Strangers

Her water bottle was getting old—she could tell from the chipped silicone straw and the stubborn coffee stains that remained despite her constant washing.

The summer heat was sickening. Though she generally liked the warmth, today, it felt unbearable. She had opted for a more breathable uniform, but it only made things worse. The fishnets were tight and itchy against her stomach, and her scar bulged, peeking through the tiny gaps in the net. There was little to no breeze—just waves of heat. She kept lifting her hair to relieve some pressure, sweat accumulating at the back of her head, dampening her headband.

Her hair had grown longer than she liked—past her shoulders now. She kept forgetting to cut it.

Naruto and Sasuke sparred like a choreographed dance, nothing like the wild brawls of their younger years, when they would wrestle in the dirt, mud stains and pieces of grass smudging their faces. It was a push and pull between them, like yin and yang. She would have appreciated it more if she didn’t feel the smallest whispers of envy—only for a sharp wave of guilt to follow.

Fighting Naruto was frustrating because he always held back. Even though it came from a good place, it felt like the biggest insult. She had trained so hard—her monstrous strength the purest representation of her will.

She could only imagine what fighting Sasuke would be like.

She realized she was nervous; the steady beat of her heart echoed in her ears, persistent.

She had never trained, sparred, or even fought Sasuke before. It had always seemed intimidating. A part of her feared something in her might slip—like she would start crying in the middle of it. It was an odd thought, but she had only odd thoughts ever since he had been back.

At least the training ground looked the same: the grass was neatly trimmed, the perfect shade of green. Three wooden planks stood in their usual place, and the expansive body of water stretched in the distance.

Sasuke shifted, barely dodging a blow, much to Naruto’s chagrin.

“Bastard,” Naruto drawled. “You’re slower than usual.”

Sasuke worked his jaw, brow furrowed in genuine irritation, and moved with more ferocity than before.

She realized they must train every day, then.

Sasuke must be with him every day.

Another pang of envy came—louder this time.

Then a thought crossed her mind: What is Sasuke’s day-to-day life like? He must have nothing to do except for basic household chores. He doesn’t seem to reach out to her at all.

She grabbed her water bottle, the chipped straw creating an uneven stream of water.

Sasuke moved forward with a sharp, calculated blow, landing it squarely against Naruto’s lower stomach. Naruto hit the ground, the grass tickling the sides of his face.

“You didn’t need to hit me that hard,” he groaned, rubbing his stomach.

“Yes, I did,” Sasuke huffed, a proud but tiny smirk playing on his lips.

Naruto jumped up, holding his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, I lost,” he admitted.

He clasped his hands together, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. “Now, your turn, Sakura.”

She caught Sasuke’s glance, but he quickly turned back to Naruto.

His face was unreadable, though something flickered in his expression before he spoke.

His voice was taut. “Why don’t you spar with her?”

Shame washed over her. Did he not want to train with her? She knew she shouldn’t expect anything from him, yet the blatant strain in his voice stung more than she cared to admit, it felt worse than if Naruto had pulled his punches. Sasuke didn’t even want to try.

Naruto plopped fully onto the grass, the blades sighing under his weight. “I would, but Sakura always refuses to fight me.”

He turned to her, his face smoothing over, voice calm. “Why?”

She swallowed, her throat tightening, and explained, “I noticed that he always pulls back—subconsciously, too.”

Sasuke regarded her momentarily, and she shifted, palming the blades of grass beneath her. His expression was blank, but he studied her longer than she was comfortable with.

His voice was strong and steady as he straightened and took a few steps back.

“I won’t.”

She hadn’t expected that; her mouth loosened as she midway realized she was clenching her teeth. Sakura wanted to turn his words over in her mind—again and again and again—searching for a meaning deeper than what they might hold.
 
(“I won’t—I won’t—I won’t.”)

He watched her expectantly as she smoothed her skirt, its flaps fluttering in the air, then rose slowly.

“Okay, just taijutsu, for now Sasuke-kun,” she acquiesced, her voice barely higher than the birds.

Naruto’s grin was so wide she wanted to punch him instead.

Sasuke nodded. And then, before she could even adjust her footing, he lunged.

She barely dodged, the air whipping fast across her skin—she would’ve savored it if she didn’t need to move quickly.

She slid against the grass, her heel struggling to stabilize so she could go on the offensive, but Sasuke was relentless.

Another blow—sharp, precise. She ducked and pivoted, barely avoiding the next.

He was so fast.

His movements were precise, sculpted by decades of training—like they were a part of him.

Watching him during a fight was exhilarating but distant, like a motion picture, only a vision. But to engage with him like this was electrifying, her heart rate pumping faster than her strikes.

