch was almost absentminded, but his fingers lingered just a second too long.

“Perfect!” the photographer exclaimed, capturing the moment with a satisfied grin.

Naruto, however, had other ideas. “What about throwing the petals in the air for that whimsical effect? Here, I’ll help!”

Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed a handful of petals from the ground and tossed them dramatically into the air.

Unfortunately, the gusty wind decided to play its own role in the shoot, blowing the petals directly into Sasuke’s face.

“Dobe,” Sasuke growled, brushing petals out of his hair with murder in his eyes.

“Whimsical!” Naruto declared, completely unfazed as he gestured to the photographer to keep shooting.

Itachi, seated at a nearby bench with a perfectly composed expression, sipped his tea. “That was… whimsical, indeed,” he said, his voice betraying the faintest hint of amusement.

Their next stop was a rustic café, the kind of place with mismatched chairs, overgrown ivy creeping along the wooden trellis, and the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Naruto had insisted it would add a cozy, intimate vibe to the shoot.

The setup seemed simple enough: Sasuke and Sakura seated at a small outdoor table with two steaming cups of coffee between them, the golden afternoon light streaming in through the vines.

Sakura adjusted the flowy floral dress chosen specifically for the scene, smoothing the fabric over her lap as she stole a quick glance at Sasuke. He, on the other hand, was eyeing the entire setup with thinly veiled skepticism.

“You want us to pretend to drink coffee?” he asked flatly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

“It’s called atmosphere, Teme,” Naruto said from the sidelines, holding a clipboard he was using more as a prop than a tool. “Trust the vision.”

The photographer, crouching nearby, gestured enthusiastically. “Alright, Sasuke, lean forward slightly—yes, like that! Sakura, rest your chin on your hand and smile at him—softly, like he’s just said something sweet.”

Sakura bit her lip to stifle a laugh as Sasuke adjusted his position, his hand loosely gripping the coffee cup like it was some alien artifact.

“This feels ridiculous,” Sasuke muttered under his breath, his gaze flicking to Sakura.

The photographer’s excitement only grew. “Perfect! Okay, Sakura, pick up the cup—just a light sip—and then smile at him. Sasuke, look at her like you’re hanging on her every word.”

Sakura obeyed, delicately lifting the coffee cup and taking the tiniest sip before flashing Sasuke a soft smile.

“It’s adorable!” Naruto chimed in, snapping a photo on his phone from the side like a proud parent.

Sasuke’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly.

Just as the photographer was about to capture the perfect shot, Naruto leaped into action, a plate of pastries suddenly in hand. “Wait! This needs more action! We need flair!”

Naruto slid the plate onto the table with far more enthusiasm than precision. The movement jostled one of the coffee cups, sending it tipping over.

Sakura yelped, scrambling out of the way as hot coffee splashed across the table and onto her dress.

“Oh no! I’ve got this!” Naruto cried, grabbing an alarming amount of napkins from the café counter. In his frantic effort to mop up the mess, he only managed to smear the coffee further, leaving behind an even bigger disaster.

Sasuke stood slowly, his movements deliberate as his gaze fixed on Naruto with the kind of cold intensity that could make grown men reconsider their life choices.

“You’re an idiot,” Sasuke said, his voice low and sharp.

Naruto froze, holding up a soggy wad of napkins as though they were a shield. “I was just adding flair!” he protested weakly.

From his spot near the entrance, Itachi took a calm sip of tea, observing the chaos like a detached spectator. “Flair indeed,” he remarked with a faint smirk.

Sakura, still holding her now coffee-stained dress away from her legs, let out an exasperated laugh despite herself. “Naruto, I think you’ve done enough helping for one day.”

The photographer, bless her patience, managed to salvage the moment by snapping a few candid shots of Sasuke helping Sakura pick up the fallen coffee cups. The way he offered her his clean napkin—however stiffly—earned a murmured “perfect” from behind the camera lens.

By the time the café shoot ended, Sakura was certain nothing else could go wrong.

As the photographer clapped her hands together and said, “Alright, one last stop! Time for the surprise location!” Sakura groaned inwardly.

“Surprise location?” she echoed, brushing a stray curl out of her face.

Naruto, unbothered and practically glowing with excitement, grinned like he was about to reveal the eighth wonder of the world. “Oh, you’re gonna love this. It’s epic. Trust me!”

Sasuke shot him a deadpan look, his voice flat. “Every time you say ‘trust me,’ chaos follows.”

Itachi, standing slightly apart with his arms crossed, gestured toward the waiting car. “You’ll see when we get there,” he said smoothly, his calm voice betraying a faint undertone of amusement. “I must admit, Naruto’s choice is… inspired.”

Sakura exchanged a wary glance with Sasuke as they were ushered into the car, the prospect of a “surprise” from Naruto doing little to soothe her frayed nerves.

The scent of coffee still lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the fading warmth of the sun as they drove off toward the unknown. By now, resistance felt futile.

After a few hours and two increasingly chaotic shoots, the car finally pulled up to the edge of a winding coastal road.

Sakura stepped out first, her breath catching as she took in the sight. The jagged cliffs stretched endlessly into the horizon, their rugged edges carved by centuries of crashing waves. Below, the ocean roared in a rhythmic, thunderous symphony, sending plumes of salty mist into the air.

The golden hour sunlight bathed everything in hues of amber and rose, softening the dramatic landscape and casting an ethereal glow.

“Wow…” Sakura murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

“Not bad, right?” Naruto said, leaning casually against the car with a smug grin.

Sasuke stepped out behind her, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon. “It’s windy,” he remarked, though his tone was more neutral observation than complaint.

“That’s the point!” Naruto exclaimed. “Windblown hair, dramatic poses—it’s romance at its peak!”

The photographer clapped her hands, her excitement palpable. “Alright, let’s make this count! Sasuke, stand just behind her and hold her waist. Sakura, let the wind do its thing—beautiful!”

This time, Sasuke didn’t hesitate. His hand settled on Sakura’s waist with surprising ease, and she tilted her head back slightly, the sunlight catching her features.

“Perfect,” the photographer called, snapping shot after shot. “Sakura, glance up at him—yes, just like that! Sasuke, bring your other hand up to her shoulder.”

For a moment, their eyes met. Sasuke’s usual stoicism softened into something quieter.

“Hold it!” the photographer exclaimed. “You two are incredible—this is it!”

Naruto, watching from a safe distance, nudged Itachi. “See? I told you it would work.”

Itachi sipped his tea, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “For once, your flair had merit.”

Just as the photographer was ready to wrap up, the wind picked up sharply, and the sky darkened ominously.

“What’s going on?” Sakura asked, glancing nervously at the looming clouds.

The photographer frowned, adjusting her lens. “That’s not good. We might need to—”

Before she could finish, fat raindrops began to fall. Within seconds, the light drizzle turned into a full downpour.

“Of course,” Sasuke muttered under his breath, his hair already sticking to his forehead.

Sakura let out a squeal of surprise, holding the skirt of her dress as it clung to her legs. “This is the worst!” she groaned, shivering slightly in the sudden chill.

Naruto, unfazed, threw his hands in the air and spun around. “No way! This is amazing! Rain makes everything dramatic!”

“It’s not dramatic; it’s inconvenient,” Sasuke snapped, shielding his eyes from the water.

But just as quickly as the rain had come, it began to ease. The sun broke through the clouds in radiant beams, and the sky transformed into a breathtaking canvas of gold, pink, and soft lavender.

“Look!” Sakura exclaimed, pointing toward the horizon.

A vibrant rainbow arched across the sky, its colors vivid against the dark remnants of the storm. The ocean below reflected the light, sparkling like a sea of diamonds.

The photographer gasped. “Oh my God. This is… this is perfect! Get back into position, quick!”

Still damp but unable to deny the moment, Sakura and Sasuke moved back into place near the cliff’s edge. The wind caught her dress once more, sending it flowing behind her, and the sunlight kissed their skin, making them glow against the dramatic backdrop.

“Sakura, turn toward him,” the photographer instructed, her voice almost reverent. “Sasuke, take her hand. Yes, just like that!”

Sasuke complied, his fingers intertwining with Sakura’s as she turned to face him. For a moment, it felt as though the world around them had stilled, leaving only the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun.

The photographer snapped furiously, capturing every fleeting second.

“Perfect,” she whispered, lowering her camera. “This is one for the books.”

Naruto, now leaning on Itachi’s shoulder, whispered loudly, “Legendary.”

By the time they returned to the car, both Sasuke and Sakura were damp, tired, and utterly done with the day. The sudden rain had left their clothes clinging uncomfortably, though the rainbow that followed had salvaged what felt like a disaster.

Sakura leaned against the car, twirling a small wildflower she’d picked earlier between her fingers. Her hair stuck to her face in damp curls, but her smile was soft. “That wasn’t so bad,” she admitted, her voice light with a trace of surprise.

Sasuke, standing by the open trunk, pulled out a towel from a neatly packed bag. He arched an eyebrow as he handed it to her, his expression unreadable. “Compared to the rest of the day? It was tolerable.”

Sakura blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. She accepted the towel, her fingers brushing against his briefly. “Thanks,” she murmured, patting at her damp hair.

Naruto, overhearing from his spot near the driver’s door, threw his arms wide. “Tolerable? That’s practically a love letter coming from Teme!”

Sakura burst into laughter, shaking her head as they climbed into the car. She glanced back at the cliff one last time, watching the rainbow fade into the horizon. Despite everything—the chaos, the rain, the ridiculousness—she couldn’t deny it: the day had been unexpectedly magical.

The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant muffled sounds of the city outside. Sakura collapsed onto the couch with a groan, the soft cushions swallowing her exhaustion. The wildflower she’d picked earlier twirled absently between her fingers, its delicate petals slightly wilted after the long ride.

“Why don’t we just sign the papers at city hall?” she muttered, more to herself than to Sasuke. Her voice was laced with a mix of exasperation and amusement, as though the idea might be equal parts absurd and tempting.

At the counter, Sasuke poured water into a glass with his usual quiet precision. He leaned against the counter, his sharp gaze flicking toward her. “You think after all that trouble, my family would allow that?”

Sakura let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as her grip on the flower tightened briefly. “Not a chance,” she replied, her tone light but edged with resignation.

A brief silence settled over the room, the kind that was comfortable yet heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Sasuke broke it with a single question, his voice calm but pointed. “Have you told your parents yet?”

Sakura froze, the wildflower stilling between her fingers as if the weight of his question had rooted her to the spot. She looked up at him, her lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable.

“No,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. The word felt heavier than she’d expected, her shoulders sagging under the unspoken truth it carried. “Not yet.”

He studied her for a moment, his sharp features as impassive as ever, but his gaze lingered longer than usual. Then he gave a small nod, his movements deliberate. “You should.”

Sakura sighed, leaning her head back against the couch. The flower rested limply in her lap now, her fingers no longer twirling it. “Yeah,” she said softly, her voice trailing off like a whisper caught in the stillness of the room.

Sasuke didn’t say anything else. He turned and returned to the kitchen, his footsteps quiet but steady as he set his glass down and resumed whatever task had occupied him earlier.

Sakura stared up at the ceiling, the faint glow of the lamp catching the corners of the room in a soft light. Her mind swirled with thoughts of rainbows, chaotic photoshoots, and the way the day had left her feeling simultaneously drained and strangely lighter.

Yet the weight of his question lingered, pressing down on her chest as she stared at the wilting flower.

“Not yet,” she murmured to herself, her voice so soft it barely broke the quiet, her thoughts drifting to the inevitable moment when she’d have to face her family—and everything else waiting for them on the horizon.

Chapter Text

“You’re getting married?!” Sakura’s mother’s voice screeched through the phone, loud enough to make her wince and pull it an inch away from her ear. “Uh… yep!” Sakura chirped, her tone unnaturally bright as she paced the living room, one hand fiddling nervously with a loose thread on her shirt.

“Before you’ve even finished your residency?” her father, Kizashi, called out from somewhere in the background. His tone carried the perfect blend of disbelief and concern that made Sakura’s stomach churn.. “Are you pregnant?” Mebuki demanded bluntly, cutting straight to the chase.

“Mom! No, I’m not pregnant!” Sakura exclaimed, nearly fumbling the phone in her flustered state. Her mother sighed in relief but quickly shifted to her next line of interrogation. “Well, then why the rush? You didn’t even tell us you were dating anyone! How long have you been seeing this… Sasuke?”

“Uh… a while!” Sakura said vaguely, glancing over her shoulder at Sasuke, who was seated at the dining table, calmly reviewing blueprints like this wasn’t her personal nightmare unfolding in real-time.

“You’re not giving us much to go on, sweetheart,” her father added, his voice inching closer to the phone. “Who is this guy? Is he reliable? What does he do?”

Sakura pressed her palm to her forehead, already regretting the conversation.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “Sasuke is… very supportive of my career!”

At this, Sasuke’s head lifted slightly. His sharp gaze cut over to her, one eyebrow arching in silent question.

“Supportive?” he muttered under his breath, his tone low enough that only she could hear.

Sakura shot him a pointed glare, covering the phone’s receiver with her hand. “Play along,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him.

Sasuke didn’t respond, but the faint twitch of his lips suggested he found her discomfort far too entertaining.

“Well,” her mother said, clearly still skeptical, “we’ll need to meet him before the wedding. You’re not getting married without your father and me at least shaking his hand!”

“Of course, Mom,” Sakura said quickly, though the very thought made her stomach churn.

“Good,” her mother replied, her tone softening just slightly. “We just want to make sure you’re happy.”

“Happy,” Sakura echoed with a tight smile. “Definitely. Very happy.”

As she hung up the phone, Sakura slumped on the sofa, letting out a long, exaggerated groan.

“Very supportive, huh?” Sasuke said from across the room, not bothering to look up from his work.

“Shut up,” she snapped, grabbing a tomato from the fruit bowl and chucking it at him. He caught it effortlessly, his smirk just visible as he set it aside and returned to his blueprints.

A week later, both families gathered at an upscale restaurant Mikoto had carefully chosen. The restaurant was elegant but intimate, with soft lighting and a menu so pristine that even the water glasses looked expensive.

Sakura sat beside Sasuke, her posture tense as she tried not to fidget. Their parents exchanged polite greetings, though the differences between them were starkly evident. Mikoto’s bubbling energy filled the room like a whirlwind, her enthusiasm sharp and precise, while Mebuki’s reserved demeanor held a different kind of intensity—quiet but penetrating.

The juxtaposition struck Sakura more than she expected. Her parents, with their warm smiles and lighthearted banter, were a sharp contrast to the polished, restrained formality of the Uchiha family. The Harunos were messy, chaotic even, but there was comfort in their imperfection. Here, amidst the pristine elegance of the Uchihas, Sakura couldn’t help but feel like a jigsaw piece trying to fit into a puzzle that wasn’t hers.

“It’s going to be beautiful, I just know it,” Mikoto said, practically brimming with enthusiasm. “Oh, Mebuki, have you seen the venue we’re considering? It has the most stunning garden—it’s perfect for photos.”

Mebuki’s lips curled into a faint smile, though her sharp gaze flicked briefly to Sasuke. “I’ve heard about the place,” she replied evenly. “It sounds... grand. Sakura’s always been more down-to-earth, though. She loves simplicity.”

Sasuke, sensing the shift, set his glass down and met Mebuki’s gaze evenly. “The wedding will reflect what we both value,” he said calmly. “Simple and elegant.”

Mikoto hesitated, her smile faltering for the briefest moment before recovering. “Of course, simplicity can be beautiful too,” she said, though her tone carried a faint note of reluctance.

Kizashi leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between amused and skeptical. “The Uchiha name comes with a lot of... expectations,” he said casually, his tone light but probing as he addressed Sasuke directly. “I just hope Sakura doesn’t feel too pressured to fit into your world.”

Sasuke set his glass down with deliberate precision, meeting Kizashi’s gaze evenly. “Sakura is more than capable of handling herself,” he replied.

Sakura’s stomach twisted at his words. They sounded so natural, so convincing, that for a fleeting moment, she almost believed them herself. Almost.

“If anything, I’m the one adjusting.” Sasuke continued.

Across the table, Fugaku’s gaze shifted to Sakura, sharp and discerning. His expression betrayed nothing, yet the weight of his silence was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t idle observation—it was assessment, the kind that measured not just the present but the potential. Was this young woman, with her warm smile and occasional nervous laugh, truly suited to carry the weight of the Uchiha name? His eyes lingered for a fraction too long, as if searching for cracks in her poise, before settling back on Sasuke with an almost imperceptible sigh.

Kizashi raised an eyebrow at Sasuke’s response, his skepticism softening slightly, though his tone remained light. “Adjusting, huh? That’s good to hear. She can be... determined, to say the least.”

Still, Mebuki wasn’t done. She folded her hands on the table, her tone warm but probing. “Sasuke-kun, forgive me for being blunt, but marriage isn’t just about chemistry. It’s about understanding each other’s lives. Have you thought about how different your worlds are?”

Fugaku’s sharp eyes flicked to Mebuki, narrowing slightly as the weight of her words hung in the air. Though his expression remained neutral, the faint crease in his brow betrayed his unease.

Sakura’s grip tightened on her napkin, her heart racing as she glanced nervously at Sasuke.

“I have,” Sasuke said evenly after a moment, his voice softer but no less assured. “And I think those differences complement us. Sakura brings a perspective I value, and I hope I can do the same for her.”

Mebuki’s expression flickered, her skepticism giving way to cautious approval. “Balance is important,” she said quietly. “But so is patience. Marriage isn’t easy, Sasuke-kun. It’s compromise. Sacrifice. I hope you’re ready for that.”

“I am,” Sasuke replied, his tone unwavering. His dark eyes flicked briefly to Sakura, a subtle glance that seemed to carry unspoken reassurance.

Sakura’s chest tightened as their gazes met for the briefest moment. His words, steady and confident, carried an unexpected weight that left her struggling to breathe normally. How can he say things like that so easily? she wondered, biting the inside of her cheek to focus on the here and now.

The tension lifted slightly as Kizashi broke the silence with a hearty laugh. “Well, that’s good to hear! You’ve got our Sakura to keep you on your toes. She’s a handful, but we wouldn’t trade her for anything.”

Mebuki managed a faint smile, though the lines of concern on her face didn’t completely fade. “It’s a lot to take on, especially so soon. I just want to be sure you’ve both thought this through.”

Sakura straightened in her chair, forcing a small smile that she hoped would project more confidence than she felt. “We have,” she said quickly, her voice steady, though the knot in her stomach tightened under the weight of her mother’s words.

Across the table, she felt Fugaku’s gaze shift to her. His dark eyes were sharp and unyielding. It wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t reassuring either—it was the kind of look that demanded more than surface-level answers.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, like a thread pulled too tight, until Mikoto chimed in with a light laugh that broke the tension.

“Of course they’ve thought it through,” Mikoto said brightly, her enthusiasm cutting through the weight of the moment. “Sasuke may not say much, but he’s always been deliberate about his decisions. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t sure.”

Mikoto’s words hung in the air, and Sakura exhaled quietly, feeling a small measure of relief as the focus shifted away from her. Even so, she could sense her mother’s lingering hesitation and Fugaku’s quiet scrutiny, like shadows that refused to leave the room entirely.

Sasuke, for his part, remained composed, his expression calm and unreadable. He nodded faintly at his mother’s words, his silence carrying an air of quiet finality that seemed to dissuade further probing—for now.

Sakura glanced at him briefly, her grip on her napkin easing as the weight in her chest lessened, if only slightly. Despite the unease that lingered beneath the surface, she found herself grateful for Mikoto’s ability to redirect the conversation—and for Sasuke’s quiet strength, even if it was only an act.

Across the table, Izumi greeted Sakura. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Sakura immediately liked her. Izumi’s presence was soothing—a stark contrast to Itachi’s razor-sharp gaze and faintly mischievous demeanor. There was an easy charm to Izumi, the kind that put people at ease without even trying.

As Sakura returned Izumi’s smile, the memory of Itachi’s probing questions and knowing glances since that day flickered in her mind. His words had felt like a deliberate challenge, subtle and impossible to ignore, as though he was daring them to slip up.

But tonight, something was different.

Itachi’s usual intensity, while present, was less cutting. His gaze, though sharp, lingered not with suspicion but with curiosity. It was as if he’d decided, at least for now, to observe rather than interrogate.

“You must be exhausted,” Izumi continued, her expression understanding. “Planning a wedding this quickly can’t be easy.”

“Oh, it’s…” Sakura hesitated, glancing at Sasuke for support. “It’s been an adventure.”

Izumi chuckled. “Well, if you ever need help, just let me know. I’d be happy to lend a hand.”

Mikoto jumped in. “Oh, Izumi, you’re wonderful! Sakura, you should call her anytime—she’s been through this before, and everything about her wedding was perfect.”

“Well, almost perfect,” Izumi teased, shooting her husband a playful glance. “There was that small incident with the flowers.”

“It was handled,” Itachi said smoothly, his tone calm but his eyes glinting with amusement.

Without missing a beat, Itachi took her hand in his, pressing a light, deliberate kiss to her knuckles. His movements were slow, elegant, and entirely intentional, as though he were making a point rather than indulging in simple affection.

Sakura, watching the exchange, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy—not because of their obvious affection, but because of how effortless it seemed. Their interactions felt natural, unforced, and grounded in an understanding that needed no words.

The display, brief as it was, left a ripple in the room. Sakura, glancing briefly at Sasuke, couldn’t help but wonder if anyone would ever look at her the way Itachi looked at Izumi—with quiet certainty and a hint of reverence, as though she were a part of his very center.

She caught herself, her chest tightening at the thought. No, stop it, she scolded inwardly, tearing her gaze away. This wasn’t that kind of relationship, and it never would be. Whatever warmth Sasuke showed, however fleeting, was part of the act. It had to be.

Her grip tightened slightly on the fork in her hand as she forced her attention back to Izumi. The calm, easy connection between her and Itachi wasn’t something Sakura needed to dwell on—or compare to her own situation. It was different. Everything about this is different, she reminded herself firmly, clinging to the thought like a lifeline even as it lingered longer than she wanted.

Her other hand drifted to the ring on her finger, twisting it absently. Her thumb brushed over its smooth surface, the repetitive motion strangely soothing, a silent mantra reminding her: This is just pretend.

Later in the evening, Kizashi leaned back in his chair, his expression still skeptical. “This is all happening very quickly,” he said, his eyes on Sasuke. “You’ll forgive us for being cautious. Sakura’s always been independent. We just want to make sure she’s in good hands.”

Before Sasuke could respond, Itachi smoothly interjected, his voice calm and reassuring. “Sasuke is reserved, but he’s dependable. He wouldn’t let someone into his life unless he truly cared about them.”

Izumi nodded in agreement, adding, “And you can see how much they complement each other. It’s clear they have a solid foundation.”

Kizashi studied them both for a moment before nodding, seemingly placated.

The conversation had veered into a debate about wedding traditions. Mebuki, her tone polite but pointed, had just remarked on how “not every wedding needs a grand spectacle to be meaningful,” a comment Sakura knew was aimed squarely at Mikoto’s elaborate planning.

“Oh, but a wedding is a reflection of the couple,” Mikoto countered smoothly, her enthusiasm undeterred. “It’s important to make it unforgettable.”

Sakura shifted in her chair, her fingers tightening around her napkin for the nth time that night. She could feel her mother’s watchful gaze on her, mingled with Mikoto’s relentless enthusiasm. The words between them were polite, but the subtext buzzed like electricity, leaving Sakura caught in the middle.

Just as her nerves began to fray, a subtle brush against her hand drew her attention.

Sasuke, seated beside her, had set down his glass, and his fingers barely grazed hers as he moved. The touch was so fleeting she might have missed it, but it was deliberate—quiet, steadying.

Her breath hitched, and she glanced at him, her chest tightening when she met his gaze. His dark eyes held hers for a moment, calm and assured, offering an unspoken reassurance: We’ve got this.

The knot in her stomach loosened, and she exhaled softly, her grip on the napkin easing. When Sasuke turned his attention back to the conversation, his expression as composed as ever, Sakura felt a quiet sense of relief settle over her.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

As the evening wound down, Kizashi extended a firm handshake to Sasuke as they stood near the restaurant’s entrance. Leaning in slightly, he said, “Take care of her.”

“I will,” Sasuke replied, his tone steady, his face as composed as ever.

Mebuki hugged Sakura tightly, her grip lingering just long enough to feel like both reassurance and a quiet warning. “Are you sure about this?” she whispered, her voice low but insistent.

“Of course, Mom,” Sakura replied with a practiced smile, though her heart felt like it was pounding in her ears. “He’s… great.”

From across the room, Mikoto and Fugaku exchanged a few parting words with the staff. Meanwhile, Itachi lingered by the table, his sharp eyes moving lazily between Sasuke and Sakura as though he was savoring every awkward interaction. Beside him, Izumi regarded the couple with a warm, almost affectionate smile, her gaze softening the edges of Itachi’s intensity.

“They really are such a lovely couple,” she murmured, her voice gentle but genuine. “I’ve never seen Sasuke so... attentive.”

Itachi raised an eyebrow at her comment, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Attentive is one way to put it,” he said, his tone as smooth as ever. His gaze flicked back to Sasuke, who was holding open Sakura’s coat as she slipped her arms into the sleeves, his movements precise and matter-of-fact. “It’s certainly... interesting to see him like this.”

Izumi chuckled, leaning closer to her husband. “You mean it’s amusing for you.”

“Of course,” Itachi replied lightly, the glint in his eyes betraying his amusement. “It’s rare to see Sasuke out of his depth. Watching him navigate this... arrangement is quite entertaining.”

Izumi swatted his arm playfully, though her gaze lingered on Sasuke and Sakura. “Still, they’re a good match.”

Itachi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze sharpening slightly as he studied the couple. After a beat, he shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “We’ll see,” he said simply, his tone thoughtful but laced with his usual inscrutability.

Mikoto called out brightly, “Oh, Itachi, Izumi, come along now! Let’s not keep the bride and groom too long—they must be exhausted!”

“Of course,” Itachi replied smoothly, though he didn’t move immediately. Instead, he stood and walked to Sasuke and Sakura, his voice dropping low enough to ensure only they could hear. “You know,” he said, his words deliberate, “a wedding isn’t just about appearances. It’s about authenticity. You two are doing a remarkable job of making it look real… for now.”

Sakura’s heart raced, but Sasuke’s expression remained unreadable, his gaze meeting Itachi’s with practiced composure. “We’ll manage,” he replied evenly, his tone carrying a quiet edge.

Itachi’s smirk deepened, though his eyes stayed sharp. “I’m sure you will,” he said lightly, clapping Sasuke on the shoulder. “For your sake, I hope so.”

The tension in Sakura’s shoulders eased, but the unease lingered. She risked a glance at Sasuke, whose expression remained unreadable, and found herself wondering—not for the first time—how he could remain so composed under scrutiny that left her nerves frayed.

He’s good at this, she thought, more out of frustration than admiration. But even as she told herself to focus on the present, Itachi’s words replayed in her mind, their subtle implication gnawing at her resolve.

Izumi appeared at Itachi’s side, her smile radiating genuine warmth as she glanced between Sasuke and Sakura. “It was wonderful meeting you, Sakura. I hope we can see more of each other before the wedding,” she said kindly, her tone so sincere it made Sakura’s chest tighten with guilt.

“Thank you, Izumi,” Sakura replied, her smile polite but tinged with unease.

Izumi turned to Sasuke, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Take care of her, Sasuke. She’s a gem.”

“I know,” Sasuke replied evenly, his tone calm but firm.

Izumi’s smile widened. “Good,” she said lightly, before leaning toward Sakura one last time. “If you ever need advice—or just someone to talk to—don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“Thank you,” Sakura said again, this time with a hint more sincerity.

As Izumi bid farewell, Itachi lingered for a moment longer, his gaze briefly meeting Sasuke’s before he inclined his head ever so slightly, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he turned and followed his wife out of the restaurant.

As soon as their families exited, Sakura slumped into her chair with a long sigh. “I thought that would never end.”

