The small heartbeat against Sasuke’s chest, despite the layers of his clothes, drowns out all the noises in the background. Erratic, spaced out, faint. Meanwhile, Sakura is working wonders with her glowing green hands against the babe’s mucus-coated back. A moment passes and then the newborn cries out. Strong, loud—an indication that he is alive. Sasuke cleans the baby before passing the bundle to the overjoyed, tear-stricken mother. He just notices now how shaky his hands are.

Sleep doesn’t come to him, long after the adrenaline has faded. Sasuke turns to his side, snaking an arm around Sakura’s waist, and finds that she is still awake.

“Thank you,” he whispers against her moonlit hair, “for making me part of today’s miracle.”

Her breath hitches. “Sasuke.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want kids?”

“I’m not sure,” he replies, “Do you?”

She faces him, her worried expression in the spotlight by the open window. “You’re the only Uchiha left.”

“I never thought of it that way.” His fingers rise to touch her cheek and smoothens the furrowed brows.

“So what if I can’t…have them? Don’t want them?” She slightly pulls away, lingering doubts still apparent in her eyes. “I don’t want to be a mother.” The admission is clear in the gap between them. “Not yet, anyways. There is still so much to do.” 

Sasuke places his head on hers, his lips resting on the side of her mouth. “I won’t mind.”

“You’ll regret this someday, take this against me, scorn me.”

He kisses her to silence, smooshes the words out of her mouth. “I’ve spent most of my life alone but now I have you, and I think I’m lucky to spend the rest of my days being with you.”

“Forever will be such a long time. You’d want other things in the future.”

“I know what I want now.” He deepens the kiss. “I know what I want tomorrow.” Another kiss. “And the day after next.” Again. “And the next.” And again.

“You see I’ve never looked too far beyond; it always seemed kind of futile. But it’s nice to wake up to another day, and find you always there. It’s all that I wanted and it’s more than what I deserved. If there are more of you and more of me, I’m okay. If it’s only us two, I’m okay. So long as you’re there, I’m okay.”

He massages Sakura’s back like earlier, willing her heart to beat strong and loud in his embrace.

We’re a miracle, too, he conveys in sure and steady hand, you and me.

sasuke's hawk has flown, a roll of a parchment cornerpiece tied around its leg. the message is a single word, sparse, straight to the point: "done".

he tastes the seaspray on his lips. the yellow and orange hues flicker on the unending blue oblivion, a sunset. they eventually turn into tinges of reds and purples, until the moon breaks into million pieces on the surface of the tides. 

has she seen the ocean like this?

and so he writes.

on the night he comes back, sakura asks a minute of his time. sasuke holds off a reply; she could take hours or days even. he finds that he wouldn't mind.

"do you take me for a fool?"

it catches him offguard. "what?"

"do you think it doesn't interest me—your missions?" she says. he stares at her, oblivious as always, and this must exasperate her more. "you intentionally keeping me out of the loop makes me feel like i never grew up in your eyes. they receive letters from you on the important things while i get—"

"they're important things," he replies, "to me."

It's her turn to stare at him, dumbfounded.

"the wildflowers at the mouth of the cave?" sakura asks.

"jugo said it's the only plant allowed to grow on it. they're poisonous, given the soil composition, but you might extract an antidote or something out of that."

she shakes her head. "the lightning festival?"

sasuke shrugs. "it's a force to reckon, seeing the villagers of mist bend the storm to their will."

"the ocean?"

"konoha is land-locked."

"cherry blossom trees growing," sakura continues, "sasuke, there's also spring here."

"they are two different springs." 

sasuke looks away, finding it easier to lean into the truth. "you are a well-recognized medical ninja. you sit in councils that decide important matters. you already know what i sent them. i just wanted you to see the same things i see. that's all there is to it."

"why?"

sasuke has no answer to that. it's merely an impulse, a stupid impulse. of probably a yearning of sorts. of seeing beautiful places and no one to write them to. of visiting foreign lands and wondering—wishing—she was with him.

it is a heavy confession, to which sasuke is unable to let go in naked honesty.

sakura sighs. "you know, that's a convoluted way of saying something."

"how should i do it then?"

"you'd start with, 'sakura, would you like to go to the beach with me?' "

pamamanhikan

pamamanhikan - (noun) a Filipino tradition where the families of the bride and groom first meet.

