Strangers

As Sakura approached the Ichiraku stand, she immediately spotted Naruto and Sasuke already seated, with an empty stool beckoning between them. The air hummed with the irresistible aroma of miso broth, wrapping her in its warmth, the distinct scent of wheat noodles cutting through the air.

Sliding into the middle seat, she reached for the chopsticks laid out for her, deftly separating the wooden sticks. "Sorry, guys, I got an emergency morning shift at the hospital. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long?"

"Nah, you were good, Sakura-chan. Sasuke wanted to wait for you, but I couldn't resist," Naruto said sheepishly. "Sorry." Though Naruto had nearly finished his bowl, Sasuke hadn’t ordered anything.

"Thanks, Sasuke-kun, but you didn’t have to do that," she murmured. Despite the years he had spent wandering like a nomad, the manners instilled in him as a young Uchiha remained as strong as ever.

It was just that—manners, she reminded herself.

"It's nothing," he muttered under his breath, carefully meeting her gaze from his peripheral vision. 

Teuchi greeted her warmly, as did Ayame, effortlessly preparing her favorite classic miso ramen. Surprisingly, they remembered Sasuke’s usual order: shoyu ramen with plain pork slices.

They barely acknowledged the years—no, lifetimes—spent apart, simply smiling at his appearance and repeating his usual order.

"Sakura-chan," Naruto began, taking a conspicuously large gulp before continuing, "I was thinking, why don't we organize a birthday party for Sasuke?"

Sasuke stiffened beside her as Sakura hesitated. "Um, his birthday is in a month, and I’m not sure if Sasuke-kun would want a—"

"Sakura-chan," Naruto drawled, his tone playful yet insistent, "it’s never too early to plan a party, you know?"

Sasuke finally spoke up, his voice tinged with exasperation. "I haven’t even agreed."

Naruto's grin widened, mischief gleaming in his eyes. "C’mon, it’ll be great! We’ll have the best drinks and—"

Sasuke interrupted, his lone eye amused but his mouth pursed in a straight, hard line. "Is that it? You just want me drunk?"

Naruto faltered, then laughed shakily. "What? No way! I just wanted to have a celebration, you know!"

Sakura raised an eyebrow at that. "You want him drunk."

Interrupting their banter, Teuchi approached with their bowls, each filled to the brim with steaming broth.

Sasuke used his teeth to rip apart his chopsticks, some bits of wood flying and landing on the countertop. Her eyes were instantly drawn to how his teeth deftly picked apart the chopsticks, small fragments of timber scattering on the counter.

Sakura swiftly divided her noodles and pork slices, pushing the distracting image away as his body heat lingered just inches from her.

Naruto burst out suddenly, arms flailing in exasperation. “I mean, how can I call you my best friend if I’ve never seen you drunk?”

“Ino hasn’t seen me drunk yet,” Sakura retorted, only to feel two pairs of eyes snap toward her.

Naruto looked shocked. “How is that even possible? I’ve seen you drunk!” His expression glazed over as he burst out laughing, leaning back with one hand on his knee. “Oh gods, remember that one time you got so drunk you thought a shrub wanted to fight you, so you—”

Sakura punched him in the shoulder, and predictably, he started groaning in exaggerated pain.

“Sakura,” Naruto whined, rubbing his shoulder dramatically. “You know that’s my bad arm!”

She scoffed. “And I know it’s perfectly fine after a small punch.”

Naruto’s focus snapped back, eyebrows raised with sudden curiosity as he asked, “Wait, how come Ino’s never seen you drunk?”

Sakura hesitated, carefully picking her words. "Ino…" She paused, finding the right phrasing. "Ino’s not the kind of friend you can get drunk with."

God knows, handling that woman was difficult enough sober—dealing with her drunk was harder than a 42-hour critical shift. Sakura preferred to stay at most tipsy with Ino since she inevitably ended up babysitting her.

