Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wind whispered through the narrow streets of the Hidden Village, curling around the wooden buildings and carrying with it the scent of damp earth and faint blossoms. Leaves swirled lazily in the air, carried along by a spring that had arrived late, as if reluctant to emerge from winter’s grip.

Sakura Haruno wasn’t supposed to live.

In her world, women were commodities—bargaining chips in the endless game of survival. Daughters weren’t meant to dream; they were meant to endure. Sakura’s life had been carved out for her before she even understood the word future . Her mother’s hands, calloused from years of toil, had guided her own small ones as she learned to sew, to cook, to bow her head just so. Obedience was expected, and complaints were unthinkable.

She had accepted it once, the resignation wrapped tightly around her like a familiar blanket. But somewhere deep inside, there had always been a small, flickering flame—a stubborn spark of something that refused to be snuffed out. Maybe that’s why she found herself here now, sitting beside the boy who had always defied expectations.

Naruto Uzumaki liked her.

It wasn’t hard to tell. He was terrible at hiding it, after all—the way his glances lingered a little too long, how his knuckles would brush against hers, followed by a flurry of apologies and an awkward laugh that never quite reached his eyes. She didn’t mind. Maybe, just maybe, she even found herself relaxing in his presence, her guard lowering in ways it never did with others. He was her best friend, the one constant in a world that always seemed to shift and demand more of her.

Naruto was clumsy, too loud, and impossibly stubborn. He lacked the polished grace that most girls whispered about in their fantasies. But he was kind. Fiercely, unapologetically kind. His loyalty ran deeper than the roots of the great trees that lined the village, and his smiles—oh, his smiles. They weren’t just expressions; they were declarations. When he smiled, it was as though the sun itself had chosen to shine a little brighter, and the sheer warmth of it could melt away the heaviest of burdens.

His eyes were the kind of blue that seemed to hold the whole sky in them, bright and endless, but there was a weight there too—a shadow that hinted at all the things he didn’t say. The sadness in him wasn’t obvious; it was subtle, woven into the fabric of his being like threads of silver in a golden tapestry. He had grown up without a family, without a place to belong, and yet here he was, still smiling, still trying to make everyone else’s world a little brighter.

Sakura closed her eyes for a moment. She would marry her best friend. Who else could she trust with her future? Who else could make her feel safe, even in a world that had taught her not to expect safety? It would be a blessing. It had to be.

Until, it wasn't. 

Spring had come late, and the fog still clung to the streets like a stubborn ghost. Sakura and Naruto sat at their usual ramen stand, the steam from their bowls curling upward, mixing with the lingering chill in the air. Sakura leaned her head against the wooden counter, humming a quiet tune while Naruto slurped noisily beside her, oblivious to the world as he recounted his day in vivid, exaggerated detail.

She couldn’t help but think if they ever were to get married, she would have to teach him some manners. It was then she realized that she had thought about the forbidden word again, marriage. 

Sakura shook the thoughts away, distracting her mind by stirring the noodles in their bowl. 

“Are you gonna eat that?” Naruto’s voice broke through her reverie, pulling her back to the present. 

She looked up to find him gazing at her with a boyish earnestness that made her chest tighten. The wind chose that moment to sweep through the stand, ruffling his unruly blond hair and revealing his face in a way that made his smile brighter. His eyes glinted, bright and full of life, and his cheeks were slightly flushed, probably because of the cold.

“You can have it,” she sighed, pushing her bowl toward him.

The small sigh didn’t escape his notice. His smile faltered, replaced by a look of quiet concern. He nudged her arm gently at first, testing the waters, his touch warm even through the fabric of her sleeve. But when she didn’t respond, he reached for her hands, cradling them in his own as though they might break if he held too tightly.

“You didn’t fight me for it this time,” he said, his tone light but probing, his thumbs brushing softly over her knuckles in small, soothing circles. “Something’s wrong. Did I… um, did I do something?”

His voice dropped, a thread of uncertainty weaving through it. “If I did, I’m sorry. Really.” His eyes searched hers, wide and earnest, full of that raw honesty that only he could bring.

The warmth of his hold enveloped her, and for a moment, she let herself sink into it, feeling the quiet strength in his fingers as they lingered on hers. It wasn’t just a gesture; it was a promise, unspoken but clear, that he was here—always here, even when she didn’t know how to ask for him.

Her heart twisted painfully. She hated when he apologized for things he hadn’t done, as if he was always tiptoeing around her, bracing himself for the blame that wasn’t his to carry. It made her feel like a thief, stealing the lightness and joy that was so uniquely his.

Guilt prickled at her chest. She slipped her hands out of his, the absence of his warmth immediate and sharp, and she could tell it bothered him. His fingers twitched, as if reaching for hers again, but he hesitated, the moment left suspended between them.

“It’s not you,” she said softly, her voice almost breaking as she looked down at her hands. Her fingers tightened around her chopsticks, gripping them like they might hold her together. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. “I just…”

She trailed off, unsure of how to voice the turmoil in her chest. Naruto didn’t press her. Instead, he waited, his silence offering her the space she needed.

Since they were kids—long before the whispers and murmurs about marriage began—they had been inseparable. Best friends. Naruto had never been shy back then, showering her with affection in ways that were loud, clumsy, and so undeniably him. He would grin, laugh, and declare his feelings with a boldness that bordered on reckless, as if rejection didn’t faze him in the slightest. And she would reject him every time, laughing it off and telling him he was her best friend, nothing more, nothing less. It was the truth back then—simple, unshakable, and easy.

But then things began to change. She wasn’t sure when the shift happened, only that it crept in slowly, like a shadow lengthening at dusk. Maybe it was two years ago, when the village chatter grew louder, filled with teasing smiles and pointed comments. People started speaking as if their future was already decided, pairing their names together like a prophecy that had always been written. At first, she dismissed it, rolling her eyes and scoffing at the absurdity of it all.

Then one day, the truth hit her with startling clarity, she was going to marry someone. It was an inevitable part of life. And when faced with the faceless, nameless prospect of a stranger, the answer seemed obvious. She would rather marry Naruto.

The thought started out as selfish, nothing more than a pragmatic solution to an unpleasant problem. But over time, it grew into something more, something deeper. The idea of him, of them, began to take root in her mind, weaving its way into her thoughts and shaping itself into a vision of the future. A happy life. Bright. Warm. Full of love. Perhaps not romantic love on her part—but there was no denying it was love nonetheless. His heart was big enough for the both of them, and she had convinced herself that would be enough.

But with the village came its voices, always louder than her own. The murmurs turned into conversations, then questions, then judgment from the people closest to her. Even her parents couldn’t resist weighing in.

“Isn’t he your friend? Why would you like someone like him?” her mother asked one night, her voice tinged with disapproval as she bit her lip.

Sakura felt her stomach turn, but she said nothing.

Her father, however, wasn’t as subtle. “What Mebuki is trying to say is that he’s an orphan,” he said bluntly.

The words cut through the air, sharp and cruel. Sakura gritted her teeth, her nails digging into her palms. She had spent years trying to fight against this kind of prejudice, the narrow-mindedness that had always plagued the village and her parents. She wanted to believe they would have softened after all these years—after all the times Naruto had stood up for her, defended her, protected her. But no.

She should have known the moment they had ushered him out of the house the first time she had brought him over. 

“He has no parents, no money, nothing ,” her father continued, as if driving the point home.

Sakura bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay silent. She knew the reality of Naruto’s situation all too well. It wasn’t fair. He had worked so hard to carve out a place for himself in a world that had given him so little, and yet even now, it wasn’t enough.

But her father’s words, harsh as they were, lingered like a bitter truth. To marry her, Naruto would need stability—something her family would insist on. And that was a problem. She couldn’t ignore the fact that she had been the one to pay for their noodles today. Not just today, but almost every time they ate together.

In the present, Sakura sat with Naruto at the ramen stand, debating what to do. Her thoughts churned, tangled and heavy, until one idea rose to the surface. It was reckless and impulsive, but the longer she sat with it, the clearer it became.

She turned to him, staring him dead in the eye.

“Can you ask for my hand in marriage?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and irrevocable. For a moment, the world seemed to still, the fog thinning just enough to reveal the golden hues of the setting sun. Naruto’s eyes widened, his chopsticks clattering to the counter as he stared at her in stunned silence.

“Eh— WHAT ?!” he yelped, his voice cracking in a way that would have been comical if the situation weren’t so serious.

Sakura winced, holding her hands up to shield her ears. “I’m not taking it back,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Ask my parents if you can marry me.”

Naruto pushed to his feet, the stool scraping loudly against the wooden floor as he loomed over her. His lips pressed into a tight, thin line before parting to speak, his voice low and cutting, but with an edge of raw emotion that made her breath catch. “If this is some kind of joke, Sakura, I swear—it's not funny,” he bit out, his tone rising like a wave, his gaze burning into hers. “Not even a little.”

Sakura groaned, standing as well, refusing to be intimidated even as the tension between them felt almost suffocating. “Does it look like I’m joking?” she snapped back, though her voice faltered at the edges. Then, softer, almost hesitant, she added, “Unless… unless there’s someone else you’d rather marry? Someone you like more?”

There was this girl in their village, Hyuga Hinata, who always stared at Naruto longingly. Was Sakura stealing Naruto from her? Or being selfish by marrying him and not giving him the chance to marry someone who truly loves him, romantically?

The question landed like a spark in dry brush, igniting something fiery in Naruto. His eyes narrowed, and his posture stiffened as if she had just slapped him. “Are you serious right now?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher. 

She supposed it was a stupid question, given how many times he had confessed to her, but she needed to be sure. 

Naruto’s eyes narrowed further, before he began to shake his head so vigorously that a few stray strands of hair fell into his face. 