Sasuke leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It could’ve been worse.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Your brother might as well be carrying a neon sign that says, ‘I know you’re lying.’”

“He does,” Sasuke admitted quietly.

Sakura groaned, letting her head fall into her hands. “Fantastic. If this wedding doesn’t kill me, Itachi’s stares will.”

Sasuke didn’t reply immediately, his gaze shifting to the door where their family had left. “He’s not going to say anything,” he said finally.

“And when he does?” Sakura muttered, looking up at him.

“We’ll deal with it,” Sasuke said simply, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his unease.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the noise of the restaurant swirling around them. Then Sasuke said, almost grudgingly, “You handled tonight better than I expected.”

Sakura looked up, blinking in surprise at what she almost thought was a compliment.

“Thanks, I guess?” she said cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

Sasuke didn’t reply. Instead, he stood with quiet precision, his chair scraping softly against the floor. “Let’s go. It’s late.”

For now, they had survived the evening, their carefully constructed act intact. But as Sakura sat quietly in the passenger seat on the drive home, the weight of everything—family expectations and the impending wedding—settled heavily on her shoulders.

The evening was over, but the real challenge was just beginning. The wedding wasn’t just a day on the horizon anymore; it was barreling toward them, bringing with it a storm of emotions and unanswered questions Sakura wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

And as Sasuke drove in silence beside her, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard, she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d truly fooled everyone—or if they were only fooling themselves.

Chapter Text

The room provided for Sasuke was sleek and minimal, much like the man himself. The polished wooden table in the corner was scattered with cufflinks, a pristine tie, and a few other small wedding essentials. A full-length mirror stood against one wall, reflecting the muted tones of the room and the chaos that Naruto brought in with him.

“I can’t believe today’s the day!” Naruto exclaimed, leaning back in one of the chairs with his feet casually propped up on the table. “Sasuke Uchiha—married!” He snorted, reaching for one of the cufflinks and twirling it between his fingers. “If I weren’t standing here, I wouldn’t believe it.”

Sasuke, already dressed in a sharp black suit, shot him a sidelong glare. “Your job is to not embarrass yourself. Can you handle that?”

Naruto smirked, sitting upright and tossing the cufflink back onto the table. “Oh, relax, Teme. I’m just soaking it all in. The most stoic guy I know is tying the knot, and you’re acting like it’s just another meeting at Uchiha Corp.”

Sasuke adjusted his tie in the mirror, his movements precise. “Because it is just like that.”

Naruto raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me this doesn’t feel even a little... different?”

Sasuke paused briefly, his fingers brushing the knot of his tie. He could still feel the faint touch of Sakura’s hand from the rehearsal yesterday, the quiet, fleeting moment when their gazes had locked.

It wasn’t anything overt, just a fleeting look when she’d stumbled slightly out of step. He remembered the way her green eyes had sought his, as if silently asking for assurance, and how instinctively he’d offered it.

The memory lingered, uninvited but persistent, stirring something he didn’t care to name. Sasuke exhaled through his nose, brushing the thought aside as quickly as it came.

He turned his attention back to the present, his composure firmly in place. There wasn’t room for distractions—not today.

“What’s different is having to listen to your commentary all day.”

Before Naruto could retort, the door opened, and Itachi stepped in, his usual calm presence filling the room. Dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, he carried himself with the air of someone who had already won the day.

“Am I interrupting?” Itachi asked smoothly, though his sharp gaze took in the scene with mild amusement.

“Not at all!” Naruto replied, gesturing toward Sasuke. “I was just trying to figure out if your brother has any feelings left in that stone-cold heart of his.”

Itachi’s lips curved into a faint smirk as he stepped further into the room. “Careful, Naruto. You might be asking questions you don’t want the answers to.”

Naruto threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave the brooding to you two.”

Itachi ignored him, his focus shifting to Sasuke. “You seem calm.”

“I am,” Sasuke replied evenly, meeting Itachi’s gaze in the mirror.

Itachi studied him for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Good. You’ll need that composure out there. Weddings have a way of unearthing... truths.”

Sasuke’s expression didn’t waver, but the weight of Itachi’s words settled uncomfortably in the room. He turned away from the mirror and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, refusing to let his brother’s subtle insinuations dig too deep.

Naruto leaned back in his chair with a grin. “Yeah, Teme. Just keep that Uchiha poker face, and you’ll survive.”

For a brief moment, Sasuke glanced at the window, the soft golden light filtering through the curtains. A faint breeze stirred the branches of a cherry blossom tree just outside, its petals drifting gently to the ground like pink snow. His thoughts drifted to Sakura.

Was she as calm as she’d been during the rehearsal? Or was she second-guessing everything, like she sometimes did when she thought no one was watching?

Sasuke tore his gaze from the blossoms, his fingers tightening slightly at his sides. He turned back to the table, picking up the cufflinks. There was no room for doubt—not from her, not from him.

Itachi’s voice broke the silence, his tone lighter now. “For what it’s worth, you’re doing well, Sasuke.”

Sasuke ignored them, slipping the cufflinks into place with deliberate precision. “If either of you causes a scene, I’ll deal with you myself.”

Naruto grinned. “Noted.”

Itachi inclined his head slightly, his smirk returning. “Duly warned.”

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics—Naruto’s ridiculous plans for the reception and Itachi’s dry commentary on wedding etiquette—Sasuke found himself relaxing just enough to appreciate the moment. The weight of the day still loomed large, but for now, he could focus on the small, steady actions that grounded him: a perfectly knotted tie, cufflinks sitting just right, and the knowledge that whatever lay ahead, he’d face it with his usual resolve.

And maybe, just maybe, with a little more than he expected.

The soft hum of the garden outside filtered through the open windows, carrying the faint scent of cherry blossoms and freshly cut grass. Sakura sat cross-legged on the plush carpet of the room, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her wedding dress. A cup of untouched tea rested on the coffee table in front of her, its warmth fading as the silence between them stretched.

Hinata, seated on the couch with her hands folded neatly in her lap, watched Sakura with quiet concern. “You’ve been staring at that same spot on the carpet for ten minutes,” she said gently, breaking the silence.

Sakura looked up, startled, and let out a nervous laugh. “Have I?” She rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers grazing the loose strands of hair that had escaped her bun. “I guess my mind’s all over the place.”

Hinata tilted her head slightly, her pale lavender eyes soft with understanding. “It’s normal to feel nervous before a wedding.”

“This isn’t just nerves, Hinata.” Sakura sighed, finally meeting her friend’s gaze. “It’s... everything. The whole situation feels so... surreal.”

Hinata nodded slowly, her expression encouraging. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sakura hesitated, her fingers tightening briefly on the fabric of her dress. “I just keep thinking... is this really it? Am I making the right choice? Should I even be doing this?”

Hinata didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she leaned forward, reaching out to place a comforting hand over Sakura’s. “It’s a big decision, Sakura. It’s okay to have doubts.”

Sakura exhaled, her shoulders sagging. “But it’s not even a real decision, is it? It’s an arrangement. A deal. Three years and we’re done. No romance, no love story—just... an agreement.” She let out a humorless laugh. “This isn’t how I pictured my life turning out.”

Hinata’s thumb brushed gently over the back of Sakura’s hand. “You’re doing this for a reason. That doesn’t make it any less valid.” Her voice softened further. “But I also think... you shouldn’t ignore how you feel.”

Sakura blinked, her throat tightening. “How I feel?”

Hinata gave her a knowing smile. “About how this arrangement has already started to feel like more than you expected.”

Sakura opened her mouth to protest, but Hinata’s words struck something deep inside her. Her mind flickered back to fleeting moments: Sasuke’s quiet steadiness, the rare softness in his eyes when he looked at her, the unspoken understanding that sometimes passed between them.

She thought of the rehearsal yesterday, how he had guided her through the aisle with practiced composure, his hand lightly resting on the small of her back. There had been nothing extraordinary about the act—just a man playing his part—but in that brief moment, she had felt the warmth of his touch, the subtle strength that anchored her amidst the whirlwind of nerves and chaos.

His voice, calm and even, had cut through the flurry of instructions from the planner: “Relax, you’re overthinking it.” It wasn’t a grand gesture or a comforting speech, but it had worked. She had managed to smile, even laugh a little, because somehow, his confidence in her steadied her more than she cared to admit.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Sakura said aloud, though her voice lacked conviction. “It’s just... part of the arrangement. He’s good at playing his role. It’s just... the situation, you know? Spending time together, the pressure of pretending. It’s bound to mess with your head a little.”

Hinata tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “Is that all it is?”

“Of course it is,” Sakura replied, her tone a little too firm. She ran a hand through her hair, sighing. “I mean, Sasuke and I aren’t exactly best friends. We get along, sure, but this is just a temporary thing. A transaction, really. Three years, and then we go back to our lives. No mess, no strings, no feelings.”

Hinata studied her for a moment, her gentle gaze unwavering. “Sometimes, feelings sneak up on you when you least expect them,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

Sakura offered her a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe. But I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”

Hinata didn’t argue, though her expression suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Well, whatever you’re feeling—or not feeling—you’re strong enough to handle this, Sakura. And you’re not alone in this, no matter what.”

Sakura exhaled, her shoulders sagging as the weight of her thoughts eased slightly. “Thanks, Hinata. That means a lot.”

Hinata returned her smile with quiet warmth. “That’s what friends are for.”

Sakura didn’t want to dwell on the way her chest had tightened at Hinata’s words, or on the brief flashes of something unidentifiable that had surfaced when she thought of Sasuke. It’s just the stress, she told herself. Nothing more.

For now, it was easier to focus on the arrangement, the practicality of it, and the reasons she’d agreed to this in the first place. Feelings, real or imagined, didn’t need to complicate things.

And so, she pushed the thought aside, forcing herself to look ahead. After all, the next step wasn’t about emotions. It was about survival.

The wedding was everything Sasuke and Sakura had agreed upon: simple, elegant, and mercifully free of Mikoto’s more extravagant suggestions—though not without a few compromises.

Under a canopy adorned with cascading roses, lush hydrangeas, and delicate sprays of cherry blossoms, thirty guests gathered, their chairs arranged neatly along the brick-paved aisle that stretched toward the altar. The cherry blossoms, their pale pink petals fluttering gently in the breeze, added a soft, dreamlike quality to the vibrant display of deep crimson roses and cream hydrangeas. Together, the blooms created a harmonious blend of elegance and natural beauty.

The golden hour bathed the entire space in a warm, diffused light, casting an almost ethereal glow over the intimate gathering. Familiar faces—family, old friends, and trusted associates—watched with quiet anticipation, each presence weaving a personal thread into the delicate tapestry of the day.

The setting was serene, its understated elegance proving that beauty didn’t require extravagance to leave an impression. Mikoto, seated near the aisle, sighed softly as she gazed at the modest yet carefully arranged floral decorations. “It’s lovely,” she murmured to Fugaku, her voice tinged with reluctant acceptance as she dabbed her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “But imagine how breathtaking it would have been with a string quartet… and perhaps a chandelier.”

Fugaku, ever composed, glanced at her briefly before returning his gaze to the ceremony. “This is enough,” he said, his tone even. Mikoto pursed her lips, clearly not fully convinced but unwilling to push further.

At the altar, Sasuke stood tall in his perfectly tailored black suit, his expression unreadable, as though he were standing at a summit, not his wedding. The hum of conversation faded, replaced by the first soft notes of the wedding march on a piano. The melody echoed through the open space—elegant, deliberate, yet carrying a weight that settled deep in his chest. Then, Sakura appeared at the end of the aisle.

For a fleeting second, his carefully constructed detachment wavered.

“This is just a pretense,” he told himself sharply, clinging to logic as though it were armor.

But even as the words echoed in his mind, they rang hollow. He couldn’t lie—not entirely. Sakura was… beautiful.

Sasuke clenched his jaw against the pull that threatened to sweep him up. This is just a formality, he told himself sharply, forcing logic to hold the line against the faint, inexplicable ache in his chest. Nothing more. Yet, no matter how tightly he tried to cling to indifference, his eyes betrayed him, locking on Sakura like she was the only solid thing in the room. His eyes found her instantly. Not the gown, not the bouquet, but her.

There was something magnetic about the way she moved—measured, poised, yet tinged with the slightest hesitance. It was a stark contrast to the rehearsal, where her focus had been split between remembering her cues and keeping the situation from overwhelming her. But with each step down the aisle, that hesitance slowly faded—replaced by quiet, unshakable resolve. She had made her choice, and she would see it through.

Her pink hair shimmered, catching the golden hues and blending seamlessly into the ethereal scene. Now, she moved effortlessly, as if she belonged here—as if every part of her was tied to this day in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

She was nervous; he could see it clearly. The subtle tremble in her hands, the way her fingers gripped the bouquet as though anchoring herself to the earth. But there was no weakness in it. If anything, the vulnerability highlighted her quiet resolve, her determination to walk forward despite the pressure swirling around them.

Sasuke’s jaw tightened imperceptibly as he forced his attention elsewhere, his fingers brushing against the cufflink on his wrist. It wasn’t the time for distractions, and yet, the image of her refused to leave him.

Focus, he commanded himself, trying to shove down the inexplicable pull in his chest. But his eyes softened, betraying the internal struggle.

Sakura’s own thoughts weren’t much different. The intensity of Sasuke’s gaze was unnerving, almost suffocating. She felt exposed in a way that went far beyond the formality of the ceremony. Don’t read into it, she scolded herself, gripping the bouquet tighter as if to anchor her spiraling thoughts. He’s playing his part, just like you are. That’s all this is.

But when her gaze met his, something inside her wavered. There was a steadiness in his eyes, yes, but also an unguarded flicker—brief, fleeting, but undeniably real. It threw her off balance, making her steps falter for just a heartbeat.

No, she told herself firmly, forcing her feet to keep moving. Don’t let this get to you.

As she reached the altar, Sasuke extended his hand, the motion as natural as it was deliberate. Her gaze flicked to his for the briefest of moments before she hesitantly placed her hand in his.

His grip was steady, grounding.

Hers trembled slightly but warmed at his touch. For a fleeting second, the tension between them felt tangible, a weight neither could name nor escape. And yet, they both resisted, burying whatever it was beneath layers of logic and purpose.

The guests saw only a poised couple, but standing there, neither Sasuke nor Sakura could shake the sense that the act was growing harder to maintain.

Mebuki clutched Kizashi’s hand tightly, her gaze fixed on Sakura and Sasuke as though she were trying to solve a puzzle. “She looks beautiful,” Mebuki murmured, though her voice carried a subtle note of disbelief only a mother could convey.

Naruto, seated beside Hinata in the second row, couldn’t resist leaning over and whispering loudly, “Think Teme’s going to crack a smile today?”

Hinata stifled a giggle, pressing a finger to her lips. “Naruto, don’t.”

Standing off to the side, Itachi watched the ceremony unfold with his usual composed demeanor. His arms were crossed, his sharp gaze missing nothing, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. It was hard to tell whether it was amusement or approval.

Beside him, Izumi offered a gentle smile, her gaze softening as it lingered on Sakura.

“She’s glowing,” Izumi whispered, her voice warm as she leaned slightly toward her husband.

Itachi’s sharp eyes flicked briefly toward Sasuke and Sakura at the altar. Then, with the faintest tilt of his head, he turned back to Izumi. “She does,” he replied, his tone calm, though his smirk widened just enough to suggest he wasn’t speaking only of Sakura.

Izumi nudged his arm playfully, her smile turning knowing. “Stop that,” she chided softly. “It’s their day. Let them have it.”

Itachi’s smirk deepened, his gaze returning to the ceremony. “I’m just observing,” he murmured, his voice as measured as ever, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his enjoyment of the scene.

Izumi shook her head, though her amusement mirrored his in a quieter way. “You’ll never change,” she said fondly, her gaze returning to the couple standing before the altar.

And for a brief moment, even Itachi seemed to let the moment simply be, his sharp edges tempered by the quiet magic of the day.

The officiant smiled warmly, beginning the ceremony. “Today, we gather to celebrate the union of Sasuke Uchiha and Sakura Haruno—a partnership built on commitment, understanding, and trust.”

Sakura bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the word trust. If only the officiant knew.

“Marriage is the promise of a future shared, of love that grows stronger with each passing day. Before we continue, I ask you both to declare your intent.”

The officiant turned to Sakura first. “Sakura Haruno, do you take this man, Sasuke Uchiha, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

Sakura hesitated for a split second, her breath catching as she glanced up at him. “I do,” she said, her voice quieter than she’d intended.

The officiant turned to Sasuke. “Sasuke Uchiha, do you take this woman, Sakura Haruno, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Sasuke replied without hesitation. His tone was steady—almost too steady—but his eyes remained locked on hers, an unreadable glint flickering in their depths.

The officiant gestured toward the satin pillow held by a young attendant, where two simple rings rested.

“These rings,” the officiant said, “are a symbol of eternity and your enduring commitment to one another. As you exchange them, let them remind you of the promises you’ve made today.”

Sasuke reached for the smaller ring first, his movements deliberate—too deliberate. His fingers brushed against hers as he slid the band onto her finger, and a jolt of something foreign shot through him, unsettling in its quiet force. It’s just a ring, he told himself firmly, yet the cool metal against her skin seemed to carry far more weight than it should. He couldn’t look at her directly, knowing his composure might fracture if he did.

When it was Sakura’s turn, her hands trembled as she picked up the second ring. She told herself it was nerves from the crowd watching, not the impossible warmth of Sasuke’s gaze. As her fingers grazed his hand, she felt the heat of his skin, steady and grounding in a way that unnerved her. Stop this, she thought, willing herself to focus. It doesn’t mean anything. But when the ring settled into place, her chest tightened, the lie harder to believe than before.

“Do you have your vows prepared?” the officiant asked.

Sakura took a deep breath. Prepared? Sure. She had thought about what to say. But standing here, with Sasuke watching her so intently, her mind blanked.

She swallowed.

“Sasuke,” she started, her voice barely above a whisper at first, “I promise to be your partner in every challenge life throws at us, to stand by your side even when we drive each other crazy—because let’s face it, we will.”

A soft chuckle rippled through the guests.

Sakura let out a shaky breath. Okay. Keep going.

“But in those moments, I’ll remember that we’re stronger together. And I’ll try not to burn the toast… too often.”

Sasuke’s lips twitched—almost a smile—but Sakura didn’t miss the way his shoulders eased, just slightly, as if her words had settled something inside him.

She hadn’t expected that.

When the officiant turned to Sasuke, he didn’t move.

He just… stood there. Looking at her.

He had the words planned—concise, simple, efficient. But suddenly, they felt… insufficient.

The vow he had planned no longer felt right. Instead, he exhaled slowly and said, “Sakura, I promise to be your calm when there’s chaos. To be steady when things feel uncertain. I may not have much to say, but I’ll always act in a way that protects what matters.”

Silence.

Sakura’s heart stuttered.

Because it wasn’t just what he said. It was how he said it.

He meant it.

And the way he looked at her, like she was something to hold onto, made her breath catch in her throat.

What… was that?

The officiant, oblivious to the sudden shift between them, smiled. “Well then,” he said lightly. “I think that says it all.”

Naruto nudged Hinata. “That’s the most he’s ever said at one time.”

Hinata giggled softly, shaking her head.

The officiant nodded. “And now, by the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. Sasuke, you may now kiss the bride.”

The world seemed to hold its breath.

Sakura’s stomach flipped as Sasuke turned toward her. Her fingers tightened on the bouquet as the world seemed to hold its breath—and Mikoto’s eager, tear-filled gaze from the front row didn’t help.

Sasuke shifted slightly, his expression unreadable as he faced her. For a moment, neither of them moved, the weight of the moment pressing down on them both.

Sakura had prepared herself for something brief. A perfunctory kiss. A brush of lips, just enough to satisfy the expectations of their guests before they pulled away like nothing had happened. But when Sasuke stepped closer, she realized—too late—that he had no intention of making this easy for her.

His hand found her waist, firm but unhurried, and then, just as she steeled herself for the inevitable, his fingertips ghosted along her cheek. A barely-there touch, but enough to make her breath hitch.

The world blurred at the edges.

Sasuke’s dark eyes held hers, something unreadable flickering behind them. Then, in a deliberate movement, he leaned in.

Sakura felt the moment he was supposed to stop. She knew the second their lips met that this was where he should have pulled away. But he didn’t.

The kiss was supposed to be measured. Controlled. A simple meeting of lips, nothing more.

But instead—he lingered.

It was subtle, the way his fingers curled slightly at her waist, the way his breath mingled with hers for a fraction too long before he deepened the kiss—not by much, but enough. Enough for her to forget, for just one heartbeat, that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Sakura’s fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve before she could think better of it. Steady yourself. This isn’t real.

And yet—the warmth of him, the weight of his hand, the quiet intensity humming between them—none of it felt staged.

She told herself she had to pull away first. But by the time she did, she couldn’t be sure which of them had let go first—or if either of them had really wanted to.

When she opened her eyes, Sasuke was already looking at her, his face unreadable but too close, too steady.

The guests clapped. Mikoto dabbed at her eyes. Naruto whistled.

But Sakura barely registered any of it. Because even as she stepped back, she could still feel the imprint of Sasuke’s touch lingering against her skin—as if he had meant it.

And that thought was more dangerous than anything else.

Before she could fully step away, Sasuke’s voice reached her—low, quiet, meant only for her ears.

“That shouldn’t have felt like that.”

Sakura blinked, fingers tightening slightly around the bouquet. “What?”

His expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his gaze—something fleeting, something she wasn’t sure she was supposed to catch.

But before she could press, his posture shifted back to careful indifference, and his next words were crisp, controlled.

“Forget it.”

Forget it. Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t said it at all.

But Sakura couldn’t forget. Because even as the moment passed, she knew—he had meant it.

From the second row, Naruto let out a low whistle. “Well, I guess Teme can act like a human.” Hinata elbowed him sharply, whispering, “Naruto, stop.”

Mikoto clutched Fugaku’s arm, dabbing at her eyes again. “Oh, look at them. They’re perfect together!”

At the other side, Mebuki Haruno let out an excited gasp, squeezing Kizashi’s arm so tightly he winced. “They look so in love.” she whispered, eyes practically glowing.

Kizashi chuckled, rubbing his arm dramatically. “If the kiss is anything to go by, maybe I should start planning for grandkids.”

Mebuki swatted at him, but her smile didn’t fade as she turned back toward the altar, watching her daughter with rare, unguarded warmth.

Even Itachi’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he tilted his head, observing the scene with a knowing look.

The officiant announced the conclusion of the ceremony, and the reception began in earnest, but Sasuke and Sakura barely moved. The moment stretched between them, thick and suffocating, too raw to push away just yet.

Sasuke's hand was still on her waist—an automatic gesture meant to guide her toward the reception area. But now, his grip felt different. Too firm. Too aware.

Sakura swallowed, suddenly hyper-conscious of how close they still were. The air between them had shifted, charged with something neither of them seemed ready to acknowledge.

She could feel it—the hesitation in his movements, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched against her dress like he was about to let go but hadn’t.

She should say something. Laugh it off. Tease him, like she always did.

But nothing came out.

And then—

"Oi, lovebirds!"

Naruto’s voice sliced through the tension like a sledgehammer, snapping them both out of whatever the hell that was.

Sakura jerked back first, breaking away from Sasuke’s hold like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Sasuke, ever composed, merely exhaled through his nose and turned toward Naruto, his face unreadable.

Naruto, grinning like an idiot, slung an arm around Sasuke’s shoulders. “Alright, time for speeches! Let’s see if Teme here can survive without scowling for five minutes.”

The moment was gone. But the tension?

Still there.

The newlyweds were led to the head table as the reception began, but Sakura could still feel the weight of the ceremony pressing down on her. Or maybe it was just the weight of Sasuke's presence beside her.

The reception unfolded under a sprawling white tent. It was beautifully arranged with glowing lanterns overhead. Round tables with crisp linen and delicate floral centerpieces filled the space, each accented by glowing candles that cast a warm, golden hue over the guests. The scent of fresh roses mingled with the evening breeze, creating an atmosphere that was both intimate and magical.

A small string quartet played softly in the background, their elegant melodies weaving through the hum of laughter and clinking champagne glasses.

Sasuke, ever composed, settled into his seat beside Sakura, but there was a stiffness to him that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t tense exactly—he was too practiced for that—but he was… restrained.

And it made her restless.

She picked up her champagne glass, twirling the stem between her fingers. Maybe if she acted normal, things would feel normal again.

“So,” she said lightly, turning to him, “how does it feel to be a married man?”

Sasuke barely glanced at her. “No different than five hours ago.”

His voice was calm, neutral, but there was something about the way he said it—too smooth, too measured—that made her fingers tighten around the glass.

“Huh,” she muttered, lifting the drink to her lips. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Sasuke didn’t react immediately. But she caught it—the brief flick of his gaze, the way his fingers tapped once against the table before stilling.

Then, as if the words meant nothing, he reached for his own glass. “It’s just a formality,” he said coolly. “Nothing’s changed.”

Sakura exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing a smile. “Right.”

But even as she took another sip, she knew they were both lying.

Before she could say anything else, a loud, familiar voice cut through the low hum of conversation

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Naruto announced, his voice booming enough to make several heads turn. “I wasn’t technically asked to make a speech, but when have I ever needed an invitation?”

Sakura groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Here we go,” she muttered, but the corner of her lips betrayed her amusement.

She welcomed the distraction.

But across the table, Sasuke’s fingers remained curled around the base of his glass—motionless, unreadable.

From their table near the front, Mebuki leaned over to Kizashi with a wry smile. “This should be interesting,” she whispered, though her eyes stayed sharp, flicking occasionally toward Sasuke as though still assessing the match. Kizashi chuckled, clearly entertained.

Izumi, seated beside Itachi at a neighboring table, glanced at the couple with a soft smile. “Naruto’s enthusiasm is contagious,” she said warmly.“Though I’m not sure Sasuke feels the same.”

Sasuke’s glare was immediate, but Naruto, unbothered as always, pressed on.

“I just want to say,” Naruto began, lifting his glass dramatically, “that I’ve known Teme since we were kids. And this—” he gestured broadly toward Sasuke and Sakura, “—is the first time I’ve seen him willingly hang out with someone for more than five minutes. Sakura, you’re a miracle worker.”

The crowd erupted into laughter, the sound filling the tent and spilling out into the night. Even Hinata, seated nearby, had to hide her giggle behind her hand.

Sasuke’s glare darkened, his jaw tightening, but Naruto wasn’t done. “Seriously, though. We all know Sasuke isn’t the easiest person to get along with, but he’s my best friend,” Naruto continued, undeterred. His grin softened, more genuine. “And if anyone can put up with his brooding and his whole ‘I’m too cool to care’ act, it’s you, Sakura. You’re tougher than you look.”

Sakura couldn’t help but laugh, lifting her glass in mock salute. “Thanks, I think?”

“To Sasuke and Sakura!” Naruto declared, raising his glass high. “May you survive each other and prove all of us wrong!”

The tent burst into laughter and applause, and even Sasuke—reluctantly—allowed the faintest smirk to tug at the corner of his lips.

As Naruto returned to his seat, Hinata rose gracefully, her soft smile a sharp contrast to her husband’s theatrical antics. She stepped forward with quiet confidence, glass in hand, and all eyes turned to her as the noise settled.

“Marriage is a journey,” Hinata began, her voice gentle but steady. “It’s about finding joy in each other’s strengths and having patience for each other’s quirks. Sasuke, Sakura—you’re two strong, resilient people who bring out the best in those around you. I hope that in each other, you find a partner who helps you grow and who stands with you through every challenges.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Naruto, her cheeks tinged pink. “Because sometimes, the best partnerships come from people who are nothing alike—but who balance each other perfectly.”

The room hummed with warmth, and Sakura’s chest tightened at the sincerity in Hinata’s words. She glanced at Sasuke, who gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment toward Hinata, his usual stoicism softening just enough to show his appreciation.

“To Sasuke and Sakura,” Hinata finished, her glass held high. “May you always find balance.”

Mikoto, sitting beside Fugaku, dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “That was beautiful,” she whispered, her gaze flitting between the couple and the guests with uncontained pride.