Naruto shivered, his voice taking on a fearful, shaky edge. "Oh yeah, Hinata told me what she did to Sai after he complimented another girl when she was drunk." He shook his head rapidly as if clearing the terrifying memory. "But enough about that—hey, Sasuke!"

Finally, Sakura had an excuse to look at Sasuke after avoiding his gaze. It almost felt like a relief, like she needed to see him to feel like he was still here.

His eyes caught hers for a brief moment before turning to Naruto. "What, dobe?"

Naruto continued. "Just a small get-together with the Rookie 11, even though we’re all old geezers now."

Silence hung in the air for a moment, Sasuke taking languid slurps of his ramen, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. "I’ll think about it," he said finally, taking another bite.

Naruto seemed noticeably in higher spirits, palm slapping on the counter. "One more bowl, Oyaji!"

Sasuke suddenly flicked his gaze toward Sakura. "The hospital?"

Sakura blinked, momentarily confused before realization settled in. "Oh! It was just an emergency, but I’m off today, so we can do it at my apartment." She shrugged her shoulders. "It’s up to you."

She would have preferred to conduct his check-up at the hospital—more equipment, more thorough results—but the thought of facing the stares, the whispers, the silent judgment, and Satori’s blatant disrespect toward Sasuke made her stomach churn.

Sasuke blinked, mouth parting faintly as if he hadn’t expected her answer. Did he think her asking him to her apartment was a step too far?

She felt her cheeks warming and blurted hurriedly, "We can do it at my office or another time. My schedule has been a little more hectic than usual."

Sasuke’s face relaxed marginally, something like understanding flashing through his eye. "Your apartment’s fine." He rested his chopsticks in the porcelain bowl. "I meant your job."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but her initial surprise dulled into quiet joy, a small smile softening her lips. "Yeah, I took on a larger role since you left."

Sasuke silently stared at her, and it took her a second to realize he was waiting for her to elaborate.

She straightened her back, voice steady. "For starters, I oversee a significant number of major surgeries during the day. Additionally, I established the Children's Aid Division. At first, its goal was to aid in the recovery of children affected by the war, but now it also assists children in general." She grabbed a napkin from Naruto’s side and gently wiped her mouth. "This includes children who have experienced highly traumatic events, those dealing with chronic illnesses, orphans—you name it."

There was a brief silence, interrupted only by the sizzle of the grill and the sound of Naruto sipping the last of his broth.

Sakura had been in her head for so long now that she had forgotten what the world outside the hospital was like—the itchy seats of red leather stools and the musky smell of Naruto’s sweat weren’t things she ever thought she would miss.

A wave of unbridled anxiety washed over her. 

She tried to read his expression for any hint of his true feelings, but his dark hair shielded the left side of his face, casting it away like a black veil. 

“It’s...” Sasuke hesitated, his voice quietly laced with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. He finally looked up, meeting her gaze. “That’s good.”

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest at hearing those words from him—one of the very people who had inspired her project in the first place. 

Warmth bloomed across her cheeks as she met his gaze with a grateful, albeit tentative, smile. “Thank you,” she softly murmured.

He replied with a quiet hum and returned to finish his bowl, his attention fixed on the ramen. But Sakura knew better. She understood what experienced Shinobi said when they heard about her clinic.

(“If only I had that when I was younger.”)

The markets behind Ichiraku buzzed with life, filled with the hush of people negotiating for lower prices on already affordable bags of rice. Children chased each other around while their mothers occasionally scolded them and exchanged whispers of neighborhood gossip.

None of them seemed to realize Uchiha Sasuke was perched on a stool, to involved in their activities. 

Sakura tried to reach over Naruto's side for the cord of the curtain covering the stand, drawing it further down.

When she first learned the true reason Sasuke had been hell-bent on destroying Konoha, it was in a darkened tent, days after the war. Kakashi and Naruto had both looked solemn, watching her carefully as the words left their mouths. Sasuke had been stationed in another tent, deliberately kept away.

At first, she was furious. A deep, bone-deep betrayal settled in her chest because a part of her believed that if she had known—if she had understood the weight of his hatred—she would have tried a different approach. She wouldn’t have tried to kill him.