They were a weird bunch, standing over unnamed graves at the farthest corner of the town. It rained earlier, the cusp of autumn lingering in the aftermath of the light showers. This was the designated spot, Kakashi said, where everyone can easily forget and forgive.

Despite its remoteness, someone took the time to cut the grass and plant perennial wildflowers, the bare minimum for the excommunicated. Sarada snuggled closer to the breast of her grandmother, still too milk-drunk to watch what was happening.

Sasuke shifted in his feet, unaccustomed still with the presence of Sakura’s parents. He cleared his throat and swept his arm across the grounds. “Well, uh, this is it.”

“I can’t believe they didn’t even put their names. So disrespectful.” Kizashi shook his head in dismay. He glanced at Sasuke briefly. “And I’m not saying this because you’re my son-in-law, but I think everyone who gets on their deathbed wishes to be remembered.”

“Papa,” Sakura whined.

“Ah, let your father speak his mind,” Mebuki said softly, adjusting Sarada against her waist. “Now, Sasuke dear, I think it’s time you make the introductions.”

A sliver of bare skin shows as Sakura's shirt rides just above her navel. She strains with toes fully stretched out, fingers doing the finding along the cupboard’s edge.

“Here.” Sasuke easily gets the can of peaches on the topmost shelf as if plucking a fruit from a tree’s lowest branch. He comes into contact with her bare skin and lets his fingers linger just a little while longer on the groove of her hips.

“Thanks, Sasuke-kun!” Sakura pats his cheek before and disappearing in the busyness of weekend chores.

He actually has a secret. He likes placing some of her groceries out of reach so hyper-independent Sakura could rely on him.

And that he could hide behind mundane incidents, like holding on to her waist for balance or kissing the air on her nape, saying it's just a breeze, or grazing her back just as he would lean forward so she could feel his length.

It's stupid but he's only waiting to be caught.

Meanwhile, Sakura hums in feigned obliviousness. She is letting the tiny earthquakes to subside across her body.

In her periphery, she notices the slightly open utility closet, a shadow of a stepping stool inside, strategically hidden. She walks towards the closet and closes it with a muted thud.

Why look for a stool when this tall man is always so eager to help her? This current arrangement is definitely better anyways.

forelsket (a mark of affection)

The bottle lands squarely between Sakura and Sasuke. The group hoots, teases, and laughs before arguing among themselves who could give the most controversial question.

The newly minted couple glances at each other in awkward shyness that only comes after announcing their relationship to their friends. Well, arriving together at a house party is as close as announcing.

“Who’s your first kiss?!” Kiba shouts amidst the chaotic exchange. The uproar gets replaced with an incessant grumbling of complaints.

Choji slaps the back of his head. “Are you stupid?”

“Yeah, are you stupid?” Naruto repeats. “I am Sasuke’s first kiss!”

“I think that shouldn’t count,” Shikamaru counters. “It’s accidental.”

Sai raises a finger. “Technically, a kiss means to touch someone or something with the lips especially as a mark of affection or greeting.”

“Were you greeting Sasuke good morning back then, Naruto?” Tenten asks in absurdity.

“Shut up Tenten. I was telling him how stupid and moronic he is!”

“I just think you and Sasuke really need to tap into your unresolved issues,” Lee adds to the foray.

“I think you all should shut up,” Shino says, “because we don’t know whose Sakura was.”

seven years

AO3 ✍🏽https://archiveofourown.org/works/57048928

It has become a habit—Sasuke’s nightly vigil by the window. 

Part curiosity: he watches people, sees them come and go, uses his honed senses for a pinprick of residual danger in the aftermath of the war. Humans are creatures of habit. The daytime shift security marshall takes a nap across the bench and waits for his partner to finish at eight. They have this secret handshake that lingers a few seconds too long. The two pediatric receptionists sneak out under the dogwood tree to eat their okonomiyaki at the nearby yatai. It’s the one that has long lines where nobody seems to be in a hurry. The novelty of a good taste. An elderly bald patient prefers to take his walk around the oval, twice and a half. Tonight, he is faster by ten minutes.

When the door to his room opens and the antiseptic cuts through the air, Sasuke is also reminded of his own ticks. He tenses just a little bit, leans forward towards his bent knee, and gives a nonchalant nod as greeting. 