The applause this time was softer, more heartfelt, and Sakura felt an unexpected lump in her throat.

The applause faded, and the soft strains of music shifted into a gentle waltz. Mikoto rose with a beaming smile, clapping her hands lightly to draw attention. “And now, it’s time for the bride and groom’s first dance!”

Sakura froze.

She barely had time to process before Sasuke was already rising to his feet, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. He turned to her, extending his hand—

Expectant. Unreadable. Waiting.

The ballroom lights dimmed slightly, leaving only the glow of soft golden bulbs overhead. The opening notes of a slow, elegant waltz hummed through the speakers, filling the space with something almost dreamlike.

This is just for show, Sakura reminded herself, swallowing hard as she slid her fingers into his. Just like everything else.

But when his fingers curled around hers, firm and steady, it didn’t feel like a performance.

The dance began, slow and deliberate. The world around them seemed to blur—the glowing lights, the murmurs of the crowd, even the occasional whispered commentary from Naruto (“Teme actually looks like he knows what he’s doing!”)—all of it faded into the background. Sasuke led effortlessly.

His movements were controlled, deliberate, as if he had already calculated each step before they’d even reached the dance floor. He was composed—of course he was—but there was something too careful about the way he held her.

As his other hand settled lightly at her waist, a slow shiver crept up her spine.

“You’ve done this before, right?” she said, trying for casual, anything to fill the charged silence between them.

“Hn.”

“Great conversation, as always,” she muttered.

The faintest twitch of his lips.

Sakura’s heart thudded softly in her chest, but she fought against the warmth blooming there, forcing herself to remember the lines they had drawn. Don’t let this fool you, she told herself, though her grip on his hand betrayed her.

Sasuke, too, felt the strain of the moment, his mind warring against the quiet harmony they’d found. Her hand in his, the faint scent of her hair, the way her eyes flicked upward only to dart away—it all pressed against the walls he’d built, threatening to dismantle them brick by brick.

They moved in sync, bodies following an unspoken rhythm. Sakura focused on keeping her steps smooth, on ignoring how dangerously close he felt, how the warmth of his palm against her back seeped into her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.

But when she finally gathered the courage to glance up at him, his gaze was already on her.

Unwavering. Unreadable. Too much.

“What?” she asked, pulse kicking up.

“Nothing.”

Liar.

As the music reached its crescendo, Sasuke spun her gently, his hand steady on hers.

For a brief second, Sakura felt light—untethered. But when she returned to his arms, her breath caught at the way his gaze lingered—intense, searching, as though he were seeing her for the first time.

“This feels…” she started, then trailed off.

His grip tightened slightly at her waist. “What?”

Wrong? Right? She didn’t know anymore.

“Convincing,” she finished instead, forcing out a breathless chuckle.

Sasuke’s jaw tensed—like he had expected a different answer.

The crowd erupted into applause as the song ended, breaking the spell between them. Sakura stepped back, her cheeks warm, as she tried to compose herself.

As they returned to their seats, Mikoto clapped her hands again, calling for the other couples to join the dance floor. The energy of the reception shifted into something livelier, but Sakura couldn’t help the way her thoughts lingered on those brief, stolen moments.

As the evening progressed, the newlyweds were swept into the crowd, pulled into conversations and laughter with family and friends.

Sakura found herself surrounded by Mikoto and her friends, all of whom gushed about the ceremony and pressed her for details about how she “managed to tame” Sasuke.

“He’s not as difficult as people think,” Sakura lied, laughing nervously as Mikoto beamed with pride.

Meanwhile, Naruto insisted on dragging Sasuke into a lively group dance. Despite Sasuke’s protests—and his glowering refusal to move more than a step or two—Naruto’s relentless energy had the entire tent roaring with laughter.

Sasuke endured it for exactly two minutes before slipping away, disappearing into the night.

He slipped out of the main tent. The quiet was a welcome reprieve from the noise, the clinking glasses, the probing conversations. But even with distance, he could still hear the echoes of the reception—the warmth of it, the intimacy.

And, against his better judgment, his gaze drifted back toward the tent.

Through the soft glow of lanterns, he caught sight of Sakura, sitting beside Hinata, her head tilted back in laughter, her shoulders relaxed in a way they hadn’t been all day. She looked… at ease. Comfortable. Happy.

And for some reason, that sat strangely in his chest.

“It’s unlike you to seek solitude during such a… momentous occasion.”

Sasuke didn’t turn at the sound of his brother’s voice. He recognized Itachi’s measured tone immediately—the soft cadence, the faint undertone of amusement that always managed to irritate him.

“It’s not solitude if you’re here,” Sasuke replied flatly, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon.

Itachi stepped closer, his polished shoes crunching softly against the gravel. He carried a glass of wine, which he swirled absentmindedly as he studied his younger brother.

“You played your part well today, little brother.”

Sasuke’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

“I expected it to feel… hollow,” Itachi continued. “But it didn’t.”

That made Sasuke glance at him, his expression unreadable but his dark eyes sharp.

“I know what this arrangement was,” Itachi went on, quieter now. “I also know what I saw today.” He took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze flickering back toward the glowing reception tent where Sakura sat, still smiling.

“She was supposed to be a temporary fixture in your life. And yet…”

Sasuke’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. A beat too long before his answer.

“And yet what?” he asked, voice smooth but lacking its usual bite.

Itachi finally turned to look at him fully, his sharp gaze searching Sasuke’s face. “And yet, I wonder if the part is playing you.”

Sasuke’s expression remained impassive, but something in his posture stiffened.

Itachi sighed, shaking his head slightly as if answering his own unspoken thoughts. “You’re disciplined, Sasuke. You know how to control what you show the world. But I’ve watched you long enough to know when something is… shifting.”

Sasuke looked away, jaw clenched, fingers flexing briefly before settling into his sleeves again.

“You’ll figure it out,” Itachi continued, his tone gentler than before. “But don’t take too long.”

Sasuke’s head snapped back toward him, but Itachi was already turning, heading back toward the warm glow of the tent. “I’ll be watching,” he added over his shoulder. “Not to interfere. Just to see what unfolds.”

Sasuke remained where he was, staring after him, his brother’s words hanging heavy in the cool night air.

Unlike before, Itachi wasn’t issuing a challenge.

This time, he was waiting to see if Sasuke would rise to meet it on his own.

And for the first time since this arrangement began, Sasuke wasn’t entirely sure if he would.

The day ended without a hitch, and as they returned to their apartment later that night, the tension of the long day finally began to ease.

Sakura kicked off her heels the second they walked through the door, sighing in relief as she collapsed onto the couch. “Well,” she exhaled dramatically, “that wasn’t so bad.”

Sasuke loosened his tie with practiced precision, his sharp features finally softening as he sank into the armchair across from her. “Your mother’s speech about grandchildren was unnecessary,” he said flatly.

Sakura groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Don’t remind me. You think that’s bad? Try sitting through your mother’s ‘I can’t wait to help you decorate your new place’ monologue. I thought she was going to start picking out curtains during dinner.”

Sasuke’s lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile. “At least your father didn’t interrogate me after the ceremony.”

“You got lucky,” Sakura quipped, grinning as she peeked at him through her fingers. “My dad wanted to ask more questions, but my mom bribed him with cake.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The soft hum of the city outside filtered through the windows, filling the space with an oddly soothing rhythm.

Sakura exhaled slowly, reaching up to undo the pins in her hair. Her fingers fumbled, struggling to find where the intricate twists began to unravel.

Sasuke watched her for a moment. Then, without a word, he stood and crossed the room. His hand lifted before he could think better of it.

Sakura froze.

His fingers brushed against her temple, light but deliberate as if he had done this a hundred times before—except he hadn’t. Not once. And yet, he removed each pin with quiet precision, his movements steady, almost careful. With each gentle tug, the tension in her scalp eased, her hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves.

The last pin slipped free.

And then, his fingers lingered.

The touch was barely there—a whisper of warmth against her nape. But she felt it. And so did he.

Sakura turned her head, just enough to meet his gaze.

Sasuke was already looking at her.

The city lights cast soft shadows across his face, his dark eyes unreadable. His hand hovered near her shoulder for half a second longer before he stepped back, his expression unreadable.

“Your hair was a mess,” he muttered, looking away.

Sakura exhaled. She wanted to laugh, to tease him about his need for order and control. But something about the moment made it hard.

“Thanks,” she said instead, quieter than she intended.

He only nodded.

The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavier, something neither of them were ready to name.

Sakura cleared her throat, shaking off the feeling. She held up three fingers. “Three years,” she said suddenly, her voice light, teasing. “Just three years, and we’re free.”

Sasuke hesitated. Then, he sat back in the armchair, his gaze flickering toward her. “Three years.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach flip. Did he sound resigned? Or uncertain?

Sakura tilted her head. “Do you think it’ll be bad?”

A pause.

“Worse,” he replied dryly.

She laughed, a genuine sound that filled the space between them. And this time, Sasuke’s gaze lingered.

Not in amusement. Not in annoyance. Just… something else.

He looked away first.

“Three years,” Sakura repeated, shaking her head with a wry smile. “Feels like a lifetime.”

Neither of them said it, but the thought hung heavy in the air:

Sasuke pushed away from the armchair, his voice low as he turned toward his room. “Get some rest.”

“You too, Uchiha,” Sakura called after him, still half-smiling.

Sasuke paused mid-step.

He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze steady, unwavering. Something unreadable passed through his expression—something just on the edge of understanding.

“You’re an Uchiha now too,” he said quietly.

The words settled between them, heavier than either of them expected.

Sakura blinked. It was such a simple statement—factual, even—but it landed differently.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, she just watched as he disappeared down the hall, the soft click of his door echoing through the quiet apartment.

She should have brushed it off. Laughed. Treated it like just another part of the arrangement.

But as she sat there, her hair still tousled from his touch, her lips curled into a small, lingering smile.

And that smile stayed long after the night settled around her.

Chapter Text

The world was quiet.

Too quiet.

Heat bloomed beneath her skin like a secret, curling low in her belly as fingers ghosted along the curve of her spine—slow, sure, like they knew her. The touch wasn’t rushed. It lingered, traced. A promise drawn across bare skin.

Her breath stuttered.

The sheets whispered around her legs, cool silk slipping down her thighs as the weight above her shifted. But his skin—

His skin was warm. Always warm. Always steady.

Sasuke hovered above her, the light behind him painting soft shadows over sharp cheekbones and hooded eyes. Dark. Focused. Almost reverent.

His fingers skimmed her waist, dragging lightly, like he was learning her from memory.

She couldn’t breathe.

His mouth brushed hers—once, soft enough to make her chase it. Then again, deeper. Hungrier. The kind of kiss that stole thoughts and gave them back as heat.

He kissed her like she was his.

Like he'd been holding back for far too long.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, dragging him closer, anchoring him to her. Her heart beat too loudly in her chest. He tasted like sleep and something deeper—something she’d only ever let herself dream about.

His hands slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing along her ribs, slow and reverent and devastating. She shivered, not from cold but from the sheer intensity of his touch.

It wasn’t frantic.

It wasn’t cautious.

It was intentional.

It was him.

His mouth traveled—along her jaw, the edge of her throat, down to the soft dip of her collarbone. His breath was hot against her skin. His name left her lips like a sigh—quiet, involuntary, honest.

“Sasuke”

He paused. Just for a second. And then—

“Sakura,” he whispered, low and ragged.

Like her name meant something.

Like it had weight.

His hands cradled her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks. Like she might break. Like he might.

But she only pulled him closer.

Their bodies aligned like they knew where this was going, like they’d always known. Skin to skin. Breath to breath. The air between them charged and fragile and electric.

Somewhere in the heat of it all, as his thumb traced the edge of her lips, as her hands pressed against the muscles of his back, that unspoken question slid into the space between them.

What if this wasn’t pretend?

What if it was never pretend?

Sakura’s breath caught.

And then—

The warmth vanished.

She jerked upright, gasping like she’d just been launched from a cannon into the icy grip of reality.

Sheets twisted around her legs. Skin flushed. Hair sticking out at unholy angles. Chest heaving like she’d sprinted a marathon through someone’s steamy fanfic.

Oh God.

She blinked at the ceiling, wide-eyed and mortified.

Just a dream.

Obviously.

Because real-life Sasuke didn’t look at her like that.

Didn’t say her name like it was a damn love song.

Didn’t touch her like she was—ugh—yearned for. Duh.

Sakura groaned and flopped back onto the mattress, dragging the covers over her face like maybe suffocation was a valid way to escape her brain.

“Nope,” she muttered into the fabric. “We are not unpacking that.”

But her body wasn’t listening. Her pulse still hadn’t settled, and she could practically feel the ghost of his fingers on her skin.

Ugh. Betrayal. Absolute treason. She was supposed to be emotionally detached. A cool, independent woman in a fake marriage arrangement. Not… whatever that was.

And yet—

Her brain, that traitorous little gremlin, helpfully replayed the way Dream Sasuke had whispered her name.

All low and serious and definitely not safe for work.

Sakura let out another muffled scream into her blanket.

“Okay. Hormones, I see you. Loud and clear. Message received. Rejected.”

She sat up, face burning, hair a disaster, looking exactly like someone who’d had a very unprofessional dream about her fake husband.

“Great. Just great,” she muttered, swinging her legs out of bed. “Next thing you know, I’ll start doodling his last name on my lunchbox.”

She marched to the kitchen like a woman on a mission.

A mission to forget. To move on. To pretend she hadn’t just had a cinematic, very inappropriate dream starring her emotionally unavailable husband and a mattress with questionable moral boundaries.

Dreams are not real. Dreams are not real. That’s not what his hands feel like.

She flipped on the light.

It flickered, as if judging her.

Two years.

Two years had passed since the wedding.

And to be fair, Sasuke had done a stellar job following their original agreement: three years of fake marriage, keep it clean, keep it easy, keep it strictly platonic.

There were rules.

There were boundaries.

And Sasuke Uchiha, golden boy of emotional distance, stuck to them like they were blueprints.

They didn’t share a room. They didn’t flirt. They didn’t cuddle. (Obviously.) They definitely did not—ahem—engage in any physical entanglements of the steamy variety. They barely hugged.

Once, she sneezed and he handed her a tissue. She still thought about it sometimes.

That had been their most intimate moment for at least three months. Top ten, easily.

And yet...

There had been things.

Small things. Quiet things. Stupid things that shouldn’t matter.

Like how he always left the porch light on when she got home late, without fail.

Or how he memorized the exact ratio of milk to sugar she liked in her coffee, even though she changed it every two weeks and pretended not to care.

Or how he adjusted the thermostat when she complained (loudly, dramatically) about freezing to death, and then silently tossed a blanket over her without saying a word.

Once, she muttered something about ramen at 2 a.m. after a particularly hellish shift—and he showed up ten minutes later with takeout and two sets of chopsticks. Just sat beside her on the couch like it was normal. Like he knew.

Another time, he came home to find her face-down on the floor surrounded by open textbooks and empty coffee cups, and without comment, made her toast, slid it across the floor toward her like she was a wounded animal, and walked away.

They never talked about those moments. Never gave them weight.

But they happened.

And somewhere along the way—somewhere between passive-aggressive fridge notes and shared ramen—they became… friends.

Actual friends.

The kind who didn’t feel the need to talk all the time but shared a weird shorthand. The kind who could sit in silence on the couch and not feel awkward about it. The kind who still pretended to be indifferent but would 100% murder someone who hurt the other. Quietly. Efficiently. Maybe with bleach.

They still had boundaries. Still kept their roles clean and simple on paper.

But the truth was...

It stopped being fake a long time ago.

Just not in the way anyone expected.

One night, about four months ago, they’d both been home early for once. The sky had been the kind of stormy gray that made the apartment feel smaller, warmer. The rain had been steady, tapping against the windows like it was trying to join them.

She’d flopped onto the couch after dinner, half-buried under her favorite blanket, scrolling through her phone with exactly zero intention of being productive.

A mug of tea—her favorite kind, perfectly steeped, no honey, just a splash of lemon—sat quietly on the coffee table in front of her.

She hadn’t made it.

Hadn’t asked for it, either.

He’d just set it down on his way to the other side of the couch, like it was a normal thing husbands did for their fake wives on rainy evenings.

Sasuke sat on the opposite end, flipping through blueprints. He was wearing glasses.

(*Which, okay—rude. Completely unnecessary. He had no business being attractive in readers.)

She didn’t say thank you.

He didn’t expect her to.

And somehow, that made it worse.

The silence between them was companionable, the way it had become lately. No tension. No pressure. Just two people coexisting with snacks, secondhand comfort, and the occasional shared side-eye at the world.

But then—

She shifted, just a little, and her blanket slid off her shoulder.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. Because Sasuke noticed everything.

Without a word, he reached out, tugged it back into place.

His hand brushed her shoulder—barely a touch, just the faintest brush of fingers—and something in her ribcage did a thing.

It was nothing. A moment.

But she turned her head. And he was already looking at her.

Not in a we’re married and you forgot to take out the trash kind of way. In a too quiet, too steady, too focused kind of way.

For half a second—maybe less—neither of them looked away.

And then—

He blinked.

Shifted back.

Returned to his blueprints like nothing happened.

And she said absolutely nothing, because she was very brave and mature and definitely not unraveling on the inside like a dollar-store sweater.

Instead, she’d curled deeper into the blanket, stolen a corner of his leg space, and pretended the sudden warmth in her chest was from the tea.

Which was delicious.

And rude.

That night had been a fluke, obviously. A one-time event. A statistical outlier. Like the Loch Ness monster or finding a parking spot on a Friday night.

Sakura didn’t think about it much.

Except she totally did.

Not all the time. Just… occasionally. Casually. In passing. Like when she made tea and wondered if he’d do it again. Or when she bought ramen and grabbed two packs instead of one.

Or when she found herself standing in front of the bookshelf a few months ago, not even sure why she was there.

One lazy morning, she'd wandered to the bookshelf—probably looking for her phone charger or a granola bar or maybe just avoiding real responsibilities.

Her hand hovered over the spine of a book she'd definitely opened before—something boring and architecture-y and titled like it had a grudge against joy. And before she could remember why she knew this book, it happened.

Flutter.

A photo slipped free and drifted down to the floor like it had been waiting for its cue in her downfall arc.

Sakura stared at it.

Debated leaving it there.

Lost that debate in 0.3 seconds.

She reached down and picked it up—slowly, cautiously, like it might burn her fingers. (It kind of did.)

It was Sasuke.

Younger. Softer around the edges. Still him, but less… closed off.

Standing next to him, laughing like the world had never been complicated, was a woman with long, striking red hair. She leaned into him like she belonged there. Like she’d always belonged there.

And Sasuke—he was smiling.

Not smirking. Not that condescending little eyebrow twitch he gave Naruto when he did something dumb.

A real smile. Wide. Bright. The kind of smile that made her stomach drop and her brain whisper oh no in 12 different languages.

She blinked.

Tried to tell herself it didn’t mean anything but failed miserably.

Her fingers tightened around the edges of the photo. Not in a jealous way. Just… curious. Concerned. Academically intrigued.

Who was she?

Why had he smiled like that?

And why, in the two years they’d shared a fake marriage, tax forms, and an unfortunate amount of mutual emotional baggage, had she never seen that look aimed at her?

Nope.

Absolutely not.

We are not opening that door.

Sakura took a breath. Deep. Steady. Totally normal.

Then shoved the photo back between the pages like she hadn’t just been emotionally roundhouse-kicked by a memory that didn’t even belong to her.

She slammed the book shut a little harder than necessary.

The sound echoed. So did the feeling.

She shoved the book back into place.

The photo was gone. Hidden again. Out of sight, out of mind.

(Except not. Not even close.)

She stood in the kitchen with her mug, staring at the bookshelf across the room like it was radiating some kind of cursed energy.

She shook her head. Just once. Sharp. Quick. Enough to shove the memory back where it belonged.

Right next to the denial.

She turned away from the shelf, exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding—

“Morning.”

“JESUS—!”

Her mug nearly took flight. Her soul momentarily left her body.

And there he was.

Sasuke. In a soft black T-shirt, sleeves pushed up, damp hair falling just slightly into his eyes like a crime against humanity. Calm. Quiet. Stupidly well-lit by the early morning sun slanting through the kitchen window.

And just like that—bam.

The dream hit her.

The dream.

The sheets. The heat. His hands. The way he’d said her name like it meant something.

Nope.

Nope nope nope.

Absolutely not.

Her brain tried to reroute. Her dignity tried to evacuate. Her cheeks, meanwhile, caught on fire.

“You okay?” Sasuke asked, pausing mid-reach for his mug.

Sakura blinked rapidly. “What? I—fine. Totally fine. Why?”

“You’re red.”

“I’m not red.”

“You’re kind of red.”

“I always look like this.”

“…Do you have a fever?”

Before she could protest, he stepped closer.

Too close.

He lifted one hand—slow, casual, like this was normal—and pressed the back of it to her forehead.

Sakura short-circuited.

System rebooting in 3… 2… oh no he’s touching me.

Her breath caught.

Because his fingers were warm.

His palm skimmed lightly over her temple, then dropped away like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just touched her like it was the most basic, casual thing in the world.

Like she wasn’t about to combust.

“You feel warm,” he said, frowning slightly.

Sakura opened her mouth. Absolutely no words came out.

Because no one prepared her for this moment in the How to Be a Fake Wife to Your Hot Broody Roommate manual.

“I—uh—I’m fine,” she managed, laughing awkwardly. “Just hot. I mean—not me. The room. The room is hot. Warm. Stuffy? Ventilation is a scam. I think I’m rambling.”

Sasuke just looked at her, expression unreadable.

“...You’re definitely rambling.”

She took a massive sip of coffee just to stop herself from saying anything else. Burned her tongue.

Perfect.

He turned back to the counter like nothing had happened, as calm as ever.

Meanwhile, Sakura had to physically grip the edge of the sink to keep herself grounded like she was about to float into space on a cloud of unresolved tension and dumb feelings.

The worst part?

They weren’t even doing anything.

He touched her forehead. That was it.

No kiss. No whispered confessions. No steamy lingering glances.

Just skin-to-skin contact in a fluorescent kitchen at 7:14 a.m.

And yet her pulse was losing its mind.

She glanced at him over her mug, trying to regulate her breathing.

He sipped his coffee, brows drawn slightly in thought, eyes still half-lidded with morning calm.

Dream Sasuke who?

This one was dangerous enough.

Chapter Text

The hospital was a blur of movement and harsh lighting, the sharp scent of antiseptic clinging to everything like a second skin. Sakura barely managed a sip of lukewarm coffee before her cellphone buzzed again, vibrating against the countertop like it had a personal grudge.

She sighed through her nose. One consult down. Another waiting.

In the breakroom, Ino Yamanaka leaned against the counter, scrubs annoyingly crisp, blonde ponytail bouncing as she turned, arms crossed.

“You look like death warmed over,” she said with zero sympathy and full judgment.

Sakura didn’t even blink. “You’re a menace.”

“You’re avoiding the mirror.”

“I’m preserving morale.”

Ino grabbed two protein bars from her locker and tossed one at her. “Eat. Hydrate, but not with coffee. Or so help me, I will drag you into a break-up era even though you’re not technically dating anyone.”

Before Sakura could craft a response to that extremely specific threat, the door swung open.

Dr. Sasori Akasuna strolled in, clipboard in hand, ID badge askew, hair tousled like he styled it by fighting gravity. He had that relaxed, half-amused look on his face—the one that said he was either about to deliver a sarcastic diagnosis or flirt with a nurse. Possibly both.

“Sakura,” he said, voice warm, eyes scanning her a little too thoroughly. “Room 403. Possible appendicitis. Think you can handle it? Or do I need to carry you there?”

She rolled her eyes and stood, stretching her arms. “I’ll manage. But if I collapse in the hallway, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll catch you,” he replied, already holding out the file. “Might even make it look heroic.”

Sakura let out a short laugh as she took the chart from his hand. Their fingers brushed—barely—but she didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe she did and just didn’t care.

A few years ago, she might’ve blushed.

A few years ago, she had.

But not now.

Sasori watched her for a second longer than necessary, the smirk on his face more habit than flirtation. He didn’t press the moment. He didn’t need to.

“I hope you say that to all the interns.”

“Only the cute ones.”

Ino raised her eyebrows so high they nearly escaped her face.

Sakura shot her a shut up look.

Sasori, very pleased with himself, leaned against the wall beside the coffee machine like he lived there now. “You know,” he said, “we could tag-team the case. I’ll even let you take credit for the save.”

“You mean do all the work while you supervise from the doorway with a latte?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m tempted.”

“You always are.”

Ino watched them, head tilted, arms still folded. Then—innocently, too innocently—“So, are you two… like a thing?”

Sakura sputtered on her coffee.

Sasori just grinned. “That depends on your definition of a thing.”

“No,” Sakura said, all too quickly.

Ino hummed. “Mmm. That’s exactly what someone in denial would say.”

Sakura opened her mouth to argue—then her phone buzzed again.

A text.

From her mom.

Mom:

"Sakura, we’re managing, but the bills are piling up faster than I thought. I hate asking, but… can you send a little extra this month? We’ll make it up to you somehow."

Her heart dipped. Just a little.

Not a crash. Not a break.

Just that low, familiar pull of tired responsibility.

She set her mug down.

Didn’t respond right away. She didn’t have time to spiral. She never did.

“Anyone want to cover overtime tonight?” someone called from the hallway.

Sakura raised her hand before she could think better of it. “I’ll take it.”

Ino turned, mouth already halfway to a protest.

“You’re already on your feet for sixteen hours,” she said.

“I’m already here,” Sakura replied. Too automatic.

“You’re also human.”

“Debatable.”

Sasori blinked at her, then looked like he wanted to say something. But she was already out the door, chart in hand, coffee abandoned.

She didn’t look back.

The apartment was dark when Sakura slipped inside, the soft click of the door echoing louder than it should have.

Her keys dropped onto the counter with a tired clatter. Her bag followed, then her shoes, then the coat that had been too thin for the wind outside.

She was made of exhaustion. Limbs heavy. Eyes stinging. Mind fogged. She barely registered the scent of instant noodles in the air until she glanced toward the kitchen.

The light above the stove was on.

So was the one above the dining table.

And Sasuke was there.

Laptop open, papers spread in neat, precise rows like they weren’t stress incarnate. His sleeves were rolled up, one hand resting against his jaw, the other scrolling through blueprints.

He didn’t look up at first.

And she didn’t move, either.

Finally—

“It’s late,” he said, voice even, low.

“Yeah. I know.”

She moved into the kitchen on autopilot. Opened the fridge. Stared at it like it held answers.

He kept looking at the screen. “Did your shift run over?”

Sakura grabbed a bottle of water. “Something like that.”

A pause.

“I thought you said you were cutting back this week.”

She laughed under her breath. Bitter. Tired. “Yeah, well. Plans change.”

Sasuke looked at her this time. Not just glanced—looked.

“You shouldn’t work yourself into the ground.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, closing the fridge with a little more force than necessary. “I didn’t realize we were giving out life advice tonight.”

His brow ticked. “I’m just saying—”

“I know what you’re saying.” She turned to him, water bottle clenched in her hand. “You think I don’t know I’m tired? That I don’t feel it? That every second I’m not in that hospital, I’m not thinking about how I’m behind on everything?”

Sasuke didn’t interrupt. Just watched her with that maddening, quiet stillness.

She hated that.

“Do you think I want to take extra shifts? That I like this?” Her voice cracked just slightly. “I’m doing everything I can, Sasuke. Everything. So if I want to be tired, let me.”

There was silence.

Heavy. Dense.

And then, like it meant nothing, he said, “You’re exhausted.”

It wasn’t dismissive. It was just… neutral. Calm.

Which somehow made it worse.

Sakura blinked at him. She’d expected defensiveness. A lecture. A fight.

Instead, she got… this.

A diagnosis.

“Right,” she muttered, turning away. “Forget it.”

Sasuke didn’t say anything. But his eyes followed her as she moved around the kitchen, slower now. Shoulders drawn.

He knew something was wrong.