“No, It’s just…” His voice broke off, and he dragged a hand down his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated groan. “I don’t understand how you went from telling me not to come over to your house to— making me propose to you? Do you even realize what you’re asking?”

She had done so in the past so they couldn’t have a chance to criticize him. Young Naruto hadn’t been the brightest, just like how younger her, had been an awful and mean person. But they changed. And now Sakura could proudly call herself kind, and call him mature (even though he lacked table manners still). 

Was she being irrational? If her parents saw how determined and serious he was, surely they would marry her off to him? 

“Marry me,” she repeated, the words firmer this time.

"Sakura..." He breathed her name, a soft murmur, but it was laced with a thousand unsaid things. The kind of pain that came from realizing something important, something life-altering, was slipping through his fingers, and he had no idea how to stop it. His eyes met hers, but they didn’t linger. They darted away quickly, as though they couldn’t bear the weight of the question she was asking.

“Will you marry me, or not?” Sakura’s words were an ultimatum now, her lips tight, her fists trembling. She was doing her best to keep her voice steady, but the way her fingers shook—she blamed it on the cold, but the heat in her chest told her otherwise. It wasn’t cold that made her shiver; it was fear, doubt, the realization that the answer he was about to give could change everything.

“I am not your plaything—you can’t…” His voice cracked, and his eyes hardened, filled with pain. “I know why you’re doing this, and I don’t—”

“So it’s a no then?” Her voice was steady now, but there was a dangerous edge to it, a sharpness that made the air between them feel even colder than it was. She hadn’t meant to sound so biting, but it escaped her. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or hurt talking anymore, but the words were out before she could stop them.

Naruto didn’t answer.

The silence that stretched between them was thick, suffocating, like a storm waiting to break. Instead of responding, he sat back down with a force that rattled the room. His movements were stiff, mechanical. His hands shook slightly as he picked up his chopsticks again, but there was no grace in the motion. He clenched them in his hand, his fingers whitening around the wooden sticks. 

Sakura didn’t say anything for a while, only stood there while Naruto ate away, except there was no slurping sound this time, just an endless quiet, except for the occasional clank of the chopsticks hitting the rim of the bowl.

Enough. 

Sakura didn't spare a glance, as she gathered her tattered old purse and started to walk away. 

“Where are you going?” he called out, his voice rougher than usual. It had the same deepness as his morning voice, and it was enough to make her stop in her tracks. 

“I’m not going to sit here and enjoy a meal after you rejected me.” Her voice was calm, devoid of any emotion.

Naruto scoffed, turning back to his noodles. “Like I haven’t come back to you after getting rejected a million times.” 

A vein popped on his forehead, but besides that, he was holding himself composed. She couldn’t lie, it was a nice change from when he was younger, when he would throw tantrums over everything that didn’t go his way. 

But his words didn’t go unnoticed by her, and before she could stop herself, the words left her mouth. “I have self-respect, unlike you.”

Maybe she hadn’t matured enough, otherwise those words would have never left her mouth. Maybe, she was still mean, and an awful person. Maybe, her parents' words had affected her more than she let on. Maybe, she was as bad as the rest of the people in the Leaf Village. 

Naruto didn’t waste a moment, his eyes snapped toward her, his jaw clenching. Then, he pushed the noodles (his favorite thing in the world) away, and the bowl shattered on the floor with a loud sound. The small remnants of the noodles spilled over the ground, turning the soil muddy. 

Instantly, he regretted it and red bloomed into his cheeks as staff ran toward the scene. 

Sakura held her arms tightly, as the staff started yelling at him, “How are you going to repay?! We all know you have no money!”

Her parents weren’t the only people who had heard about the infamous blond, everyone knew him—and his tragic backstory. Still, the tragedy was always dismissed whenever Naruto made even the smallest mistake. 

Sakura didn’t waste a moment, already digging inside her purse when Naruto spoke again, “I’m sorry, I’ll wash the dishes.” He bowed deeply, but the expression of the staff didn’t change. It was filled with resentment. 

Moments like this made her appreciate her parents, as backward as they were, they were also a security for her, an umbrella shielding her from the sunlight—and the rain. 

Naruto looked humiliated, and once again, it had been because of her. 

She grabbed several notes, and passed them to the staff, “This should cover the bill.”

They looked satisfied and were about to leave when Naruto snatched the money and shoved it back in her purse. 

She stared into his blue orbs, the same ones that had rejected her, and only saw contempt. When he spoke again, his voice was filled with disdain. 

“I’m working on my self-respect— keep your money.”

It hurt more than it should have, so Sakura didn’t say anything as Naruto started to head inside the noodle shop. 

Chapter Text

The air inside Ichiraku Ramen was thick with the mingling scents of hot broth, stewed pork, and fresh scallions. The fragrance wrapped around like an old friend, warm and comforting, yet distant—something to be enjoyed but never truly his. Beneath it all, a sharper note of cleaning supplies lingered, mixing with the steam that rose in gentle tendrils from the bubbling pots. The door chime jingled every few minutes, allowing a crisp evening breeze to sneak inside, brushing against his sun-kissed cheeks before vanishing into the hum of conversation of customers.

Naruto Uzumaki was an expert at washing dishes.

His hands moved automatically, scrubbing, rinsing, stacking—motions drilled into his muscles since childhood. The warm water stung his reddened fingers, but he welcomed the sensation. It was grounding. It was real. Unlike the ghosts of his past that whispered in his ear when he least expected them.

He washed dishes in the same way he had washed away the ache of loneliness since he was a child—alone, in an abandoned house where silence was his only companion. People like him weren’t supposed to live, to endure and to survive. It was a simple fact, the amount of orphans in the village close to zero, and he was defying the statistics. It wasn’t that kids didn’t become orphans, they just never reached an age where they could be counted inside the statistics—most passed away, as they were supposed to do.

But Naruto had survived. He had defied the unspoken rule. And in doing so, he had become something even worse in their eyes, an inconvenience.

The count of orphans was so low in Konoha, that they hadn’t bothered building an orphanage, a place for people like him to exist. If the world refused to acknowledge him, did he even exist? Was he truly an orphan if no one recognized him as one? Wasn’t he more of a beggar? A stray? Not someone who had lost their parents in a tragedy? The questions gnawed at him, yet he had no answers, only the rhythmic clatter of plates and the sting of soap against his raw skin.

But Sakura Haruno had acknowledged him.

Always.

It wasn’t odd for her, it was obvious. Unlike the others, she never hesitated to call him what he was—an orphan. Not as an insult, but as fact. There was a strange sort of comfort in her bluntness. When she called him ‘orphan boy’ or ‘parentless idiot,’ he never took offense. Instead, he reveled in it, because in a world that refused to accept him, didn’t understand his situation and didn’t give him help for anything, her words made him real. She saw him. Even if it was only pity, it was better than nothing.

Naruto had spent his childhood yearning for pity, aching for someone to care enough to notice his suffering. He had wanted someone to take his hand, to pull him close, to stroke his hair and tell him everything would be alright. He had wanted a lullaby at night, a gentle voice wishing him sweet dreams instead of the eerie silence of an empty room. 

When he was out in the streets, begging, he wished someone would stop for a minute, and acknowledge him, tell him that the nightmare that was his life, would be over soon. Naruto had wanted to rely on someone. But that had never come.

The soap made his hand wrinkly.

Naruto liked washing dishes for one reason, a reason that was peculiar to others, but so obvious to him. When his hand wrinkled after washing the dishes, it looked like someone else's hand. He would proceed to hold himself— hug himself, and pretend it was someone else who did that. A mother, or father, who was hugging him, and that it was not his own cubby, wrinkly hand. Rather, an elderly parent, someone wise, someone who could wash all of his worries away.  

It was pitiful, but if he didn’t pity himself, no one else would. Except for Sakura.

Today, she pitied him once again. She had proposed to him, because she thought he would be hopeless without her. Which was true, but that much harder to swallow. 

He had always appreciated her pity, but today, he couldn’t. He knew the moment he would have said yes, the moment they proceeded and she held his hand, people would laugh at them. They would point fingers and think that the only reason she married him was because of her pity, not love. Like a charity case. 

They would think he had ruined her life, and that would break his heart, more than every time she had rejected him combined. 

And not only did she not love him, but her parents disapproved of him. Naruto still remembered that quiet evening when he was invited over.

Before that day, he had never been inside someone’s home before—not like that. Not as a guest.

She had pulled him by the wrist, dragging him up the steps to the door of a modest little house on the quiet side of the village. He had resisted, feet dragging slightly against the ground.

“Come on,” she huffed, unaware of the growing tension in his body. “You always eat alone, right? My mom made extra food. It’s fine.”

It was more than fine. It was perfect.

The moment they stepped inside, warmth enveloped him—real warmth. The kind that didn’t come from blankets or the sun but from a home filled with life. The scent of dinner lingered in the air, something savory and rich, the kind of meal people ate together at a table. There was soft laughter from another room, the faintest creak of wooden floors under his feet. The yellow overhead lights were on, and there were shoes and coats all over the place, in a messy flurry. It was everything he had ever wanted.

For a few moments, Naruto let himself believe. He let himself want. This was what a home was supposed to sound like. Not quiet, not empty. He tried to let himself imagine and feel overwhelmed by the presence of others. The warmth that the house radiated. 

Naruto heard them before he saw them.

A quiet, sharp intake of breath. The shifting of feet. A pause that lasted too long.

Sakura’s mother and father stood near the dining table, their expressions stiff, their smiles too thin to be disguised as normal. Her father’s eyes narrowed just slightly, her mother’s hands wringing the edge of a kitchen towel. It was only a flicker—an almost imperceptible change in the air—but Naruto felt it deep in his gut. 

Sakura beamed, oblivious. “Mom, Dad, this is Naruto! He was the one I talked about—”

“You should head home, dear,” her mother interrupted, her voice polite but firm.