This is the other side. Part pretense. Pretending he didn’t notice that her shift is over a while ago and that she is late today. He had told himself earlier, that she has a life outside of her white robe and maybe she smells something other than alcohol and betadine. On some nights when she did just that, Sasuke couldn’t help but feel it again—loneliness.

Everyone in his line of sight has somewhere to go, something to do, some place to be, while he is here, in his hospital room, in an existential limbo. What will he do tomorrow? It depends on his chart. Does he have someplace to be? Where even is home? What happens when he gets discharged? Untethered, he is.

The bottom corner of Sasuke’s bed sinks as Sakura sits.

"aren't you tired?" sasuke says over the top of her head. he nudges it quite a bit so he could read the sentences at the bottom of the book. he snickers, barely audible, but sakura catches it all the same.

"you're too quick! you gave the twist away!" sakura shifts inside his embrace in an attempt to escape but he tightens his arm across her chest and pulls her closer.

"oh honey, i think we both know she's gonna betray her goody shoes friend and get with  her evil gangster client."

"can't believe she'd kiss him just like that! in the safe house her best friend provided for her!"

sasuke lets her anger simmer. "you're done with this part?" sakura nods. "okay you can turn to the next page."

this is how they spend most of their nights, curled up on the sofa, his hand on one side of the book, and her hand supporting the other. it's the coziest thing he has ever known. too bad he reads fast. 

he whistles. 

"stop it," sakura says, exasperated.

he notices her grip tighten on the cover. sasuke leans near her ear and releases an innocent breath. he watches in awe as the pinpricks on her skin travel from her neck to her breasts where her nipples now stand fully erect.

he lets go of the other side, preferring to touch this tangible nonfiction instead.

sakura moans, her body operating in autopilot to his familiar caresses. "you're so annoying," she says breathlessly, "you intentionally chose this book, didn't you?"

sasuke nibbles at her ear, continuing his palmed onslaught despite the fabric barrier. "hmm, the bookkeeper said it made for a nice bedtime story."

the book falls neglected on the floor. "you better take me upstairs then."

On a random weekend morning, Sasuke catches his daughter lingering for quite a while in front of the mirror. 

Sarada fixes her hair, trying to change the parting from side to middle. Upon realizing that she looks like a dusty old broom inside the university library, she lets her hair be and shifts her attention to the hitai-ate. She usually wears it across her forehead, but committed to trying things out, she fashions it today like a headband. 

A longer stare at her reflection. A twist and turn. A sigh of exasperation. The hitai-ate is sprawled across the counter.

Sasuke guesses it's time for some sort of intervention. In the earlier days, it felt like he was always grappling at the most mundane accidents, teetering towards breakdowns, but now—now, he's learning. He's coping. He clears his throat as he pretends to just notice her. “Sarada, is something wrong?”

His daughter gives him a lopsided smile and shakes her head tentatively. “It's…nothing.” Sarada glances again at the mirror and sees him looking too.

Sasuke wraps his arm around her shoulder. “You resemble me a lot.”

Her fingers start playing with the tips of her hair. “I'm thinking of dyeing it to pink.”

He wonders what tone he should use for a bubbling sign of rebellious reinvention. “Like Mama?”

Sarada nods. “I'd love her green eyes as well.”

“Me too. They're my favorite color.”

“Do you think,” Sarada stares up at him with a disarming sincerity, “I'd look like her if I did?”

He leads her to the veranda overlooking the garden they have been toiling for the past summer. What Sakura enjoyed the most was the fresh supply of flowers, clumped wild blooms that spruced up their space, as if it had always been their home.

“It's not that I hate your genes, Papa. You have a very nice genetic makeup, the best actually, but—” Sarada blurts out in innocent defiance. “—sometimes I wished I looked like Mama too so people could tell immediately I am that great doctor's daughter. I don't even have her medical skills, which sucks so so bad. You know how my friends always seem like they had a 50-50 share in their parents’ features? Look at Himawari. Or Inojin. Or Chouchou.”

“But you do look like her, peanut.” Sasuke smoothes down the tension that lined Sarada’s face.