After the flash of fury came the grief. She had collapsed to her knees, heaving with sobs, the distant tang of salt heavy on her tongue. She remembers feeling Kakashi smooth down her hair amid her sobs.

She might never truly know the full extent of the Uchiha massacre—the weight of what Konoha had done. The village she loved had committed genocide, and Sasuke had borne that burden alone.

And she had never realized it.

She felt unbearably selfish.

But grief changes nothing. The world had moved on, and so had Konoha. 

Naruto’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. “I still think you need to chill, Sakura-chan.” He instinctively raised his hands in a placating gesture at her irritated glare. “Listen, you know I’m proud of you—we all are. But you deserve a break.” Before she could respond, he interjected, his face deadpan, “The hospital isn’t understaffed anymore; you can afford it.”

A break would be nice, but it would never be enough. Since the war, the hospital had become where she could find a semblance of purpose. Life may have been better for the average person, but "better" did not strictly mean "good." Her job was a constant reminder of that.

She was acutely aware of her unhealthy attachment to work, a coping mechanism she recognized all too well. But she constantly reminded herself of its worth—the families’ smiles, the children greeting her with unbridled joy. 

Perhaps that was what it meant to serve Konoha—not to erase its sins but to build something worthy of the sacrifices forced upon people like Itachi.

"Maybe one day." She couldn’t tell if she was lying to herself or to Naruto. She lifted her bowl, sipping the last remnants of her broth before setting it carefully on the counter.

She glanced over and found Naruto watching her, his azure eyes searching hers. His gaze drifted behind her for a fleeting moment before softening.

"One day," he echoed gently before turning back to devour the remains of his second bowl. A generous portion of nori, shiitake mushrooms, and extra bok choy mixed in.

“I’m glad to notice you’ve been eating more greens.” She offhandedly noted, smiling in Naruto's direction.

He grinned sheepishly, a warm flush spreading across his whiskered cheeks. “Yeah, Hinata’s been on my case.” He dutifully sipped the last of his broth. “You know, ever since I got a taste of her cooking, I've been cutting back on the ramen.”

Sakura's heart swelled with warmth; never in her life would she have imagined Naruto cutting back on ramen for someone else's cooking. But Hinata wasn't just someone else. “I've been meaning to ask, how is she?”

Naruto’s expression softened, the twinkle in his eyes shining even brighter. “She’s good,” he began, a fond smile spreading. “Lately, she’s taken up gardening in our backyard,” he added, a hint of irritation slipping into his voice. “It helps her cope with the stress of taking on the Hyuga clan duties.”

Sakura nodded solemnly, understanding all too well the weight of clan meetings and delegation tasks, thanks to Ino’s never-ending rants.

(“The shinobi world won’t be the same after the war. These old-ass clan heads need to either get used to it or go to the nearest senior home.”)

It felt surreal that this quiet, gentle moment between them had once been only a wish in the late hours. She used to spend hazy mornings imagining Team 7 eating together at Ichiraku, trying to picture them grown—faces sharper, backs taller.

Suddenly, Naruto jumped up, cursing loudly. “Shit! Sorry, guys, I forgot I have to meet up with Shikamaru.” He frantically searched his wallet for some cash and dumped its contents on the counter, coins clattering.

Sakura let out an irritated sigh. “Are you even trying to use that agenda I gave you, or was it a waste of money?”

Naruto chuckled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry, Sakura-chan, I’ve been super busy,” he said.

Sakura rolled her eyes and reached for her tote bag, but Naruto stopped her.

“Wait, guys! Before I go, we need to plan our weekly hangouts.”

At this, Sasuke interjected, his voice laced with a dull sense of irritation, “I’m not going to eat ramen every time we hang out.”

Naruto shot back with an annoyed look. “You know what, dumbass? I was going to say we could train or hang out at my new, beautiful home.”

Sasuke’s expression turned mildly surprised. “You have a house?”