Naruto froze.

Sakura frowned. “Huh? But—”

“It’s getting late,” her father added, stepping forward, his posture rigid. “I’m sure he has things to do, and you do too, Sakura.”

Naruto swallowed hard. He knew that tone. That look. He had seen it a thousand times before—from villagers, from storekeepers, from people who didn’t want him near their homes, near their families. As if he was cursed. 

He glanced at Sakura, and for the first time, he saw her confusion morph into realization.

She turned back to her parents, brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re not—”

“It’s fine.” Naruto forced out a laugh, scratching the back of his head. He ignored the lump forming in his throat. “They’re right. I should go.”

He stepped back toward the door, the warmth already fading from his skin. He lingered for a moment, and  tried to capture the feeling of a home one last time, because he was unsure when he would get to experience it again. But the silent cough from her parents made him move quicker than he wanted to.

Sakura reached for his wrist. “But you haven’t even eaten yet—”

He slipped free.

The cold night air hit him like a slap as he stepped outside, the door quietly clicking shut behind him.

For the first time in his life, he had been invited in. And just as quickly, he had been reminded that he didn’t belong. Naruto knew from that day onward, that her parents would always look down on him, unless he changed the circumstances. 

But beside her parents, there was another issue, her platonic love for him. 

To live with someone he loved, but they didn’t love him back, it would be the greatest tragedy of his life. The worst part was that she thought he would accept it, as if that wouldn’t shatter his heart into a million pieces. She would be playing with his heart, just so that she could avoid marrying someone random.

Sakura had been blunt about her dislike of marrying a stranger. It made Naruto feel like a backup. But even as a backup, he should feel lucky, right? 

His fingers pressed too hard against the rough ceramic, and a sharp sting flared up his arm. He glanced down, realizing he had scrubbed his knuckles raw. Pink. The color of irritated skin. The color of soap bubbles popping under the light. The color of cherry blossoms drifting in the spring wind. The color of his mother’s hair. The color of Sakura’s.

Naruto had always loved pink.

Especially Sakura’s pinks. Her lips, her flushed cheeks when she was angry, the tip of her nose in the winter cold, or the small and barely there blushes. Those last pinks were a rare delicacy, but once they did show up, they were the prettiest hues of pink he had ever seen. 

People called Sakura ugly, because her forehead was big. 

They were wrong. They were so so so wrong. There was nothing more beautiful than her forehead, the place he yearned to kiss and whisper sweet nothings. He wanted to trace his fingers across it as though it held all the secrets of the world.

But Sakura never believed him. Not when he would pepper her with compliments, nor when he would disguise them as jokes. 

Because the truth was simple, Sakura Haruno didn’t like him. Not like that.

Naruto wasn’t an idiot, no matter how many times people called him one. He noticed the way she flinched when he got too close, the way she pulled back whenever their hands accidentally brushed. It stung, a sharp pain that settled deep in his chest, but he swallowed it down. 

If he wasn’t strong enough to win her heart, then he would become stronger. Strong enough that people wouldn’t laugh. Strong enough that when she wore his ring, no one would scrutinize her for it. Strong enough to be worthy.

Naruto Uzumaki would become a Hokage.

No one would question him then. No one would whisper that she had settled out of kindness. No one would question either of them. Yes, Naruto would make Sakura proud, and her pity a distant past. He would make her fall in love with him.

“Are you still not finished?”

Naruto blinked, pulling himself back to reality. The restaurant’s owner stood behind him, arms crossed, her bright red lips pursed in irritation.

“Almost done,” he muttered, flexing his aching fingers.

She exhaled sharply. “We’ve got an important guest coming in a few days, and the cleaners are already swamped. If you want, we can pay you extra to work that whole day.”

Naruto Uzumaki never turned down a job. Not when it meant money. Not when it meant proving himself. Not when he had bills to pay—and a girl to marry.

He wiped his hands on his apron and met her gaze with a grin.

“I’ll take it.”

Chapter Text

The wind carried the scent of damp earth and distant pine, weaving through the trees like an unseen specter. The Hidden Village lay sprawled before him, nestled within towering evergreens, their dark silhouettes swaying gently against the amber glow of a dying sun. The sky, painted in hues of burnt orange and dusky purple, cast long shadows over the winding streets, where homes with slanted rooftops stood like silent sentinels, each whispering stories of those who had walked before.

Sasuke stood at the edge of it all, his dark cloak billowing behind him, drinking in the sight with a gaze that was both distant and unwavering. 

 Once, this village had been his home—a place of warmth, of laughter, of fleeting childhood joys. But now, it was nothing more than a carcass of its former self, rotting beneath the weight of debt and decay. Corruption festered in its corners like a slow-growing disease, eating away at whatever honor and dignity the people had left. But that wasn’t his concern. Not anymore.

It was the village’s own fault for maintaining their old ways, and their backward thinking. 

His boots pressed into the softened dirt path, leaving faint imprints behind as he moved forward, the gates creaking slightly as he passed through. There was little security here, no one watching, no guards stationed—it was almost laughable how easy it was to enter. If he had been an enemy, this village would have been reduced to ashes before anyone could even sound an alarm.

The deeper he walked, the stronger the smells became—fried foods sizzling in old iron pans, the bitter tang of freshly brewed sake, the sickly sweet aroma of overripe fruit left too long in the heat. All different kinds of spices extruded his nostrils, but it was pleasant and calming. The kids bumping into him were not. Neither were the people talking obnoxiously loudly. 

“Carefull,” Sasuke warned, as another clunky child rammed into him. He swiftly guided the child on the right path, nearly hitting a merchant shouting out his prices while doing so. 

The children squealed as they darted through the alleyways, their laughter echoing between the wooden walls of clustered homes. Someone was arguing over the price of fish, another was haggling over spices. It was a place alive, yet barely surviving.

Sasuke barely paid it any mind. He had a task to complete.

His father had sent him to collect what was owed to the Uchiha clan. It was a simple mission, tedious even, but necessary. His father had always claimed that he lacked “people skills.” That he was too cold, too calculating, that his presence alone sent shivers down spines. Sasuke didn’t argue with him—he didn’t particularly like people either. 

They were fickle creatures, ruled by emotion, driven by self-interest. But if proving himself meant completing this task, then so be it.

The house he sought stood perched atop a small hill, overlooking the village like a forgotten memory. It was modest, tucked between other similar homes, but there was something about it—something that made him hesitate.

Another gust of wind blew his hair, and Sasuke knew he couldn’t delay it any longer. Sasuke double checked the map his father had given him, and it was right.

With a small sigh, he realised that in a few minutes, he would have to ruin someone’s day—or life. With that thought plaguing his mind, he knocked on the door once, then twice.

Silence.

Then, the shuffling of feet. The rattling of a knob. The door creaked open to reveal a woman dressed in faded pink. Her hair, once a vibrant shade of brown, had dulled over the years, streaks of silver threading through her locks. She had gentle wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, the kind that came from a lifetime of forced smiles.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, her voice sweet, yet carrying the undertone of someone who had known struggle far too well.

Before Sasuke could speak, another voice called from inside. “Who is it?”

The woman’s breath hitched. Her eyes darted over his figure, and something within them shifted—recognition, fear. She gasped, stepping back, and in one swift motion, she tried to slam the door shut.

Sasuke was faster.

His hand shot out, fingers pressing against the wood, keeping it ajar with minimal effort. The woman stumbled, nearly losing her footing, but before she could fall, a man emerged from the shadows of the home, catching her just in time.

Sasuke met his gaze. “I am Sasuke Uchiha. I am here to collect what you owe my family.”

The woman trembled, her hands tightening around the fabric of her sleeves. The man’s jaw clenched, his grip on her shoulder tightening. Their fear was palpable, an invisible thread binding them together in the face of something they could not fight.

“We already paid what we could,” the woman said, her voice barely above a whisper. “How—how can we possibly—”

“Your family had ten years,” Sasuke cut in, his tone like steel. “Yet you’ve barely paid half of what is owed. I hardly call that fair .”

The woman took a step back, pressing herself against her husband. The man swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to muster whatever courage he had left. “We have nothing more to give.”

“Everyone has something.”

Sasuke’s gaze flickered around the small home, taking in every detail—the cracked wooden floorboards, the flickering lantern hanging from the ceiling, the faint scent of lavender masking the underlying dampness of the walls. Nothing of great value. No gold, no treasures.

But the house itself—

“This home,” Sasuke said. “Do you own it?”

The woman let out a soft, strangled sob. “Please… if we lose our home, we will die in the streets. We have nowhere to go. No one to turn to.”

“You don’t have another option.” Sasuke said sternly. 

The man stepped forward, desperation flickering in his eyes. “We have a daughter,” he blurted out. “Please… she—she has a future. If you take away our home, she will have nothing.”

Silence stretched between them, but Sasuke was unwavering. His Father had taught him early on that those who pitied others were manipulated fools. That is why Sasuke stayed stoic, even as the man fell to his knees. 

Then the woman, as if struck by sudden inspiration, gasped. “Take her!”

Sasuke’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Take our daughter,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “She is young, beautiful, well-mannered. She will serve you well. Take her, and spare us.”

Sasuke stared at her, momentarily caught off guard. He had come for money, not burdens. Not complications. But before he could refuse, the man rushed to the wall, snatching a framed picture and thrusting it into Sasuke’s hands.

He scoffed but looked down anyway.

And then—

Green. A shade so vivid, so striking, it nearly made him pause. Not the dull, muted green of the forest or the deep green of pine needles—but something altogether different. Alive. Sharp. Her eyes, even in the frozen stillness of the picture, carried a weight that unsettled him. As if they could see beyond the surface, as if they held questions he had no answers to.

