Strangers

Her office had once belonged to a former medical director—before Shizune and long before Tsunade. She’d forgotten his name, but she remembered seeing him at multiple Hospital Board meetings, with stringy grey hair and beady eyes. Remnants of his presence lingered, what was once an AC monitor on the wall was blotched over with grey paint, the buttons still jutting out, as were the light switches, lazily brushed over with swashes of white. But at the base, the plastic remained beige, untouched. 

If you’re going to cover something up, at least do it right.

Sakura’s desk, however, was a personal touch, the only thing in her office that felt truly hers. It had come from her parents’ home, a wooden piece they hadn’t wanted but she adored. The kind of wood was more common near the Earth Country, where the trees grew darker, denser, and sturdier. 

“I never really liked coffee,” Ino admitted, swirling her iced coffee. The brown and white mixture danced as the ice clinked against the plastic cup. “But ever since Sai discovered it, we’ve been having it every morning. Turns out, I’m hooked.”

Sakura smiled. “That must be a journey, caffeinated Sai sounds like a nightmare.”

Ino barked a laugh. “Yeah, to everyone else at least.” Her face shifted as she tried desperately to hold in another laugh. “He comes up to random people in the middle of his caffeine rush and asks to paint them, and Sakura,” She held her stomach, “You should see their faces. They’re fucking terrified!”

Ino was full-on laughing now, and it was contagious. Sakura couldn’t help but join in.

“In what world is Sai terrorizing people funny?” Sakura asked, trying to tamp down her laughter, but it was impossible. Eventually, she gave up.

Ino wiped her eyes, tears starting to form, and Sakura shook her head, her smile stretching until her cheeks were sore.

“In every world. All the universes.”

The laughter eventually died down, and Ino kept giggling intermittently, like tiny hiccups. They settled into a small but comfortable silence.

She can't even recall the last time she laughed like this, and that sobered the moment a little too quickly than she liked.

Papers were stacked precariously on her desk, towering in a way that reminded her too much of Kakashi’s. The hum of the window AC unit filled the room, droning her away.

Looking around, she couldn’t help but compare her office to Shizune’s. She had her own lavish office in the central wing, and everything was so homely that Sakura could not feel more envious. A muted azure suede couch was so neatly woven in, the stitching at the seams of the armrests so hidden it felt like a giant plush cloud stolen from the skies itself. A large pothos plant sat on the edge, its lively green mocking Sakura’s wilting bonsai at home.

Sunlight streamed in through the office window, sharp and glaring. Ino had tried to reach over to lower the blinds, but the cord was stuck. With her desk positioned right by the window, she had no choice but to squint as Ino sat across from her.

Ino’s head tilted, her smile softening. “Anyways,” her voice intoned, “enough about Sai. How are you?”

Sakura’s smile dimmed—hopefully not noticeably—as she grabbed a sweetener pack. “Well, same as usual, I guess.”

She liked the way the sugar dissolved into the green abyss of her iced matcha, sweeter but unchanged in color. She wondered if, as the ice melted, the sugar would eventually separate from the matcha.

Her eyes flicked to the corkboard, where a sticky note clung to the corner, Naruto’s chicken-scratch handwriting scrawled across it. She could almost hear his voice, gravelly and loud:

("Training on Saturday! 9:00 AM, ASAP!")

Ino frowned, her brows knitting together. “Same as usual?” she repeated, exasperated. “Sakura, the love of your life came back after two years, and it’s the same as usual?”

“It is.” Sakura propped her head in her hand, shrugging. “Nothing has changed.”

Nothing will change—that’s what she almost said. But Ino’s frown would’ve gone so deep and low it might’ve stuck permanently like that.

Ino’s frown remained, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the stack of papers, clicking against the folds. “Sakura, everything has changed.”

Sakura’s hand stilled mid-motion, swirling her cup. Maybe both of them were right—everything and nothing had changed at all.

She admitted, sipping her matcha, which was still bitter. “It’s kind of like both.” 

Ino started, face forward with subtle curiosity, and sat expectantly, her face blindingly lit by the glaring sheen from the window. Sakura shifted in her seat, squinting against the light.

She thought about the medical checkup she’d done, half-assed and awkward, yet strangely intimate.