“Mama. I want to know what she looks like when she grows old. How the wrinkles and age would shape her face. How she would smile without dentures. Her smile when the laugh lines end up staying. The crow’s feet that would only get more prominent by the years.”  The child clasps the knuckles of her father. “So maybe if I look like an exact replica of her, we would see her alive again.”

Sasuke opens up his palm and entangles their hands together. Tiny fingers too small for the spaces that her mother once fit perfectly. 

“As I said, you do look like her.” He smiles, internally fighting the waves that have surfaced on his recently calmed shores with Sarada’s confession.

“You laugh exactly like her. You yell shanaroo at the smallest inconvenience. You have her brute strength and her wit and that makes you the strongest kunoichi alive. You're Sakura's daughter.”

In the distance, Sasuke makes out the first blooms of daffodils. “To me, to us, you're perfect the way you are.”

Sarada slyly whisks away the pooling tears in her eyes. “I still want to dye my hair pink though.”

“I think Mama will kill me if your hair gets fried with the bleaching.”

“Fine Papa, let's try first with a wig.”

"sakura, good morning!" shizune waves her over and gives her coffee.

"busy day huh." most days, she's thankful the hospital staff already knows her preferred brew—dark, hot, bitter.

"you wouldn't believe what just happened though." shizune sips her iced latte. "sasuke asked for your schedule."

sakura takes a beat to reply, savoring instead the aromatic notes that slowly wake her 18-hour-shift-riddled senses. "oh yeah. we agreed to discuss new chore arrangements."

"you're living together."

"he's sleeping over."

"living. together."

"should i blush?" sakura winces. "besides, it has only been a few months. well, a year."

shizune slaps her back and leaves in a giddy. "you're already blushing, lover girl."

===

"hey thanks for dropping these off." naruto grins at her through towering stacks of folders.

"we really should organize a courier system or tap into those digital things gaara has been using in suna."

"totally agree with you." he hands her a chocolate bar. for a few minutes, they pass the sugar supply back and forth, grateful for the silence and the little indulgent treat from olden days.

"by the way, sasuke has been asking some weird things."

"such as?"

"like your favorite color, favorite food, favorite music." naruto gets the last chocolate cube. he cracks it into uneven halves and gives the smaller one to her, as usual. "so i told him mine are red and shoyu ramen."

sakura laughs and pops the piece into her mouth. "back to work, future hokage-san."

===

"where's ino?"

sai hands her an apron and an order slip. sakura releases a petulant sigh, rolls her eyes, and begins to pick the flowers listed. she waits until sai settles on the presentation and prods again.

"supplier issue." he shows her a peony and a carnation.

"the peony definitely."

sai shrugs and finishes off the bouquet. "we had a curious customer earlier."

"hmm?"

"sasuke came in. he said he didn't want reds. it would be too obvious, he said. so i suggested whites."

"mums?"

"uh-uh and roses and lilies."

sakura turns pensive at this. "he must have bought them for his family." she smiles at sai and pats him on the shoulder. "you're sometimes kind-hearted, aren't you?"

sai's fixed smile fades. "sakura, he didn't—"

a customer dings the bell and sakura, already sensing sai's intention, slips out of the boutique like a true swift kunoichi.

===

"haruno-san."

"yes, i know it's midnight and i need to go home."

the guard loiters by her door. "actually, you have a visitor. he's at the wisteria arch."

"oh? but it's so late. can't this wait until morning?"

"it's the uchiha ma'am," the guard purses his lips, "he's been camping since eight in the evening."

sakura runs. she hates running in corridors, particularly when half of the people are asleep, but she manages to reach the grounds without an ambush diagnostic or a surprise checkup.

sasuke is waiting. there is a picnic blanket in a hideous shade of bright red under him, a basket, a bouquet, a bottle of wine that must be lukewarm by now.

"shizune said you were free tonight," he said.

"what's all this for?" sakura has to catch her breath. she sits across him and takes him in. gorgeous, even under the pale moonlight.

"i never got the right answers." sasuke pulls every item out of the basket. thermos for hot water, instant ramen packs, dango, a lunchbox that smells like curry, spring rolls. "i don't know exactly what you like. i don't know if you still like the food that you liked when we were kids."

"i still have a sweet tooth," sakura chuckles as she reaches for the dango.

"but i noticed you always ask me to cook curry and you never fail to look for spring rolls." 