Sakura figured it must be shocking for Sasuke to realize how far Naruto had come in just a few short years.

Naruto’s demeanor shifted completely, his voice filled with pride. “Yeah! You should come over; I think you’d like it. Hinata and I spent so much time decorating it. You’d be surprised by the amount of effort it takes for the interior—”

“Naruto,” Sakura lightly warned, “that’s great and all, but you have somewhere to be.”

“Oh, right, sorry! Today, around this time is usually good for me and Sakura. It’s really up to you, Sasuke.”

Sasuke replied, moving to stand up. “Saturday is probably fine.”

Naruto clasped his fist and pumped it in the air. “Alright! Team 7 is back!”

Sakura fought the instinct to roll her eyes at his over-the-top enthusiasm, but something in her muscles moved her.

Sakura quickly pulled Naruto into a deep embrace, feeling him immediately sink in.

Before she could fully settle into the moment, she felt her weight shift, her back bumping awkwardly against Sasuke’s front. Naruto had dragged him into the hug, creating a clumsy, lopsided group embrace.

“Get in here, bastard!” Naruto exclaimed.

Sasuke didn’t return the hug, but she felt him carefully lean in, arms still awkwardly hanging at his sides.

Naruto’s growth spurt wasn’t anything to scoff at, but she’d been at his side for so long that it felt natural. Sasuke, however, felt entirely surreal.

She could almost count the atoms that existed between the top of her head and the bottom of his chin. She felt the heat of him, and it was scorching.

Naruto pulled away first, leaving her stumbling awkwardly back, away from Sasuke. Sasuke looked so still, like a statue carved into permanent stoicism, that she wanted to laugh.

Naruto hesitated for a moment, his bright grin softening. “See you guys soon, yeah?” he said quietly.

And then, with a flicker of light, he left.

Silence engulfed them once again, and Sakura took a glance around, her feet dragging against the uneven cobblestone. Something sure to be renovated soon.

She huffed a breath, trying to regain her footing. “Well, my apartment isn’t that far off if you’re ready.”

Sasuke’s jaw twitched vaguely, and he gave a short nod.

Near the afternoon, Ichiraku would start having people flood in, all eager to try the ramen from the famous hero of the Great Fourth Ninja World War. It’s so odd how quickly public perception changes.

The streets had dimmed considerably in population, the sunlight casting narrow shadows over the cracked cobblestone. Sakura led the way along this quieter route on purpose, away from the usual crowds.

The quiet, almost eerie stillness was only broken by the occasional sound of shuffling feet or a distant voice calling from behind the shutter shop fronts.

The higher-end merchant clans, with their grand loans and growing influence, had begun taking over the area, forcing out smaller, local businesses. 

Sakura’s gaze fell on the convenience store she and Ino had frequented since childhood. She remembered sitting on the stoop out front, the summer heat sticking to their skin as they unwrapped their treats—ichigo daifuku for her, kuri daifuku for Ino.

Now, the store was boarded up, wooden planks nailed haphazardly over the windows, their edges warped from years of rain and neglect. The dust had gathered in thick layers along the doorframe, creeping into the cracks of the warped wood. 

Sakura exhaled slowly, the weight of time pressing against her chest.

As they walked further down the quieter streets, Sakura had the sudden urge to ask Sasuke if he remembered any of the old stores that once lined the district.

She’d spent so many years wandering these streets, each corner holding memories of simpler days. The thought of sharing those memories with him, of reconnecting with the past, felt like it might make the moment feel less unfamiliar.

Just as she was about to start the conversation, she turned her head—and her heart sank at the sight of Sasuke. He kept his head low, his shoulders taut, as if bracing for something invisible.

The streets were empty, save for a mother and her daughter. The woman trembled, her arms wrapped protectively around the child, but the little girl peeked through, her wide eyes filled with innocent curiosity.

“Sasuke-kun,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t look at the mother. Look at the child.”

His gaze flickered to her, unreadable. Slowly, he turned toward the child.