But she’d made it clear she didn’t want him to ask again.

So he didn’t.

Sakura didn’t speak again until she disappeared into the hallway, and the soft click of her bedroom door followed a few seconds later.

The apartment settled into silence.

Sasuke sat still for a while.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the spot she’d been standing like it might explain something he’d missed.

Eventually, he reached for his phone.

Opened a message thread.

Sakura.

The cursor blinked in the empty text box.

He typed—

Get some rest.

Paused.

Deleted it.

His thumb hovered.

Then the screen dimmed, and he let the phone fall face-down beside his laptop.

Outside, the wind picked up.

Inside, the lights stayed on.

The Uchiha Corp tower was quiet in the early morning, city light just beginning to push through the skyline. Sasuke stood at the window of his office, one hand in his pocket, the other nursing a coffee he hadn’t taken a sip of in ten minutes.

The Tokyo project was behind schedule.

The internal team was stretched thin. The numbers were off. And the last thing he needed was another—

A knock.

Then the door opened.

Itachi stepped inside without waiting. “We’re onboarding a new consultant for Tokyo.”

Sasuke didn’t turn. “Temporary?”

“For now. Depends how well she handles the negotiation teams.”

“She?”

Itachi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped aside.

Karin Uzumaki walked in like she owned the room.

Same crimson hair. Same sharp glasses. Same posture that said she didn’t care who was in charge — she had already decided she could do it better.

“Well,” she said, smiling as her eyes landed on him. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.”

Sasuke blinked once. “Karin.”

No inflection. No warmth. Just acknowledgment.

Still, the corner of her mouth curved. “You haven’t changed.”

Itachi cleared his throat. “Karin will be leading the client side of the Tokyo proposal — cost breakdown, timeline management, team liaison. She’s already read the blueprint drafts.”

Karin crossed the room and dropped a folder onto his desk. “And they’re a mess.”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow.

“Efficient, but soulless,” she added, arms crossing. “Your data’s good. Your structure’s airtight. But your language lacks persuasion. Stakeholders don’t want perfect. They want personal.”

“I’m not interested in selling a fantasy.”

“No, but THEY are,” she said, tone soft but pointed. “You forget people buy into vision. Not just concrete.”

Sasuke didn’t argue. But he didn’t look away either.

They stood there, that same current crackling between them — familiar, but no longer intimate. Tension that once held weight, now just shadow.

Karin tilted her head. “You know, when I heard you were married, I almost didn’t believe it.”

Sasuke didn’t react.

“Still don’t, honestly,” she added. “You never struck me as the domestic type.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what are you?”

There was a pause.

Then, quietly: “Busy.”

It wasn’t a dismissal. But it wasn’t an invitation either.

Karin stared at him for a beat longer. Studying him. Trying to find something behind the stillness.

But Sasuke had built his walls higher since she last saw him.

She smiled again, but this time, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Itachi, mercifully, stepped back in. “Meeting starts in ten.”

Karin turned, flipping her folder closed. “See you in the boardroom, Mr. Uchiha.”

When the door shut behind them, Sasuke finally turned back to the window.

His coffee was cold.

He didn’t bother reheating it.

The boardroom was sleek and quiet, floor-to-ceiling windows casting slanted light across the polished table. Blueprints were already laid out, portfolios open, laptops glowing dimly against the early hour.

Sasuke sat at the head, posture straight, expression unreadable. His team filtered in one by one—heads down, eyes sharp. Engineers, designers, logistics leads. All competent. All waiting for direction.

The Tokyo project files sat in front of him, neatly tabbed and annotated, the spine of the folder worn down from too many late nights and revisions that still hadn’t satisfied him.

He didn’t look up when the door opened again.

He didn’t have to.

Karin’s heels clicked softly across the hardwood. She moved like someone who had never once questioned her own right to be in any room.

She slid into the seat two spaces down, deliberately skipping the one next to him. Subtle. Intentional. For show.

Itachi entered last, tablet in hand. “Let’s begin.”

Sasuke didn’t waste time.

“The client pushed back on timeline guarantees,” he said, flipping open the proposal. “We’re now two weeks behind original schedule. I’ve restructured the construction phases to optimize field deployment, but cost projections are increasing.”

He passed the file down the table without looking up. “We need buy-in before the next review. Karin, you’ll handle the client side.”

She accepted the folder without hesitation. “They’ll need a narrative. Not just math.”

“You have what you need.”

Karin tapped the corner of the file. “Numbers won’t close this deal, Sasuke.”

His eyes flicked toward her, just briefly. “Then frame them in a way that will.”

There was a beat of silence.

The team around the table didn’t speak. Most didn’t look up. But they felt it—that faint friction, the weight of a conversation that ran deeper than the documents in front of them.

Karin smiled. Small. Cool. “I always do.”

Sasuke didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

The meeting moved on. Technical breakdowns. Material sourcing updates. Regulatory adjustments. Sasuke led the way with sharp, economical precision—every point delivered cleanly, every question met with the same calm command he was known for.

But every so often, Karin would glance up. Quiet. Calculating.

He noticed.

And chose not to react.

The apartment was quiet when Sakura woke up.

Too quiet.

For a long time, she didn’t move. Just stared at the ceiling like maybe it would give her the answers she didn’t have the energy to ask for.

She couldn’t remember when she’d fallen asleep. Only that she’d come home on autopilot, snapped at Sasuke like it was a reflex, and shut her door so she didn’t have to see the way he’d looked at her afterward.

Not hurt.

Not angry.

Just... like he’d seen it coming.

She hated that.

She rolled onto her side and checked her phone. No new messages.

She hadn’t texted him either. Not even a “sorry” or a “long day.” Not that they texted often. But still.

Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second too long.

Then locked it again.

She got up. Moved around the apartment like she was trying not to disturb something. Kept her steps light. Avoided the kitchen. Didn’t even glance toward his room.

He was probably at work.

Good.

The less she saw of him today, the better.

Because if she looked at him too long—too closely— She might start to regret everything she’d just started to convince herself she didn’t feel.

The boardroom emptied quickly.

Files were packed. Laptops shut. Chairs scraped quietly against the floor.

But Sasuke lingered at the far end of the table, flipping through a folder like the rest of the room didn’t matter.

Karin didn’t leave either.

She hovered near the door, arms crossed, her weight resting easily on one hip—watching him with a gleam in her eye. Not unkind. But sharp. Like a cat who remembered the path the mouse once took—and wondered if it still led to the same place.

“I was wrong,” she said at last. “You’ve changed.”

His eyes didn’t lift from the documents. “People do.”

“Not you,” she replied, softer now. “Or so I thought.”

He turned a page, unmoved.

Karin stepped farther into the room, her voice lowering. “You still look the same. Still move the same. Still sound like every word costs something. But there’s something else now.”

She paused.

“You were always so sharp. Closed-off. Everything had an edge.” Her tone wasn’t mocking—it was curious. Almost wistful. “But now... you seem like you’ve been sanded down. A little softer. A little steadier.”

That made him lift his eyes. But his expression gave nothing away.

Karin smiled faintly. “That used to scare people, you know. The way you looked at everything like it was a battlefield.”

“And now?” he asked.

“Now…” Her gaze lingered on him, and something flickered—regret, maybe. “Now you look like you’ve already won something. And you’re trying not to lose it.”

Sasuke didn’t answer.

Didn’t deny it.

Karin let the silence draw out, eyes searching his face for the version of him she used to know—used to want.

But all she found was someone new. Someone she didn’t know yet.

And that made her want to know more.

“Is it the marriage?” she asked casually, like it didn’t mean anything. “Is that what changed you?”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Which, to Karin, was answer enough.

Karin nodded once, to herself more than him. “You don’t have to say anything. But I’ll figure it out eventually.”

She turned to leave—but paused at the door. Her voice, when it came again, was quieter. Less clinical. More… curious.

“She must be interesting,” she said. “Whoever she is.”

Then, without waiting for a reply, she walked out—heels clicking gently on polished floors, thoughts louder than ever.

When she left, the silence that followed felt heavier.

Sasuke sat there for a long moment, staring at nothing.

Then his phone buzzed. A calendar reminder.

He silenced it without reading it.

Chapter Text

Sasuke returned home later than usual, the weight of an exhausting day at work pressing heavily on his shoulders. The Tokyo project meetings had dragged past schedule.

He slipped off his shoes in the entryway, rolling his stiff shoulders once. Then paused.

The apartment was dim. Quiet. Only the faint hum of the fridge and the soft flicker of the living room TV broke the stillness.

As he stepped inside, his gaze immediately landed on Sakura. She’d fallen asleep.

She was curled up on the couch, her scrubs still on from what must have been a grueling shift. Her hair was down, loosely tucked behind one ear, strands falling into her face. Her arm hung off the edge of the cushions, draped over a stack of half-read notes.

She looked like she’d sat down for one minute and simply… stopped.

An hour ago, she’d sent the usual message. A habit they’d both slipped into without ever agreeing to it.

Home. Long shift. Exhausted.

He’d answered, without thinking.

Running late. Don’t wait up.

She hadn’t read it.

But looking at her now—he didn’t need her to.

The TV played silently in the background, a commercial looping in bright, disjointed colors. The light cast flickering shadows across the room, across her face. It made her look impossibly still.

Sasuke stood there for a long moment, his gaze fixed on her tired face. She looked so fragile, and for someone as strong-willed as Sakura, it was startling.

He lingered for a while in the quiet living room. His eyes moved over the scattered notes on the coffee table, the half-empty mug, and her shoes sat kicked off at uneven angles by the door—a far cry from her usual, orderly habits.

His brows furrowed slightly. A quiet sigh left him.

It wasn’t just tonight.

There’d been signs—subtle, but there.

The way she’d barely touched her lunch the other day. How the meal prep containers hadn’t rotated in the fridge for over a week. The quiet exhale she made when she thought no one was listening, like something inside her was wearing thin by slow degrees.

She wasn’t taking care of herself.

And then there was the pause—barely a second—the other night when she’d gone to order a new set of textbooks online. Her finger had hovered just a moment too long above the screen before confirming the payment.

He hadn’t asked.

She hadn’t explained.

But he noticed.

Now, his gaze returned to her—curled up on the couch in soft surrender.

The faint bruising beneath her eyes. The way her body tucked in on itself, limbs heavy with exhaustion.

The way her chest rose and fell, slow, unguarded.

Like someone who had finally stopped performing.

He exhaled. Quiet. Barely there.

“Idiot,” he muttered softly, shaking his head. But there was no bite in his tone, only a faint undercurrent of… concern, maybe, though he wouldn’t admit it.

He crouched down beside the couch, debating whether to wake her or let her sleep. The cooler night air drifting through the room decided for him. She couldn’t stay here all night.

Gently — carefully — he slipped one arm under her legs and the other around her back. Her weight shifted easily into his arms as he stood, her head lolling lightly against his chest. Sakura stirred faintly, murmuring something unintelligible, but didn’t wake.

She smelled faintly of antiseptic and shampoo. Her breath was warm against the base of his throat.

Sasuke carried her down the hall in silence, steady footsteps echoing faintly against the wooden floor. Her door was cracked open, the faint glow of soft fairy lights washing the room in a sleepy warmth.

He nudged the door open and stepped inside. Lowered her slowly onto the bed.

She stirred again as he pulled the blanket over her shoulders, her brows knitting for half a second. Her lips parted — like she might say something — but then her breathing evened again.

She didn’t wake.

He stood there, still, his hands lingering on the edge of the comforter. Watching her.

Up close, without her voice, without her usual spark and fire — she looked impossibly young. Vulnerable.

He straightened, slipping his hands into his pockets. His face unreadable. But his jaw was set.

“You’re going to wear yourself out,” he murmured, almost too softly for the words to leave his mouth.

She didn’t answer.

And so, as always, he left without expecting one.

He turned off the lights. Closed the door behind him.

And didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

The sun had barely risen when Sakura stirred.

For a few groggy seconds, she didn’t know where she was.

The sheets beneath her were soft. Familiar. Her own.

But she didn’t remember crawling into bed last night.

She sat up slowly, a crease pressed into her cheek from the blanket. Her scrubs still clung to her skin, slightly wrinkled, her ID badge dangling sideways from where it had hooked onto her collar.

The door was closed.

Her room smelled faintly like sleep and something comforting she couldn’t name.

She blinked at the ceiling.

Then groaned softly into her palms.

Sasuke. It had to be Sasuke.

Of course he wouldn’t just leave her on the couch like a collapsed puppet. Of course he’d carry her in here like it meant nothing. Like everything always meant nothing to him.

She buried her face in her hands, cringing at the memory of crashing on the couch mid-paperwork like a half-dead med student.

This was fine. Totally fine. Professional. Normal. Whatever.

She pulled herself out of bed and changed into sweats before padding quietly down the hall, hoping to slip out and avoid the awkwardness of—

He was awake.

Sitting at the dining table, eyes on his laptop, hair slightly damp like he’d just gotten out of the shower. A mug of something steamed beside him. The soft clicking of keys echoed through the still apartment.

He didn’t look up.

Sakura hesitated in the doorway.

Then crossed to the kitchen and pulled out a glass. Her fingers curled around the rim too tightly. She took a sip just to keep from speaking.

Finally—

“…Thanks.”

It came out small. Rough-edged. Like it had fought its way out of her throat.

Sasuke didn’t answer immediately.

Then, without looking up, he said, “You were out cold.”

“I figured,” she said, trying to play it off with a tight smile. “Didn’t mean to hijack the living room.”

He closed the laptop with a quiet click. “You’ve been doing too much.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard.” He looked up. His eyes were dark, steady. “You’re not sleeping. You’ve taken on more shifts. You’re not eating properly.”

She stared at him.

For a second, she considered lying. Shrugging. Deflecting.

But she didn’t.

Because something in his tone—so even, so calm—wasn’t accusing. Just… aware.

Sakura set her glass down. Looked at the counter. Then the floor. Anywhere but him.

“My mom’s been messaging more,” she said finally, voice low. “Things at home are getting tight. Bills. Old debts. They don’t ask unless they really need it.”

He said nothing.

“And I’m the only one who can do something about it.” She swallowed. “So I do.”

There was a long silence.

Then, quietly: “You should’ve said something.”

Her laugh was soft. Tired. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I know this marriage is fake, but just so you know, I’m spiraling financially and emotionally and also might be dying from stress’?”

Sasuke’s gaze didn’t move.

She finally glanced up. Met it.

And for the first time in days, neither of them looked away.

“I’m fine,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure she believed it.

Sasuke stood slowly, walked to the cabinet, and pulled down a mug.

He didn’t respond.

But when he passed it to her — filled with her usual tea, steeped exactly how she liked it — she took it without speaking.

And they stood there. Two people in a fake marriage. Sharing silence that suddenly didn’t feel fake at all.

The office was quieter than usual. The kind of quiet that didn't come from peace — but from distraction.

Sasuke sat at his desk, the Tokyo project’s budget revisions glowing on his screen. His eyes scanned the rows of numbers, but nothing landed. Not really.

From the next room, Karin’s voice filtered through the glass wall—calm, confident, mid-call. She was handling some investor pitch, her tone threaded with charm and thinly veiled authority.

He should’ve been focused. The timelines were tight. Investors were circling.

But his mind wasn’t on Tokyo.

His cursor blinked in place. Idle.

Then—

A soft ping.

An internal message. From the Uchiha legal office, flagged under “Household Files.”

Per your request—attached: Haruno Sakura – employment & financial documentation for dependent spouse clause.

Please confirm if further review is needed for tax adjustments.

He opened it without hesitation.

A file opened across his screen. Sakura’s hospital schedule. Compressed weeks of back-to-backs. Doubles. Emergency shifts. Overtime punched in like clockwork. There were barely any rest days—not unless you counted the gaps between rotations.

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed.

He clicked to the next tab.

Salary bracket. Net income. Projected savings.

Another click. HR’s benefits ledger. Hospital reimbursement policies, support tiers. All inadequate.

His jaw tensed.

And then, without fanfare, he opened their shared household account—the one they’d set up two years ago at Mikoto’s insistence. The one Sakura barely touched.

He keyed in a transfer amount. Small, by their standards. Quiet.

No memo. No signature. Just enough to catch up her utilities and the missed payment on her student loan.

She didn’t need to know where it came from.

She just needed a little room to breathe.

Sakura came home late again.

This time she wasn’t quite as tired, but she was still a little hollow. Still sore from carrying everyone else’s weight on her back.

She dropped her keys, kicked off her shoes, and dragged herself toward the kitchen for something microwaveable and pathetic.

Out of habit, she opened her banking app — just to check, just to hope.

And paused.

Her balance had changed.

It wasn’t much. Just enough to catch her attention.

A small deposit.

Anonymous. Unlabeled.

But her stomach dropped anyway.

Only one person had access to that shared account. One person who’d ever even acknowledged it existed.

Sasuke.

She stood there in the dark kitchen, the screen glowing in her hand, her chest tightening.

She didn’t remember turning around. But somehow, she was standing in the doorway of his office, glaring at his back.

He looked up as if he’d been expecting her.

“You did it,” she said flatly.

Sasuke didn’t answer. Just waited.

“That deposit.”

Still nothing.

Sakura’s voice rose slightly. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to step in and—”

“You needed it.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Her throat tightened.

“I’m not your responsibility,” she said, fists clenched at her sides. “This isn’t part of the agreement.”

Sasuke stood slowly. Calm. Controlled. “Neither was carrying you to bed. Or making your tea.”

Her heart thudded.

“This isn’t charity, Sakura.”

“Then what is it?” she asked, almost choking on the words.

There was a pause. A beat. A silence too heavy to carry.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.

And it was the first time he’d admitted it out loud.

The silence stretched too long. Heavy. Suffocating.

Sakura’s fingers curled tighter around her phone, like maybe she could anchor herself to the cold metal.

She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or laugh.

He didn’t know.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because if he’d said “I did it because I had to,”

If he’d said “It meant nothing,”

She could’ve brushed it off. Built her wall back up.

But “I don’t know” meant he felt something.

And she didn’t know what to do with that.

So she didn’t say anything.

Didn’t thank him.

Didn’t yell.

She just turned around.

Left the room in silence, her steps too fast to be calm but too slow to be angry.

The soft sound of her door closing was the only answer she gave him.

Sasuke stood in the quiet that followed, eyes still on the space she’d just filled.

He didn’t move.

Sakura closed the door gently behind her.

No slam. No lock. Just that soft, resigned click that sounded louder than it should have.

She leaned against it for a moment.

Inhaled. Exhaled.

Her heartbeat was still a little too loud.

She wasn’t angry. Not really. Not anymore.

Just tired. Of all of it.

She crossed the room slowly and sank onto the edge of her bed, the springs creaking under her weight. Her scrubs were wrinkled, her hands still cold. She stared down at her palms like they were supposed to offer her answers.

They didn’t.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She almost didn’t check it.

But something told her to look.

One new message.

Mom.

We’ll figure it out, sweetie. Don’t worry. If I sell the old jewelry, maybe we can cover the debts payment for this month. Your dad and I will think of something. You’ve done enough.

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Read it once.

Then again.

And again.

She didn’t cry. Not exactly. Her throat ached like she wanted to, but the tears didn’t come.

She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

You’ve done enough.

But she hadn’t. She never felt like she had.

Every extra shift. Every late night. Every bit of herself poured into the people who needed her — and still, it never seemed like enough.

Sakura tilted her head back, eyes blinking hard at the ceiling. Her breath stuttered quietly in the dark.

Then — without fanfare, without anger — she opened her banking app.

The deposit was still there.

She stared at it for a full minute.

She didn’t transfer it back.

She just closed the app. Set the phone aside.

Curled into her blanket and whispered, “I’ll pay him back.”

Then, finally, she slept.

The apartment was still when she woke. Warm light filtered through the window, soft and golden, and for the first time in weeks, her body didn’t ache with exhaustion.

She padded into the kitchen in sweats and socks, hair tied back loosely, a quiet rhythm to her steps.

Sasuke was already up.

He sat at the table with his laptop open, eyes scanning blueprints, mug of black coffee within arm’s reach. His presence was steady. Solid. Familiar.

He didn’t look up when she entered. But he knew.

Sakura hesitated for only a second before moving to the counter. She poured herself a cup of tea — her favorite, the kind only one of them remembered to buy.

She took a slow sip. Turned to him.

“I wanted to transfer it back,” she said.

Sasuke didn’t move.

“But I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

He didn’t look up.

“I’m keeping it this time.”

He reached for his coffee. “Hn.”

“But I’m paying you back.”

“Hn.”

“Don’t get used to this.”

“I won’t.”

Sakura stared at him. Waiting. Maybe for judgment. Maybe for smugness. Something.

But all he did was scroll.

Somehow, that was worse.

“…Thanks,” she added, quietly.

No sarcasm. No deflection.

Just thanks.

Sasuke didn’t respond.

But when he stood to refill the kettle, he brushed past her shoulder. Not on purpose.

And not by accident either.

Chapter Text

The tomatoes arrived on a Thursday morning.

No note. No bow. Just a plain brown paper bag sitting inside the building’s shared mail cubby, Sakura’s name scrawled across it in familiar handwriting—looped, slightly rushed, undeniably Mebuki.

Inside: a dozen plump, unnaturally perfect tomatoes. Rich in color. Smooth-skinned. Still warm like they'd been packed straight from the garden. Suspiciously fresh for something delivered via post.

Sakura stared at them, then sighed, smiling despite herself.

“She sent tomatoes,” she called over her shoulder, amusement curling at the edges of her voice. “Your favorite.”

Sasuke didn’t look up from the table. His focus stayed on the reports open in front of him, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the edge of his screen. “Who?”

“My mom,” she said, holding one up like a trophy. “She says thanks.”

His brows twitched—barely—but he didn’t ask for details. He didn’t need to.

Sakura didn’t elaborate either. Some things didn’t need explanation.

He stood after a moment, crossed to the counter, and picked one up. Rolled it in his palm like he was testing for weight. It was too round, too smooth—one of those fruits that practically announced it was hand-selected with stubborn love.

He didn’t say a word. But the way he looked at it said enough.

Sakura took the rest and began arranging them in the fridge, finding space between leftover takeout and a wilting bunch of herbs she'd sworn she’d use last week.

“Also,” she added, keeping her tone light, “your mom texted. She wants to take me to that little café by the market. Said she needs someone to help her judge tea that ‘doesn’t taste like dishwater.’ Her words, not mine.”

Still no response.

But when she glanced over, she saw the subtle shift in his posture. The kind that only happened when something registered but he didn’t want it to show. Not guarded. Not quite tense. Just… alert.

Her phone buzzed.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel and checked the screen.

A message. Short. Familiar.

Her lips curved before she could stop them—small and brief, the kind of smile that came when no one was watching. Except someone was.

Sasuke had looked up just in time to see it.

Sakura typed a quick reply, thumb moving faster than necessary, and then flipped the phone over, screen-down. Like she wasn’t hiding anything. Like it didn’t matter.

But he saw the name.

Sasori-san.

“Something funny?” he asked, voice deceptively neutral.

Sakura blinked. “Hm? Oh. No. Just a colleague.”

Her shrug was loose, casual. Too casual.

He didn’t press. Just returned to his seat.

But his gaze lingered on the phone for a beat too long.

Later, as they moved around the apartment—silent choreography, two bodies orbiting the same space without ever colliding—he noticed the difference.

The softness in her steps. The lightness in her breath. The absent-minded hum she let slip while rinsing a dish.

She seemed lighter today.

And somehow, deep in the quiet part of his mind he never liked to visit, he knew:

Whatever had made her smile…

It hadn’t been him.

Mikoto’s invitation was meant to be casual.

An afternoon coffee. Some fresh air. “Just us girls,” she’d said, her tone bright, her text followed by a cherry blossom emoji that felt a little too chipper for someone with corporate board seats and designer handbags.

Sakura had agreed without thinking. Reflex more than intention.

Now she was being gently dragged out of a café and down a boutique-lined street by a woman who looked like she belonged on the cover of a lifestyle magazine called Effortless Matriarch.

“I don’t get nearly enough time like this,” Mikoto said, linking arms with her as if they’d been doing this for years. “Izumi’s always busy. That girl and Itachi are one deadline away from a mutual burnout pact. But you—” she squeezed Sakura’s arm with affection—“I finally get to keep all to myself.”

Sakura gave a small, polite laugh. “Lucky me.”

“You’ve been married to Sasuke for two years now,” Mikoto continued, unbothered by the dry reply. “And yet, I feel I know so little about you. It’s terribly unfair. We’ve all been so focused on the logistics, the politics, the name—nobody stopped to understand the woman who stole my son’s heart.”

Sakura’s feet nearly tripped over the sidewalk crack.

Stole his— No. No, absolutely not.

She smoothed out her expression with a practiced breath. “I think I just showed up at the right time.”

Mikoto’s eyes glimmered, but she said nothing, her smile knowing and unreadable.

They stopped in front of a window display filled with silk gowns and glittering heels.

“Oh!” Mikoto exclaimed, her attention pulled to something inside. “Speaking of dresses—have you picked something for the company gala?”

Sakura blinked. “The… what?”

“The Uchiha annual gala.” Mikoto said it like everyone kept a countdown on their phone. “It’s only a few weeks away. Haven’t you talked about it with Sasuke?”

Sakura paused. “Do I… have to go?”

Mikoto laughed. Soft. Elegant. The kind of laugh that made you feel foolish for asking questions. “Don’t be silly. Of course you’re coming.”

Sakura smiled, tight and automatic. “I was just kidding. Sasuke and I have been talking about it.”

They hadn’t. Not even once. This was the first she’d heard of it.

“Good,” Mikoto patted her hand, clearly pleased. “Wear something beautiful. Make him sweat, if he’s capable of it.” She winked. “Remind my son how lucky he is, even if he’s too quiet to say so.”

Sakura nodded, but her chest felt oddly heavy.

Before Sakura could respond, Mikoto waved a hand toward the street, already turning with the elegance of someone used to timing things perfectly.

“Ah, there’s the car,” she said, as if the moment hadn’t hung a little too long between them.

“Now, where shall we go next? A little shopping? Or perhaps…” Her grin turned sly. “We visit Sasuke’s office? I’ve been meaning to drop by anyway.”

“The office?” Sakura blinked. “Wouldn’t that be… disruptive?”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” Mikoto waved her off with regal ease. “I’m the matriarch. I’m allowed to cause minor chaos.”

Sure, Sakura thought. What could possibly go wrong?

The Uchiha corporate office was everything Sakura expected and more.

Tall glass. Polished floors. Quiet corridors lined with understated wealth. Every inch of it whispered legacy and control. Like the entire building had been designed to impress you, then watch you try not to blink. Mikoto moved through the lobby like royalty. She smiled at receptionists by name. She complimented a junior associate’s tie. She was clearly not just visiting—she was the standard.

Sakura followed half a step behind, adjusting her coat and her posture, equal parts tense and trying not to be. As they neared the executive wing, Mikoto’s phone buzzed, interrupting her cheerful commentary about the company’s history. She pulled it out with a soft sigh. “Oh dear,” Mikoto murmured, glancing at the screen. “Just a quick call. Go ahead and wait in the lounge, dear. I won’t be long.”

Sakura nodded, watching her disappear through a side door.

The silence that followed felt deeper somehow. Padded. Hollow.

She wandered the hallway a little, admiring the minimalist art and expensive light fixtures—until voices filtered down from the corridor.

Low. Tight.

She froze.

The door was cracked open just enough.

Her feet moved before she could stop them.

Inside the office, Sasuke stood still as stone. Across from him, Fugaku’s presence filled the room like pressure: silent, deliberate, inescapable.

“You’re slipping,” Fugaku said, his voice smooth and cutting. “That Tokyo project should’ve been anticipated.”

“The situation is under control,” Sasuke replied, clipped but composed.

Fugaku didn’t flinch. “The situation is a reflection of your leadership—or lack thereof. Control doesn’t erase damage. It doesn’t restore faith. The cracks are showing. Can you afford another?”

Silence.

“I’m handling it,” Sasuke said, a thread of frustration evident beneath the calm.