Sasuke still acted somewhat the same. His signature blank face was probably the only thing that ever allowed her to read him because when he slipped up, even the tiniest jerk of his expression, it was distinctive. 

And yet, there were so many things about him that had changed. How had she never noticed the way his moles stood out before? Aquila stars had never seemed more common in the night since then.

Before she could stop herself, the words spilled out.

“He’s tall now.” 

Ino blinked, but she didn’t speak right away. The silence stretched, pressing in as her words floated, and Sakura felt heat creep up her neck.

“... and he covers his left eye with his hair.” The sentence tumbled out too fast, unfiltered, and she regretted it as soon as they left her mouth. 

Ridiculous.

Ino leaned back. “Okay,” she said, her voice even. “Go on. What else?”

Sakura paused, her eyes flickering to her drink. “He’s quiet, but not like before. It’s not an angry quiet, it’s something else.” Sakura exhaled. “He always looks deep in thought.”

“Thinking about what, exactly?” Ino pressed.

"I don’t know," Sakura murmured. "And neither does anyone else."

She exhaled, stirring the last ice in her cup.  "Except Naruto. He can tell just by looking at him."

“Hm,” Ino hummed, sipping her drink languidly, which, much to Sakura’s envy, had the perfect ratio of ice and coffee. “I think you just need to spend more time with him. Didn’t he just come back?”

Sakura huffed a laugh, more strained than she intended. “I’m not doing that.”

Ino looked bewildered, like that was the last thing she expected Sakura to ever say. “Why not?”

Sakura intuitively pointed to the one affirmation card Ino had given her a few weeks ago, pinned to her corkboard. Chipped and unpolished nails against the wispy purple print.

(“I don’t chase; I attract. What belongs to me will simply find me.”)

Ino practically blubbered, physically recoiling, “That is not appropriate for you and Sasuke! I didn’t even have you guys in mind when I got those for you.”

"Well," Sakura said, her voice firmer, "now I do." If there were any more sweetener packs, she would have used a third one by now. Unfortunately, her ice cubes were now fully melted.

Ino’s frown deepened. “I can’t believe this. You’ve never been closer to actually having Sasuke, and now’s the time you pull out?”

Sakura bristled internally. Was that what Ino thought? That she was “pulling out?”

It wasn’t that she was giving up—it was that all those years of pain she’d endured for loving him had led her to this: a standstill.

She should be giggling with Ino about how he came over, how she fiddled with the pin of his cloak, breaths nearly intermingling.

She should be boasting about the way he had complimented her children’s clinic idea, one of the most sincere things he had ever said to her.

She should be happy with that.

But she wasn’t.

“I’m just tired, Ino.” 

Her voice trailed with a tremor, and for a split second, she wondered if it was all worth it anymore. She hated how weak she sounded whenever Sasuke was brought up.

Ino’s eyes widened, she slightly leaned back in her chair, hands slowly dropped from the hold of her drink resting on the table.

The AC didn’t seem to lull her away from chaos anymore, it turned suffocating. 

After a few uncomfortable beats, Ino’s face smoothed over. It softened into something hovering too close to pity. A look that Sakura hated even more than her quivering voice.

She broke the silence with a click of her tongue. 

“I know,” she muttered, her voice soft and careful. Like she’s afraid one wrong move will shatter Sakura. 

Then Ino reached over, placing her palm on top of Sakura’s hand, smooth and warm. 

"But if he’s here now, that means he stopped running… Maybe you guys just need to meet in the middle." 

Sakura instinctively returned the hold, lacing her fingers with Ino’s as her thumb gently smoothed over Ino’s knuckle.

Ino’s words felt good, they reassured the parts of her that craved love, her 13-year-old smitten self. 

But she’s unfortunately grown, and the larger part of her can view reality with lenses a little less pink, a little less glamor, a little more real.

Sasuke would never stop running, whether it was the movement of revenge or the movement of redemption.

But even so, there were hidden truths in Ino’s words. If Sasuke was here, it was because he chose to be. And she’d known this for a while—since the moment he gave her that absurd tap on the forehead.

So why did she still feel this way?

Ino's gentle squeeze brought her back from her thoughts, and Sakura squeezed back before removing her hand.

She might never fully understand him; he might always be an enigma to her, and maybe she’ll need to learn to live with that. 

“Thank you, Ino-pig.”