His gaze trailed lower. Her lips—small, delicate, their natural curve almost too soft for a world like this. There was a quiet charm to them, the faintest hint of moisture that made them look entirely too—

Sasuke inhaled sharply.

Her face was framed by hair the color of blooming cherry blossoms. A shade so unnatural, yet so oddly captivating it bordered on irritating. Too bright. Too cheerful. It was the kind of color that demanded attention, refused to be ignored. Just looking at it sent a dull throb behind his eyes, like the first hints of an impending headache.

He wanted to scoff, to dismiss it as ridiculous, but the longer he looked, the more something in him twisted.

She was beautiful. Annoyingly so.

There was a strange symmetry to her features—something both effortless and intentional, as though nature had taken its time crafting her. The tilt of her head, the soft shadow beneath her lashes, the way her collarbone barely peeked from the fabric of her dress.

The more he looked, the more she seemed to pull him in. An unexpected fascination curled in his chest, unwelcome and foreign.

He could not allow such weakness.

Sasuke exhaled and flicked his gaze away, the moment broken. But the image had already settled in his mind. And much to his irritation—she had become a delight to look at.

“Please, spare us!” The couple shrieked, bowing deeply, interrupting his internal conflict.

The girl in the picture could be valuable, Sasuke thought. Maybe he could convince his father to cut her hair and sell it—or maybe she could become a maid. Isn’t human life more valuable than some useless amount of money? And what would this house be worth anyways if he were to occupy it? In a place like Konoha, nothing was of great value. 

Sasuke nodded, taking the picture out of its frame and tucking it beneath his arm. “I will return next week,” he said, voice void of emotion. “Prepare her for me by then.”

The couple bowed one last time, their relief nearly sickening to witness. Sasuke took that moment to slip into the shadows, vanishing into the night like a phantom. As he walked away, the weight of his decision settled over him. He had come to collect a debt, and in doing so, he had unknowingly set something irreversible into motion.

For the first time in a long time, Sasuke felt uncertain. And without realizing it, he had just ruined three lives—

Including his own.

Chapter Text

The morning had started with tea and biscuits. It would end in disaster.

Sakura woke with a heaviness in her chest, an ache that had not faded with the night. The words from her argument with Naruto still echoed in her mind, sharp as glass. She had to find him.

She scrawled a note for her parents and left it on the table before slipping into her jacket and stepping into the crisp morning air. Konoha was both vast and suffocatingly small. Hours passed as she wandered aimlessly, searching for him in all the places he could be—and all the places he wouldn't be. The market, the bridge, the training grounds. Nowhere.

She knew where she had to go, but the thought unsettled her.

Gripping the small, worn key in her palm, she swallowed down the guilt. Naruto wasn’t allowed to set foot in her home, but here she was, letting herself into his. He had even given her a key long ago—his own way of saying she belonged there. That she was the only person he trusted to enter without knocking.

After a few minutes, she reached the Uzumaki residence.

His house—a grand yet empty space—stood quietly as she stepped inside. A certain chill lingered in the air, as if the walls themselves bore the loneliness he refused to speak of. 

She made her way to the kitchen, opening the fridge only to find it nearly empty. With a soft sigh, she grabbed the grocery bag she had brought along, filled with food she had bought just for him as an apology. As she unpacked the items, neatly placing them into the fridge, she couldn’t help but frown.

Naruto rarely spoke about his past, but she knew enough. His parents—lost in a tragedy so heartbreaking—so unfair—that even he avoided mentioning it. His father, once Hokage, had left him the house, but the inheritance remained locked away, inaccessible until his coming-of-age next year. A senseless rule, one they often raged about together, but even their combined frustration couldn’t overturn Konoha’s laws. 

Until then, Naruto lived on a meager allowance—barely enough to survive. There had even been a time, in the very beginning, when he had nothing at all. No friends, no family, only a powerful name that seemed to quickly be disregarded by the people of their village. Even his home had nearly been taken away at one point because he couldn’t pay the bills. 

Not only was it unfair, but Sakura knew that the moment he turned of age, everyone—including her own parents—would change their tune. For now, he was useless but next year he would become valuable, strong and worthy of acknowledgement in everyone’s eyes. It made her sick to her stomach. 

Placing the last of the fruit on the table, Sakura stretched, exhaustion weighing down on her. She didn’t know why she felt so tired, but perhaps it was because the morning had been slow and drawn out, and last night’s fight still replayed in her mind, making her mentally fatigued. 

With a yawn escaping her mouth, she wandered into the hallway in search of a place to rest. 

Originally, she assumed that Naruto would be at home, but he wasn’t here. She should be searching for him, but a part of her knew that he would come here eventually, to the last place that kept the memories of his parents alive. 

Slowly, she walked aimlessly through the labyrinth of the hallway until she stumbled into a room that was left ajar. She hadn’t been here many times, and his house was as foreign to her, as her own was to Naruto. Still, she could instantly tell that this was his room by how it was decorated. 

The door that had led her inside was red, the room cozy but smaller than she had expected for the son of the previous Hokage. 

His bed was situated near the window, which was left open, letting in a cold breeze. Sakura walked toward it and shut the window, before sitting down on his soft bed. 

She continued looking around, noticing that there was a poster that proudly displayed his family’s emblem. It brought a smile to her face, remembering that no matter how much people hated him, whether it was for his brash personality or troublesome behaviors, he never hid his background and wore it with pride. 

Her own family didn’t have a rich background. There was no fame, no money, and no powerful clan within the Haruno family history, so she had nothing to fight for, and no traditions to keep alive. A part of her wondered how it would feel to wake up and know that she had something to prove and to fight for, another part of her realised that it would be exhausting to meet everyone’s expectations.

Naruto had been born with a diamond spoon, but the moment the bearer of that spoon had passed away, the value of the diamond he possessed dropped. It was ironic how she, who had been poor, was somehow more valued in their village than Naruto. 

Sakura didn’t know whether to be thankful or to cry. She chose neither of those options as she lay her head back, sinking into his bed. 

The scent of him was there, woven into the fabric of his blankets, clinging to the pillow. It was warm, familiar, and before she could think better of it, she allowed herself to shut her eyes, the comfort of knowing that they would soon talk, lulling her into sleep.

___________________

Naruto sighed as he unlocked the door, the jangle of keys echoing in the stillness. He was tired, desperate for sleep after hours of working in the small ramen shop. He didn’t really mind the work itself, washing dishes and cleaning after angry customers was fine, it was the fact that he was surrounded by food—yet not allowed to have a single bite that was mentally draining. 

Stepping inside his house, he immediately noticed the extra pair of shoes by the entrance. His brow furrowed before recognition dawned. 

Ah. Sakuras.

Relief flooded him, his heartbeat slowing as he exhaled. It wasn’t a burglar, that was a nice change of pace. He quickly abandoned his own shoes, stepping inside the kitchen with a knot in his stomach. 

His eyes swept the room, spotting the fresh fruit on the table and the now-filled fridge. A warmth spread through his chest—then quickly turned to irritation. She must have spent her own money on it—even after he had told her not to. Again .

He had gotten a job so that he could finally be independent, and yet her she was, trying to offer her help—help which degraded him. 

Muttering under his breath, he set off in search of her, eventually stopping at the entrance of his bedroom, noticing that the door was closed for the first time. Naruto never shut his door. He inched forward, fingers slowly turning the knob, until he could slide inside.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight before him.

Sprawled across his bed, her pink hair tumbling in waves against the pillow, her chest rising and falling in the rhythm of deep sleep, was Sakura. 

Naruto froze in the doorway.

Something warm, something painful, curled inside him because she looked… peaceful. Safe. As though this place, his place, was somewhere she belonged. And maybe—just maybe—he wished that were true.

His fingers twitched with the urge to touch her, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, to trace the delicate line of her cheek. But he knew better. He had already rejected her once, and he couldn’t afford to confuse things further. So he didn’t move.

Then, as if sensing him, she stirred. Her lashes fluttered, her deep green eyes meeting his in drowsy recognition. 

“Naruto?” Her voice was quiet, soft with sleep.

His throat tightened. “I’m here.”

A slow, hazy smile spread across her lips. Without hesitation, she reached for his hand, her fingertips tracing slow, mindless patterns against his skin. His pulse jumped at the contact, his body suddenly hyperaware of every single point where they touched.

“Come here,” she murmured, shifting to make space for him.

Naruto hesitated. Was he dreaming? He almost pinched himself, but if it was a dream… what harm was there in indulging just for a little while?

Cautiously, he sat on the bed, letting out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding in. But before he could think twice, Sakura tugged him closer, pulling him down beside her. His head sank into the pillow, her warm breath hitting his face. He swallowed hard, practically tried to gulp down his fears.

Sakura however, was calm and collected. She yawned, then smiled at him shyly, the way she would do whenever she wanted something from him. “Are you still mad?”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Then, without thinking, he moved, shifting their positions. In an instant, she was beneath him, her wrists pinned above her head, his fingers twined with hers.

She gasped, body tensing for a moment, before she relaxed. 

They had been like this before. Countless times. Roughhousing, play-fighting, a thousand petty brawls. But this—

This felt different.

Naruto’s chest heaved, his mind warring against itself. He looked into her eyes, really looked into those green pools of soft leaves and greenery, the eyes that seemed to call out to him. Sweet, beautiful, and inviting. Like a meadow.

Naruto smiled, then shook his head. He could never be mad at her, not seriously and never forever. 

“Naruto?” She whispered cautiously. Her head tilted to the side, as if she were unsure of what was happening. 

Burying his head into the crook of her neck, he steadied himself. She smelled nice, a mix of lavender shampoo and ointment, but he also felt wrong for being so close to her without giving her a warning or asking her if she was okay with it. 

Moving back slightly, he peeked at her with one eye, “Can I hug you?”