She aimed low, chakra swirling in her punch. Her body twisted with the strike, her muscles screaming for more.

He blocked it easily, but his jaw clenched.

His eye flashed whispers of approval. She remembered his genin-self—smirk haughty, eyes gleaming.

(“Your analytical skills and genjutsu know-how… are the most improved on our team.”)

Sakura laughed breathlessly, raising her arms just in time to deflect his next round of strikes.

In the distance, Naruto’s voice rang out: “Beat his ass, Sakura-chan!”

She was trying, but Sasuke hadn’t lied when he said he wouldn’t hold back.

Every time he lunged, she danced just out of reach.

Every time she saw an opening, she struck—quick, sharp, strong. Most were blocked.

A sound fell out of him when she landed a sharp elbow to his ribs, and just as she was about to celebrate her small victory, his eye flickered with recognition.

An opening.

His hand shot out faster than she could process, fingers wrapping around her wrist as he pulled her off balance.

The world tilted, and she hit the ground with a guttural sound.

She forgot where she was—who was beside her—for a moment. The bush warblers’ calls filled the silence. Annoying little things.

All she could feel was her chest rising and falling, and his own exhales puffing through his nose alongside hers. A ghost of his breath on her skin.

They stared at each other, her body buzzing with the moment’s sensation. His hand gripped both of hers, wide and firm, somehow hotter than the air around them.

His legs hovered near her, knees locked against her hips, warmth pooling low in her stomach.

If she had looked away for even a second, she wouldn’t have caught it—the flicker of his gaze, the slight downward shift toward her abdomen.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her face quickly became flushed, an intensity that seemed exaggerated considering the heat and her strenuous movements.

Was her scar really that obvious? She had never been insecure about it, but it tinged the edges of her mind. She should have stopped scratching it. It had only drawn more attention, and she knew it had sometimes made it more inflamed.

His fingers loosened, and he lifted himself off, taking a few steps back. The silence stretched thin; his expression was unreadable.

“Wow!” Naruto interrupted. “That was great; you guys fight really well together.”

Sasuke sat languidly, wiping sweat from his forehead with the lift of his shirt.

Sakura quickly averted her eyes before she could linger on the defined muscles. Her breath caught as his labored exhale filled the air.

He snapped, “It’s because I tried, idiot.”

“Yeah, now look at you! You’re covered in bruises,” Naruto argued, laughter edging his words.

Without thinking, Sakura moved, her chartreuse hands resting on the bruise forming around his radius.

His lone eye blinked, but Sakura ignored it, facing Naruto.

“And look how fast I can heal it.” She moved on to the next bruise forming right on his shin.

Distinctly avoiding eye contact, her face still felt hot. Belatedly, she announced—anticipating his complaint—“I’ll heal yours next, Naruto.”

From her diagnosis, she could tell a nasty one was forming on his ribs. Her hands hovered over it, sensing the familiar pull of chakra mending skin—an ability that never lost its wonder.

She finished, hands returning to normalcy as her chest slowed its rise and fall.

She snuck a peek—Sasuke’s head was turned away, his jawline tight, his gaze fixed on the sky.

She swiftly looked away; suddenly, the grass felt sharp against her skin.

Naruto regarded her with something so gentle it unsettled her. Then he shook it off, clearing his throat, letting her get to work.

She raised an eyebrow and chastised softly, “Naruto, some of these bruises are weeks old.”

He chuckled abashedly, scratching the back of his head with his prosthetic. “Sorry, Sakura-chan, I’ve been busy.”

She sighed. “I know. I really do.” The words felt heavy in the air.

It was suddenly so quiet. She could fall asleep like this—lulled into the green childhood bed that was Training Ground 7 with her boys, adrenaline winding down.

Naruto nudged her softly with his knee, and she hummed lightly, the green light dimming. “Hm?”

“Do you wanna eat dinner at my place? Hinata’s cooking.”

She smiled, her first full smile all day. “Yeah, I miss her.”

Naruto chuckled. “Me too, and I wake up to her every day.” He called out, “Sasuke! You coming or what?”

Sasuke finally looked at them. Something passed through his eye—then was gone.

When will she catch it? That sliver of emotion that runs away just as fast as him? Will she ever?

He stared at Naruto, and she felt she would never have that—the way they knew each other fully, like understanding on another plane.

His eye flickered toward her, then toward the sky again. He lifted his canteen of water to his lips.

Before he took a drink, he muttered softly into the metal container, his voice a faint echo, “Ah.”

Naruto gave a thumbs-up and began to stand. “Alright! Come by a little before sunset; I’ll let her know you guys are coming.”