The child was determinedly pushing her mother’s outstretched arms away, peering through and trying to get a better look at the man her mother was so worried about. She couldn’t have been older than seven, probably a civilian, judging by the way the mother shook, desperately covering her daughter and her wide eyes filled with fear. Their clothes were drab and grey, cheap polyester, likely hand-me-downs. 

“Not everyone here is afraid of you,” Sakura added, her voice steady, though her chest felt tight.

Sasuke’s expression softened just enough for Sakura to notice. A flicker of something she couldn’t name or pinpoint.

The silence stretched between them, the only sound the hurried shuffle of the mother’s retreating footsteps, her anxiety palpable in the quick, uneven rhythm of her gait.

Sasuke, almost imperceptibly, shifted his weight and slid his hand into his pocket. His gaze lingered on the space where the mother and daughter had been. His breath escaped in a soft exhale.

“Ah,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Sakura offered him a small, shaky smile.

The silence that followed felt like an unspoken agreement between them not to discuss it any further.

If it hadn’t been for the child—who had no idea who Sasuke was—Sakura wasn’t sure how she would’ve been able to console him. Would he have been angry at her? Would he have walked away?

She decided not to dwell on it.

The sun blazed overhead, its heat relentless and suffocating. The roads beneath her feet were an uneven patchwork of asphalt and concrete, each surface radiating waves of heat.

Sakura lived in the inner residential area, where most traditional clans occupied space. She often caught glimpses of Hanabi training young Hyūga children—tiny but powerful little things. The vast wooden construction with bamboo foundations stood in contrast to her apartment’s reinforced pale concrete.

They arrived at the porch of her complex, and she turned to find Sasuke waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Seeing him from above felt oddly pleasant; the light hit his face just right. The sun blazing on his back cast a halo-like silhouette around him, almost as if he were Agni, the fire God.

“Well,” she huffed, scratching at her abdomen. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You own this entire building?” There was a lilt to his voice and a hint of a smirk on his lips that made her scoff.

“I make a lot, but not that much.” She fumbled for her keys in her bag, then opened the door.

“It’s the third floor,” she muttered, and Sasuke slowly followed her footsteps. The only sound was the rustling of his heavy cloak with each step.

The corridor was tight, only bearing the rooms of the tenants in the building and their respective mailboxes. The staircases made up most of the structure.

At her doorstep, an expansive window sat to the side, its ledge wide enough to hold a potted plant. Beside it, a neatly arranged shoe rack marked her space. Sakura's eyes drifted to the pot on the windowsill, where a once-thriving bonsai azalea had begun to wilt. The vibrant pink blossoms were fading, their edges curling.

Instinctively, she reached out, brushing a fingertip against the brittle petals. She needed to pay more attention to these things.

She turned to find Sasuke staring intently at the bonsai, his gaze sharp and unreadable. The moment he noticed her watching, his eye quickly flicked to meet hers.

She offered a sheepish smile, recognizing his thought pattern quickly. “Please don’t mind the mess—I haven’t had much free time lately.”

He merely hummed and quietly followed behind her like a diligent shadow.

Sakura barely processed how odd this was. Just yesterday, she'd seen him for the first time in years—an angsty boy, now turned quiet, calculating man. And now, she was inviting him into her home. The thought made her lightheaded, the pulse of it buzzing in her chest.

She had sworn to herself the night before—no more chasing. She would let him come to her, the way she'd been longing for most of her life.

And yet, here she was. Inviting him over for a half-assed check-up. 

“I moved in here a while back,” she filled the silence, “still getting used to it.”

Her living room wasn’t as bad as she feared. The beige walls complemented the deep amber sofa and the rich green rug, its intricate swirls and curves grounding the space. A marbled coffee table sat in the center, hosting a forgotten mug. A hoodie and blanket lay haphazardly on the couch, while a moderately sized television stood against the wall, its screen dark.

Various photographs hung around the room—baby pictures, snapshots of her parents, and candid shots of her and Ino, like a physical timeline of her life trapped in boxes on her walls.