A small smile broke out on her face, “Will you forgive me then?”

He grabbed her tightly and gave her a warm hug. “I did the moment you asked me to come.”

Naruto couldn’t see Sakura’s face, but he felt her fingers caress his scalp and weave into his hair. It felt odd, something unfamiliar but pleasant still. For a moment, he wished that she would never stop, that they could be beside each other forever, as friends, as family or as lovers—whatever way she wanted, he would be there, as long as she would also be there. 

She hummed, then stopped. Slowly, she pushed him away, once again putting a distance between them. 

“Do you want to eat? I’m starving.”

Naruto nodded, sighing to himself as he already missed her warmth. “Of course.”

Every time he came a little closer, she seemed to push him away even more. Sometimes he thought that it was something that Sakura did with everyone, other times he felt like she only did that to him. 

He couldn’t force her to have feelings for him, but he could try to make her fall for him at least. Couldn’t he? Was he so unlikable? Unlovable? 

“Let’s go,” He said with a fake smile, jumping off the bed. “I make mean noodles.”

He had to wait…Until he could offer her the security she deserved. Until he turned eighteen and could finally claim his inheritance. Until he took one step closer to becoming Hokage. Then, he would give her the world and more. He would make her his, not by force or guilt.

No—one day, Sakura would come herself and ask for his hand, she would desire him like how he desired to be with her. 

“That’s the only thing you can make Naruto!” Sakura laughed, punching his arm as they reached the kitchen.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m still the best!” He shouted, grabbing the ingredients that she had bought. 

They argued back and forth, Sakura from the kitchen table, and he from where he stood by the stove. Their fighting only stopped once she requested to use his bathroom, and left him alone in the kitchen. 

“Wait for me, Sakura,” he whispered to himself as he cut the onions, “Just a little longer.” 

By the time she had come back, he had two pots of noodles ready, made with love, care and hope for a bright future, together. 

_______________

Two hours later, they were ready to part ways.

Time had moved strangely, like it often did—crawling during the quiet meal, then rushing past without warning. By the time they’d scraped their bowls clean and shared a few soft laughs, the sun had slipped away, leaving behind a sky smudged with navy and the creeping chill of night.

Sakura stood at the threshold of Naruto’s home, arms folded, rocking slightly on her heels. Even from inside, she could feel the cold pressing in through the walls. It clung to her skin like dread.

“Hey,” Naruto said, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the wall, “you want me to walk with you?”

She smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

He frowned. A quiet, almost reluctant frown. But he didn’t push. “Alright. See you tomorrow?”

“Yup.” Her voice was soft. “Thanks for the meal.”

“You bought the ingredients,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I should be thanking you.”

Her smile lingered for a moment, tender and fleeting. But neither of them moved. The silence between them stretched, hesitant and full of things unsaid.

Until she broke it. She always broke it.

She slipped on her pink coat, turned toward the door, and gave him one last wave. Then she stepped into the night. The air was sharper than she expected, biting at her cheeks. Konoha’s streets were too quiet. Too dark. And for women alone at night… they were rarely kind.

She picked up her pace, hugging her arms tightly around herself. She had heard stories as well, some brutal, others scary. Sakura always brushed them aside as stories to keep her in check, so that she never dared to stay a second longer after the sun dipped below the horizon, but as she continued on her walk home, she wondered more and more if there was a truth to what her mother had warned her.

“Men crawl out at night, but these are not the men you see at daytime.”

“What do you mean, mama?” Sakura asked as she clung to her mother.

Her mother sighed, “Not only Konoha, Sakura, it happens everywhere. Just promise me not to stray along after dark, make your way home as fast as your feet allow you to.”

Sakura felt a shiver run down her spine, but it wasn’t from the cold. Before she could stop herself, she started running. Maybe she should have taken Naruto’s offer, but she didn’t want to burden him any more, and she especially couldn’t make him follow her home if he wasn’t even allowed to venture inside. It would be too cruel—

A hand on her shoulder.

She spun, a scream tearing from her throat before she could stop it. Her arms flailed, ready to strike whoever that had dared to touch her. 

“Sakura!” Naruto hissed, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Shhh—unless you want the whole village waking up.”

Her breath came in panicked bursts, but she managed to shove his hand away. “What the hell, Naruto?! You scared me half to death!”

He winced, sheepish. “Sorry… I just—I thought you might be cold. I brought you this.”

He held up a scarf. Green. Worn. Familiar…The one he always wore when it snowed.

“Oh…” Her voice caught. “You didn’t have to.”

“Nah, I wanted to,” he said simply. “And… if you don’t mind, maybe I’ll walk you home.”

Her heart skipped. Of course, he knew. He always knew. The cold. The dark. The way her fingers trembled even when she pretended they didn’t. He knew her fears better than she did sometimes.

“Thank you,” she whispered, smiling—not out of politeness, but something softer. Realer. 

“Can I?” he asked, holding up the scarf.

She nodded, and he wrapped it around her neck with slow, careful movements. His fingers brushed her collarbone as he adjusted it just right, tugging gently until she was tucked into warmth. Her cheeks grew red at the contact, and Sakura ducked her head so that he wouldn’t be able to see her reaction. 

“Sakura?” Naruto asked, one of his fingers reaching for her chin, and tilting her head up. If her cheeks had reddened before, now she was full on blushing. 

“I brought mittens too,” he added, letting go of her, and holding them out. “You should wear them considering how red your face is.”

Sakura breathed a sigh of relief at how oblivious Naruto was, and simply nodded as he helped her put them on. 

They were far too big, she realized as he grabbed her hand and slid them on, and she laughed under her breath when they slipped off almost immediately.

“Naruto, they don’t fit, give it up,” She teased, but he was stubborn. What she didn’t expect was him reaching out, and clasping her hand over the mitten. 

“So they don’t fall off,” he said, his tone casual—too casual.

She saw the way his cheeks pinked in the moonlight, but she let him keep holding her hand, tightly and securely. Almost like it was meant to be there. 

They walked in silence, but they would glance at each every now and then, and then look away just as quickly. She didn’t know why she was ashamed for looking at him now, because during her childhood, she had never looked away when their eyes met. But she also hadn’t felt a flutter in her gut every time they touched, until now. 

When they reached her house, she paused, then looked up at him. Her throat tightened with words she couldn’t say. She wanted to ask him inside, wanted to sit a little longer in the warmth of what they were becoming. But she knew the outcome, she always knew it. Her parents wouldn’t allow a moment of calm.

“You don’t have to explain,” he murmured, eyes cast down. “I get it.”

“I…” She faltered. She felt even more ashamed that she didn’t have an argument or any way to stop him. She couldn’t ask him to come because it would end in his humiliation. 

“Night, Sakura,” Naruto said, his voice gentler than she felt she deserved. He turned and began to walk away, heading down the hill.

“Wait! Naruto, wait for me!” Sakura shouted, running after him. 

He stopped, and they locked eyes. “Your gloves and scarf.” She whispered. 

“Keep them,” he said softly. “I know you’ll take care of them.”

She nodded, clutching them close to her heart. 

“Will you wait for me?” he asked, still not looking directly at her.

Sakura’s breath hitched, and she slowed down her movements. Their eyes met each others in a pool of green and blue, but no one spoke. The moonlight cast a shadow on them, the world stilling and letting them have a single moment that was only centered on each other and no one else. When no words were uttered after minutes of silence, they both looked away. 

Then, they parted.

____________________

Sakura leaned against the door, a small happy sigh escaping her lips. Today… things felt different about them. It felt like they had made progress in a way that she hadn’t ever expected. She didn’t mind it, however, it was pleasant. Both the flutter in her gut and her reddening cheeks. 

“Sakura!” Her mother yelled, rushing forward until she was inches away from her face. “Where have you been!?”

“With Naruto,” She replied honestly, already knowing that they would chide her. 

“No more of that,” Her father bellowed, rounding up the corner, his steps heavy and sluggish. Had he been drinking? Sakura could almost smell the stench from where she stood. In fact, the same smell came from her mother, although slightly disguised underneath the layers of perfume. Sakura’s mind whirred, since when could they afford booze? Weren’t they trying to save up? 

“Why?” She asked slowly, her words measured but calm. She wasn’t asking to know why, because in her heart she knew why. Naruto was less in their eyes, he was beneath their standers. But he would prove them wrong, Sakura knew that. 

And the day he did, she would be standing by his side, her hand clasping his once again. 

“Why can’t I hang out with Naruto?” She asked again, crossing her arms, realizing that no one had replied.

Her mother looked sad for a second, but she covered it up quickly with a smile. 

“Because you’re getting married.” Her mother declared.

__________________

Sakura traced her arm, a chill running down her body. Marriage , the thing she dreaded the most. A shackle, a nightmare.

“We had no choice, the Uchicha boy wanted only you in compensation for the late payment of debt.”

She turned in her bed, a tear running down her face.

“They are well off, they will take care of you well.”

She tossed in her bed.

“I have piled newspaper clippings of their family, research about them so that you can fit in.”

She turned.

“You will have a good life, Sakura, do not waste this chance.”

She cried.

“The Uchiha boy will take care of you. He will become your husband, you will love him with time.”

Sakura stared at the cracks on the ceiling. Cracks that had built over time, through heavy rain and bad weather, slowly chipping away at the paint until a hole stared at her. 

“Will you wait for me?”  Naruto’s voice rang in her ear. 

She had pretended not to know what he had meant for a long time, but she knew what he meant, and she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. 

Sakura traced the cracks with her finger. 

“I wish I could,” She whispered before sleep took over.

___________________

Sakura’s eyes were swollen.

For the first time since her childhood, she had felt at peace. She felt as if she and Naruto could take the next step, that she could finally embrace him—and of course life had to be cruel and snatch the fairy tale ending away. 