Ino’s face looked relieved as she leaned back and an assured smirk donned her lips, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“No problem, billboard-brow.”

The outer district held a warm place in Sakura's heart. Though dingier than most areas—especially compared to her apartment neighborhood—it still carried the essence of her childhood. Despite the occasional suspicious figures lurking at night and the hissing of possums, it was home.

The hospital board had decided that most child patients would be placed in the outer district unless they had shinobi training. Sakura had fought hard against the ruling, but changing their minds was nearly impossible. The implications of integrating civilians with the dominant ninja district were clear to most of them, and it frustrated her to no end. Even Kakashi hadn’t been able to push back against it.

(“Sorry, Sakura-chan, my hands are tied.”)

But Yuki was a strong girl, and Sakura hoped the clinic’s team would support her transition to independent living as smoothly as possible.

That was why she immediately made her way to Yuki’s apartment complex, her reprinted key dangling between the fingers of her right hand, a takeout bag in her left.

She knocked lightly on the door, keys jingling amid the afternoon bush warblers chirping and the hum of a lawnmower in the distance.

“It’s me, Sakura.” She announced, belatedly hoping not loud enough to scare the entire complex.

A few seconds passed—just long enough for a flicker of concern to creep in—before the door jutted open wildly, stopping halfway due to the chain latch.

Yuki’s face was half-covered, her eyes wide, as if she hadn’t expected Sakura to be standing there.

"Sakura-san!" She quickly fumbled with the latch, and the door swung open, revealing her fully. She was dressed neatly—a pastel yellow blouse tucked into olive-drab denim shorts. With her honey-brown hair catching the light, she resembled a sunflower.

Sakura smiled. “Hello to you, too. Mind if I come in?”

Yuki crossed her arms, sarcasm dripping. “Yes, I do mind. You cannot come in.”

Sakura rolled her eyes, still smiling, and stepped inside as Yuki moved to let her pass.

“I’m glad to see independence hasn’t taken away your sarcasm.” She glanced around, taking everything in.

It was a relief that everything was clean, but the space was mostly empty—just the bare necessities and multiple cardboard boxes with labels she’d made and assembled. All of those said boxes are neatly sat in the corner of the mostly still and bare living room.

To Sakura’s delight, a single picture hung on the half corridor: Yuki with the rest of the clinic’s team.

The air smelled faintly of disinfectant, and as Sakura ran her fingertips along the edge of the wall, she could tell—it wasn’t just clean, it was spotless. She’d have to issue a formal thank you to whoever in her team was charged with cleaning this place.

The remaining furniture was dull and mismatched, likely left behind by the previous tenant. A pale wooden coffee table sat thinly in the center, a mid-sized TV without a stand was propped against the opposite wall, and a futon lay alongside it and its standard white blankets and pillows. Adoringly, she noticed a singular throwaway pillow with stitching of typical roses and thorns. The outline of the roses was bedazzled with red sequins, and if gently swept over, would turn into white sequins.

Yuki plopped onto the futon unceremoniously. “Nothing will take away my sarcasm, Sakura-san.”

Sakura lifted her left hand. “Not even some takeout?”

Yuki squinted, lips pursed in thought. “It depends.” She tapped a finger to her chin, then her eyes lit up. “Did you get Taiyaki?”

“Of course.” Sakura nodded, sitting on the opposite side of the futon. She placed the plastic bag and key on the wooden table, which creaked slightly under their weight. 

The floors were light beige tiles from the kitchen as far as she could see, and then a streak cut into light grey carpeting, which was more coiled and fluffy than her living room. The wooden pillars in the living room matched well with the burgundy-shaded brick wall on the side of the room where the TV rested, a decorative move she assumed.

The carpet felt nice, at least.

“Okay, I’m sold.”

The curtains on the windows hung at an angle that cast gentle but long shadows. The key slightly reflected on Yuki’s face midway through her devouring her plate, and she reached for it, inspecting it like an ancient artifact.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Is this yours?”

Sakura opened the plastic bowl of miso soup, a little too hot for the season, but she always preferred it, especially when it was piping hot. Like a jolt to your senses, a real palette cleanser.

“Well, it’s mine. But I copied it for you.” She took a sip of the soup—hot but comforting. “In case you ever need me, I’m five blocks east of the hospital, the East wing.”