But Team 7’s photo? That was tucked away in her bedroom. It always had been, even in her childhood home.

Sasuke stood still, his gaze sweeping over the room, lingering for just a second too long on the photographs.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet.

She blinked. “Why what?”

His gaze flicked to her. “Why here?”

She exhaled, shifting her weight. "It’s closer to the hospital, and I used to live with my parents in the outer district," she said with a shrug. "I love my parents, but living with them as an adult..."

Her voice trailed off, realizing complaining about her parents might be a little inappropriate in front of Sasuke.

Something in his expression shifted—small, barely noticeable. After a pause, he finally spoke. “Kakashi gave me keys to an apartment there.”

She wasn’t surprised. It made sense. Keeping Sasuke in a citizen-dense district minimized the prejudice he might face. And she knew he was aware of that, too, just by the way his body tensed ever so minutely.

Sakura moved toward the living room, Sasuke trailing behind her as she opened the closet to retrieve her medical kit, which needed a little stool.

“Well,” she teased, glancing over her shoulder, “did it at least come with some furniture?”

“Does one futon count?”

His tone was so flat she couldn’t help but bark a sharp laugh. “Just a futon? Kakashi-sensei can be so cheap sometimes.”

Sakura suddenly thought of Yuki, who had just officially finalized her move to the outer district that morning. A request almost spilled from her lips—asking him to come along with her and Yuki for some furniture shopping. She felt like she was going insane, caught in the constant back-and-forth in her mind. 

She quickly stepped down and turned, catching sight of his nearly jet-black coat neatly folded on the couch. Then she placed the kit down and started arranging the supplies.

She liked the color of his shirt—it reminded her of the seconds before the sun went to sleep, a deep, tranquil royal. 

“Alright,” she said as she organized the supplies, lining them up in neat rows on the coffee table out of habit. “Let’s begin.”

She motioned for him to sit on the edge of the sofa. He complied immediately, his movements deliberate as he perched on the cushion’s edge, his lone hand resting on his knee.

Sakura sat next to him, keeping an arm’s length of distance, hurriedly slipping her gloves on with a faint snap. “I’ll start with some basic questions,” she said, glancing up at him briefly to meet his eye. “Have you had any recent injuries I should know about? Anything that hasn’t healed properly?”

Sasuke’s shoulders shifted a bit, and he replied in a bland voice, “No.”

She hummed softly, jotting notes down. “How about your appetite? Eating enough?”

“It’s…” He hesitated for a moment, eyes fixated somewhere behind her before finally settling back on hers. “I forget to eat sometimes.” His tone was neutral.

Sakura inwardly felt a small sense of satisfaction at his honesty, but she simply nodded and made another note.

“How about sleeping?”

His gaze dulled, his jaw working before he muttered, “It’s fine.”

She knew it wasn’t.

But pushing him for details wouldn’t get her anywhere, so she simply wrote it down and moved on.

She reached for her stethoscope, inching closer to him carefully. He remained still, watching her movements with quiet focus.

“Can you remove your shirt for me, please?”

His entire body stiffened, his back straightening as he refused to glance at her. She paused, suddenly unsure. Maybe in the sterile scent of her office, under the harsh white lighting, this request wouldn’t feel so strange. But here, in the dim familiarity of her living room, she’d momentarily forgotten where they were.

She felt her ears burn, like tiny prickly things stabbing all over. A punishment for inviting him over without so much as a forethought into how this could proceed.

She loosened her grip on the stethoscope, letting it fall to her lap. “It’s just so I can hear your heart,” she murmured, hating the way her voice sounded—gruff and small. “If you're not comfortable, I understand.”

Then, as if regaining himself, Sasuke slowly maneuvered out of his shirt, and Sakura carefully watched. Desperately trying to hone in on the focus of her damned medical expertise, which was slowly waning.