"because you cook curry the best, sasuke-kun, that's why i love it the most."

he avoids her chiding glance and hands her instead the bunch of daffodils. "i also don't know if you still like these flowers. you would pick them up in the forest, remember? trying to make me and naruto and kakashi wear these crowns of yellow blooms."

sakura laughs at the surfacing memories. "they're very beautiful, sasuke-kun." she basks for a while in the afterglow of his awkward yet patient persistence as he scoots closer to her side and slowly brushes her fingers against his in reacquaintance.

"what's with all these though? what did i miss?" sakura entangles their hands together, his thumb caressing her knuckles.

"happy anniversary."

"..."

"..."

"fuck."

"not here sakura."

"i forgot about it! fuck!"

"it's okay, let me." sasuke plants her down with a hand on her cheek. "you're busy, and there are few things in life i look forward in celebrating."

"i'm so sorry."

"i think it's me who has to apologize. i haven't nailed down everything."

"well, we've got the rest of our lives to figure that out."

sasuke hides a smile. "that's a plan."

“I hope you forgive me for intruding.” Sakura’s former mentor sits at her desk. Tsunade still looks like she never ages, but Sakura notes the fine lines that sprinkle her temple. There are things that Tsunade has allowed to be—like time.

“You’re never a stranger.” Sakura approaches her for a hug. “Sorry about the mess, I finished at midnight.” Open scrolls on medicinal innovations litter her usual squeaky clean desk. 

Tsunade rolls her eyes and smirks, “Honey, have you seen mine?"

“Well, compared to Kakashi and Naruto, you did fine.”

Tsunade’s sight lingers on the edge of the files. Sakura traces her eyeline and sees what caught her attention. She fakes a laugh and tries to sweep the letter under another larger scroll.

“He’s writing?”

“To them.” Sakura notes the disbelief in Tsunade’s inquiry that bubbles under the surface. “Not to me.” She just basically told Tsunade that she steals these letters from her other teammates. Not that they would notice anyway, and sometimes Kakashi leaves them on her table.

Her mentor shrugs and throws an arm over her shoulder. They watch the cherry blossom tree outside of the office, long beyond its flowering season, but still a sight to behold. “Makes sense, considering how he writes.”

“It’s sparse, but he has always been economical that way.”

Tsunade stifles a laugh. “Didn’t I teach you about forensic handwriting?”

Sakura shakes her head, unsure of the conversation’s direction.

“Sasuke writes fast. His letters overlap, almost unintelligible, but whenever your name is mentioned, each stroke becomes heavier, bigger, leaves a more lasting imprint on the scroll. He’s also experiencing some intense feelings. It’s intentional, the way he writes about you.”

“What do you make out of it?”

“Like you give him peace.”

Sakura could only laugh. “I don’t….receive letters yet.”

“You’ll know when it comes.”

When her first letter lands on her windowsill a month later, Sakura notes the difference in handwriting. She asks him about it when he comes home and he asks her to go with him on a hike. On top of a hill overlooking the village, a picnic spread under them, a bracelet of forget-me-nots in progress in his hand. 

“Do you use different pens?” she jests.

“For one thing, you’re more critical with things like handwriting than the two. You often complained of Iruka's style, didn't you?” Sasuke replies. He uses his mouth to close the string of flowers, and gives them to her. “I just also like writing your name.”

She wears the bracelet nonetheless but feels as if it’s her heart dangling on her sleeve with the way his answer left her unsatisfied.

“But not as much as I love saying it,” Sasuke adds, staring at her now and the way the afternoon sun paints her skin. “Sakura.”

it is unfamiliar and foreign, the first time sakura washed him. a side mission, on the riverbank, he was getting a hold of all the functions and routines of a single arm, and she offered to scrub his back.

sasuke flinched at the featherlight grazes. something so gentle couldn't possibly ran over his scars and rinse them clean.

"you're allowed to ask for help, you know." sakura's hands were steady and calm, so when his senses faltered, he knew it was his skin trembling—and his soul, his being, all of him—quiet aftershocks dissolving in the suds. 

he starts to look forward to home and these gestures that become his constant. sasuke shrugs off the clothes that bear the world and all its secrets and sakura holds him in an embrace that tethers the lightness of him.

against her rosette crown at midnight, he confesses the worst, "this village remembers the me from long ago. him, too, itachi, and the things we did."