Yuki suddenly grasped the key, her eyes glassy, a soft smile spreading across her face. 

“Thank you.” Her voice held such genuine conviction, and her grasp tightened as if she was holding onto something she’d never want to let go.

Sakura felt her heart burn in her chest, a strange mix of sadness and joy. It was a stark reminder of how deeply neglected Yuki had been, that something as simple as a key could move her so much.

She felt her face tingle at the bridge of her nose, a sure sign that tears were forming, and she quickly waved her hands exaggeratedly, attempting to distort her face. “Oh, it’s nothing!”

Yuki slowly tucked the key in her back pocket and then rushed to pick apart the variety of food displayed on the table.

“It’s not nothing!” Her mouth was full of Taiyaki, some bits of the paste stuck on the corner of her lips.

Sakura mildly scolded her, but Yuki continued, “It means a lot to me. More than you think. Not just the key, but everything you’ve been doing. The last few years in the clinic have been the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Yuki, don't make me cry, that's rude.”

She laughed, “But I’m so serious!” She finally wiped her mouth with a stray napkin. “Even back in Iwagakure, before my parents…”

Her gaze drifted for a brief moment, then, after a beat, she looked at Sakura again, eyes pooling, but the tears remained undropped.

Yuki hadn’t mentioned her parents—well, ever. They were always an extremely sore subject, and she always made sure to highlight that in her mandatory psychological screenings.

Her parents had been murdered in conflict during the war when rogue ninja gangs ransacked Iwagakure as most shinobi divisions were deployed. It was a devastating raid that happened far too often across the countries in those brief days of the war. 

It was especially tragic for Yuki, considering whenever her parents were mentioned, it was at the very least neglectful, and at most borderline abusive.

Sakura held her breath and consciously made sure to slump her shoulders down. She hoped Yuki didn’t feel like she was pitying her.

“Before my parents,” she breathed, "It was still... hard. My illness was always a burden to everyone. Except here.”

Sakura smiled and wiped the creases underneath her eyes, her fingertips a little damp.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted, making the clinic.” Her voice was hoarse,so she cleared her throat, wiped her fingertips, and reached for one of the gyozas.

The taste of the gyoza wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad, either. The pork was a little undercooked, and they’d fried the gyoza a bit too long with a bit too much oil, leaving it coating Sakura's lips.

But it didn’t matter. Because Yuki had an apartment, and Yuki was happy.

“I was thinking,” Sakura began, finishing off the gyoza platter, “Do you want to go furniture shopping? My parents and I know this nice little family-owned business not far from here.”

Yuki nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please! I’m so tired of the emptiness, I could go crazy.”

Sakura clasped her hands, her tone determined. “Alright, I’ll put some of these in your fridge, and then we can head out.”

Yuki looked a little taken aback. “Right now? We just started?”

“I know,” she sighed. She had to go to some meetings later for more funding. “But I’m unfortunately a busy woman, and time is of the essence.”

Yuki shot up, snatching the leftover bags and takeout boxes from Sakura’s hands.

“Thank you, Sakura-san, but you’ve done enough for me today.”

Sakura couldn’t help but hear those words again, echoing in her mind—that she’d done enough. She’d heard them from a resident nurse just this morning.

It never felt true.

“Enough with the formalities, please!” Sakura gave up, letting Yuki take the boxes and disappear into the kitchen with a twinkling laugh, not wholly unlike a fairy.

Sakura let herself fully take in the apartment. The more she looked around, the less certain she felt. The strong smell of disinfectant was reassuring—at least it meant Yuki was following protocols, ensuring her safety—but it could also mean she was overcompensating for something.

She knew and trusted her team at the clinic. The thorough report on the lease had cleared, and the investigation into the wall fillings and general structure had been comprehensive. But still. These apartments were old, and even the renovated ones had issues—

“Okay!” Yuki stood at the door, adorned with a lavender crossbody bag Sakura just knew was a gift from Ino, halting her thoughts. “I’m ready.”

They stepped out into the late afternoon sun, the heat rising from the pavement in shimmering waves. The air smelled of damp earth and frying oil from a nearby food stall, the sounds of the district filling the space between them—children shouting, a vendor haggling, the distant rumble of a passing cart. 