Sakura would never be able to face him… So when she stood in front of the mirror, makeup done neatly and kimono looking sharp and without any wrinkles, she didn’t face him , instead, she cowered and hoped he would forget her.

She had been nothing but a hindrance in his life.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t believe in mistakes until it happens to him. 

Stepping through the gates of his family estate, the familiar scent of sandalwood and burning lantern oil settled into his lungs. The night was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves outside the compound walls, a gentle whisper in contrast to the storm brewing in his chest.

He was home. 

The halls stretched wide, their polished wooden floors gleaming beneath the soft glow of paper lanterns. Shadows flickered along the walls, stretching like specters in the dim light. The scent of steamed rice and roasted meat curled through the air, thick and rich, wrapping around him like an embrace. He could hear the hushed murmurs of servants and the delicate clink of porcelain from the dining hall. Everything was the same. Everything was in its place.

Yet, something inside him felt unsettled.

“Sasuke.”

His mother’s voice was a soft tether, pulling him back. She stood poised at the entrance, her dark hair swept back elegantly, her eyes gentle as she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. A fleeting touch, rare and cool against his travel-worn skin. He almost flinched. Almost.

“You’ve done well,” she murmured, a quiet pride laced within her voice. “Come inside.”

The moment he stepped fully into the house, a quiet stillness washed over him. Here, he was untouchable. He was safe. The weight of Konoha, of the desperate people he had left trembling in his wake, faded into the polished floors and the sturdy walls that had housed his family for generations. 

“I’ve prepared a bath for you,” his mother continued. “Join us after.”

Sasuke inclined his head in acknowledgment, his exhaustion heavy in his bones. After thanking her, he made his way to the bathhouse, shedding the dirtied layers of his journey. The hot water enveloped him, seeping into his skin, drawing the exhaustion from his limbs. He leaned his head back against the wooden edge of the tub, allowing the steam to cloud his vision, his thoughts drifting into the silence. 

Konoha was weak. That much had been proven over and over again. But there was something about it that unsettled him. The people were fragile, yes, but they were also resilient in their desperation. He had seen it in the eyes of the debtors, in the trembling hands of that man as he clutched his wife and  in their whispered pleas for mercy.

And he had seen it in her.

The girl with hair as pink as dawn, eyes as green as a hidden spring. A color so absurd, it should have been laughable. But… 

He had taken her image from its frame and yet he still wasn’t content. She lingered, burned into the back of his mind, like an annoying reminder. Her home had been nothing. Small. Humble. Fragile. And yet, there had been something within its walls that even the grand Uchiha estate lacked.

Warmth.

Sasuke exhaled sharply, dragging a damp hand over his face before rising from the water. Foolish. While her home had warmth, his had security. He was comparing stone to dust, security to struggle. If he wanted, he could have reduced her home to rubble in minutes, that’s how weak her fortress—her home was. 

It would barely stand there for another generation. So why was he comparing? Why was he envious of her?

Dressed in fresh robes, Sasuke made his way to the dining hall, where his family awaited. Itachi sat quietly at the table, his presence like a shadow—calm, unreadable. Their father, as always, was poised and formidable, his gaze sharp as he acknowledged Sasuke’s presence with a nod. Only their mother smiled, breaking the tension with a simple gesture, her voice the first to reach him.

“How did it go?” she asked, pouring him tea as he took his seat. The chair creaked under his weight, and he was reminded once again of how out of place he was. Everyone sat on sturdy seats, except him. 

Sasuke sighed, rolling his shoulders back. “I collected all the debts owed to us.”

His father gave a small nod, unimpressed, unsurprised. “And?”

“There were those who tried to bargain. Plead.” He took a slow sip of tea, the bitterness settling on his tongue. “But in the end, they paid.”

His father’s gaze remained impassive. “Did anything go wrong?”

Sasuke hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his features. And then, like a whisper in the back of his mind, there she was again. The girl. The picture. The way her lips curved in that still image, the way her mother had bowed, offered her like a trinket.

“There was one.” 

The room stilled at his declaration, the clock on the wall ticking like an impending doom awaited him. He wasn’t raised to lie, but at this moment, Sasuke found it incredibly hard to tell the truth.

“A girl. The family couldn’t pay in full. So they offered her instead.”

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Itachi lifted his gaze slightly, the usual sharpness in his eyes replaced by a nervous glint. His mother stroked her hair, her fingers trembling slightly. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and kept her expression neutral and devoid of emotion. His father, however, let out a loud scoff, his fingers tightening around his cup.

“And?”

Sasuke set his own cup down. “I accepted.” 

A mistake. His father’s face turned cold, the disappointment in his eyes sharper than any blade. “You have grown weak.”

Sasuke’s jaw tightened. “I thought she could be useful. A maid, perhaps—”

“Enough.” His father’s voice was like stone. “They all had ten long years to collect the money. We do not accept scraps. We do not lower ourselves to take in burdens. You were sent to collect a debt, not pity the poor.”

Sasuke clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. “I did what I thought was best.”

“What you thought?” His father’s tone darkened. “You are not here to think , Sasuke. You are here to serve this family, to follow each order. And you have failed.”

The words struck him harder than he expected. A slow, simmering anger coiled within Sasuke’s chest, his breath sharp, his muscles taut. He had done everything. Followed every command, chased down every last coin. Hadn’t rested properly for months. And yet—

His hands slammed onto the table. “I have done everything you asked.” His voice was low, quiet, but the weight of it pressed against the walls. “I was gone for months, and it is still not enough for you.”

“If you cannot handle such a meagre task, then perhaps I overestimated you.” 

The words felt like poison to his ears, the disappointment in his father’s voice loud and clear. It felt like all the work he had done so far was wasted, all because of her . All because he had shown mercy . 

His father’s eyes darkened, his presence looming. But before he could speak, before the weight of his own outburst could settle, Sasuke inhaled sharply and forced himself back into control.

He lowered his gaze. “Forgive me.”

His father studied him for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Go.”

Sasuke did not need to be told twice.

That night, with his father’s words ringing in his ears, he left. The journey back to Konoha was long, the moon his only witness as he walked through the darkened roads. He did not know why he returned—perhaps to fix his mistake, to undo whatever foolish choice he had made. But when he arrived, two nights later, his body aching and mind clouded, he found something he had not expected.

Lights adorned the village, lights that could have been seen several houses down. His shoes scraped against the grass as he made his way over, a pool of dread in his gut. The lights weren’t an issue, it was the girl waiting for him. 

She stood adorned in silken fabric, a delicate kimono that draped her form, accentuating every curve, every line. It was light colored, the ends fading into a deep pink color. Her hair was braided, soft ringlets framing her face and her lips painted a shade of red so deep that it sent a pulse of something strange through his veins.

 Sasuke decided that red suited her the best.

She descended the hill with slow, deliberate steps, and Sasuke who was in a trance, met her halfway. She studied him. Assessing. Calculating. As if trying to unravel the very threads of his existence. Before she could continue however, her mother reached forward, pushing her head down into a deep bow. Sasuke inhaled sharply, remembering the degrading customs of Konoha’s women.

Something in him tightened.

“Enough,” he called out, voice cutting through the moment. The women stilled. His fingers curled slightly, before he forced them loose. “Let her.”

The women exchanged confused glances, before both of them nodded and welcomed him inside the home. Sasuke was unsure how to say anything, especially now that she had been dressed so finely. He could tell that the Kimono and other arrangements had cost them a decent amount of time and money. 

Why they had done so, confused Sasuke. But he didn’t utter a word, not until he walked inside the house. 

The house was different. The humble living space had been transformed—lanterns, decorations, tables filled with food. People sat inside, people Sasuke didn’t recognize. They were different ages, old and young, all of them looking at him expectantly. Why? 

A wedding . For him.  For her. For them .

Sasuke stiffened, the weight of the situation settling onto his shoulders. His gaze flickered to the girl’s face, expecting fear or uncertainty. But she did not look at him with love. Nor with hate. Not even with anger. She looked… resigned, like she had already accepted her fate.

His lips pressed into a thin line. There were people here, too many people. And they didn’t seem to be strangers either, but friends, distant family members, people who were expecting a grand celebration. 

The right thing to do was to stop the ceremony while he still had time to do so. But then she would be faced with ridicule. This stranger, this pink hair girl who he didn’t know, would be ruined, torn to bits and pieces. Her mother and father would lose whatever dignity they had, and in a backward place like Konoha, they would all be burned by the whispers of strangers and friends alike. 

Her life would be ruined. 

Sasuke sat through the ceremony in silence, drowning in the weight of it all. He knew his father would be enraged when he returned, knew that he had failed again. And so, as the night carried on, as the laughter and celebration swirled around him, he could not stop the thought from curling in his mind like a dark, angry whisper.

The hidden village was a place where the poor died, and the rich survived. It was barely a living place, and constantly drowning. If other villages were struggling, Konoha was buried six feet under. How people remained here was beyond Sasuke’s understanding, but then again, his father had drilled the hate for the village since he was a baby. Maybe Sasuke lacked the knowledge of its beauty? 

He looked at her once again, her expression drawn. Occasionally, when her eyes met his, he saw pure hatred in them, like everything was happening against her will—which it most likely was—but he was in the same situation. Could she not consider that? 

“Move,” She huffed rudely, as they sat beside each other. Before he could do anything, she positioned herself far away from him, as if he were poisonous. That was her first word to him, move . Out of all the things she could have said, that was what she had uttered. An angry whisper of a thought crossed him, and Sasuke made up his mind. 

Sasuke hated Konoha. 

And he hated her, too.

Chapter Text

Hello everyone, it’s me, the author.

There’s something I’ve been carrying for a while now—something that has slowly been building up, quietly yet insistently, until it could no longer be ignored. And recently, it finally spilled over, leaving me overwhelmed with a tide of stress and anxiety.