“Are you?” Fugaku pressed, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. “Competence isn't enough when the Uchiha name is involved. People don’t just expect results—they expect precision. Control. Strength.”

He let the silence stretch just long enough before delivering the next line like a cut:

“And then there’s this marriage of yours.”

Sasuke didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.

He already knew where this was going—he’d heard it enough times to recognize the rhythm of it before the words even fell.

Fugaku’s tone was the same as always: low, precise, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying.

“You acted on impulse. You didn’t think it through. Not like you usually do.”

A pause.

“Two years in, and I still don’t see the value. Not to the family. Not to the company. Not to our name.”

Each word was delivered with surgical precision, like he was diagnosing a structural flaw.

Sakura’s breath caught in her throat. She stood just outside the doorway, frozen.

She hadn’t meant to listen. Hadn’t meant to overhear.

But now her feet wouldn’t move. Her breath caught, her spine tense as the words poured in.

A second later, she backed away. Quiet. Careful. Like if she moved too loudly, the weight of what she’d heard would crash down on her completely.

Her heart thundered in her ears.

Her hands felt cold.

She hadn’t meant to hear it.

But she had.

“This marriage wasn’t the tie anyone expected you to make,” Fugaku continued. “And you’ve done nothing to justify it. Nothing to prove it was the right call.”

His tone wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be. Disappointment carried its own weight.

“Your personal life bleeds into everything. Perception becomes weakness. And weakness,” he paused, eyes like steel, “is liability.”

Sasuke didn’t flinch.

But his fists curled slowly at his sides.

“So tell me—are you prepared to carry this name with both hands? Or are you content with the illusion of control?”

The words settled like ash.

Heavy. Final. Designed to linger.

Then—finally—Sasuke spoke.

His voice was low. Controlled. The kind of calm that didn’t ask for silence but commanded it.

“This marriage was mine to choose.”

Fugaku’s brow twitched—barely, but enough.

“It wasn’t arranged. It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t for the company or the name,” Sasuke continued, eyes still steady. “It was for me.”

There was no defiance in his tone. No anger.

Just quiet conviction—solid, sharp-edged, and unmovable.

“I chose her. I stand by it.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The weight of the words was in their certainty, not their volume.

“I don’t owe you proof,” he added, slower now. “Not for that.”

The room went still. Even the air seemed to hesitate, waiting for something to break.

But nothing did.

The silence didn’t crack.

It held.

Taut. Tense. Thick with things left unsaid.

Before Fugaku could reply—before his disappointment could twist into something more surgical—Itachi stepped in like he'd been listening all along.

“We’re doing what we can to resolve the issue, Father,” he said, his voice smooth, even. “Sasuke has already taken necessary steps to stabilize the situation. The remaining partnerships are intact and steady.”

Fugaku barely glanced at him. “Strategic adjustments don’t erase failures.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, as if the conversation had only ever been an inconvenience.

No fanfare. No nod. No closing remark.

Just retreat. Cold and deliberate.

The silence he left behind didn’t fade.

It pulsed.

Sasuke didn’t move.

He stood there. His gaze stayed fixed on the space his father had just occupied, like he could still see the outline of the man’s shadow burned into the room.

Itachi moved quietly into the space beside him, slower now. Softer.

“You’re holding your own,” Itachi said quietly. “Don’t let him make you forget that.”

Sasuke didn’t answer.

Not because he didn’t hear.

But because holding his ground took both hands.

The corridor had never felt longer.

Sakura’s footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floors, each one a little too measured. She kept her posture composed, expression neutral—but her insides were still off-balance. Still burning from the words she wasn’t supposed to hear.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

Hadn’t meant to walk straight into someone else’s war.

And yet here she was, caught in the middle of a legacy she never asked to carry.

By the time Mikoto rounded the corner to rejoin her, all bright eyes and effortless poise, Sakura had smoothed herself back into something passable.

Composed. Polite. Like she hadn’t just heard her marriage questioned and reduced to a liability.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Mikoto said warmly, looping an arm through hers. “The call took longer than expected. Shall we surprise Sasuke?”

Sakura smiled on reflex. “Of course.”

She didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping her bag until they stopped at the final turn leading to the executive wing.

And just like that—because the universe had a cruel sense of timing—someone else appeared.

A woman.

Poised. Polished. Draped in a sharply cut blazer and heels that didn’t dare click too loudly on marble.

Red hair. Wine-colored lipstick. Confident in that effortless, almost careless way that came from knowing exactly where you stood.

Sakura’s stomach turned before she could place why.

Then—memory struck.

The photo.

That girl from the picture on Sasuke’s shelf—the one where he almost looked like a different person.

Younger. Softer.

Like someone who hadn’t yet learned the weight of restraint.

“Karin!” Mikoto beamed, stepping forward like she’d just spotted a favorite niece. “I didn’t realize you were in the office today.”

The woman smiled, smooth and practiced. “Just finished up a meeting with the boards.”

Her eyes flicked to Sakura. Curious. Assessing.

“Oh! Right,” Mikoto said brightly, turning. “You two haven’t officially met. Sakura, this is Karin—she works closely with Sasuke as a senior project consultant. Karin, this is—” she smiled, her tone light— “Sakura. Sasuke’s wife.”

Sakura smiled, but the title felt like it belonged to someone else.

There was a pause.

Small. Barely noticeable.

But sharp around the edges.

Sakura stepped forward and offered a polite nod. “Nice to meet you.”

Karin returned it. “Likewise.”

But the look in her eyes didn’t quite match the civility in her tone.

It wasn’t open hostility. Nothing so obvious.

Just a flicker—too brief to pin down, too loaded to ignore.

Recognition. Maybe.

Possession. Maybe.

A quiet, unspoken question hanging in the air between them:

You’re the one?

For a moment, they just stood there.

Two women in a hallway.

One with red hair and history. The other with a ring and no idea how tightly she was holding onto it.

Then Mikoto broke the silence, her tone light and oblivious. “We’re just dropping in for a quick visit.”

She gently tugged Sakura along, already moving past the tension like it didn’t exist.

But as Sakura walked, she could still feel Karin’s gaze at her back—cool, unreadable, quietly electric.

She didn’t turn around.

But the moment stayed with her anyway.

His office was quiet when he stepped inside.

Muted lighting, clean lines, a familiar chill in the air—like the room itself had been designed to discourage softness.

Sasuke stood by the far wall, not at his desk.

His gaze fixed on a single framed photo.

Not one of those glossy, celebratory ones companies hang to show legacy or success.

No—this was different.

Black and white. Sleek obsidian frame. Formal. Stark.

Fugaku stood at the center, posture as rigid as the authority he wielded. Mikoto beside him—graceful, poised, her smile soft but restrained. Itachi, seated with casual confidence, every bit the polished heir.

And then Sasuke.

Younger. Slightly apart from the rest. Stiff in a suit too formal for his age, expression carved into something neutral. His shoulders were pulled straight, but his hands—half-curled at his sides—told a different story.

Tension that had started early. Expectations baked in before he knew what they meant. The photo wasn’t a memory. It was a mirror. One that reflected everything the Uchiha name demanded: legacy, loyalty, perfection. It had never been a question of being good enough—only of being enough.

And he never quite was.

His fingers twitched slightly at his side. Not in anger. Not even in resentment. The feeling was more complicated than that. Something in between yearning and futility. The ache of chasing something you’re not even sure you want—but were raised to believe you should.

He exhaled. Long. Low. Controlled.

But the weight in his chest didn’t move.

Then—

A soft knock at the door.

He didn’t turn.

A moment later, his secretary’s voice filtered through the gap. “Mr. Uchiha—your mother is here.”

Sasuke gave no reply. He didn’t need to. The door opened anyway.

Mikoto entered first, elegant and breezy in a way only she could manage in a boardroom.

“Surprise,” she said with the kind of cheer that didn’t belong in executive spaces. “I brought Sakura along for a visit. Isn’t this lovely?”

Sakura stepped in behind her, more tentative but composed.

Sasuke turned from the photo slowly. His expression was unreadable, until his eyes landed on Sakura.

For the briefest second, just long enough to catch, something flickered across his face. A crease of tension. A breath he hadn’t meant to hold.

Their eyes locked.

And Sakura felt it. Not the coldness she sometimes expected from him. But the strain. The burden he didn’t let anyone see—except, maybe, just now. Just her.

“Lovely,” he echoed, tone clipped, distant.

Sasuke crossed the space between them.

He greeted Mikoto first, a brief kiss to her cheek. Polite. Familiar.

Then, without hesitation, he reached for Sakura.

His arm wrapped around her waist, the other settling between her shoulder blades with the kind of steadiness that didn’t ask for permission. The hug was quiet, sure, unflinching. Not just for show. Not for Mikoto. Not even for the room.

For her.

Or maybe—for him.

It wasn’t practiced, like most of their performances had been.

It was grounding. Like he needed to touch something solid. Like he needed to remind himself she was here, and real, and not part of whatever ghost his father had tried to make her into.

Sakura stilled.

Her hands hovered mid-air, unsure. Not because she didn’t want to return it—she did—but because something about it felt fragile. Like if she moved too fast, she might shatter it. Or worse, wake up from it.

And then—before she could move, before she could reach back and anchor him in return—he let go.

Stepped back like the moment had done what it needed to.

Like it had served its purpose.

Like it was enough.

But for her—it wasn’t.

Not when Fugaku’s voice was still clawing at the back of her mind.

Not when she could still hear every word he said, still feel them being carved into her ribcage like truth.

Not when Sasuke had stood in that silence and said nothing.

So she blinked.

Smiled.

Gave Mikoto the kind of pleasant expression that looked like grace but felt like splinters.

And said nothing.

But something inside her shifted. Quietly. Sharply.

Because she would’ve stood beside him.

Would’ve defended them.

Would’ve carried the weight, if he’d just asked.

If she’d known he needed her to.

And now she didn’t know which truth hurt more:

The idea that he hadn’t fought for her at all—

Or the possibility that he had…

And she’d already walked away.

Chapter Text

The ride home was cloaked in silence.

Not the kind they’d grown used to—lazy, companionable, the sort that stretched between shared routines and didn’t demand to be filled. No, this one sat differently. It hummed, buzzed under her skin. Tense. Taut. Like a held breath waiting to snap.

Sasuke drove like he always did—flawless, mechanical, every turn calculated to the millimeter. But his hands on the wheel were too tight, the whites of his knuckles stark against the leather. He stared ahead, eyes pinned to the dark road, face unreadable. It was like he was trying to outrun what had just happened. Like he needed the world to blur past in high speed or it might catch up to him.

Beside him, Sakura leaned against the window. The city lights blurred past in streaks of gold and glass. But all she saw were words.

And then there’s this marriage of yours. You acted on impulse. You didn’t think it through.

Two years in, and I still don’t see the value.

Fugaku’s voice had been sharp—cold in the way only disappointment could be. It hadn’t been meant for her ears, but it clung now like smoke in her lungs, impossible to breathe around. She had heard the undercurrent, the disgust, the way he talked about their marriage like it was a failed acquisition.

And Sasuke hadn’t said a word to defend it.

His jaw was locked the whole drive home. Tension radiated off him in waves, but still—he hadn’t spoken.

When they reached the apartment, he didn’t wait for her.

He stepped out, slammed the car door with just enough force to be impolite, and stalked toward the elevator without looking back. By the time she caught up, he was already punching in the code.

The door to his room clicked shut less than a minute after they entered.

The soft click of the door landed like a punctuation mark. Full stop.

She stood in the kitchen for a long time.

Shoes still on. Coat still zipped. The untouched tea she'd brewed before they'd left sat on the counter, stone cold. She didn’t remember making it. Didn’t remember anything after walking through the door, either.

Eventually—without deciding to—her feet found his door.

One knock. Just one.

A pause.

“What?” Sasuke’s voice came from inside—muted, low, clipped like he’d sanded off the sharpness but couldn’t quite hide the edge.

She pushed the door open anyway.

He sat at his desk, swallowed by scattered reports. The lamplight haloed the mess in a soft, clinical glow. His pen hovered mid-air, frozen above a report he clearly hadn’t read in minutes. His eyes met hers as she entered.

He looked… wrecked. Not outwardly. No one else would see it.

But she did.

The tie he wore earlier now discarded, the collar of his shirt slightly rumpled, like he’d tugged at it too many times.

“You’re going to tell me what that was about,” she said. Not a question.

Sasuke didn’t blink. “I heard your conversation with your father.”

His eyes narrowed. “You were eavesdropping?”

“It’s not like I wanted to hear it,” she snapped, stepping forward. “But you don’t exactly speak in whispers.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, like bracing for impact. “How much?”

She hesitated. Just long enough to make it clear she was choosing her next words carefully.

“I heard enough to know he’s putting an insane amount of pressure on you.”

That part was true. It was also the least of what she’d heard. The least of what she felt.

“That conversation isn’t yours to worry about.” Sasuke said flatly.

“You think I don’t worry about you?” Her voice rose before she could stop it.”

“You don’t have to.”

That made her take a step forward, breath catching in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“You have your own shit,” he said quietly. “You don’t need mine.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

He stood, slow and deliberate, and towered over her in the narrow space between desk and door. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you to hear it.”

“I’m not fragile,” she shot back.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“No, but you’re treating me like I can’t handle it. Like I’m some stranger, not your—” Her voice broke. The word wife catching like glass in her throat.

She swallowed hard.

Sasuke’s eyes sharpened. “Not my what?”

The pause felt endless.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. Like it hurt to say it.

“Not someone who’s supposed to help you. Especially now. Just like… just like how you helped me before.” Her gaze didn’t drop. But it flickered—just barely—as if unsure whether she was allowed to say that out loud. Whether it was fair to ask for closeness when their entire arrangement was built on walls.

His breath stuttered. “This marriage was never about that.”

“I know,” she said, and the words hurt worse than they should have. “I know exactly what it was about.”

Silence stretched. Long. Uncomfortable. Weighted like a rope pulled too tight.

And then—he looked away.

Not far. Just enough to shift the weight of his gaze. His shoulders didn’t move, but something in his expression did—tightening, like he was bracing against words he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

His hands hung at his sides. They were clenched just enough to give him away—fingers curled, knuckles pale, like he didn’t know what to do with them if they weren’t building walls.

His voice, when it came, was low. Hoarse. Like it had been buried somewhere deep.

“I don’t get to want things, Sakura.”

That stopped her cold.

“Everything I do,” he said, each word precise, exhausted, “everything I am—it all reflects on them. Every move I make. Every person I touch. Every decision I think is mine… isn’t.” His eyes flicked back to her, just for a second. Then away again.

“This… whatever this is—it was supposed to keep them off my back. That’s all.”

She stepped closer.

“Then why does it feel like it’s more than that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Why do you look at me like it is?”

Still nothing.

Sakura moved before she could think better of it.

Her hand rose. For a split second, she hesitated, hovering just above his cheek. Like touching him might cross a line they’d never drawn in words but both had tiptoed around.

But then—she did.

She cupped his face gently, fingers grazing his jaw, her thumb brushing just beneath his eye.

He froze.

Didn’t lean in.

Didn’t pull away.

Just stood there, breathing shallowly, like he couldn’t figure out if he was supposed to resist it or let himself fall.

Her thumb swept once across his cheekbone, slow and soft. Grounding. And then—carefully, deliberately—she tilted his face toward her. Not with force. But with presence. With patience.

Made him look at her. His eyes met hers.

“You’re allowed to want things,” she said softly. “Just for you.”

“And what would that be?” he murmured.

Sakura took a step closer.

Close enough to see the shadows tucked beneath his eyes. Close enough to feel the shift in his breath when she neared. Their breaths overlapped—shallow, uneven, like a rhythm that didn’t know how to settle. Her chest rose, his shoulders dipped. The air between them crackled.

“I don’t know,” she said, voice steady despite the storm in her chest. “But I think you do.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just watched her.

And she watched back.

But his eyes—God, his eyes—looked at her like maybe he didn’t know how to look away anymore.

Then—he moved.

Not with force.

But with intention.

His hand lifted. Brushed her cheek. His fingers were warm. Careful. As if he thought she might vanish.

And then—he kissed her.

Not like the staged kisses they’d performed in front of family or friends. Not like the accidental brushes or the cheek-pecks they sometimes fumbled through.

This was different.

This was real.

It felt like gravity breaking. Like a fault line giving way under years of pressure.

His hand slid behind her neck, thumb grazing the edge of her jaw. His other arm hovered near her waist—unsure, faltering, then finally settling there like a quiet confession.

The kiss was messy.

Uneven.

But honest. So honest it hurt.

Because it wasn’t a question.

It was an answer.

But she—

She didn’t move. Didn’t kiss back.

Her hands were frozen. Her breath stuck. Her eyes wide, shocked—not rejecting, but late. Too late.

And he felt it.

The pause. The tension. The stillness where something should’ve bloomed.

He lingered only a moment longer. Let the silence speak for her.

Then, without a word, he pulled back.

Carefully. Gently.

Like he didn’t want to disturb whatever this fragile thing was between them.

Sakura’s mouth parted—she wanted to say wait, or I didn’t mean— something, anything.

But her voice failed.

So she stepped back. Her fingers twitched. Her gaze dropped.

“I… I should go,” she whispered.

He didn’t stop her.

But his hand twitched at his side.

Like maybe he wanted to.

She turned and walked out, her steps soft but somehow too loud in the stillness.

The door closed behind her like a breath held too long.

She didn’t remember the walk to her room.

Only the sound of the door closing behind her.

The quiet snick of the latch sliding into place felt sharper than it should’ve. Like the sound had teeth. Like the silence on the other side of it flinched.

The hallway light vanished the second she shut it out, leaving her in a hush that felt too absolute. Too final. Like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what she’d do next.

And then it was just her.

Her. And the echo of her heartbeat. Still racing. Still too loud. Like her body hadn’t realized the moment had ended. Like it was trying to carry her back to it. Trying to say—remember this. Don’t let this slip away.

She stood there for a long time.

Still. Barely breathing. Eyes trained on nothing in particular.

As if… if she moved too quickly, the moment might burn off her skin. As if standing still might rewind time. Undo it. Let her try again.

It didn’t.

The room didn’t shift. The air didn’t loosen. The memory didn’t unmake itself.

She pressed a hand to her chest, fingertips brushing the fabric over her sternum. Felt the flutter beneath it—fierce, uneven, unrelenting.

It didn’t help.

It only made it worse.

Because she could still feel him.

Not in a dramatic, full-body way—there was no leftover heat, no echo of his hands. But in the quiet parts. The edges. The places her brain hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up yet.

Her lips still tingled.

Not with sensation. But with memory.

Like his mouth had left something behind that wasn’t physical at all—just warmth, burned soft. Like the glow of a match long since extinguished, but still smoking faint in the dark.

She reached up, touched her lips with her fingers. Tentative. Curious. Almost scared.

There was no pressure. No proof.

But the ghost of it was there.

God.

She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Not so much sat as folded. Her knees gave, her body poured downward, loose and graceless, like she’d been deflated.

Her arms hung limp at her sides. Her shoulders sagged. Everything about her posture said one thing:

I don’t know how to hold this.

What just happened? What the hell had just happened?

She dragged in a breath—but it didn’t land where it was supposed to. It got caught halfway down, tangled somewhere between her ribs and her gut, useless.

That kiss wasn’t a fluke.

It wasn’t some accidental stumble over their arrangement.

It hadn’t been duty. Or tradition. Or an act meant to appease an audience.

There’d been no performance tonight. No contract. No guidelines.

Just him.

Just Sasuke.

Unfiltered. Unarmored. Terrifyingly real. He had kissed her like he meant it. Not in the romanticized, sweeping way people talked about in books—but in the way that felt stripped bare. Like it was the only language he knew, and she was the only person he could speak it to.

She didn’t know what that meant.

She didn’t know if he did either.

She touched her lips again, this time slower. Her fingers curled slightly, like they wanted to recreate the shape of his mouth. Like they were afraid to lose the outline.

The pressure had faded.

But not the intent.

Not the weight of it.

Not the part of him that had stayed behind, tucked into the pause between their breaths.

Was it a mistake?

Her chest ached at the thought.

Or worse—was it just a moment? Something impulsive. Unthinking. One beat of vulnerability he was already trying to forget.

He hadn’t said a word.

Not before. Not after.

And that silence—that aching, brutal silence—echoed louder than the kiss itself.

She didn’t know what to make of it.

Didn’t know which version of him to believe now.

The one who had kissed her like she was something sacred. Like he’d been carrying that desire for years, buried so deep it was a miracle it ever surfaced at all.

Or the one who let her walk away. Who didn’t reach for her.

Who stood there, mouth parted, hands slack at his sides, and let the air between them thicken until it pushed her out.

She leaned back slowly, spine bending until her shoulders met the bed.

Her head hit the pillow like it wasn’t hers. Like her body had gone on autopilot and left her mind behind.

One arm lifted on instinct and draped over her eyes, blocking the ceiling, the room, the weight pressing down from above.

As if darkness might help. Might mute the noise in her chest. Might quiet the ache.

It didn’t.

Every beat of her heart still felt like a question she didn’t know how to ask.

Every breath she took felt borrowed. Foreign. Like her body didn’t trust her with it anymore.

Because something had shifted.

Not on the surface—but underneath. In the core of her. In the soft, untouchable places.

Something had cracked.

And now she didn’t know if it was the start of everything—

—or the beginning of nothing at all.

Chapter Text

For someone like Sasuke—stoic, controlled, allergic to emotional chaos—a kiss like that wasn’t just a kiss.

It wasn’t like the one they shared at their wedding.

NO. That one had been scripted. Practiced. Something expected. A ceremonial gesture dressed up as intimacy. A kiss for the cameras, for their mothers, for the illusion they sold to everyone but themselves.

But this?

This had been intentional. Real.

A soft rebellion against every rule they’d written in the margins of their contract. A breach of the boundary they both pretended didn’t exist—until he crossed it.

And it had completely short-circuited him.

He’d kissed her like it meant something—because it did. Because she meant something.

But then she just... walked away.

No outrage. No yelling. No accusations.

Just a pause. A stunned silence. And then retreat.

Sasuke wasn’t sure how long he stood there after she left.

The door had closed gently behind her—no slam, no finality. Just a quiet click that echoed louder than it should have.

He didn’t move.

He stayed where he was, his breath uneven. His hand was still hovering at his side, somewhere between reaching and letting go.

A single thought looped again, and again and again.

But she hadn’t kissed him back.

No flinch. No twitch of reciprocation. Just stillness—like he’d kissed a statue. Like he’d miscalculated the weight of something he’d been certain was mutual.

His chest was too tight.

Not in a dramatic, emotional way. He wasn’t heartbroken.

Just… wrecked. Confused. Off-balance in a way he didn’t have language for.

His lips still tingled faintly, and his pulse—irritatingly uneven—kept reminding him that yeah, he felt it. All of it.

But she hadn’t.

And that thought wouldn’t leave him alone.

Not because he expected something out of a romance film. He hadn’t needed her to gasp, to cling, to confess.

But some part of him had believed—stupidly—that maybe she felt it too.

Because hadn’t she looked at him like she did?

Hadn’t she touched his face with a kind of care that wasn’t part of the deal?

Hadn’t they tiptoed around this for months—through silence, through near-misses, through the way she lingered in his space just a second too long?

He’d thought it was mutual.

He sat down finally, elbows on his knees, head hanging low as he stared at nothing in particular—just the floor and his own embarrassment echoing inside his skull.

Maybe it was the wrong moment.

Or maybe…

Maybe he read it wrong.

He wasn’t used to this—wanting something he couldn’t define. Moving without knowing the outcome. Letting instinct override calculation.

And now he was stuck—caught between wanting to fix it and having no idea how.

He didn’t regret it.

Not the kiss.

Not the act of it.

But the aftermath—the silence, the absence, the shift?

That—he wasn’t sure how to carry.

Because if she had walked away from that…

Then maybe she was already halfway out.

The next morning, Sakura acted like absolutely nothing had happened.

Which—on paper—should’ve been fine. Totally reasonable. Expected, even.

Except for the part where she did it so convincingly.

She breezed past Sasuke in the kitchen in her usual oversized hoodie and aggressively fluffy socks, humming under her breath and clutching her tea mug, like she hadn’t walked out of his room the night before.

“Morning,” she said brightly, as if she were the sun and not the person currently pretending their lips hadn’t recently overlapped in a moment of intense mutual life confusion.

No awkward silence. No darted glances. No tension hovering in the air like a power outage.

She didn’t bring it up. Didn’t pause. Didn’t flinch.

She talked to the kettle more than she talked to Sasuke.

Honestly, it was impressive.

If he hadn’t known better—if he hadn’t been there—he might’ve believed they were just two very polite roommates with no history of emotionally compromising proximity.

But he was there. And he hadn’t forgotten the way her mouth had felt beneath his. Which made this sudden reset to factory settings feel less like casual indifference and more like a coordinated PR maneuver.

She was dodging. Not obviously but enough for Sasuke to notice. Like a game of tag where she’d already touched base and was now sprinting in carefully timed zigzags to avoid being caught again.

Which led Sasuke to a very uncomfortable possibility:

Was this her version of rejecting him?

Not with words. That would’ve been too merciful.

No “Hey, let’s pretend that never happened.”

No “You misread that entirely.”

Just this—this graceful slide into strategic over-casualness.

No, this was far more devastating. This was the graceful retreat. The “we’re just not going to talk about that, ever” routine. The “maybe if I’m extra casual, he’ll pretend it never happened too” defense strategy.

Maybe it had been a mistake. On his part. Maybe he was the problem. Maybe he—

Okay. He needed to stop thinking.

Unfortunately, his thoughts didn’t care.

Sasuke watched her from over his coffee mug as she hummed while packing her lunch. Not her usual distracted hum. This one was suspiciously cheerful.

She flitted from the fridge to the pantry with the kind of ease that made it very clear she was trying. Too hard.

He narrowed his eyes over the rim of his mug.

She didn’t avoid him—but she didn’t look at him either. Her gaze skimmed right past him like he was part of the furniture.

She was halfway through packing her lunch—carefully placing a small tangerine next to her thermos—when her phone lit up on the counter.

She glanced at it. And smiled.

A small one. Quick. But it was there.

And Sasuke, being Sasuke, clocked it instantly.

For... data collection.

It was probably harmless. Someone from the hospital. Maybe from her mother.

He adjusted his mug slightly, definitely not trying to sneak a peek. But she must’ve sensed it anyway because she flipped her phone face-down with the reflexes of a seasoned covert operative.

Interesting.

“Something funny?” he asked, because apparently, his mouth had lost connection with his brain.

Sakura blinked. “Hmm?”

“Just now. You smiled.”

“Oh. Uh. Just a friend.” She said it lightly, already returning to her container of rice.

He nodded once. Said nothing.

She didn’t offer more.

And he didn’t ask.

But when she left the kitchen two minutes later, still humming, still smiling faintly at her phone—

He realized he had set his mug down, untouched—bitter in more ways than one.

By midweek, Sasuke was still thinking about it.

He sat at his desk flipping through quarterly projections like a man attempting to drown his feelings in spreadsheets. It didn’t work. Pie charts had never looked more judgmental.

Sakura had been... fine. Professional. Efficient. Dangerously composed for the past few days.

And it was worse than silence. It was neutrality. Neutrality from someone who once left a post-it on his laptop that said eat something or I will drag you to the hospital myself.

Neutrality from the same girl who once poked him with a pencil until he grumbled something that resembled a sentence.

Neutrality from the woman who used to casually fill the air with teasing whenever he got too quiet, like silence was something she could charm into softening.

He could handle silence.

He couldn’t handle being ignored.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed—something dangerously close to dramatic.

That’s when his phone buzzed.

Itachi: Are you free? You’ve been sulking from three doors away. It’s making the interns nervous.

Sasuke frowned.

Then typed back:

Sasuke: Not sulking. Working.

A pause.

Then—

Itachi: You call this working? You just tried to sign a form with your coffee stirrer. My office. Now.

He went, because arguing with Itachi was exhausting and he didn’t have the stamina today.