Yuki walked ahead with an easy stride, already chatting about what kind of furniture she wanted, but Sakura’s mind wandered, as usual.

The clinic. The apartment. The smell of disinfectant. Has she done enough? Would Yuki be okay here, alone? It was all cleared, all checked, all safe—but still.

Her fingers brushed her abdomen, the familiar raised skin of the scar grounding her. At times, she wondered how the world would be if she hadn’t survived Sasori’s attack. 

It was a dark thought, but it also pushed her to center her accomplishments. Was she changing the world, as she had come to desperately try? She exhaled, pushing the thought aside and redirecting her focus to the road ahead.

She blinked, her gaze adjusting. There were the tiniest edges of the shop—

A shift in the air, the faint scuff of a step behind her.

"Sakura."

The single word, low and so memorialized, snapped her from her thoughts.

A breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening.

A soft rustle of movement behind her made her exhale, gathering the courage to face him. She turned, jaggedly and disoriented.

Standing there, he looked the same. Even without his cloak, his indigo short-sleeved shirt and nearly black, dark grey cotton pants still made him stand out.

Even in such drab clothes, he looked so handsome. 

“Sasuke-kun,” she swallowed, the bite of the miso soup's heat remaining on her tongue. “Hello.”

His gaze drifted toward Yuki, who stood a little to the side, her expression puzzled.

“Oh!” Sakura exclaimed, a smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward Yuki. “This is Yuki, my—” she paused, searching for the right words, “—my former patient and a friend.”

Yuki, initially confused, was aware of Sasuke’s attention. “Hi, I’m Sakura’s former patient and friend.” Her face twitched, as though realizing Sakura had already said that.

Sasuke blinked once, regarding Yuki for a beat, his expression unchanged. He nodded in his usual, even voice, “Sasuke.” 

A moment of silence stretched longer than necessary, Yuki’s eyes darting between her and Sasuke like a karuta card before Sakura broke it.

“Anyway,” she said, tucking a strand behind her ear, “we’re just heading out to get some furniture for Yuki’s place.”

Yuki shot her a look. “Don’t make it sound so boring.” Then, turning back to Sasuke, a wide smile on her lips, she added, “I’m turning my apartment into an actual home.”

Sasuke remained silent, but it didn’t seem to deter Yuki. It might’ve only encouraged her to speak more. “So,” she drawled, “How do you guys know each other?”

She didn’t like the pointed glint in Yuki’s eyes.

“We’ve known each other since the academy,” Sakura answered before Sasuke could say something that Yuki might prod a little too closely.

Yuki nodded as though this were some major revelation, humming in deep thought that Sakura knew was a farce.

“And what are you doing here?” she asked, still eyeing Sasuke.

Sasuke’s jaw twitched, but he responded flatly, “I live here.”

“Oh! How long have you lived here?”

“... Five days ago.”

Maybe Yuki was wondering why an apparent ninja, someone from the academy, would live in the outer district. 

But Sakura wasn’t sure if that was the better question to ask— if the question that would follow would be even worse.

Yuki nearly bounced; the glint in her eyes shone with satisfaction. “What a coincidence. I just moved here yesterday! You should come for furniture shopping with us! I bet your apartment is empty as well.”

Sakura recalled the fleeting urge to invite Sasuke to furniture shopping with Yuki during his checkup—just as quickly as she had dismissed it. Rejection, when it came to Sasuke, always felt like the default. Like the norm.

And now, his silence felt like karmic confirmation, a reinforcement from the universe, from the Gods, that he would have turned her down anyway.

He was silent for eight long, increasingly uncomfortable beats.

Yuki’s smile faltered. She probably hadn’t expected him to deny the invitation so outright. Sakura felt a flicker of sympathy for Yuki.

But she had been dealing with this for years, so the sympathy was quickly overshadowed by the familiarity of it all.

No matter how long he stood there, she knew it was coming—the norm, the default answer.

She didn’t even bother to make eye contact until it felt as if his gaze were burning into her from her peripheral.

Something indecipherable passed between them— impossible to grasp. Like one individual string of their synapses had fired together at the same wavelength, same speed, same time.

Maybe if she caught it, it would’ve given her clarity, helped her understand him fully, and revealed what she had been confused about for so long. 

Then—

“Okay.”

She blinked.