"hush." she burrows closer to his warmth. "tonight, you are just you. you're sasuke, only sasuke. you exist in this moment and that's all you need to do."

he realizes, bit by bit, from his fresh wounds to stitches to scabbing, her tender touches had the strength to never let go, the tenacity to believe he would heal, and the trust to hold him if he doesn't.

this is how he stays.

“Nice chemistry, you two. We managed to capture lots of perfect shots for some behind-the-scenes dump. Please pick your top ten, okay?”

It’s a normal day—fishing through the stacks of print to choose the photos with the right amount of skinship, dubious angles, but definitely some space to appease both shippers and individual fans.

“A selfie?” Sakura suggests. She shows him her signature wink and a v-hand pose with him looking mildly happy at the back.

Sasuke merely nods and offers an option where she is obviously in the middle of an outfit change for a swimsuit and he poses (yes, with abs exposed) to cover the rest of her. “This is buzz-y enough.”

Her eyes widen, “Wow, you’re so generous.” She slides a flattering shot of her in a two-piece as she frolicked in the waves while Sasuke is merely a silhouette in the frame. “If you’re doing that, why not this one?”

“No.” He turns the photo upside down and takes it off the table. “Choose another.”

After sifting through the pile the second time around, Sakura yelps in delight. “This is a treasure mine, Sasuke-kun. Look!”

His brows furrowed in annoyance smoothen into a firm line which often signals frustration during their taping. Sakura checks the shot again. There could be nothing wrong here. It’s the golden hour, the sunset drapes over their sitting figures on the shore, she is busy holding on to her hat being stolen away by the wind, and Sasuke—

“No.” He tries to take it from her hands, but she quickly dodges him.

Sasuke is looking at her, smiling.

“Why?” She watches him watch her realize the implication of this simple yet very rare action. “Why, Sasuke?”

He sighs and pulls her wrist this time, making her lean towards him, inches away, tension mounting, as if they’re shooting an intimate scene where he’ll almost take a kiss. “Do you want them to know,” he asks, “how much I like you?”

tadaima

“Tadaima!”

Sasuke heard this greeting many times when they were kids. After classes, after missions, after errands. Everyone had families to come home to. Only Sakura had this privilege in their team, her parents still alive, but never once did he catch her uttering it.

He envied her regardless. However casual and mundane the word was to her, he craved to use it. Maybe letters strung together could bring back his dead.

But it was Sakura, his anchor after the war, who made it possible again. “Tadaima.”

And today, he’ll hear her say it to her family.

Only that, she isn’t herself. He sees her plant a longer kiss on Sarada’s forehead and feels her squeeze his arm a little tighter, signs of her anxiety bursting to the brim.

“We can go another time.”

Sakura shakes her head and grins her way out of his silent prodding. “Let’s take advantage of this while we can. A complete family. I can show them that.”

A complete family. Sasuke always thought Sakura had it easy, but not all families mean home.

x x x

it's the first time sakura wakes to sounds and smells not of her own making.

on her small counter, with a space only enough for her arms, is sasuke. his shirt is bunched up on his sleeve as the omelet sizzles on the frying pan.

"good morning," he says, even when the sun has not risen yet.

his poncho is on the pile of her laundry. his hair is tied in a ponytail. the sword on the floor, beside her medical scrolls. when sasuke moves, she hears the extra set of keys jingling in his pocket.

"good morning." it truly is.

they drink tea on her balcony while the village comes alive in staggered specks. sasuke is still finishing his when she steps out of her room, ready for another shift.

"i'll go now, sasuke-kun." she's blushing as she closes the door, this time with someone on the other side.

"sakura."

"hn?"

he pulls her inside slightly, the door inches ajar.

"i'll see you later. come home—" sasuke hides behind his too-long hair "—quickly."

sakura laughs quietly.

and so, enamored, he kisses her cheek. a little more sure now, he repeats, "come home quickly."

Sasuke’s hand is no longer an afterthought.

He catches hold of Sakura’s stumbling, mismatched-pace form inside his tent. She lands on his bed, a heap of mumbled words lost in his sheets. Stray hairs escaped from her neat low bun, which had meant business, that meant tending to others, that meant he had to stay at a distance, and let his hand trace the memory of her bicep against his palm when she called him back across dimensions.