A few years ago, I didn’t even have the words for what I’m feeling now. I didn’t know how fear could sit in your chest like a stone or how the mind could spiral over things already done—or left undone. But here I am, standing in the middle of a storm I can no longer control. Maybe I could have once… but I didn’t. And now I can’t.

I know it’s summer break, so I have more time to relax. But I most likely won’t be mass uploading chapters like I had actually planned to do- only release the chapters that I’ve already written.

I am not abandoning any of my fics, I just hope that you guys understand that summer break isn’t really a “break” for me. I also wanted to find comfort in writing this down, because writing heals my heart.

Lots of love,

Me

Chapter Text

The winds were as sharp as blades, each gust carving through the thin fabric of her coat like it was paper. Within minutes, her fingers were stiff and aching, turning an unnatural shade of blue. The weight of her bag pressed against her shoulders, dragging her down with every step, but the wind seemed determined to push her forward, even though she desperately wanted to stop.

Her husband didn’t look back. Not even once.

His stride was quick, confident, each step placed with the certainty of someone who had walked this road a hundred times before. Even in the wet mud, when the earth gave way and turned slick beneath their feet, he did not falter. Sasuke moved as if the land itself bent to his will, while Sakura struggled to stay upright, each careful step a near death sentence.

She didn’t understand him. He was the one who had picked her as his bride, the one who had accepted her in place of money. And yet, at their wedding, he had looked utterly displeased with her. Tired, even. As if he had stumbled into the ceremony by accident, a guest forced into the groom’s role at the last minute. He hadn’t even worn proper wedding attire. The way he sat, stiff-backed and silent, eyes dark and void of sentiment—it was as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience.

Either that, or her husband lacked emotions, because the whole time he was as stoic as a rock. The few glances they exchanged, he seemed either unhappy or amiss. Did he think she was ugly? Did her appearance displease him somehow?

Sakura bit her lip, teeth pressing against cold, chapped skin. She had seen the missing frame in her home, had known the picture of her had been taken and given to him. He had seen her before they met in person, so why, now that she walked behind him, did he ignore her as though she were a disappointment?

Was she not nimble enough when she greeted him as he saw her the first time? Did he want a docile wife—and she perhaps did not fit that criteria?

Her heart twisted at the thought.

She had never cared much for vanity—never had the time or luxury to indulge in it—but the idea that her husband, the man she was now bound to, might find her physically repelling made her stomach churn. She could handle his silence, his apathy, even his coldness. But disgust? That was something else entirely.

Sakura missed Naruto.

If he were here, he would have thrown an arm around her shoulders and told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She would have laughed, rolled her eyes, and told him to stop being ridiculous. It would have been fun, easy, and calm. The idea of starting a conversation with her new husband, of breaking the thick, impenetrable wall between them, felt impossible. Sakura was afraid to even try. 

Another gust of wind struck her full force, nearly knocking her off her feet. She stopped—hesitated before taking her next step. She couldn’t go like this any longer. 

He had been the one who insisted they leave right away, and Sakura barely had the time to wear her coat properly before he started to descend the hilltop. She had managed to grab some food and stuff it in her backpack. A smart move, because frankly speaking, Sakura had no idea where he lived. She didn’t know if the journey would end in a day, two, or weeks later. She didn't know if it would be through desolate areas, warm climates or through rainy forests. She had no idea if she had packed properly for the trip. 

This was why she didn’t want to marry a stranger. She didn’t know anything about the person she was supposed to spend an eternity with. 

It almost made her cry. 

Sakura stilled, lifting trembling fingers to her coat, determined to adjust it properly despite the cold biting at her skin. She didn’t care if her husband left her in the middle of nowhere, she couldn’t go on like this. She didn’t want to go on like this. He could gladly leave, and she would make it back somehow. She would trace their footprints in the mud, retrace her steps all the way home—

Then he turned around.

Sakura inhaled sharply, startled by the sudden shift in movement. He never looked at her. Never acknowledged her presence. But now, for the first time since they left, his dark eyes swept over her face, scanning every inch with quiet scrutiny.

It was a shock, and Sakura was aware of her poor state. The wind had unraveled parts of her braid, and the makeup her mother applied so carefully that morning had smudged beyond recognition. She hadn’t cared to fix any of that, because he never turned around—he never looked. 

But now, for the first time since they left, his dark eyes swept over her face, scanning every inch with a calm she wished she could resemble. 

She wanted to hide and to cower, but she couldn’t let her guard down. Not if she wanted to be an equal in this partnership. So she stared on, just like she had done during the wedding ceremony back at home. Sakura needed to show him that she wasn’t weak and she wasn’t going to crumble beneath his gaze like other men thought when they chose a bride from Konoha. 

There was this sad myth, or rather, a reality of her village. Women were raised docile and most of them came from poor families. They were vulnerable, prey for predators. It meant that many men seeked out those women, so that they could make them obedient. The women of Konoha were considered weak, and a weak woman was an easy woman to control, to shape into a perfect mold. Sakura wanted to be the exception.

She had looked down upon those families who gave away their daughters for pieces of bread or in worse scenarios, for free—just to get rid of them. She had always thought that she was better, that her family was better than that.

How wrong she had been. She was traded like livestock, traded into a ruthless family. Sakura knew she would have to grow equally ruthless to survive in his—her husband’s— world. 

Staring into the black pools of her husband's eyes, she held her chin high, even though snot threatened to escape her runny nose. His gaze hardened for a moment, and then he sighed, a quiet exhale lost in the howling wind.

Sakura thought that she had won their silent match, and that he would turn around and start walking again, but he did something unexpected. He spoke. 

“Call me Sasuke.” 

His voice was quiet, but it carried. Deep as the ocean, and soft like the ripples of water. It was a pleasant sound, one she would gladly hear over and over again, but there was also a darkness in his voice. A hint of sadness that she couldn’t quite understand. 

Sakura blinked, the unexpected command taking her off guard. She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but before she could, he turned and continued walking. And though he did not say another word, she noticed something strange.

His steps slowed. Whenever she hesitated, he did too. Whenever she struggled, he lingered just enough for her to catch up.

He didn’t offer a hand, didn’t voice concern, but it was enough for her to follow him, and trust him to lead her to safety.

___________

By the time they reached the gates, exhaustion settled deep in Sakura’s bones, sinking into her.

Her fingers, once nimble and warm, were now calloused and wrinkled, stiff as if they had aged decades in the span of a few hours. Rain had soaked through every layer of her clothing, chilling her down to her very marrow. Her lips were dry, chapped beyond belief, as though the wind had stolen every trace of moisture from them in its merciless grasp.

Her braid, once neat and secure, had become a tangled mess—caught on branches when they passed through the thickest part of the woods, yanked by the greedy hands of the forest until she had no choice but to rip herself free. Strands of hair clung to her damp cheeks, framing her face in wild disarray.

Her feet throbbed. Swollen, raw, aching. She had never walked this far in her life. The furthest she had ever traveled was within the familiar streets of Konoha, where the roads were paved, where paths were well-worn and safe. But here, in this foreign place, surrounded by unfamiliar soil and towering shadows, she felt something stir deep within her chest—something uneasy, something fragile.

Sakura didn’t feel like a bride.

There had been no carriage adorned with flowers, no silk ribbons trailing behind her, no gentle hands guiding her toward a bright and hopeful future. Instead, there had been rain, wind and silence—so much silence.  She had always kept her expectations low, never had the choice to do otherwise—but this felt too much. Was it wrong for her to dream of more? 

The gates loomed before them, tall and unyielding, their dark wood worn by time yet standing resolute. Without a word, Sasuke stepped forward and pushed them open, the ancient hinges groaning under their own weight. The doors parted, revealing the place that would now be her home.

Sakura hesitated. But then, unexpectedly, Sasuke stepped aside. An invitation.

Her breath caught, a flicker of confusion flashing through her mind. Why? Why now? Why, after hours of cold indifference, after an entire journey spent in silence, was he suddenly showing her this small, fleeting courtesy?

She swallowed back the question, saving it for a future when words wouldn’t feel like stones in her throat. Instead, she stepped forward, passing through the threshold.

The wind shifted behind her, subtle but undeniable. A shift in the air. A presence.

Sakura turned instinctively—only to find him close, too close, his dark eyes locked onto her with an unreadable expression. His hand hovered just behind her back, fingers slightly curled, hesitant in their position.

She flinched.

It was an involuntary action, an instinct, but it was enough. Enough to make his mouth press into a thin line. Enough to make his hand drop back to his side as though it were burned. Without a word, he stepped past her, moving ahead instead of behind. Sakura knew she had messed up. But she couldn’t get used to it, his touch or his kindness. Not when she was unsure if it was genuine.

She walked behind him, her steps measured, her head held high—not in arrogance, but in quiet dignity. She wanted to present herself as a strong person to his family, but also gentle and loving. But the outcome of her actions would mostly depend on his family. If they treated her harshly, she was ready to fight.

They approached the main doors, their heavy wooden frames carved with intricate patterns, stories of a history she did not yet understand. Just as she was about to take another step, his voice rang out—low, firm, commanding.

“Stop.”

His posture had changed—tense, rigid, like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath. Her pulse quickened. What lay behind these doors? What was he bracing her for?

"You must listen carefully," he continued. "Do not raise your chin, lower it. And keep your gaze cast downward."

Sakura scoffed internally, “Why?” 

He turned, and she was surprised by the flicker of worry in his eyes. So he was capable of making expressions. “For your own safety. Do not say anything, do not react, just follow along to everything I say. Do you understand?”

Sakura crossed her arms. What would he say next? Clean the floors? Mop the wood? Iron his shirt? If she were reduced to only a housewife, she would do so with dignity. She wouldn’t let him trample on her, or on her pride. 