Yuki grinned, smiling back in full force. “Great!” Turning to Sakura, she added, “Lead the way, Sakura-san!”

Sakura knew she looked dumbfounded as both of them turned to her—Yuki’s expectant gaze and Sasuke’s barely perceptible lift of his lips. She quickly shook it off and nodded, maybe a bit dazedly.

Reorienting herself, she did her best to follow the path toward the shop, which, thankfully, was in sight.

Sasuke adjusted himself to a steady pace beside her while Yuki shuffled around to walk at his side.

Sakura tried to push aside the warmth creeping into her chest. Worst case, Sasuke felt bad denying a kid. Best case, he simply needed furniture.

Yuki kept pestering Sasuke with simple questions. Sakura was fairly certain she had no real grasp of his past—and for that, she was grateful.

Maybe this was where the maturity gap between her and Yuki showed—where Yuki wasn’t able to discern social cues as easily. 

Yuki had ended up dragging Sasuke along for this, and Sakura couldn't blame Yuki, only herself.

She couldn’t bring herself to focus on their conversation, something about the outer district people. Sasuke looked unbothered, silent except for barely there nods.

As they neared the entrance, she noted that nothing had changed. The exterior still looked suspicious—tinted windows, a tarnished board displaying the characters of a “furniture shop.” Bold red on top of a mild blue. A hidden gem.

“Okay.” She smoothed down her shorts, though she knew they were clear of lint. “We’re here.”

Yuki looked apprehensive. “Um, are you sure? It looks abandoned.”

Sakura pursed her lips. “I was here just a few months ago.” She gently pushed on the door, the little charm above it twinkling as if agreeing with her words.

She heard Yuki quietly gasp behind her, and smirked.

Soft yellow lights danced across the ceiling, with hanging wires and vines draped across them like something stolen from a fantasy book—a mystical fairy garden. A pink opalescent hue glowed from a lamp on the right, its delicate stained glass shaped like a flower. The air smelled fondly of incense, a faint smoke weaving itself into the atmosphere. It seemed to be only them in the store.

The furniture scattered across the wide room was beautiful and unique. A rustic drawer stood in the center, its hand-carved etchings forming a symmetrical pattern—almost like a kaleidoscope, with curves and lines meeting in unity.

A singular chair sat nearby, made from pure wood, grainy and light, definitely locally sourced bark. It looked as if it had been cut and sanded straight from the tree, but when Sakura ran her fingertips along it, its sheen was impossibly smooth.

It really was a hidden gem.

Yuki already skirted off in front of her before she could say anything, running her fingers along the furniture, mouth agape.

“How do you know this place?” Sasuke asked, his voice unnaturally hushed. 

She swiftly turned, catching Sasuke busying himself with taking in the room, eyes wandering around with a distant sense of interest. The pink light brushed across his face like mist, softening the sharp edges of his features. The darkness of his eye blended with the subdued pink, the colors melding seamlessly. 

“My parents are good friends with the owners.” Her eyes caught on a husky grey bedside drawer, her fingers brushing over the knobs—old-fashioned latches with hinges on the side. “They sold their business a while back, but I’m sure they still keep tabs on it.”

Sasuke didn’t respond, and the silence stretched long enough that she hurriedly blurted out.

“Look, Sasuke-kun,” she breathed deeply, “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

His gaze flicked back to her, sharp and unwavering. “Yuki asked, Not you.”

She exhaled. “I know, but still.” He was right; she hadn’t invited him. But Yuki was her responsibility, at least for the meantime. “It’s okay if you want to leave.”

His brow twitched. “Why would I want to leave?”

It was sort’ve ironic that he had asked that question. If Sasuke has done anything in his life, it would be leaving.

Instead of explaining herself, she simply mumbled, scratching and tracing a particular swirl on the chair beside her, realizing she was leaning most of her weight on it. “I don’t know.”

Unresponsive, he walked past her, and she slowly stepped behind him.

His head turned slightly in her direction, his face half bathed in the pink glow of the stained-glass lamp in the corner, the other showering with the soft yellows from the hanging bulbs above. The entire room had no windows, just these lights and their saturation. 

“When have I ever done something I didn’t want to do?”

His lips ticked upward, the imperceptible ghost of a smirk. 