“Sasuke-kun, why aren’t you outside?” Against sloppy intonation, he manages to pull out a question.

“I could only go out with a handcuff,” he teases her. Drunk, alcohol-steeped her. “No one wants to mingle with a criminal.”

Sakura turns to face him with genuine green eyes arresting his mockery of himself, her body sinking lower in his cot and leaving ghosts of her form to torment his sleep later. “That’s sad. You’re gonna end up single.”

He wonders if he would even have such a need for intoxication when he wilfully volunteers his damnation. He lowers his head to hers and falls enraptured to the seal that grew in his absence. “That depends on whether you’re taken.”

Sakura mirrors his smirk which turns into a laugh which becomes a gasp and then she pulls the weightless Sasuke to her, drowning him in whiskey kisses and thank-you-you’re-safe and how-come-you’re-here and are-you-even-real.

Certain now of conquest, Sasuke discovers lands on her skin despite the darkness in his tent, in this night, in war-torn grounds stripped of delineations and boundaries, in this corner where no one wants to go amidst the celebration. Sakura, so beautiful in her assertion, leads his fingers to where heat is most needed. Inside her mouth, on her chest, between her legs, around her neck. His thousand birds once marred her skin, a telltale chakra thread sewn under her veins, but right now, they’re gliding gently, freeing their wings to bring her to zenith.

Sasuke’s body moves on its own accord despite the unfamiliarity, following a dance he barely learned but knows the tune to. Her moans and whimpers stitch a ballad of mounting release, and he obliges with a single strong thrust. “Are you hurt?”

“Yes, you’re too big,” she replies in honesty.

He takes a blow. “You have a point of comparison then?”

“Does examining corpses count as visual?” she chuckles against his ear.

He lifts her legs higher and pushes further inward, and soon enough, the chuckles taper into whispered pleas. He pounds her over and over again, relying on the throb of his pulse, the gush of his blood, and he crumbles at the moment she twists and convulses.

Sasuke tethers to Sakura’s lithe body, the only way he knows how to pass this alien vortex that is taking over his senses and hers. It takes a long while, maybe a lifetime, but it passes, and he thinks there’s already sunrise on the edge of his makeshift quarters.

“Are you drinking again later?” he whispers.

“Depends,” she murmurs against his collarbone.

“Hope you’ll find your way to my tent.”

“Hmm, let’s see. I’m no good with directions.”

“Did you eat something you’re allergic to, Ms. Haruno?” The doctor scribbles some more as she continues to inspect the trail of bruises across the patient’s skin. 

“No,” Sakura clears her throat, “Not that I’m aware of.” She feels her body temperature rise up to 10 degrees. She hopes the spike of red on her cheeks doesn’t give her away. After all, she needs a clear health bill for the annual company checkup.

The doctor sighs and gestures for her to get dressed. “I’m prescribing you an antibiotic and an ointment. Make sure to apply it every night, okay?”

Sakura thinks the worst is over, but it’s only nine in the morning, and sometimes, the most dreadful moments peak during lunch. The doctor happens to pass by their table, stringing their director, Uchiha Sasuke, along for a trivial conversation. Everyone keeps mum because that’s what you do when the most powerful man in the company is in your presence. 

Sakura doesn’t even lift her eyes, even when she feels his gaze on her.

“How are you doing?” Sasuke positions himself behind her chair, his hand drifting to the arch supporting her back.

Her officemates murmur niceties which she couldn’t hear over the thrum of her bloodstream. His fingers trace circles along her spine, his touch seeping against fabric to give her gooseflesh.

“The ceviche today looks fantastic, doesn’t it?”

He’s answered with a deluge of earnest agreement, but this pales to the satisfaction he must be getting from her restrained reaction. Fingers finally touch her nape, right where another hickey is hidden, and Sakura has to cough to cover her moan. 

Stupid body. Stupid, hot Sasuke. 

“Are you all right, Ms. Haruno?” He had the audacity to ask.

The doctor swoops in to deliver the ultimate blow. “Come to think of it, Director, your allergy looks similar to Ms. Haruno. The pattern of bruises really checks out. Must be the ceviche.”