From the start, she had assessed him correctly—lean, slim, built from years of endurance. She wasn’t shocked at all by the sheer number of scars, most old and healed, some stubbornly fresh. What surprised her was one scar near his bicep, a long gash that had clearly been treated but still bore a red hue.

She wanted to ask how he got that scar, but the flush of embarrassment still tinged her ears, so she stopped herself quickly.

She quickly jotted down notes and reached for her stethoscope. “Deep breaths for me, please.”

She was precise, barely letting her fingers brush against him as she placed the stethoscope's diaphragm against his chest.

Still, the rise and fall of his breathing felt more intimate than her touch, and the rhythmic thump of his heart filled her ears—louder than expected.

That’s odd.

Her brows furrowed slightly, and she glanced up. “Your heart’s beating a little higher than average.”

“It’s nothing,” he quipped, tone flat.

She hesitated. “Sasuke-kun.”

He blinked, bracing himself for what was coming next.

Her voice was quiet but firm. “Your heart rate could be a sign of other underlying issues. I need you to be honest with me.”

His jaw clenched, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “Sakura, it’s fine.”

Something about the way he said it was off. His tone was controlled, but his expression was rigid—a slight brow furrow, the smallest tension in his posture.

Sakura knew that shinobi heart rates usually ran higher than normal. But still, she worried

She sighed and returned to her notes. “Just to be sure, I’m going to run some blood tests.”

His expression loosened, and the edges of his face became lighter. “Okay.”

She jotted a few more notes, inching closer as her eyes drank in the tiny, scattered constellations of moles across his neck and shoulders. Five, maybe six, sat at the junction of his neck and right trapezius. Her mind briefly wandered, recalling a night shift when she'd seen those same patterns in the sky. An eagle, or something like it, its wings drawn out in the stars.

The Aquila constellation, she believed, recalling her Astronomy academy textbooks.

Fitting.

Moving methodically, Sakura checked his reflexes, vitals, and his remaining arm, inspecting old scars and the signs of wear from his travels.

She could feel his discomfort growing the closer she got to his left side, where the absence of his arm seemed heavier in the quiet.

“Sasuke-kun,” she said as she neatly packed her tools back into the kit, “is it okay if I check your left arm?”

He was silent for a few moments, staring at her rug, though she knew it wasn’t for its intricate angles or design.

Belatedly, she wondered if he would ever accept a prosthetic. Maybe he would once he felt his redemption was complete. A wave of pain washed over her, her heart constricting at the realization that he might never feel truly redeemed.

She had told herself she would stop chasing him. Sworn it. But when his eye glazed over, ruminating in whatever dark, swirled thoughts seemed to consume him more often lately, she felt conflicted.

Then, suddenly, he looked at her and nodded.

She smiled, even though his gaze had turned forward again, and gently examined the area.

“Does it hurt at all right now? Any specific region?”

She realized she had gotten a little too close. The Aquila stars beamed at her.

He shook his head slightly, his pulse fluttering beneath the skin of his neck.

“Any phantom pain? Sensations like burning, tingling, or throbbing?” She delicately applied soothing chakra over the scar tissue, watching as the muscle twitched.

“Sometimes, but it’s manageable,” he said, face unmoving.

Sakura continued applying chakra, mentally preparing to bring up his eyes. She snuck a glance at him—and found him staring at her.

“Do you…” She reclined slightly, her green chakra dimming. “Can I check your eyes?”

His gaze remained unreadable, and this time, he was staring at her. She doesn’t know which one she’d prefer, him staring at the rug or her.

Seconds passed, heavy and lingering, before he finally muttered, “Ah.”

His eye flickered toward her hands, and she realized she had been itching her scar on the fabric of her obi. She quickly let go as if it was scalding.

A bad habit.

He shifted forward, and his eyes were closed but not fully relaxed. They hovered on the precipice of opening, his long lashes kept brushing his skin. He had some purplish hues underneath his eyes. 

Her voice softened as she raised her fingers near his face. “If anything bothers you, tell me immediately.”

She carefully brushed his hair from his forehead and placed her fingertips gently over his eyelids, pouring chakra in slow waves.