Itachi barely looked up from his desk as Sasuke walked in. He gestured vaguely at the chair like a courtroom judge who already knew the verdict.

Sasuke dropped into the chair opposite him. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there. Brooding. Brewing. Emitting the kind of emotional static that made potted plants wilt.

Itachi waited.

Continued flipping through his folder like Sasuke wasn’t metaphorically melting in his guest chair.

After a long, patient pause, he finally asked, “So. Are we brooding about something in particular, or is this just your new ambient mood?”

Sasuke glared.

Itachi flipped a page.

“Does this have anything to do with a specific someone?”

Sasuke didn’t answer.

But his silence was the verbal equivalent of a thunderstorm forecast: brooding with a high chance of unresolved feelings and emotional suppression.

Itachi, undeterred, casually marked something on a document in front of him. “Ah. So it’s Sakura.”

“I didn’t say that,” Sasuke muttered.

“You didn’t have to. Your sulking has a target radius. And it’s been orbiting one person for the past two years.”

Sasuke crossed his arms. “She’s been avoiding me.”

He sounded—Itachi noted with some amusement—exactly like a very serious child who just discovered social rejection and was not taking it well.

“Hmm.” Itachi set his pen down with a quiet click, folding his hands like a therapist mid-session. “And why would she do that, I wonder.”

Sasuke didn’t reply. He glared at the floor like it owed him answers.

Itachi leaned back, settling in with the calm of someone who had been waiting for this moment to arrive. “Let me guess. You finally did something impulsive, it scared you, and now you’re trying to calculate emotional fallout with the same formula you apply to risk mitigation reports.”

Sasuke scowled. “It wasn’t impulsive.”

“No?”

“I thought about it.”

Itachi blinked. “You thought about it.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

A pause.

Then, muttered—“I don’t know. A while.”

“A while,” Itachi repeated.

Sasuke nodded once, tightly. “A while.”

Itachi let out a low exhale that was technically a laugh but so restrained it barely counted. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You—someone who needs to prepare a script just to say good morning to new hires—have been sitting on this... thought for months, and when you finally acted on it, she didn’t react exactly the way you wanted, and now you’re in here sulking like a poet who got ghosted.” Sasuke stared hard at the corner of the desk.

Then, voice low, “She didn’t kiss me back.”

Itachi blinked. Once. Slowly.

“…Ah,” he said. Sasuke looked up sharply. “That’s it? Just ah?”

“I could say ouch if it helps.”

“It doesn’t.”

Itachi considered that. “Then no. That’s not it.”

“She’s pretending nothing happened,” Sasuke added.

Itachi stood, wandered over to the bar cart in the corner, and poured himself a glass of water like they were on a break between board meetings.

“Yes. That sounds like something a person would do after being kissed by their emotionally unavailable roommate-husband who usually responds to human contact with a well-timed scowl.”

Sasuke rubbed his temple. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m enduring this,” Itachi corrected. “The interns are enduring this. One of them asked me if you’ve been possessed.”

Sasuke closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to get weird.”

“You didn’t think it would?” Itachi asked mildly, returning to his chair. “You’ve been in a fake marriage for two years. You live together. You eat the same bland cereal and fight about who left the rice cooker on. The minute you let real emotion into that, it was guaranteed to get weird.”

Sasuke exhaled slowly. “I thought we were on the same page.”

A beat.

“She left.”

“And you think that means rejection?”

“What else could it mean?”

Itachi gave him a long look. The kind that said you really are my brother, with a tone that landed somewhere between fond disbelief and tired clarity. “It could mean she was surprised,” he said. “Processing. Not everyone reacts to life-altering emotional confessions with a standing ovation.”

“It wasn’t a confession,” Sasuke muttered.

Itachi blinked once. Then:

“And yet here you are sitting in my office, arms crossed like a sulky teenager, spiraling over a kiss that wasn’t returned, while clearly waiting for a reaction you never had the nerve to ask for”

Sasuke’s jaw flexed.

Itachi exhaled slowly, voice softening just a fraction. “Maybe she didn’t know how to respond,” he said. “Or maybe she’s scared. Or maybe—just maybe—she thinks you’re scared. That you regret it.”

Sasuke glanced over, silent.

Itachi picked up his pen again.

“Here’s what I know,” he said. “If you keep doing nothing, that silence is going to turn into something permanent.”

He looked up, gaze steady.

“You want her,” he said. “So start acting like it.”

Chapter Text

The drive south unraveled in silence.

The hum of the car filled the space between them, steady and low. Every so often, the tires crunched over patches of gravel or dipped into a bump in the road, but otherwise, the world outside blurred past in soft, muted motion.

Sasuke drove like he always did—controlled, deliberate, as if the road only existed because he allowed it to. One hand rested on the wheel, the other draped loosely by his side. His gaze stayed mostly forward, sharp and unreadable.

But every now and then, he glanced at her.

Not because he was waiting for her to speak.

But because he wanted to.

Sakura sat beside him, head tilted against the window, her earphones in, one hand loosely wrapped around her phone. Her expression was hard to read—not guarded, exactly, just… elsewhere. She watched the city peel away in pieces—glass giving way to green, steel bleeding into open fields. The sprawl thinned into silence.

Rice paddies shimmered under the afternoon sun, still and perfect. Banana trees bent under their own weight. Clotheslines stretched between crooked houses, shirts fluttering in the breeze like half-hearted waves to people they’d never meet.

She hadn’t said a word since they left.

He hadn’t asked.

But there was something in the way her fingers tapped absently against her thigh. Like she wanted to say something. Like she didn’t know how.

It had been four days. And not once had it been brought up.

The air smelled different out here.

Earthier. Wetter. Like memory.

After another hour-long drive, her childhood home came into view just past the ridge—a modest two-story house nestled between old rice fields and rusted fences. Its white paint sun-faded and its gate was adorned with plastic wind chimes that jingled weakly in the breeze. There was a garden in front—half thriving, half wild—with mismatched pots and a lazy cat sprawled across a worn bench like it had been running the property long before the Harunos ever moved in.

It wasn’t far. But it felt like another life.

Mebuki was waiting at the gate, apron dusted with flour, her hair half-tied like she’d started ten things and finished none. She wiped her hands on the cloth and beamed.

“Sasuke-kun,” she said. “You finally made it.”

Sasuke stepped out of the car and gave a respectful bow. “Thank you for having me.”

“Oh, don’t be so stiff,” Kizashi called out, emerging from the side with both arms in the air like they were landing a plane. “We’re family, aren’t we?”

Sakura winced slightly, stepping between them before her father could say something worse.

“Let’s go inside,” she said quickly, reaching for the door latch with more force than necessary.

The house smelled exactly the same.

Soy and garlic and woodsmoke. Her mother’s cooking. Old books. Damp wood. It wrapped around her the moment they stepped in, it was familiar and immediate and inescapably real.

The same dish rack still sat by the window, crooked and rust-stained from years of balancing one too many bowls. The same kitchen clock still ticked half a beat too slow, just enough to be noticeable. Even the draft in the hallway near the bathroom remained, whispering through like an old habit the house couldn’t break.

Nothing had changed.

It wrapped around her like a second skin. Familiar. Annoying. Intimate.

Sasuke paused in the doorway. Took everything in. Not with judgment but with quiet calculation.

He’d grown up around clean lines, strategic layouts, and silence that earned respect. Here, everything tilted. The kitchen cabinet, the wind chimes, the way Mebuki’s voice filled the room before the walls even stopped creaking. It was... a lot. But oddly, not unwelcome.

Sakura watched him from the corner of her eye.

And for reasons she couldn’t name, that made her feel bare.

Lunch was humble, but lovingly made.

Grilled fish, lightly charred at the edges. Steamed rice served in mismatched bowls. A salad of cucumber and sesame from the garden. And miso soup—warm, rich, and exactly how Sakura remembered it. A little heavier on the dashi, just the way her mother liked.

They sat shoulder-to-shoulder at the narrow table, late sun cutting gold lines across the floor. A rooster crowed somewhere behind the house, oblivious to the hour. A goat bleated in protest, loud and offended, like it had personal grievances with the universe. Conversation drifted around them—weather, the state of the crops, the potholes still unrepaired on the main road. Kizashi launched into a familiar rant about how the mayor had promised gravel but delivered nothing but speeches*,* while Mebuki calmly redirected him between bites of rice, like she’d done this a hundred times before.

And with Sasuke beside her, close enough for their sleeves to graze, she couldn’t ignore the weight of what lingered between them. Not after the way that night ended. Not after everything that wasn’t said.

Halfway through the meal, Mebuki set the teapot down with a soft clink and looked directly across the table.

“Sasuke-kun, you’ve really done a lot for our Sakura,” Mebuki said as she poured a second cup of tea. “We’re so grateful you’ve been taking care of our daughter.”

Sakura kept her eyes on her bowl. She hadn’t said more than five words since sitting down. But her skin prickled with every glance Sasuke threw her way. Was he pretending as hard as she was? Was he thinking about it too?

Or worse—was he not thinking about it at all?

“She’s done more for me,” Sasuke said, without pause.

That made Sakura’s chopsticks stutter—just slightly. She didn’t look up. But the breath she took came with more effort than she expected.

“Ah,” Mebuki said, smiling faintly. “Well, she’s always been stubborn about helping others. Even when she’s the one in need.” That earned a quiet snort from Kizashi. He set his bowl down, nudging it aside with a thumb.

“That’s our girl,” he said, not without pride. Then, a glance between the two of them. “But you know, marriage isn’t always smooth sailing.”

He leaned in, elbows braced on the table, voice softening as though offering a well-worn truth.

“Your mother and I fought like cats and dogs our first year. Thought we’d made a mistake half the time.”

Mebuki rolled her eyes. “Because you kept feeding the chickens beer bread.”

“They liked it!”

“They were drunk for a week, Kizashi.”

Sakura bit her lip to suppress a laugh, shoulders shaking.

Sasuke blinked, startled—then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched.

And for a second, the tension eased. Like it had never been there.

Until Kizashi’s expression turned unexpectedly serious.

“Point is,” he said, “you get through things together. The hard parts. The dry spells. The stuff no one warns you about. That’s what makes it real.”

Mebuki leaned in again, that too-knowing glint in her eyes. “You two are doing okay though, right?”

Sakura stiffened. “Mom.”

“It’s a fair question,” Mebuki said. “You don’t visit much. And you both look tired.”

Sakura opened her mouth to answer, but Sasuke spoke first.

“We’re fine,” he said.

Like he meant it.

Then, as he reached for his teacup again, his fingers brushed hers.

Just barely. A whisper of contact. Not enough to notice—unless you were already paying attention.

Sakura didn’t pull away.

She didn’t look at him either.

But her hand trembled—small, quiet, and hidden in the shadows between their plates.

The afternoon sun had mellowed into gold when Kizashi clapped a hand on Sasuke’s shoulder.

“You up for a little work, son?” Kizashi asked, gesturing toward the backyard. “Nothing fancy. Just helping me pull a few eggplants and maybe check on the tomato plants. They ripen faster when someone scowls at them, apparently.”

Sasuke gave a slow blink, as if weighing whether that was actual agricultural wisdom or just rural dad humor.

His head tilted, barely. But Sakura noticed it.

Tomatoes.

Of course it would be tomatoes.

“Alright,” Sasuke said simply.

Sakura blinked. “Wait—you don’t have to—”

“No, let him,” Mebuki said, eyes glinting. “City boy needs to earn his rice.”

Before Sakura could argue, Sasuke was already stepping into a pair of borrowed sandals that looked slightly too small and following Kizashi into the open garden behind the house.

It was a small plot. Vines curled around makeshift trellises. Bamboo poles leaned precariously. Somewhere, a duck honked like it was offended on principle.

And within minutes, Sasuke had drawn attention. A lot of it. The neighbors had apparently sensed new blood on the property. A small flock of girls—mostly daughters of nearby farmers—drifted over under the pretense of offering baskets or asking about the weather. One of them handed him a straw hat. Another offered sliced watermelon. One giggled—giggled—when Sasuke bent over to pull a stubborn root from the soil. Sakura squinted from the porch, arms crossed.

Mebuki appeared beside her, handing her a glass of calamansi juice with the subtlety of a gossip columnist. “They’re quick, huh?” Mebuki said casually, watching the growing group of giggling spectators. “I don’t blame them. He’s very... photogenic.”

Sakura took the glass with a muttered thanks, eyes still narrowed at the field.

Sakura sipped her drink a little too forcefully.

Sasuke, to his credit, didn’t seem to notice the attention—or chose not to. He just kept working, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed, his expression set in its usual frown of quiet concentration.

He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t even talking.

And still, the girls laughed like he’d delivered a punchline.

Sakura hated that it bothered her.

“You know,” Mebuki said, swirling the ice in her own glass, “when I was your age, I once threw a slipper at a girl who touched your father’s elbow too long.”

Sakura coughed. “Mom.”

“Just saying. Elbows are very telling.”

Sakura didn’t respond. Just watched as Sasuke straightened up, sweat glinting at his temple, and looked—just once—toward the house.

Their eyes met across the field.

Brief. Barely a second.

But her heart gave a very specific thump.

Mebuki glanced sideways, smiling faintly.

“Maybe hold the slipper. For now.”

Before Sakura could roll her eyes, a sharp knock echoed from the front gate—followed by the telltale squeak of hinges and a familiar, lilting voice.

“Mebuki-san! You home?”

“Always when there’s food,” Mebuki muttered, wiping her hands on a towel and heading to the door. Sakura followed, still nursing the last of her juice.

Seconds later, the front door swung open and three women entered like a warm gust of gossip: two neighbors from down the ridge, and one woman Sakura vaguely remembered as her old homeroom teacher’s cousin. “Sakura-chan!” one of them exclaimed. “Look at you! Still pretty, and now married too, ne? You didn’t tell us your husband was so handsome!”

Sakura flushed, her smile startled but genuine. “I didn’t know I was supposed to give advance notice.”

“Oh, she’s still cheeky,” another laughed, settling into a chair like she owned it. “But really… so tall! And quiet. They say that the quiet ones are always hiding something.”

Mebuki chuckled as she poured glasses of calamansi juice. “He’s not hiding anything. He’s just polite.” “He didn’t look polite,” the third chimed in, fanning herself with one of Mebuki’s cookbooks. “He looked like he was praying for mercy when Kizashi started his ‘mayor’s empty gravel’ speech again.”

The room burst into laughter. Even Sakura’s lips twitched.

They shuffled into the sitting area near the window, chatter circling like birds on a breeze. Mebuki passed juice around and nudged Sakura into a spot on the couch. She sank into it, legs tucked under her, the familiar cushions easing some of the leftover awkwardness from earlier.

Someone reached for her hand. “You’re glowing, you know. Must be happy.”

Sakura blinked, a laugh escaping before she could help it. “It’s just warm. I swear.”

“Hmm,” one of the women hummed knowingly. “Well, whatever it is, it suits you.”

She ducked her head, cheeks warm, but the teasing felt lighter now.

The chatter moved easily from there—stories about a neighbor’s grandson, someone’s new rooster, the usual winding paths of provincial gossip. Mebuki chimed in effortlessly, laughing at all the right parts, guiding the rhythm of the room like a conductor.

Sakura let herself sit back. Just breathe. Her old world, noisy and imperfect, still remembered her.

And from the window, she felt it—his gaze.

Sasuke stood at a quiet distance, watching without interrupting.

Their eyes met again, just briefly.

No words passed between them.

But this time, her smile—soft and real and a little shy—rose without effort.

And stayed.

By the time they started packing up, the sky had begun to dim—washed in that indigo gray that came just before dusk, when the wind picked up and the fields turned into silhouettes.

Sakura stood on the porch, brushing dirt off her jeans with half-hearted slaps. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun now, strands falling into her face. She hadn’t said much since lunch, and Sasuke had kept to himself after his sudden rise in local celebrity status.

Thunder rumbled low in the distance, soft and guttural.

“You’re not seriously thinking of driving in that, are you?” Mebuki asked, appearing at the door with a clean towel in one hand and judgment in the other. “We should go before it starts,” Sakura said, though even she didn’t sound convinced.

“You’ll be halfway down the ridge when the road floods,” Mebuki said. “This old house might have a thousand problems, but the floors are dry and the pillows are fluffed.”

Kizashi popped his head in from the kitchen. “And leftover rice. And karaoke.”

“No.” Sakura and Mebuki said in unison.

Sasuke glanced at the sky. The clouds were dragging low, heavy with rain. A steady wind tugged at the trees. The storm wasn’t waiting anymore.

“We’ll stay,” Sasuke said.

Sakura turned to him, surprised. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” he said simply, stepping back inside.

“Great!” Mebuki chimed. “Sakura’s room is clean.”

Sakura opened her mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to say we hadn’t planned this or we’ll be just fine.

Then, catching the look on her daughter’s face, Mebuki added with a breezy shrug, “What? It’s not like you haven’t shared a bed before.”

Sakura flinched.

“Mom.” Heat crept up her neck—not quite embarrassment. Just the quiet weight of implication. Of suggestion. Of being seen in a way that wasn’t true.

They hadn’t shared a room before. But her mother said it like it was obvious. Like closeness was a given.

She risked a glance at Sasuke.

He didn’t react.

He simply nodded politely to Mebuki and turned toward the hallway—like it didn’t matter.

Sakura didn’t speak.

She followed him, quiet, the weight of the house pressing in around her as they passed the kitchen, the crooked clock, and that familiar hallway draft that had always lived just outside the bathroom.

And then the door creaked open.

Her bedroom. Their destination.

The rain had begun to fall in earnest, beating steadily against the tin roof while the wind rattled the windows with quiet insistence.

By then, they had already changed into borrowed clothes and settled into Sakura’s childhood bedroom—just as the storm broke in full.

Sakura wore an old high school PE shirt, sleeves slightly too short from years in storage. Sasuke had ended up in one of Kizashi’s threadbare undershirts—worn soft with age and clinging a little too snugly across his shoulders.

Mebuki had handed them spare pillows and a few mismatched blankets with a breezy, “You two will figure it out,” as if the situation didn’t warrant further explanation.

Now, standing in the center of her old bedroom, Sakura felt it again—that strange, disorienting sense of return. Like slipping into a version of herself she wasn’t sure still fit.

The room looked smaller than she remembered.

The yellow curtains still hung at the windows, slightly crooked from where a hook had snapped years ago and never been fixed. They fluttered faintly with the breeze slipping in from the barely sealed frame, casting shadows that moved like fingers across the walls. Her bookshelf leaned tiredly to the left, its shelves bowed under the weight of old paperbacks—A Little Princess, medical case review compilations, a few cracked spines from teen romance novels she never finished but never threw out. A dusty stack of journals sat untouched on the desk, their edges curled from summers of sweaty palms and late-night scribbling. The pink pen with the puffball tip was still there. Dead, probably. But still waiting.

The quilt at the foot of the bed hadn’t changed. Pale yellow, lined with floral patches, stitched with tiny, uneven loops—her first attempt at a running stitch, guided by her mother’s hands when she was ten. She remembered pricking her finger and crying. She remembered how proud she’d been to finish anyway.

And there, resting against the headboard, sat the old stuffed bear.

Its fur was matted from years of use. One eye slightly looser than the other. An ear slouched downward like it had given up halfway through its service. The faded stethoscope around its neck—plastic, too tight, a little cracked at the bend—was still there. Somehow.

It looked out of place in this moment. Or maybe she did.

Sasuke’s eyes flicked to it briefly.

His mouth tugged.

“You were subtle,” he said.

Sakura followed his gaze. She rolled her eyes, but the smile came easy.

“He was my first patient. Very compliant. Barely whined during surgery.”

She tilted her head, mock-serious.

“Had to amputate his leg once. Reattached it with glitter glue and blind faith.”

And that did it.

Sasuke laughed—an actual, startled sound. Rough and warm and completely unguarded.

It escaped before he could stop it, and for a second, he looked almost surprised by it himself, like he hadn’t heard that version of his own voice in a while.

Sakura stilled.

Her smile faltered—not because it faded, but because something in her chest twisted in a way she hadn’t expected.

He looked so different when he laughed. Less composed. Less unreachable. Like the weight he always carried had slipped off his shoulders, if only for a breath.

It was rare. Too rare.

That was not the man who kept his voice low and his face unreadable. That was someone else entirely—someone warmer.

Someone closer to the version of him she had stared at for too long in that photograph—carefree, mouth open mid-laugh, surrounded by people who had known a different version of Uchiha Sasuke.

And in the soft yellow light of her childhood bedroom, with the rain tapping gently at the windows and that ridiculous stuffed bear slumped in front of him, it undid her a little.

She watched him for a second longer than she meant to.

Then looked away—quickly, carefully—like it might tip her over the edge.

“I’ll, uh—” Sakura blinked and stepped back, needing distance she couldn’t explain. “I’ll just go and wash up.”

He looked at her. Just once. No confusion, no teasing. Just a steady acknowledgment that didn’t press.

She grabbed her overnight bag quickly and made her way to the door. She didn’t look at him again. Couldn’t.

The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that felt heavier than it should have.

And Sasuke stood alone in a room lined with childhood. A space filled with years he hadn’t been part of. But he’d stepped into it anyway.

He glanced around.

And for a moment, it struck him—being in this room felt like seeing another version of Sakura he’d never known before. One softer. Younger. Unfiltered by obligation or pride.

And yet, unmistakably her.

He looked at the bear again.

Stethoscope still looped around its neck, like the dream had always been there—even before she could name it.

This time, his smile stayed.

By the time Sakura returned, towel draped around her shoulders and the hem of her shirt damp from brushing against the sink, Sasuke had already unfolded the spare sheet and was laying it carefully on the floor.

She blinked. “What… are you doing?”

He didn’t look up. “Preparing to sleep.”

“On the floor?”

He smoothed out the sheet. “Seems obvious.”

She frowned, stepping further into the room.

“You’re a guest. You should sleep on the bed. You helped my father with the crops—you must be really exhausted.”

He glanced at her then, calm and unmoved.

“Guests don’t usually sleep in the host’s bed either.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” She crossed her arms. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

That got his attention.

He stood, slow and steady, and looked at her. Not defensive. Not apologetic. Just matter-of-fact.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Sakura raised a brow. “Neither do you.”

They stared at each other across the room, rain whispering steadily against the windowpane between them. The space felt smaller. Heavier.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t sigh or shift or try to win. He just tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers.

“The bed’s big enough.”

No inflection. No edge. Just quiet certainty, like he’d made peace with the idea long before she walked back into the room.

And when Sakura searched his face—looked for any sign that he might back down, give her an out, fold into the old habit of retreat—she found nothing.

So she sighed—quietly. Then stepped forward, bent down, and gathered the spare sheet. She folded it neatly, the way her mother had taught her to do laundry when she was nine, and slipped it back into the drawer.

That was her answer.

She reached for the switch near the door.

Click.

Darkness swept over the room, save for the soft spill of moonlight filtered through the rain-streaked window.

She turned toward the bed and slipped beneath the blanket, careful not to let the mattress shift too much beneath her.

Sasuke followed a moment later, settling beside her without a word.

They lay in a hush softened by distance, backs nearly parallel, the blanket pulled too carefully between them.

The bed creaked beneath their combined weight—loud in the quiet.

Sakura stared at the ceiling, arms tucked close to her chest, trying not to hear how loud her heartbeat had gotten. She could feel him beside her—his breath, his warmth, the quiet shift of the mattress every time he moved even slightly.

When she shifted, just enough for the blanket to pull a little tighter between them, he noticed.

“…Are you uncomfortable?” Sasuke asked, voice low.

She blinked. “No. Are you?”

A pause.

“Not exactly.”

The silence that followed wasn’t strained. Just cautious. Like both of them were still adjusting to how small the room had become.

Then, after a beat, Sasuke spoke—quieter this time.

“You seemed… different today.”

Sakura blinked, eyes still on the ceiling. “Different how?”

He didn’t answer right away. She could hear the way his voice changed; lower, quieter. Honest.

“Lighter,” Sasuke said at last. “More... at ease.”

Sakura let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s just familiarity. This house knows me better than I do.”

“I noticed.”

Then he added, “You laugh more here.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“You even smile with your eyes.”

That made her turn her head, just slightly. Just enough to see the outline of him in the dark.

“You saying I don’t, usually?”

He didn’t look at her. But she could tell he was thinking it over.

“You’re different when no one’s watching.”

Sakura swallowed. That landed deeper than it should’ve.

After a long moment, she murmured, “You laughed too. Today.”

He didn’t answer.

“It was nice.”

Then—softly, like he wasn’t sure if he meant it as a warning or a confession:

“Don’t get used to it.”

Sakura didn’t answer.

But she didn’t smile either.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?

She already was.

And for a flicker of a second, Sasuke wondered if she was better off that way.

Sakura stirred to warmth.

Not the kind that came from blankets or the sleepy glow of morning sun slipping past old curtains, but something else. Something steady.

Something alive.

It took her a moment to realize why her arm felt heavy. Why her spine was so warm. Why her cheek was pressed against something that moved gently beneath her with every rise and fall.

Her sleep-fogged brain scrambled for logic—still half-caught in the haze of dreams.

And then it clicked.

There was an arm around her waist. A hand resting low at the curve of her back. His.

Their legs were tangled beneath the blanket. Her knee loosely hooked over his thigh, their chests close, their faces even closer.

Sasuke.

Sasuke was holding her.

Not in some accidental brush of proximity, not in the stiff politeness they defaulted to when the world watched. But like it meant something. Like it was muscle memory. Familiar. Claimed.

Her breath caught in her throat. The stillness of her body had nothing to do with sleep now and everything to do with the sudden awareness of him. Of this closeness that hadn’t been there the night before—or at least, not consciously. She didn’t remember turning toward him. Didn’t remember reaching out. But maybe she had.

Or maybe… he had.

For a second, she wondered if she was dreaming.

It felt like a dream—the kind she’d had once or twice during the early days of their arrangement. Dreams threaded with warmth and impossible comfort.

But no. This was real.

The weight of his hand on her back. The quiet pull of his breath. The heat shared between them in a bed far too small to pretend anymore.

Too real to be imagined.

She didn’t know which possibility made her heart stutter more.

She tilted her head slowly, cautiously, just enough to glimpse his face.

He was still asleep. Or close to it. His features softened in a way she’d rarely seen—jaw relaxed, brow uncreased, lashes brushing faint shadows onto his cheeks. His breath was steady against her temple, warm and rhythmic and heartbreakingly quiet.

She looked at him for a long moment, taking in details she hadn’t had the chance—or courage—to study before. The faint scar near his brow. The way his lips parted slightly in sleep. The quiet curve of his lashes at the tips.

There was peace there. And something that tugged at the center of her chest with startling force.

Her fingers, without thinking, curled into the fabric of his shirt.

How was this real?

This version of Sasuke, the one who wasn’t armored in silence or stitched up in cold precision, felt too tender to be true. But here he was, holding her like it was second nature, like there was nothing unusual about waking up like this, tangled together in the echo of old dreams and almosts.

Her mind drifted—unbidden, unstoppable—back to that night.

To the kiss.

The way his mouth had met hers. The quiet urgency of it.

The way she hadn’t known what to do with it.

And how her brain had gone entirely, traitorously blank.

Now here he was again, pressed against her in the hush of morning light, and the memory of it bloomed behind her ribs like something half-healed and dangerously close to unraveling.

She inhaled gently.

His scent lingered—clean, quiet, just sharp enough to make her throat tighten. It curled in her lungs like something she'd remember in fragments later, unsure if it had really happened or if it had been part of some too-soft dream.

She closed her eyes briefly. Let herself feel it. Let the quiet of him wrap around her.

And then, without warning, his arm tightened. Not much—just enough to erase the last inch of distance between them. The faintest shift. But it was unmistakable.

Her breath hitched.

And then his eyes opened.

Dark. Still unfocused. Drowsy in a way she’d never seen before. But they found hers instantly, like this—her—was exactly who he expected to see.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back. Just looked at her, unblinking.

Time stilled. The only sound between them was the quiet rustle of sheets and the wild, obscene tempo of her heartbeat.

But after a moment, her body moved before her brain did.