She wasn’t sure if it was the atmosphere of the shop, the way the light hit him, or just Sasuke himself—but the way he said it felt like genjutsu. His words lingered too long on her skin, and she almost muttered under her breath, “Kai.”

She felt the urge to fill the air, grasp onto this fleeting moment in her life before it goes. “Most of the materials here are not from the Fire Country.” 

He nodded—or rather, gave a tiny jerk of his head—and she continued, her voice coming out faster than usual. “They have really good trading partners around the globe. I have an old desk in my office from here, the material is straight from Earth Country.”

His head lifted slightly as if in deep thought. His mouth opened, then paused, his words pouring out a few seconds later. 

“I helped a person from the Earth Country saw off the lumber there.”

Sakura’s eyes widened. “Really?”

She tried to imagine him in that form, axe in hand. At first, the image seemed funny—she pictured him wearing the typical Earth Country attire, one sleeve short for his lone arm and the other long and billowy, chopping wood in one great swoop after swoop.

But then she imagined the strength he'd need, the muscles activating as he swung the axe, the sweat dripping down his face—and she quickly fanned herself.

The store lacked proper air conditioning.

He nodded. “It was hard. But the cabin built from the pieces was strong. It’ll probably help him during the winter.”

A flood of thoughts washed over her, making her feel more ridiculous than she had all day.

She hadn’t even asked about his travels—not even considered it.

Amidst her worries and troubles, she hadn’t thought once about what he had experienced. What kind of things had he witnessed or taken part in? 

Guilt seeped into her, not unlike one of those fast-acting poison agents she created. The same sensation, a complete and all-over paralysis.

She had spent so long with Sasuke in her head that she had forgotten he was here—right next to her.

“Sakura-san! Come look at this!”

Yuki’s voice came from the back of the shop, a little better lit with a lamp emitting fluorescent lighting. The cashier, a teenage boy reading a magazine of Shinobi Fashion, angrily glared at Yuki, to which she sheepishly laughed an apology.

Sasuke’s lips grew into a full smirk now. “Sakura-san?” he repeated, a teasing lilt to his voice that had her red from the tip of her ears to the high points of her cheeks.

She muttered, tucking a strand behind her ear. “It’s this stupid running joke she has. She likes to make me feel old.”

Yuki was entranced by a singular bookshelf—a quarter of a meter taller than Sasuke himself. It was odd, almost drooping, its jagged edges adorned with metal swirls, like makeshift vines. Painted on top was a wash of colors—violet, amber, rouge, brown—blended like gouache, misty and pasty yet striking. And despite its vividness, it felt hollow to the touch. When knocked, it gave a resounding clack of thin silver.

Sakura imagined that if life itself could be distilled into a swirl of colors, it would look something like this—jarring, yet oddly entrancing.

“I think this is the only piece here that isn’t wood,” Sakura commented, looking around to make sure.

Yuki nodded, smiling. “That’s why I like it. It’s like an art piece.”

Sakura raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want this? Do you want to look at possible sets for maybe the living room or your bedroom?”

Yuki waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll do that later. I have plenty of time.”

Then, suddenly, she jumped, eyes wide. “I forgot my wallet.”

Sakura wanted to laugh, but concern quickly followed. Did Yuki think she had enough to cover something like this? 

Yuki needed a job soon.

“Your wallet isn’t enough for furniture,” she responded, a laugh edging her voice as she reached into her pouch and pulled out a scroll labeled Clinic Fund.

Before she could do anything else, Sasuke’s voice cut through the conversation.

He announced, calm and matter-of-fact, “It’s fine. I got it.”

“What?” She nearly jumped in place. “You’re not paying.”

He repeated, firmer this time. “It’s fine.”

Her mouth, which had been unknowingly hanging open the entire time, finally snapped shut. She could only watch as he walked to the cashier’s stand, gesturing toward the bookshelf. In a hushed, short conversation, he scribbled down several things. 

Yuki nudged Sakura, pulling her back slightly, and mouthed, "He’s hot!"

Sakura’s face burned instantly. She shot Yuki a glare and nudged her right back.

“You better say thank you.” She huffed, a strand of sweat-laden hair stuck on her neck, as she tried to peel it off.

She might’ve fainted if there weren’t more pressing things to consider—like the fact that Sasuke had money to draw from.