“ Do you understand? ” He asked again, his voice sharper this time, more serious. His black eyes searched hers, seeking an answer.

Sakura gritted her teeth. She wanted to say no badly, an unquenchable itch forming in her heart. But this was an unknown place, and she didn’t know what lay behind those doors. She could always rebel later because they were now forced together in a union. A union she was having difficulty not to despise.

She inhaled slowly, steadying herself. “Yes, Sasuke .” 

His name on her lips made him pause. His reaction was small, barely perceptible, but she caught it—the flicker of surprise, the brief hesitation in his breath. But he did not seem displeased. If anything, something unreadable softened the edges of his expression, and the faintest, almost imperceptible curve of his lips ghosted into existence before vanishing just as quickly.

She liked it, the ghost of a smile on his face. It was fleeting, but all the more reason why she should treasure it, because deep down, she knew she wasn’t getting another one for a while. 

He looked better when he smiled. More human. More kind. 

Sakura had never been one to care about appearances, but now that she was seeing him up close—truly looking—she could not ignore the striking sharpness of his features. 

His hair was ebony black, darker than a crow’s feather. His eyes—endless pools of onyx—held a depth she had yet to decipher, an abyss of unreadable thoughts. His skin, pale and smooth, was untouched by scars or imperfections, the kind of face that looked almost too perfect, as if ridden by the burden of human flaws. 

He was handsome, unnervingly so. 

“Good,” He whispered, the shared moment fleeting as they headed inside. And this time, Sakura let him graze his hand against hers, even though her body flinched each time their skin made contact with each other.

_____________________________________________________

Chapter Text

The moment Sakura stepped inside, she knew she wasn’t welcome. The air in the grand hall was heavy, thick with something unspoken yet suffocating. Candlelight flickered against the dark wooden walls, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and shift like restless spirits. The room smelled of aged parchment and something smokier, harsher—like steel left too long in the rain.

And then she saw him.

At the far end of the room, sitting on an ornate wooden chair carved with symbols she did not recognize, was a man with Sasuke’s eyes. But where Sasuke’s gaze was distant, unreadable, his father’s burned with unrestrained fury.

Fugaku Uchiha looked as though the very sight of her was an insult.

His jaw tightened, his fingers drummed once against the arm of his chair, and his dark robes—lined with deep red stitching—billowed slightly as he shifted in his seat. The silence that followed was unbearable, thick like a fog creeping into her lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

Sakura felt her stomach twist, and for the first time since she had stepped through these doors, her resolve wavered. But she had been raised to endure, and endure she would. So, with a breath so soft it barely left her lips, she lowered her gaze and bent at the waist. A deep bow, one that spoke of humility and respect, just as Sasuke had told her. 

Slowly, she straightened, only to find his glare had not softened in the slightest. It still burned like a branding iron, as though he were searing a warning into her skin. Her heart pounded, an awful mix of fear and dread tightening in her chest. Instinct took hold of her, and before she knew it, she had taken a step back, hiding behind Sasuke.

She felt ridiculous, childish even, but she couldn’t help it. The oppressive weight of Fugaku’s glare was too much, and without thinking, she clung to the back of Sasuke’s cloak, her fingers gripping the fabric like a lifeline. How a single glare had broken her resolve was beyond her, but perhaps it lay in the fact that she had never been hated quite like that. 

The men in Konoha did not stare at women, and they did not challenge them either. Since women were not equals, there was no man who had a reason to pick a fight with them. It was a fact that they were lesser. 

But the way Sasuke’s father stared at her, it seemed that he wanted to establish that, to remind her once again that in this household, she stood no chance.

As if I didn’t know that already, Sakura thought bitterly to herself. Or perhaps, he did it to blow out her flame before it even had the chance to light up. 

Her fingers tightened, the soft fabric calming her slightly. She expected Sasuke to move or push her away, but he did not. Instead, he stepped forward, the movement small but unmistakable—a barrier between her and the rest of the room. His stance was calm, measured, but his shoulders squared, and his body tensed as though readying himself for battle.

A single motion, yet it spoke volumes.

Sakura’s grip on his cloak tightened even more as she pressed herself snugly against his back, seeking refuge in the only place that felt remotely safe. In a short while, she had found comfort in her husband, whom she still had yet to properly know. But at the same time, he seemed the most familiar in the room full of strangers.

It was a mistake. Sasuke shouldn’t have moved at all. Him moving, was him taking her side. Him moving, was him betraying his father. 

Fugaku’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a tight line, his fingers curling into fists. A muscle in his jaw ticked, his fury rolling through the room like an unseen storm, palpable in the very air they breathed. The quiet broke when—

“Sasuke.”

While Sakura had been preoccupied by Sasuke’s father's gaze, there had been someone else lurking in the shadows, a woman with long cascading hair and eyes as black as Fugaku’s. Sakura noticed her now, a beacon of light in the dark, her voice soft like a cushion when she had spoken. 

Sakura barely had time to react before a pair of hands grasped her own, prying her from Sasuke’s cloak with surprising gentleness. Warm hands. Feminine hands. Sasuke’s mother. The woman her parents had briefly mentioned, Mikoto Uchiha. 

She gave her son a single, subtle nod. An unspoken exchange passed between them, and just like that, her fate was sealed. 

“I will take you upstairs,” Mikoto said, her voice even and soft.

Sakura stiffened, her stomach twisting with something unpleasant. She knew that she wasn’t wanted here. She could tell it by the disappointed gazes that seemed to follow her every move.  Going with Sasuke’s mother felt like a death sentence, and fear clouded her mind. Where would they go? Why? Would Sasuke abandon her here?

Mikoto let go of her hand, a confused expression taking place.

Sakura felt like she didn’t have an answer to a single one of her questions, and it made her feel confused and scared. Sasuke had been right to look concerned for her, his family was scary. She could now understand his slight concern, his worry before. It finally made sense. 

She felt her pulse quicken, her feet refusing to move.

But fate had mercy on her because another hand grasped hers, a hand that was rougher, more calloused. Silently, she wondered how that had happened, what he had done to earn such scars. 

She didn’t flinch this time, but a silent calm took over her, because in the room full of strangers, Sasuke Uchiha was the only one she felt comfortable enough to trust. 

Sasuke turned, and Sakura met his gaze, and his hand gave her a gentle squeeze as if to reassure her. It’s okay, his touch seemed to say and against all logic, she believed him.

So she followed Mikoto without another word.

Sasuke remained behind, standing in the place Sakura had just vacated. The silence that followed was suffocating, but he felt more at peace now that she was gone. He knew that his father would target Sakura because, unlike himself, she had never faced his father’s wrath. 

Through the journeys his father and he went on together as kids, there was one that rang a bell, one that explained the situation that had happened minutes prior. 

“When in battle, always kill the weakest sheep first.” His father had said years ago. “It will weaken the morale of the rest of the sheep.” In this scenario, Sakura had been the sheep, and his father had been the wolf. 

“What,” Fugaku’s voice was low, a silent fury, “ was that? ”

Sasuke exhaled through his nose, his fingers flexing at his sides. “ That was my decision.”

“A thoughtless one.” His father’s gaze sharpened. “Tell me, did you leave only to disappoint me more?”

Sasuke clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to fight again, not when he had journeyed so long, but it was hard to keep his composure when his father spoke like that. 

Fugaku leaned forward. “Are you truly so weak that a woman’s charms have blinded you? Did she fill your head with sweet promises? Did you let yourself be made a—”

He would have replied, but at that moment, another thought shook in his head. His father did not know about the marriage. Sasuke didn’t even dare glance at the heavy gold band on his finger. He had completely forgotten about it, buried the thought in the back of his mind. He wondered if he could slide it off discreetly, without his family noticing. 

“Such a foolish girl. She didn’t even dare to meet my eyes.”

The words should not have affected him. But something ugly curled in Sasuke’s chest at the way his father spoke of her, at the way he dismissed her so easily, especially now when she was his responsibility. The part of him that had wanted to slide off the ring moments prior, suddenly got replaced by a sense to protect… whatever Sakura Haruno was to him. An arrangement. A burden. A mistake. 

But she was his mistake. His burden. His—

“She is my wife,” Sasuke said, voice steady. “That is all that should matter.”

Fugaku’s jaw locked. “What?” He spat.

His father wasn’t evil, but his teaching methods were peculiar. Sasuke didn’t blame him though, he did what he thought was right. Even Sasuke had a hard time understanding how else he should have been raised. But in that moment, when his father looked so shocked, Sasuke felt good. He had been molded into listening to his family, following every order like a machine, and defying his family, making his father have an expression other than fuming anger, was a pleasant surprise. 

A fire awoke in his heart, one that Sasuke didn’t know existed. 

Itachi, who had been silently watching the scene in the background, also seemed taken aback by his words. If Sasuke had been molded into a perfect machine, then Itachi had been born as one. There was nothing that surprised his brother anymore, and nothing that awoke his interest. But now, even his wall seemed to crumble. 

With a single sentence, Sasuke had broken their resolve, and it felt good . 

His father stood up abruptly, leaving his seat and bolted toward him. The sound of steel rang through the air, an ugly cry against the otherwise quiet home. The sharp sting of pain barely registered.

Sasuke’s blade was drawn, its edge glinting in the dim light, a single crimson bead sliding down his arm from where his own weapon had cut into his skin. It was a warning, one that he hoped got the message across.

His father stilled his movements, inches away from his face.

"Enough," Itachi's voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a blade. He had not moved, had not so much as raised his voice, but his presence alone was enough to end the fight before it could begin.

Sasuke sheathed his weapon, not bothering to clean the blood for once.

Fugaku exhaled sharply. “We are not done here.”

Sasuke did not reply. Instead, he turned and left, his feet carrying him toward the only place he wanted to be.