He remained still, though his shoulders tensed modestly. She knew he had never been comfortable letting others near his eyes. Even after the war, when medical-nin offered to help with the residual strain, he had practically growled at them.

Only she had been allowed. And even then, he had grown irritated quickly.

(“That’s enough.” His grip on her wrist tightened. His eyes burned red, swirling with purple.)

From what she could assess, the strain was denser in his left eye, which made sense—it was the eye that held his Rinnegan. Fortunately, there was no severe nerve damage beyond what she could alleviate.

She poured more soothing chakra, careful to balance the delicate work of navigating chakra networks with precise medical ninjutsu.

“How often do you use your dōjutsu?” she asked, her voice even. “Let’s say, in a week.”

His brow twitched slightly. “Almost every day.”

She had expected that. The strain in his networks told her as much. Still, she was glad he had answered honestly.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Well, let’s hope your stay in Konoha makes you use it less.”

The clock in her living room ticked loudly, and the hum of the air conditioning kept her grounded. She liked to believe she could stay like this forever—Sasuke’s body slowly winding down as she carefully healed his eyes.

His lashes stilled, and she felt an odd sense of loss as she lifted her fingertips from his eyes.

Shifting toward the table, Sakura jotted down the final notes. When she turned back, Sasuke was bunching his shirt with his single hand, hair tousled, eyes more at ease than she’d thought possible.

He was in the process of pulling his shirt over his head, muscles flexing as he did. Without thinking, she reached for the recent red slash on his arm, the one that hadn’t healed properly. A soft green light colored his face as she touched it.

His expression shifted, briefly startled, before softening. Sakura focused intently on the wound, smoothing the pinkish-hued skin.

He was so tall, a full head above her, and his face was unreadable. His shoulders were slack as he allowed her to work; she saw his finger twitch from her peripheral. 

As Sakura silently pulled her hand away, he continued to pull on his shirt, his movements swift and precise—faster than she could have managed, even with both arms.

“That’s about it,” she said, moving to lead him to the door. He followed, his cloak draped over his arm.

“I’ll check in next week about the blood tests. They need to be done at my office, and I’ll draft a medical report for Kakashi-sensei.”

“Aa.” He lingered at the threshold, staring at her for a beat before attempting to fasten his cloak, struggling with the pin.

“Here, let me,” she offered. His hands faltered, allowing her to step in and deftly secure the clasp. The fabric settled snugly against his chest, his high collar now obscuring part of his face.

She tilted her head, meeting his gaze. He was so close her stomach fluttered. He smelled faintly of ash and wood.

Taking a step back, she smiled. “I’ll walk you out—”

"No, you’ve done enough for me today," he interrupted, yet still didn’t move. The corridor light cast long, uneven shadows across his face, dimming him in hues of deep, tranquil blue. His silhouette wavered slightly in the shifting glow, half-formed, half-lost.

The sun must have set a while ago, she mused. The air carried that familiar weight of nightfall—cool, settled, final.

"It’s not a big deal, I promise," she reassured him, tucking a loose strand behind her ear, her fingertips grazing the warmth of her skin.

"I know, Sakura."

Whenever he said her name, it was as if his soul brushed against hers. He made her name feel like a promise, a guaranteed outcome.

He turned and stepped out, his cloak rustling against the hush of the room. The sound was swallowed by the low hum of the air conditioning, the rhythmic buzz of a streetlamp outside, and the faint, distant murmur of passing voices in the alley below.

"Thank you," he murmured, lone eye lingering on her as if memorizing something unspoken.

She blinked, and Sasuke was gone. Only the window remained in her line of sight, the wilting bonsai on its ledge bathed in the fading light. The branches trembled slightly, caught in the artificial breeze filtering through the vent.

Sakura turned, her gaze sweeping across the apartment. The disarray of medical supplies, the hoodie half-draped over the couch, the blankets pushed aside, the pile of dishes in the sink, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to the air.

She needed to pay more attention to these things.