With a startled yelp, she elbowed him once—twice—and scrambled backward, nearly taking half the blanket with her in the process.

Sasuke groaned as he hit the floor with a dull thud.

“What the hell—” he muttered, rubbing the side of his head, squinting up at her like she was the menace.

Sakura sat at the edge of the bed, heart pounding, face flushed, clutching the blanket to her chest like it might deflect the memory of what just happened.

They stared at each other in a full, frozen beat of absolute horror.

“I—sorry,” she said, voice high. “You were just—there. I panicked.”

“…Clearly.”

She winced. “You can’t just—sleep-hold someone like that.”

“You talk in your sleep.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

“I what?”

“You diagnosed three patients and insulted a vending machine.”

Her face went hot.

“Oh my god.”

Sasuke laughed. Again. A low, unexpected sound. The kind that rumbled out of him and sent a fresh wave of disbelief through her entire body. But what really made her spiral was the way he just stayed there on the floor. Unbothered. Still half-asleep. Shirt askew. Smirking like he was going to remember this for years.

He didn’t look away.

Didn’t act like it was weird. Or like she’d ruined something.

He just leaned back against the side of the bed, resting his head there with the most irritating calm in existence.

Sakura scrambled up to her feet, dragging the blanket with her like it might become a cape and whisk her away.

Then—just as she opened her mouth to make the world’s worst small talk—

“Sakura! Sasuke-kun! Breakfast’s ready!”

Mebuki’s voice rang from the hallway, all brightness and oblivious timing, followed immediately by the clang of a ladle striking a pot with far too much enthusiasm.

Sakura flinched, just slightly.

And Sasuke… sighed. Quietly, like the universe had personally wronged him.

He pushed off the floor with a grunt, standing without grace. His hair stuck out in all directions. His shirt was rumpled. Somehow he still looked criminally attractive, which felt unfair.

She turned away to buy time, tugging on the cardigan draped over the chair with more force than necessary.

“Come on,” she muttered. “If we don’t go, she’ll bring the entire pot of rice porridge in here and narrate my childhood over breakfast.”

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, clearly weighing whether starvation might be worth it.

But after a beat, he followed.

No lingering looks. No tender pauses.

Just the sound of two people walking down a hallway like they hadn’t just woken up wrapped around each other like a slow-burning disaster.

Mebuki greeted them at the table with an arched brow and a smile far too knowing for comfort—like she’d already rewritten the story of that morning in her head and was enjoying every second of it.

Kizashi, oblivious or pretending to be, was halfway through a fried egg and delivering questionable advice about love languages to no one in particular.

“Sometimes,” he was saying between bites, “you gotta water the cactus before it stabs you.”

Sakura blinked.

Then squinted at him.

Was that supposed to be about her?

“Ignore him. He’s been watching inspirational plant reels again.” Mebuki said.

Sakura muttered a strangled noise that might’ve been agreement and dropped into the nearest chair. The wood creaked under her, loud in the quiet.

Sasuke sat beside her, calm as ever.

She kept her eyes fixed on her bowl.

Steam curled off the rice. Miso pooled at the edge of her spoon.

She told herself—over and over—

It was just a night. Just a bed. Just a moment.

But her pulse hadn’t settled.

And her fingers still remembered the fabric of his shirt.

And from the corner of her eye—

Sasuke still hadn’t stopped looking.

Not obviously though, but she could feel it. That quiet, weighty attention of his. Focused entirely on her, like she’d woken up a part of him that hadn’t been asleep at all.

And that?

That was almost worse than the kiss.

Chapter Epilogue:

The rain had softened sometime after midnight, tapering into a gentle hush against the roof. The house creaked around them—old wood, old pipes—settling into itself with the kind of weary groans that made everything feel alive, even in stillness.

Sasuke lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

He hadn’t really slept. Not fully. He’d hovered somewhere in between, stuck in that quiet limbo between rest and awareness, too tuned in to every subtle shift on the mattress beside him.

Sakura had fallen asleep easily. Her breathing had evened out not long after she’d turned on her side, back facing him, the blanket drawn up under her chin like armor.

Now, she murmured something. Faint. Garbled.

He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing.

“…2ccs... b-block… systolic pressure dropping…”

Another breath. A crease in her brow.

Her fingers twitched.

He blinked, caught between surprise and disbelief.

She was muttering medical terms. In her sleep.

“…get the chart… no, not that side, it’s… lateral…”

Then she shifted abruptly, kicking the blanket halfway down the bed in her sleep. Her foot landed against his calf with a soft, unceremonious thud.

He flinched—barely—but didn’t move away.

She mumbled again. Less coherent this time. Something about scheduling. And coffee. Possibly a war crime involving the hospital vending machine.

He stared at her, somewhere between incredulous and amused.

Then her arm flopped toward his side. Her brow furrowed again, like she’d lost something—warmth, maybe.

He sighed, quietly. Then reached down and pulled the blanket back up.

She shifted with the motion, murmured something too soft to catch, and leaned ever so slightly toward him.

Sasuke hesitated.

Then, slowly—carefully—he lifted his arm and wrapped it around her waist. His hand came to rest just above her hip, palm warm against cotton. He expected her to stir, to shift away.

She didn’t.

She sank into him, breath hitching only slightly before evening out again.

Just the quiet press of her body curling toward his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a long while, he didn’t move.

He simply listened to her breathe.

Felt the faint rhythm of her heartbeat through the space between them.

Stared up at a ceiling he didn’t recognize, in a house that wasn’t his, wrapped around a girl he wasn’t supposed to want.

And still—

He didn’t let go.

Because somehow, this—this stolen moment, this borrowed quiet—felt more like home than anything else had in a long time.

And thinking—maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Chapter Text

The apartment was unusually quiet that evening, the ticking of the clock on the wall louder than usual, amplified by the stillness that hung in the air.

Sasuke sat perfectly still on the couch, the picture of calm—jaw set, posture relaxed, not a twitch of emotion betraying him. But inside, something twisted.

His phone rested loosely in his hand as his thumb hovered over the screen. He’d checked the time at least five times in the last ten minutes.

A glance. A frown. A dismissive scoff like it didn’t matter, only for his eyes to flick back seconds later.

12:17 a.m.

The notification bar remained stubbornly blank.

It was late. Far later than Sakura typically returned from work. And the absence of her usual text gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t rationalize.

For almost two years, they’d stuck to an unspoken rule: if one of them was running late, they’d send a quick message. A heads-up. A courtesy ping. At first, it had been a practical arrangement, one born out of their shared need to maintain appearances.

But somewhere along the line, it had become… a habit. A tether that connected them in small, quiet ways they didn’t discuss.

And Sakura never forgot. Not once.

No matter how swamped, how sleep-deprived, how buried she was in charts and emergencies, she always remembered. Even a single word. OT. ER case. Don’t wait.

Even when they were barely speaking to each other.

But tonight… nothing.

No message.

No tether.

Just silence.

He could’ve picked her up. Had even offered many times before. But she’d declined firmly, without room for argument.

“Don’t,” she’d said, not unkindly, but with finality.

And so he didn’t.

He stared at the front door for a long moment, half-expecting it to open. But it didn’t.

His mind, traitorous and sharp, offered him a list of rational possibilities. Maybe her shift had run over. Maybe there had been an emergency at the hospital. Rational explanations, all of them, but none that eased the strange knot twisting in his chest.

And he couldn’t help it. His thoughts spun back to what he’d found earlier that day.

He hadn’t meant to snoop. He wasn’t even looking for anything. Honestly, he’d just been cleaning… just to do something. To stop thinking.

About her.

Productive. Grounding. Safe.

So he’d picked up the mess she left behind. Her bag, half-spilled on the armrest. A hoodie slung across the dining chair. Pens without caps, paperclips clinging to everything like static.

He wasn’t trying to pry. Just… tidying. Just needed something to feel normal for five seconds, maybe less.

And then he saw it.

A folded piece of paper, wedged beneath the couch cushion.

He bent to grab it. Expected a receipt. A to-do list. One of her endless scribbled hospital schedules.

But the heading caught his eye.

Apartment Listings.

His breath stopped. Just for a second.

He unfolded it slowly.

Three units were listed. Studio-type. Modest rent. Each with her handwriting in the margins. Locations closer to the hospital. Notes about light and space. One had a checkmark beside it.

His fingers clenched. A quiet scoff slipped out—dry, humorless.

It wasn’t the contents that bothered him. It was the fact that she’d kept them. The way the paper had been folded and hidden*.*

Not something she’d decided against.

Something she was keeping.

It felt like a signal. A plan she hadn’t said aloud. A quiet step toward life after this… after him.

And maybe it meant nothing. He hoped it meant nothing.

Maybe it was just a stray impulse, the kind of thing you grab without thinking. She could’ve seen it at a café. At the hospital. Could’ve picked it up for someone, for all he knew.

But it didn’t feel random. Not in his gut.

It felt deliberate. Quietly planned. Like she’d made peace with the idea of leaving long before she ever told him… if she ever planned to tell him at all.

A life she was building without him.

He stood there for a long moment, the paper hanging from his hand, the silence in the room suddenly deafening.

He just stared at the paper until the letters blurred and the implication hit him like a slow, dull thud behind the ribs.

She left him without saying a word. That had been the first blow.

She’d pushed him away. That had been the second.

And now—this?

Sasuke frowned at the memory, his dark eyes flicking to the clock again. The hands seemed to drag, each second stretching longer than the last, as if mocking his unease.

His thumb hovered over her name in his contacts, but he didn’t press it. Calling her felt... unnecessary. Excessive. He wasn’t her keeper. And yet, the thought of doing nothing sat even worse.

After a beat, he tapped out a quick message:

“Still at the hospital?”

Pause.

Backspace.

“It’s already past midnight. You okay?”

He stared at it. Deleted that, too.

You usually text.

Gone.

His jaw tightened. Fingers hovered.

Then, finally—

“Let me know what time you’re going home.”

Send.

He locked the screen before he could change his mind.

His gaze shifted to the faint glow of the city beyond the window, the streetlights casting long, uneven shadows across the room. The empty silence pressed in on him. Finally, with a sharp exhale, he stood and grabbed his keys from the counter.

Anything to break the stillness before it started to feel like the only thing left between them.

The cool evening air hit his face as Sasuke stepped out of the apartment building, his steps brisk and purposeful. The quiet hum of the city surrounded him, punctuated by the occasional passing car and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. His sharp eyes scanned the dimly lit streets, instinctively focusing on the direction of the convenience store, a place Sakura always passed on her way home.

As he reached the convenience store, the automatic doors slid open with a faint whoosh, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over the aisles. Sasuke walked inside, his sharp gaze scanning the shelves without much focus. He grabbed a bottle of water, then added a pack of mints and—after a pause—a bottle of that jasmine tea Sakura liked. He didn’t even think about it. Just reached for it and dropped it into the basket. Item he didn’t particularly need but gave him an excuse to linger.

His eyes flicked toward the glass entrance every few seconds, scanning the street for her familiar silhouette. Each glance came up empty, and the tightness in his chest grew more pronounced. He paid for his items quickly, the cashier’s polite thank-you barely registering in his mind as he stepped back outside.

The street stretched out before him, its emptiness broken only by a few pedestrians bundled against the chill, their footsteps muffled against the pavement. Sasuke stood at the edge of the sidewalk, his gaze cutting through the dimly lit shadows. The sight of the deserted road carried an unsettling stillness, a stark contrast to the bustling city he was used to.

This time of night, the city felt different, quieter, yes, but also cloaked in an edge of danger.

His thoughts turned to Sakura. The idea of her walking these streets alone, with nothing but the distant glow of streetlights and the occasional passerby, unsettled him in a way that was difficult to ignore.

A flicker of unease passed through him, sharper than he would have expected. She was capable, he knew that. Independent, resilient, and hardly the type to flinch in the face of adversity. And yet, the idea of her navigating this stretch of night alone felt… wrong.

With a quiet sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

Still no reply.

Her name sat at the top of the thread, unchanged. No dots. No read receipt.

His thumb hovered over the screen again, debating.

She’s fine, he told himself.

But the knot in his chest didn’t budge.

She probably got caught up at work, he told himself. It was a logical explanation, the most likely scenario. But logic did little to quiet the gnawing unease that had settled in his chest.

With a quiet sigh, he tapped the call button.

The phone rang, cutting through the silence. Once. Twice. Three times. He listened intently, almost willing her to pick up, but it went to voicemail.

Sasuke’s jaw tightened as he lowered the phone, his mind warring between logic and the uneasy knot in his chest. She hadn’t answered. That wasn’t like her.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket as he lingered longer than he should have, the chill beginning to seep through his jacket. Finally, he turned and started back toward the apartment, his steps slower this time. He kept glancing over his shoulder as though expecting her to appear behind him at any moment.

But she wasn’t there. And with each step back to the apartment, the silence grew heavier.

By the time Sasuke returned to the apartment building, frustration churned low in his chest. A slow, ugly burn he couldn’t shake. He pushed the lobby door open, the familiar creak of its hinges grounding him for half a second.

Then he moved, fast and sure, cutting across the lobby toward the parking garage.

Keys in hand.

Half a plan already forming.

If she wasn’t answering her phone, I’ll just go to her myself.

He was already reaching for the door when his phone buuzzed.

He looked at it thinking it was Sakura. But it’s not.

It’s Itachi.

Sasuke stared at the screen for a moment before answering.

“What.” His voice was low. Tense.

“You sound like hell,” Itachi said mildly. Sasuke didn’t respond. He wasn’t in the mood for his brother’s insight.

“I was going to ask if you’ve told her yet.”

His jaw tensed.

“Not now.”

“You said you’ll tell her.”

“I know what I said.”

A pause. A quiet exhale on the other end of the line.

“Sasuke…” Itachi’s tone softened. “You need to stop dragging your feet.”

Then, in the distance—the low growl of an engine broke the quiet—tires crunching against pavement, gears downshifting with a practiced ease.

He turned just in time to see a sleek black motorcycle ease to a stop near the entrance, headlights slicing through the dim.

He paused, eyes narrowing.

His grip on the phone tightened.

The engine cut.

The passenger swung a leg off the bike—small frame, familiar posture.

She pulled off her helmet.

Pink hair tumbled out, wind-tossed and unmistakable.

Sakura.

Relief punched through his chest but it didn’t settle the tension still coiled beneath his skin.

“Sasuke?” Itachi said, still on the phone.

He didn’t take his eyes off her.

“I’ve made up my mind,” he said into the phone, voice calm. Final.

“I’m walking away. For good.”

Before Itachi could respond, Sasuke ended the call.

A moment later, the rider reached up and pulled off his helmet, revealing a shock of red hair and an easy, too-familiar grin.

Sasuke recognized him instantly.

The same man from the hospital parking lot.

The one he'd seen a few days ago—standing too close, talking too easily, when he dropped Sakura off.

She hadn’t noticed him lingering outside, watching… too caught up in conversation. But Sasuke had seen it. The way she spoke to him so easily. The way the man leaned in, said something that made her laugh.

He’d told himself it didn’t bother him. Back then.

But something about it had stayed with him longer than expected—an image caught on the edge of thought, hard to place, harder to shake.

Now, standing in the parking lot and watching that man drop Sakura off late at night, that same too-comfortable exchange played back in his mind like a film stuck on repeat. His fingers tightened around the plastic bag in his hand, his chest constricting with an unease he couldn’t entirely explain.

Sakura leaned slightly towards the man, saying something low over the soft rumble of the idling engine. Her expression was relaxed, amused even. Whatever it was, it made the man laugh. A low, easy sound that felt out of place in the quiet parking lot.

Sasuke’s jaw clenched imperceptibly as Sakura gestured animatedly, her hands moving in that way she always did when explaining something with enthusiasm.

The man nodded, flashing her a smile before slipping his helmet back on. He revved the engine once, lifted a hand in a lazy wave.

Sakura stepped back as the motorcycle pulled away. The moment the taillights disappeared around the corner, her gaze drifted toward the building’s entrance and froze.

Sasuke was standing there, his silhouette framed by the dim lighting of the lobby. The convenience store bag hung loosely from his fingers, but his stance was rigid, his eyes locked on hers.

“Sasuke?” she called, her voice startled as she approached. “What are you doing out here so late?”

His expression remained unreadable, his dark eyes steady on her. “I could ask you the same thing.”

She hesitated, clearly taken aback by his tone. “I… my shift ran late,” she said, her voice softer now. “Sasori offered to drop me off. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Not a big deal.

The words hung in the air like a thorn, digging into his composure.

“You didn’t reply,” Sasuke said flatly, though his voice carried a sharp undercurrent she couldn’t miss.

Sakura’s expression softened, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. “Oh… right. I’m sorry. I meant to reply. I just… forgot.”

A pause.

“It was a long day.”

Sasuke didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting briefly to the spot where that Sasori had been. Without another word, he turned toward the elevator, motioning for her to follow.

The ride up was silent, tension filling the confined space. Sakura shifted uncomfortably, stealing a glance at him. His features were impassive, but there was an edge to his silence that unsettled her.

When the elevator doors slid open, Sasuke stepped out first, his steps measured but clipped. He unlocked the apartment door and pushed it open, holding it for her without a word.

Sakura stepped inside slowly, her pace faltering just for a moment. The quiet between them wasn’t new—but this one felt heavier. Like something had been left unresolved in the parking lot, and neither of them wanted to touch it.

Her eyes followed him as he moved across the room, tension still coiled in his shoulders.

He set the convenience store bag down on the kitchen counter with too much care, like he needed the motion to mean something.

He stayed there, reaching for a glass from the cupboard with mechanical ease, filling it from the jug in the fridge like he just needed something to do with his hands.

Sakura’s eyes flicked to it absently as the contents shifted in the thin plastic— A bottle of water. A pack of mints. And—

The jasmine tea.

The one she always grabbed after a long shift. The one he never drank.

Her breath caught. Just slightly. Not enough to make a sound.

But enough to feel it.

The silence in the room was taut. The air felt thick with what neither of them said.

She stepped into the kitchen, the sound of her footsteps soft against the tile. Her fingers curled around the mug on the counter. She poured a bit of water from the jug nearby and took a sip, if only to fill the quiet with something.

But the weight in her chest didn’t ease.

She set the mug down carefully, then looked at him.

“Sasuke,” she said, quiet but steady, “are you upset?”

He stilled, both hands braced against the counter, head tilting slightly in her direction.

He didn’t answer right away. But when he did, his dark eyes met hers.

“You should’ve called,” he said, voice low. “I should’ve picked you up.”

Sakura blinked, her brows knitting faintly. “I didn’t think it was that important,” she said slowly. “Sasori was already there. He offered. It wasn’t a big deal.”

There it was again. Not a big deal.

Sasuke’s gaze didn’t shift.

His voice, though dropped colder. “Next time, call me.”

Sakura hesitated, surprised by the sharpness of it. She searched his face for context, but it remained unreadable.

“Alright,” she said finally, the edges of her voice thin with something caught between defensiveness and restraint.

“If it’s that important to you, I’ll call.”

Sasuke’s jaw clenched.

“It’s not about that.”

A beat passed.

“I think I’ve made myself clear,” he added, quieter now. “But if you don’t want any of this… just say so.”

He didn’t mean for it to sound like that… like a challenge.

But the words had already landed.

The silence that followed pressed in too tightly.

Sakura looked at him for a moment longer, like she might say something. But whatever words had risen, they slipped away before they reached her mouth.

And Sasuke… He turned back to the counter and unpacked the bag with mechanical focus. The crinkle of plastic filled the space she left behind.

Sakura lingered for a beat longer.

“It’s late. You should rest,” Sasuke said suddenly, his voice low but not cold. But he needed to say something normal before the silence swallowed the rest of it.

“Yeah,” she said with a small nod. “You too.”

Then she turned and headed to her room.

The sound of her door clicking shut echoed louder than it should have.

Sasuke’s shoulders rose on a slow inhale, then dropped again. He leaned forward, the ache in his chest far too real for something she kept calling not a big deal.

He replayed her face just before she turned away—confused, hurt, trying not to show it.

He shouldn’t have said it like that.

But what else was he supposed to say?

He glanced sideways. Her mug sat near the sink, half-full.

He reached for it.

His fingers hesitated at the rim, thumb brushing over a faint smudge of lipstick she hadn’t noticed. Something small and ordinary, but it felt too intimate. Like touching something he had no right to feel.

He let go. Left it where it was.

The apartment was too quiet again. Or maybe just too empty in all the places she wasn’t.

Inside her room, the stillness met her like a held breath.

Sakura leaned back against the door for a moment, eyes closed, as if the act of stepping away from him had taken more effort than it should have. Her chest felt tight, wound with the kind of tension that didn’t go away just because the door had closed behind it.

She wondered if he was still in the kitchen. Or if he’d already disappeared into his room, like the moment never happened at all.

She pushed off the door with a quiet sigh and moved toward the small desk in the corner. That’s when she noticed them.

Her things.

The hoodie she’d left slung over the couch arm. Her pen case. The hospital chart she barely remembered tossing aside when she was paged for an emergency.

All of it was here now.

Folded. Straightened. Stacked in quiet order by her desk.

Sasuke had brought them in.

Cleaned up after her.

She moved toward the desk, fingertips brushing the edges of the pile. One chart, a few clipped notes—just enough to keep her hands busy. Just enough to pretend she wasn’t unraveling.

Until she saw it.

The edge of a paper. Peeking out from between the pages of one of her notebooks.

Tucked in. But not hidden.

She froze.

Slowly, carefully, she pulled it free.

The apartment listings.

Her handwriting was still there. The scribbled notes about rent brackets, natural light, walking distance to the hospital. One unit circled. Another checkmarked.

Practical. Detached. Like she’d already made the decision.

She stared at it.

The corner of the paper was slightly bent, creased, not the way she left it.

He’d seen it. Sasuke had seen it.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, the flyer limp in her hands, her heart thudding too loudly for how still the room was.

She should’ve thrown it away.

It had been nothing. Just a moment of panic from weeks ago, when everything between them felt uncertain. A contingency. A stupid, silent what-if.

She didn’t even know why she took it. Maybe she just needed to feel like she had options. Like she could still leave if she had to.

But now, it looked like something else entirely.

Not about the way she hadn’t meant to pull away.

And she hadn’t said anything.

Not even about the fact that she was trying. That she was still here.

That she didn’t want to leave.

And now she wasn’t sure if it mattered.

Chapter Epilogue:

The hospital corridors had mostly emptied.

A few nurses chatted quietly near the elevators, and someone was pushing a cart down the hall, its wheels squeaking with every turn. The clock above the nurses’ station ticked past eleven.

Sakura slumped into the bench beside the staff lockers, pulling her hair loose from its clip. Her shift had ended over an hour ago, but she hadn’t moved. Just sat there, coat half on, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

Her limbs were tired. But it was her chest that felt heavy.

“You look like you’ve been carrying a curse around all week.”

The voice was light. Teasing.

Sakura turned her head slowly and found Sasori leaning against the wall by the lockers, arms crossed, expression easy. His white coat was gone, sleeves rolled to the elbows, ID still clipped haphazardly to his shirt pocket.

“I’m not cursed,” she said, dry. “Just tired.”

“Right. Tired,” he echoed, clearly unconvinced.

She huffed a soft laugh. “What are you doing here? I thought your shift ended earlier.”

“I stayed to run inventory,” Sasori said with a shrug, walking over and nudging her ankle lightly with his shoe. “Also… I was curious if you’d finally self-combust from repressing whatever emotional disaster you’re currently living through.”

She smiled, tired but real. “You're dramatic.”

“I’m observant,” he corrected. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the very obvious spiral.” He tilted his head. “So. Husband troubles?”

Sakura sighed.

Sasori was the only one she’d told about Sasuke, about their arrangement—after he caught on one day.

Because he noticed the lunches. The ones Sasuke started packing for her. Always neatly arranged, always timed for her longest shifts.

She called them leftovers.

But they always came in pristine containers, still warm when she unpacked them in the break room.

Sasori had just stared at the bento one afternoon, arched a brow, and said,

“You’re either secretly married or someone’s trying to guilt you into staying alive.”

And she’d cracked.

“There’s been… a shift,” she admitted, staring at the scuff on the floor near her feet.

Sasori raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak. Just waited.

Sakura pressed her palms to her thighs, fingers curling slightly. “We kissed,” she said softly.

“And it wasn’t for show. It wasn’t part of anything. It just… happened.”

Sasori blinked. “Oh. Wow. Okay.” A pause. “And then what?”

“Then I froze,” she said, voice thin. “Didn’t react. Didn’t kiss him back.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He sat beside her, quieter now.

“I didn’t mean to,” she added. “I just panicked. And I think he took it the wrong way.”

Sasori leaned back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling. “And now?”

She hesitated.

“I like him,” she said finally. The words left her in a rush, like they’d been waiting all week to surface. “I didn’t mean it. But I do. And I want to tell him. Oh my gosh! I think I need to.”

Sasori was quiet for a moment. Then: “Then tell him.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

She glanced at him. “You’re taking this well.”

“What, that you fell for the emotionally constipated heir of the Uchiha empire? Please. I’m shocked it didn’t happen sooner.”

Sakura gave a weak laugh.

“But seriously,” he said, turning to her. “I’m glad you’re finally being honest with yourself. That’s harder than people think.”

She looked down at her hands. “Do you ever think I’m not enough for him?”

“Only if you say it first,” he said simply. “But I haven’t heard that from you yet. So no.”

She blinked back the burn behind her eyes.

“You don’t have to prove yourself to him, Sakura. You just have to show up. That’s enough.”

She nodded slowly.

“I’ll try.”

“Good.” Sasori stood, stretching his back with a wince. “Because if you self-destruct, I get your locker snacks.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“Rude. And here I was, moments away from being a gentleman and offering you a ride.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Out of guilt or pity?”

“Excuse you,” he said. “Out of sheer moral superiority.”

That earned a small laugh from her.

“Come on,” he added, tilting his head toward the exit. “Bike’s parked out back. Unless you prefer sulking alone on the night shift bench.”

Sakura stood, gathering her bag and coat, her hands moving a little slower than usual. “Thanks,” she said, voice quiet.

Sasori glanced at her sideways. “For the ride?”

“For listening,” she said. “For… not saying I told you so.”

He smirked. “Oh, I absolutely told you so. I’m just saving it for when you’re happier and can take the blow.”

She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear as they started walking down the hallway together, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

“You think it’s not too late?” she asked softly.

Sasori didn’t look at her, but his voice was steady. “With him? No. You’re still in it.”

“What if I’ve already hurt him?”

“Then tell him. Let him decide what to do with it. But don’t walk away before he gets the chance.”

Sakura nodded, more to herself than to him.

When they stepped out into the cool night air, Sasori moved ahead to where his bike was parked near the back. He swung a leg over, slipping on his helmet, then revved the engine once.

She followed in silence, clutching her bag a little tighter—not because she was uncertain, but because she wasn’t anymore.

Sasori passed her a helmet without a word.

She took it, strapping it under her chin with steady hands before climbing on behind him.

The engine rumbled beneath them, low and steady.

She was going home. She didn’t know exactly what waited for her back at the apartment.

But she knew one thing: She wasn’t going to leave anything unsaid.

Chapter Text

Sakura hadn’t really slept.

She’d closed her eyes, sure, but rest had stayed just out of reach—hovering at the edges, teasing her before slipping away. Every time she drifted, his voice dragged her back.

I think I’ve made myself clear…

But if you don’t want any of this, just say so.

By the time the alarm should’ve gone off, she was already awake, staring at the faint gray light creeping through the curtains. Her body felt leaden, her mind worse—tired in the way that didn’t stop, the kind that hummed behind her ribs and made breathing feel like work.

The words replayed uninvited. It was as if he’d drawn a line in the dark and left her standing on the wrong side of it.

Her stomach tightened. He’d said it as if silence were consent to walk away. As if leaving the space the way she had meant anything other than cowardice.

So much for not leaving things unsaid.

She pressed her palms over her eyes, dragging a rough breath. The sheets tangled around her legs, too warm, too heavy—too much like the weight in her chest. She kicked them off in one motion, forcing herself upright.