Sakura had assumed any remaining assets from the Uchiha clan had been liquidated into funding public institutions and renovation projects—a move that had been highly contested by Team 7.

Then the council had decided, thanks to Sasuke's part in the war, a certain small percentage of it would go to an account—if he ever decided to use it.

Except Sasuke hadn’t cared. She remembered him shrugging his shoulders.

(“If it helps the village, it has nothing to do with me.")

But the fact that he was willing to spend his money—clan money—on Yuki, someone he didn’t even know…

Sasuke angled himself slightly toward Sakura, his eye a silent beckon.

As she made her way over, she noticed that the teenage boy, previously uninterested, was now watching them closely, his magazine abandoned on the seat beside him. He pointed toward the documents in front of him.

She glanced between the cashier and Sasuke, offering a polite smile. “Yes?”

“Can you please write down the address so we know where to ship it for a fully equipped service?” he asked, tapping the designated line on the paper with annoying persistence.

Sakura’s eye twitched, but her smile remained in place. “Sure, just give me one second.”

She pressed the side of her hand against the paper for leverage as she began writing, but as the papers shifted beneath her touch, revealing a nice stack of other documents, a bold set of numbers caught her eye.

15,499.99 ryō.

The ink stood out like a warning. Her hand stilled.

Slowly, she looked up, meeting Sasuke’s gaze.

“That’s way too much, Sasuke-kun,” she murmured, as if keeping her voice low would make the price any lower.

His jaw clenched, irritation flashed—like she was pestering him about his clothes or the dishes. But then, just as quickly, his expression smoothed over, blank once more.

“Sakura,” his voice teetered on something she couldn't name, “let me do this.”

She stared at him, searching his lone eye. She wished she could reach out and brush his hair aside. She didn’t mind the Rinnegan. If anything, it was like another portal into him. She could read him better that way.

Let him do this.

If this was his way of giving back to Konoha—in his own convoluted, fiscally irresponsible way—maybe she should take a step back. 

With a quiet sigh, she picked up the pen again.

“Okay, fine,” she mumbled.

She kept writing, her mind flickering back to Sasuke’s behavior as she signed the necessary forms.

The teenager flashed a bright grin, thanking them both before bidding his farewell, which irritated Sakura more than she cared to admit.

Yuki sat, smiling up at the bookshelf, then turned to them both with a generous amount of gratitude dancing across her features. Sakura felt the urge to take a picture, to hang it on her corkboard as a reminder of why she does what she does.

“Here.” Sasuke handed the receipt to Yuki, the back of the paper facing up.

Yuki gently took the receipt, reviewing it with one glance, and showcased a full grin—bright and sunflowery. Summer boded well with Yuki.

She folded it into her back pocket, the key and receipt sticking out like sore thumbs. It wasn’t in her crossbody bag, which was already empty. 

Sakura’s smile lifted a little more, realizing that maybe Yuki wanted to showcase these things. That people care for her. 

Shattering the growing silence, Yuki offered a gracious, deep bow and said with formal sincerity, “Thank you!”

Sasuke seemed to appreciate it, nodding back—this time, fully.

She reached up to instinctively ruffle her hair, a gesture that felt almost generational—Tsunade-sama had always done that to her, too. 

She absent-mindedly rubbed her Byakugō.

Yuki excitedly skipped ahead of them, her hair flowing long and luscious, the yellow light making the highlights more vibrant. Sakura pushed the door open, the chimes above her ringing like little fairies—no, little Yukis. 

The heat wave nearly knocked the wind out of her, sun rays opening like the gates to somewhere celestial. Slowly came the edges and shapes of the very well-known classic shops and concrete roads she’d grown up on.

Before any more strange thoughts could surface, Sakura stepped closer to Sasuke and quietly muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, “Thank you, Sasuke-kun, for everything today.”

Like before, something flickered in his eyes, but this one had a different tang. His lone orb seemed like it was laced with something so passing and mildly ironic, but it was too quick to read.

“It’s nothing.”

.

.

.

It wasn’t until the middle of her back-and-forth meetings—Shizune jotting down notes about something the old ex-hospital director, Takahiro-sama (she half-heartedly remembered), had said—that she realized Sasuke hadn’t even glanced at, let alone touched, any of the furniture.

It must’ve been too colorful for him.