Enough! I’ll tell him. Today. Now. Before it festers into something neither of us can fix.

Her pulse picked up at the thought, but she didn’t let herself retreat from it. No more excuses Sakura. Go tell him, and if he doesn’t want you… then at least… you’ll know.

The words stung more than they steadied her. For a second, the courage she’d gathered faltered, replaced by a dull, familiar ache that pressed against her ribs.

She pushed it down and crossed to her desk. The neat stack of her things waited—the hoodie, the pen case, the charts he had straightened the night before. His quiet way of keeping order when everything between them was slipping sideways.

And there, sitting on top of the pile, was the same folded sheet of paper.

Apartment listings.

Her throat went dry. She picked it up, stared at the circled notes in her own handwriting, then crumpled it in her fist.

“Not anymore,” she whispered, heat crawling up her neck. “Why do you have to show up at the wrong time.”

The paper hit the trash bin with a hollow clink.

She exhaled and headed for the kitchen, with the resolve burning hot in her chest. Too fragile to be called courage, but enough to move her forward.

The first thing she noticed was her mug.

It still sat by the counter—the same one she’d left behind last night after the argument that had spiraled too quickly.

She reached for it, rinsing it under the tap with quick, deliberate motions. The clink of porcelain against steel felt louder than it should, echoing the sting of everything unsaid.

She set it upside down on the drying rack, as if leaving it that way could wash the memory clean. It didn’t.

She grabbed the kettle, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. The click-click-whoosh of the ignition filled the silence, a small sound that felt too alive for the hour. Steam began to gather almost immediately, curling upward in thin, restless threads.

Grinding beans. Folding the filter. Setting out two mugs—one for her, one for him—out of habit more than thought. Her hands moved on their own, but her chest caught on the memory of the night before. The look in his eyes when he’d said those words. The quiet finality of it.

The kettle whistled. She poured in slow, steady circles, the sharp scent of roast rising and blooming in the air like a reminder: this was real.

The door to Sasuke’s room opened, and she startled.

He stepped out in a pressed shirt, coat slung over one arm. His eyes were rimmed dark, like he hadn’t slept any better than she had. His gaze flicked her way, lingered for a breath, then slid past as he moved toward the counter.

“You’re up early,” he said, his voice even but roughened by fatigue.

“So are you,” she countered, matching his tone before softening it. She hesitated, then added, “Coffee? Since I’m already making one.”

That made him pause. Only a fraction, but enough. The tension in his shoulders eased—barely perceptible, but she caught it. He gave a short nod.

“Sure.”

She slid the mug across the counter. He took it without looking at her, but the silence that settled wasn’t the same sharp one from last night. It was… quieter.

Tell him, she urged herself. Just say it before he slips away.

“Sasuke—” she started, the word tumbling out too quickly.

But then his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen, expression unreadable, then answered with his usual clipped tone. She bit her tongue, retreating as his voice slipped into businesslike calm.

By the time he hung up, he was already reaching for his bag.

“I’ll be late tonight,” he said simply.

She tried again. “Wait, I—”

But he was already pulling the door open.

The words died on her tongue. She stood there, coffee cooling between her hands like it could anchor her to something that was no longer steady.

The door clicked shut, and the quiet rushed back in.

Her chest tightened. This is much harder than I expected.

The hospital was buzzing by midmorning. The rhythm of clipped footsteps, the squeak of gurney wheels, the low murmur of charts exchanged between hands. Familiar chaos. But even as Sakura moved through it, her mind kept drifting back to Sasuke.

So much so that she almost didn’t notice the supply cart rounding the corner until it scraped too close to her elbow. Sakura blinked, muttered an apology, and stepped aside. Not a major mistake, but enough to make her jaw tighten.

Get it together, she told herself. If he can stay composed, so can you.

“Haruno.”

She looked up to find Tsunade blocking the hall, arms crossed, expression sharp but not unkind.

“You handled that ICU transfer last night?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tsunade studied her for a beat, eyes narrowing the way they always did when weighing competence. The woman rarely wasted words, and when she did speak, it was usually blunt, surgical, impossible to misinterpret. Which was why the next line made Sakura’s chest tighten.

“Good work,” Tsunade said, voice curt, but unmistakably sincere “Keep that up, and I might start expecting miracles from you.”

It wasn’t effusive praise—Tsunade didn’t hand out praise like candy. But for Sakura, it meant everything. This was the same woman who had once told her that being merely good wasn’t enough. That if she wanted to stand out, she had to outwork everyone in the room, and then some.

To be acknowledged by her now, even in passing, was the kind of validation that stuck.

Sakura bowed her head briefly, hiding the small, grateful curve of her mouth before continuing down the hall.

And yet, the warmth of it clashed hard against the knot in her chest. Here, in these halls, she could rise to every challenge—hold her ground, make the tough calls, even earn Tsunade’s praise. But back at the apartment, with Sasuke standing just a few feet away, she couldn’t even manage three words.

If she could keep her hands steady through a code blue, she thought dryly, surely she could survive one conversation.

Her next stop was the nurses’ station, where Ino was flipping through a stack of files with her usual flair, nails clicking against the folders like punctuation.

“Alright, girl—spill,” Ino said without looking up.

Sakura blinked. “I don’t—”

Ino’s eyes flicked up, sharp and knowing. “Don’t give me that. You’ve been chewing your lip raw since you walked in. What’s on your mind?” Sakura hesitated, her resolve wobbling again. She had promised herself this morning she’d stop hiding, stop circling the same fear. Now or never.

But the words still caught like glass in her throat. “Ino… how do you even… tell someone?” Sakura tried finally, her tone light, almost teasing. “Like… if someone has feelings for someone, how do they confess?”

Ino’s brows shot up. “Is there someone you want to confess to?”

“I’m asking for a friend,” Sakura said quickly, too quickly.

Ino tilted her head, smirk widening. “Do you have any friends other than me?”

Sakura gave her a look that was equal parts mockery and plea. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Ino leaned across the counter, lowering her voice like they were swapping secrets instead of life advice. “Listen. If your… friend wants to confess, she needs to stop waiting for perfect timing. There isn’t one. You, I mean she… just have to pick the moment and jump.”

Sakura shifted her weight, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter.

“And if they can’t?” she asked quietly. Ino’s grin sharpened. “If your friend can’t say it, then fake a medical emergency. Pretend to faint, let him panic, and when he’s hovering over you all desperate—‘Sakura, are you okay?’—boom. Whisper it. Instant drama. Ratings through the roof.”

Sakura stared at her. “…That’s not how real life works.”

“You’re right.” Ino tapped her pen thoughtfully. “Save the Heimlich maneuver version for sweeps week.”

Sakura groaned into her hands. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Good to know I’m interrupting something vital,” a voice cut in dryly.

Both women glanced up to see Sasori standing at the end of the counter, a file in one hand, his white coat draped open like he’d been too busy to bother buttoning it. His expression was calm, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Ino grinned like she’d just been handed a script cue. “Oh look! Speak of the devil!”

“Ino, if you’re giving medical advice, I’m terrified for your patients,” Sasori said.

Ino rolled her eyes. “Please. My advice saves lives. Or at least love lives.” She snapped a folder shut with a flourish. “What do you want, redhead Casanova? Here to flirt or file?”

Sasori ignored the jab, sliding the file across the counter to the nurse on duty before letting his gaze shift, just briefly, toward Sakura.

“You look tired,” he said simply.

Sakura blinked, caught off guard. “What? I haven’t even done anything yet,” she answered, her hand flying to her face like she could feel whatever it was he saw.

The corner of his mouth tugged. “Exactly. That’s how I know it’s bad.”

Her cheeks warmed despite herself. She narrowed her eyes at him, half-annoyed, half-embarrassed. He didn’t push further, just let the moment hang before turning away, the faint trace of amusement still on his face. Ino’s gaze ping-ponged between them, suspicious and far too entertained. “Ohhh. Is this the not perfect timing I was talking about?” “Don’t even think about it, Piggy,” Sakura cut in fast—sharper than she meant, which only made Ino grin wider.

Sasori had always been like that. Playful in the way he deflected, steady in the way he noticed. But she knew what it was: the thing he wasn’t saying, the thing he probably never would.

He had accepted the boundary she’d drawn from the very beginning. Still, the way his gaze lingered made her chest ache. Not because she returned it, but because lately… she understood it.

Unspoken feelings had a way of circling you, no matter how carefully you pretended not to see them.

And here she was, caught in the gravity of her own.

By the time their shift ended, the hallways had emptied into a quieter hum, the frantic pulse of the day dissolving into the slower rhythm of night duty. Sakura trudged toward the lockers, each step heavy, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

She was halfway into her coat when the metal door clanged shut, announcing Ino’s arrival. Already out of scrubs, she stood in fitted jeans and a top that looked far too intentional for “going straight home.” Her bag was slung over one shoulder, her hair shaken loose from its tie, and the look she leveled at Sakura was sharp, appraising—and just a little smug.

Ino clapped her hands together behind her.

Ino clapped her hands together. “Alright. We’re off tomorrow. Drinks. My treat. No excuses.”

Sakura blinked at her. “Ino—”

“Don’t even start,” Ino cut her off, tossing her hair. “You need it. I need it. And if we don’t go, you’re going to stew all night like a tragic soap opera heroine. I refuse to enable that.”

Sakura let out a soft groan, but she didn’t say no. She never really could, not when Ino looked that smug about it.

“Fine. Just one,” she muttered, pulling her coat on.

Ino grinned like she’d just won the lottery. “That’s my girl. Let’s go find you some liquid courage.”

Which was how she found herself half hour later in a cramped restaurant tucked off a side street, the kind with built-in booths and walls stained with years of laughter and smoke. The air was warm with the scent of grilled skewers, miso, and cheap beer; conversations rose and fell in waves around them.

Ino had ordered half the menu without blinking and waved off Sakura’s protests with, “You’ll thank me when you’re drunk enough. So stop frowning.”

And, as usual, she’d been right. By her second bottle, Sakura’s edges had started to soften. Her shoulders felt lighter, her laughter spilled out easier, and for the first time in days, the knot in her chest loosened.

“You’re staring at your cup too intently,” Ino teased, leaning across the table with a skewer in hand and a sloppy grin that betrayed her own tipsiness. “What’s running through that big head of yours, Forehead?”

The warmth of the beer had climbed high enough to make honesty feel almost easy.

Sakura sighed, resting her cheek in her palm. “Oh Piggy, I just… don’t know how to say it.”

Ino perked up instantly, eyes glittering. “Say what?”

The words slipped before she could stop them. “That I like him.”

Ino froze, chopsticks midair. Her mouth fell open for a beat before she let out a triumphant and loud gasp. “You—! I knew it. You don’t have any friends, so obviously it’s not actually for a friend. Wait—who is he? Is it who I think it is?” Sakura’s face burned. She waved both hands frantically, nearly knocking into her glass. “Forget it! Too much drink. You heard nothing.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Ino smirked, leaning across the table like a predator zeroing in. “I heard everything. Who. Is. He?”

“I told you—it’s for a friend,” Sakura mumbled, burying her face in her hands.

“You’re such a terrible liar.” Ino laughed, clinking her glass against the edge of the table for emphasis. “And if it is you, Forehead, then you picked a terrible person to try and hide it from. I can smell romance a mile away.”

Sakura groaned into her arms. “…Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I’ll just mess it up.”

Ino’s teasing softened. She nudged Sakura’s glass closer, her voice lower now. “Then mess it up. That’s better than saying nothing and watching him slip away.”

Sakura peeked up, eyes a little glassy. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” Ino said, her tone sobering just enough. “But I’ve known you since forever, Sakura. You’ve been carrying the weight of everyone else’s expectations for years. Always the dependable one, always the one holding it together. Don’t you think you deserve to want something for yourself—just once?”

Sakura stilled, throat tight. deserve to want something for yourself.

“You’ve been lonely,” Ino went on quietly. “Even when you don’t admit it. I see it. And if this guy makes you laugh even half as much as you complain about him—” she smirked faintly—“then maybe he’s worth the risk.”

“And if he doesn’t pick you, Forehead,” she added, softer still, “then he’s an idiot. But at least you’ll know you tried.”

That earned a weak laugh, one Sakura tried to smother with her hand. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re blushing,” Ino sing-songed, tipsy again, but the warmth behind her smile made it sting less.

“It’s the alcohol!” Sakura groaned, burying her face back in her arms, but this time, there was no hiding the reluctant curve of her mouth.

The night air hit Sakura’s cheeks the moment they stepped out of the restaurant, cool against the flush of liquor still lingering in her system. She clutched her bag with both hands, wobbling just enough that Ino looped an arm through hers to steady her.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Ino muttered, half-dragging her toward the cab. “Anyone else, and I’d let them sleep it off on the curb.”

Sakura laughed too loudly, the sound bubbling out before she could stop it. “You would not.”

Ino rolled her eyes. “Maybe not, but don’t test me.”

They tumbled into the back seat, the city sliding by in streaks of gold and neon. Sakura leaned her forehead against the cool window, her reflection soft and pink in the passing light.

“He’s so… so serious,” she mumbled, alcohol loosening what she’d been holding in all week. “Always frowning. Always… looking like the weight of the world’s glued to his shoulders. And stupidly handsome.” She groaned into her hands. “Ugh. I hate him. I don’t. I hate that I don’t.”

Ino raised a brow, arms crossed, swaying slightly with the cab’s motion. “Uh-huh. Keep talking, Forehead. I’m taking notes for the inevitable meltdown text you’ll send me tomorrow.”

Sakura turned her head, eyes hazy, cheeks pink. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet here I am, hauling your drunk lovesick ass home. Best friend of the year,” Ino shot back, but her grin was fond.

The cab slowed in front of Sakura’s building. Ino leaned toward the window, eyes widening as she took in the sleek facade.

“Wait—you live here?” she blurted. “Forehead. Since when? Don’t tell me you won the lottery.”

Sakura hiccupped a laugh. “Mmhmm. Something like that.””

“Ohhh, you have so much explaining to do.” Ino helped her out of the cab, half-carrying her toward the lobby doors. “Fine, don’t spill tonight. But tomorrow, when you’re sober, I want everything. Every detail. Don’t even think about wriggling out of it.”

Sakura groaned, burying her face against Ino’s shoulder. “Why are you like this…”

“Because someone has to make you face your own feelings,” Ino said smugly, guiding her toward the elevator.

“Forehead, you’re heavy,” Ino grumbled, adjusting her grip when Sakura tripped over absolutely nothing.

Sakura laughed into her shoulder, the sound loose and slurred. “You’re jus’ weak.”

“Oh, shut up.” Ino jabbed the elevator button with her elbow, still trying to keep both of them upright. “You drink like a child and walk like one too—”

The sound of another door opening made her look up — the glass one leading from the parking lot.

A man stepped through.

Pressed shirt. Rolled sleeves. Tie loosened just enough to look undone but not careless. His expression—sharp, unreadable—softened the moment his eyes landed on Sakura.

Sasuke’s gaze flicked from Sakura, drooping heavily against Ino’s side, to the blonde woman holding her up. His voice was low, even. “I’ll take it from here.”

Ino blinked. “Sorry—what?”

He crossed the floor, unhurried but deliberate, and Ino instinctively tensed, still bracing Sakura’s weight. “Who are you exactly?”

Sasuke’s hand came up, calm, steady, as he reached for Sakura. His movements were precise. In one motion, he lifted her into his arms. Sakura’s head tipped against his shoulder, the sound of her breath catching faintly against his collar.

“Sasuke Uchiha,” he said, his tone as smooth as it was final. “Her husband.”

Silence.

Ino’s mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again, her brain tripping over its own disbelief.

“I—her what?”

But Sasuke was already stepping into the elevator, Sakura still in his arms. His movements efficient but careful, every step betraying how many times he’d done this before.

Sakura mumbled something against his shoulder—his name, maybe—but the sound was too soft to catch.

Ino stood there, frozen, her brain scrambling to make sense of the impossible picture: Sakura Haruno—her stubborn, privacy-fortressed best friend—sleeping in the arms of a man she’d never once mentioned.

Sasuke paused as the elevator doors began to close, his gaze cutting briefly to Ino.

“Thank you for bringing her home.”

It wasn’t cold. But it wasn’t warm either. It was simply… absolute.

And then the elevator doors slid shut, cutting her off from both of them.

Ino stayed where she was for a long moment, staring at her reflection in the glossy doors as if they might explain anything at all. Her brain caught up one word at a time, and none of them helped.

Finally, she exhaled a stunned laugh and muttered to the empty hall:

“…Husband?”

A beat.

“Oh, hell no.”

The elevator hummed softly as it carried them upward, the weight in his arms light but insistent. Her head rested against his shoulder, hair brushing the line of his jaw with each movement. The only sound between them was the faint rustle of fabric and her uneven breaths against his collar.

Sakura mumbled something half-formed, the syllables catching on his name. He glanced down, but her eyes stayed closed, lashes sweeping the curve of her cheek. The sight twisted something in him—familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

By the time the doors slid open, she had gone completely still again, her breathing slow and even.

A shift of his grip steadied her as they stepped into the apartment. Motion-sensitive lights blinked on in a wash of warm gold, catching on the sheen of her dress, the loose fall of her hair, the quiet trust in her weight against him.

He didn’t pause. The walk down the hall to her bedroom was steady, unhurried—the kind of certainty that came from doing this before, from knowing the map of her small habits and the silence between them.

With his shoulder, he nudged her door open. The faint scent of her room met him first—lavender and antiseptic, clean in the way she always kept things, but soft at the edges.

Fingers found the switch without thought. Light flickered to life in a low amber glow, washing over the room like a held breath released.

He set her down carefully, the fabric of her dress spilling like water across the sheets. The scent of her shampoo lingered faintly as he adjusted the blanket around her, his movements slow, deliberate. Then he sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, just looking at her.

The faint crease between her brows hadn’t eased, even in sleep. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, fingertips grazing her skin—an unconscious act. She stirred but didn’t wake, her lips parting on a soft sigh.

For a moment, he let himself look—the faint flush still high on her cheeks, the slow rise and fall of her chest, her small hand resting open beside him like an invitation he wouldn’t take.

“…idiot,” he muttered, the word quiet, stripped of its bite.

He shifted to stand—only to feel her fingers catch at his sleeve.

His breath stilled.

He turned back.

“Sakura?”

Her lips moved, a murmur slipping free. “Sasuke…”

He leaned in, breath caught somewhere between patience and disbelief.

“What is it?” he whispered, the words leaving him before he could think better of them.

But whatever followed was lost—too soft, swallowed by the haze of her sleep.

Sasuke went still.

For a heartbeat, the world shrank to the tug of her fingers on his sleeve, the shape of her mouth forming his name, the fragile sound of it hanging in the air. His chest tightened, the syllables catching like a spark in dry tinder.

He told himself he’d misheard. That she was drunk, delirious, didn’t know what she was saying. But denial did nothing to ease the weight pressing into his ribs.

Whatever she’d said—whatever it was—it landed squarely, leaving him off balance.

His jaw flexed, caught between the urge to lean closer and the instinct to retreat. The indecision stung more than he wanted to admit.

Then she gagged suddenly, the moment snapping apart. She lurched to the side and reflex took over—he grabbed the small trash bin, shoved it in place just in time, steadying her, holding her hair back.

When it was over, she sagged against him, half-conscious, breath ragged. He moved to set the bin aside—and his eyes caught on what was crumpled inside.

That goddamn apartment listing.

Even at a glance, he recognized her handwriting in the margins. The paper was smudged, the corners softened from how tightly it had been crushed.

Discarded. Forgotten.

A breath slipped out of him, shaky and uneven. Relief, maybe. Or something dangerously close to hope.

Then, to his own surprise, a sound broke from him—a laugh. Low, brief, quiet enough to almost not exist, but real all the same. It caught in his throat, rough around the edges.

He rubbed a hand over his face, the corners of his mouth betraying him with a ghost of a smile. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, as if the word might rein him back in.

The laugh faded, leaving the same heavy silence in its wake.

He reached for the trash bin next. Without thinking, he carried it out to the bathroom and emptied it, rinsing it until nothing remained.

The next few minutes blurred into muscle memory: a damp towel, a basin of water, the weight of her wrist when he pressed the cloth into hands too weak to hold it.

By the time she slumped back against the pillows, her face damp, her hair sticking to her cheek.

He fetched a clean shirt from her dresser. Changing her was careful work—brisk but not careless, his hands steady even when his chest wasn’t.

When he finished, he stood there for a moment, surrounded by the quiet aftermath of her chaos. His hands hovered uselessly at his sides, as if they didn’t know what to do now that they weren’t busy fixing things.

All of it—the small messes she left behind, the quiet wreckage he’d cleaned without complaint—balanced against the sight of her now.

He’d never been like this. Part of him wanted to drop everything. But his fingers tightened instead.

Because no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t shake it—the sound of her voice, his name tangled with words too dangerous to name.

He let out a low breath, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. “You’re hopeless,” he muttered, not sure if the words were meant for her or for himself.

Then he tucked the blanket more securely around her, as if the small act could hide the slip in his control.

One last look—longer than it should have been—and then he straightened, turning off the light as he pulled the door closed behind him.

But the silence did nothing to quiet her voice in his head.

The first thing Sakura felt was her head. Heavy, pounding, the kind of ache that pulsed behind her eyes and made her regret every glass Ino had insisted she finish.

The second was the blanket tucked snug around her.

She frowned, blinking through the dim morning light as she tried to piece the night together—the blur of laughter, the cab ride, the lobby, the elevator… and then a faint trace of something clean and sharp that didn’t belong to her.

Her breath caught.

Sasuke?

She turned her head slightly, wincing at the pulse behind her temples. Her gaze swept the room, picking up the details she hadn’t noticed at first: her shoes lined neatly by the dresser, her bag propped against the chair, a damp towel folded in the empty basin, her dress hanging over the backrest.

That’s when she realized—she was wearing different clothes.

Her stomach dropped. He didn’t.

A groan tore out of her as she squeezed her eyes shut, pressing a palm to her forehead. “Argh! God… just kill me now.”

Dragging herself upright, she shuffled toward the kitchen, one hand pressed to her temple. Her reflection in the microwave caught her off guard—hair sticking out in all directions, eyeliner smudged at her temples. She winced. Definitely not fit for human interaction.

Which was exactly when Sasuke walked in.

He was already dressed for the day, sleeves rolled, tie knotted with precise efficiency. A garment bag hung from his hand. His gaze flicked over her, sharp, and the corner of his mouth moved almost imperceptibly.

“You’re awake,” he said flatly.

She froze mid-step, then made a useless attempt to smooth her hair with her fingers. “Barely,” she muttered, tugging at the hem of her shirt like it could fix the rest of her.

Sasuke set the garment bag on the counter with the same finality he brought to closing a deal. “You look worse than some of my employees after an all-nighter.”

Sakura bristled. “Wow. Thanks.”

His eyes narrowed. “What made you drink that much?”

Her stomach twisted. She rubbed her temple, wincing. “I didn’t mean for it to get that bad. Ino just—”

She stopped herself, but not before she caught it: the faint loosening of his jaw, the near-silent exhale.

He masked it quickly, voice steady but edged. “You shouldn’t drink like that. It’s dangerous—for a woman to go home in that state. You could’ve been followed. Or worse.”

Her stomach twisted, guilt pushing past the hangover. “I know. I’m sorry.” She rubbed her temple, wincing.

“It was still a damn hassle.” He spoke like he meant to sound annoyed, but the sharpness rang thin, undercut by something else. He paused, eyes flicking away. “You have no idea what kind of trouble you caused.”

Heat crawled up her neck. She couldn’t tell if it was shame or irritation. “I said I’m sorry.”

Something in his shoulders eased at that, though he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nudged the garment bag closer to her.

“For the gala on Saturday,” he said simply. “You’ll need it.”

Sakura blinked at the bag, then at him. Her throat was dry, her thoughts worse. “What is it?”

“A dress.” His tone was clipped, neutral, but his gaze lingered a second longer than it should have before he looked away.

She hesitated, then reached for the zipper, pulling it down slowly.

The fabric spilled against her fingers—smooth, weighty, expensive. Burgundy. The color seemed to catch the light even in the dim room, deep and alive in a way she couldn’t look away from.

Her breath caught.

It was beautiful. Too beautiful.

“I…” She swallowed, fingers brushing the silk again. “It’s… beautiful.”

Something in him eased at that, until she kept speaking.

“I can’t wear this, Sasuke.”

He looked at her, disbelief flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t suit me,” she said quickly, almost tripping over the words. “It’s too—too elegant. Too much. People will think it’s—”

“Perfect,” he cut in, sharper than he meant to.

She blinked, startled.

“You’ll wear it,” he said, quieter now but firm. “It was made for you.”

Her lips parted, then closed again.

“That’s the problem. That dress… it looks like it was made for someone else.”

Something unreadable crossed his expression—surprise, maybe, or irritation, or the faint ache of understanding. He didn’t answer right away.

In the silence, she looked down, tracing the fabric again, unable to meet his eyes. “You should’ve picked something simpler.”

He exhaled through his nose, slow, controlled. “It wasn’t meant to be simple,” he said, quietly. “I wanted you to feel seen.”

That caught her off guard. She glanced up, but his expression had already shuttered.

He turned away first, adjusting his cuff as if it could tidy the mess between them.

“We’ll talk later,” he said.

She nodded, though the words she wanted to say burned just behind her teeth.

When the door closed, she let out the breath she’d been holding, her gaze falling back to the beautiful dress.

It didn’t look like her—not the version she knew, not the one who second-guessed everything she touched.

She pressed her lips together, forcing the thought away, and laid the dress back into the bag as if it were fragile.

She exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, but the ache in her chest only deepened.

“Not everything has to be perfect,” she whispered, though he was no longer there to hear it.

And yet, when she glanced once more at the dress, she couldn’t deny how perfectly he’d chosen it.

Chapter Epilogue:

The office was quiet when Sasuke stepped inside. His secretary followed with a tablet in hand, listing off appointments until she paused.

“Would you like some coffee, sir?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve already had two,” he answered without looking up. His tone was matter-of-fact.

But when he reached for the pen on his desk, his hand hesitated. Two.

One at dawn, before she woke. The other, he hadn’t needed, but when Sakura had offered, her voice still husky from sleep, her hand careful as she slid the mug across the counter, he’d taken it anyway.

And he knew that it was never for the coffee.

He took it because she’d offered.

He exhaled, shutting the thought down, forcing his focus back to the reports in front of him.

“Sir?” his secretary prompted.

He straightened, adjusting his cuff. “That’s all.”

But she didn’t leave. “Ah, and one more thing,” his secretary added, setting a sleek black box on the desk. The embossed crest glimmered faintly in the light. “Your order from Amaterasu Couture arrived this morning.”

Sasuke’s gaze lingered on it longer than necessary.

He knew the brand’s reputation, unattainable to anyone outside the family, whispered about for its exclusivity. He’d never bothered with them before—never needed to. The brand’s reputation was wasted on him.

But not on her.

He told himself it was for the gala. It was expected that his wife be properly dressed beside him.

That was reason enough.

But as his fingers brushed the edge of the box, another image surfaced. He remembered the way Sakura had stopped in front of that boutique window weeks ago, eyes catching on a gown in the same hue.

The way she’d looked at it before looking away as if she’d lingered too long on something she wasn’t supposed to want.

He hadn’t forgotten.

And that was the problem.

Now she would wear it. And the thought of her in that dress made his pulse stumble in a way it hadn’t in years.

He could already picture her unzipping the garment bag, fingertips brushing the silk, eyes widening in that startled way she always tried to hide.

His mouth twitched—almost a smile—before he caught himself and smoothed it away.

He knew how it would look if she questioned it. He knew how careful he’d have to sound when he handed it to her.

It’s for the gala,

he’d say.

That’s all.

His thumb traced the embossed crest once before he pulled his hand back.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Put it in my car.”

The secretary nodded and withdrew, leaving him alone with the quiet.

Sasuke leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, the aftertaste of coffee still bitter on his tongue.

But all he could think of was her face, stunned and bright, as she’d traced the dress he’d chosen.