She grew increasingly aware of their dynamics now. At first, it was blurry. But then—her heart croaked beneath the dawning realization.

Sasuke needed a bridge to interact with her. First it was Yuki, now it was Naruto.

Her throat tightened.

Naruto’s smile tugged downward, his hand falling to his side before he pressed a chaste peck to Sakura’s head and offered his hand to help her up.

He poked her lightly on the shoulder and whispered, just enough to pass between the two of them, “Stop overthinking, Sakura-chan.”

She smiled. Naruto might have held back his punches, but never his affection.

She poked back, her voice weary.

“I’ll try, Naruto.”

She had brought housewarming gifts—it had been a while since she last visited Hinata and Naruto’s home.

Yōkan, a sweet made from red bean paste, was something her mother always made better versions of. She had come over not long ago, gently guiding her.

(“Honey, if you weren’t the most renowned med-nin, I would have had to disown you for this.”)

Hinata greeted her with a delicate smile, gently taking the tray from her hands. “Thank you, Sakura.”

Sakura waved it off. “No, thank you! I wish we’d given you a proper heads-up. I hope it wasn’t too last-minute?”

Hinata shook her head. “Not at all! I was already planning to cook dinner, and it’s always a pleasure to host.” She hesitated, then added, with a small blush, “I also miss our talks.”

Sakura smiled, voice softer now. “Me too.”

The house looked just as she remembered.
 
Light, grainy wooden pillars framed the narrow staircase. Soft yellow lighting cast a warm glow, and sheer curtains filtered the last traces of evening light. Framed portraits lined the walls leading to the stairs—Hinata as a child, Naruto and Iruka back when he was just a Genin, and various photos from their wedding.

As she bent to slip off her sandals, her gaze landed on a familiar pair already by the mat—Sasuke’s grey ones.

She thought back to how things had been before Naruto and Hinata had gotten together—how she’d encouraged Hinata to pursue him. It was strange looking back. Surreal, even, to think it had only been several months ago.

At the time, it had made sense. Hinata had never really chased Naruto. Not in the way Sakura had chased Sasuke.

A beautiful silverware set gleamed on the dining table, the polished plates adorned with blue flowers. The soft yellow light made everything feel almost golden.

The scent of charcoal and citrus hung in the air, mingling with the lingering steam of freshly grilled fish. The sharp, clean tang of sudachi filled the space.

Grilled eggplants lacquered with miso glistened under the light, their deep purple skin wrinkled just so. Beside them sat a delicate arrangement of sunomono—thinly sliced cucumber in a light marinade.

Everything was pristine, down to the last detail. The beige tiles in the kitchen formed a perfect symmetry against the polished marble floors. Not a single smudge, not a single stray crumb. A sleek coffee machine stood beside the microwave, with colorful pods neatly arranged in a wooden tray. The oven, built seamlessly into the wall, added a touch of modernity.

A murmur from the living room caught her attention.

Naruto’s voice, urgent. Sasuke sat silently, facing the television, which was off—a black mirror.

Sakura cleared her throat, a deliberate interruption.

Naruto jolted upright, then grinned. “Sakura-chan! I’m so glad you came—I’m starving!”

Sasuke gazed at her, his expression always unreadable and blank. Outside, the cicadas hummed, filling the silence between Sasuke and Sakura with more sound than they had shared thus far.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m excited. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in so long.”

Naruto’s grin widened as he moved to the table, Hinata sliding into the seat beside him.

Sakura took her place across from them, half-expecting Sasuke to sit on the opposite end.

But he didn’t. He sat beside her. She tugged the hem of her dress, near her abdomen.

He probably didn't want to seem too abrasive while sitting on the far opposite side of her; there was nothing to pull apart there, no meaning whatsoever.

They muttered a quiet, collective "Itadakimasu" and then dug in.

The fish was perfectly cooked, the charcoal leaving only the faintest wake on her tongue, the citrus lingering smooth and bright.

Sasuke’s legs filled the chair beside her—wide, long, taking up more space than she remembered. When they were younger, she used to think his legs looked too lanky for regular-sized chairs.

Her gaze flicked downward. His foot was angled toward her.

A blush crept into her cheeks. She quickly bit into the grilled eggplant but made no move to shift her feet.
 
His elbow brushed against hers as he reached for the rice. He murmured a barely audible “Sorry.”

Hinata’s voice filled the quiet. “What do you guys think?” She smiled almost shyly.

Sakura swallowed, her voice gushing. “It’s amazing, Hinata.”

Sasuke didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained trained on the dish in front of him, his chopsticks moving with careful precision.

She shifted her foot—just slightly. A brief touch, the smallest contact, before retreating.

His eyes immediately lifted to hers.

She looked away, back to Hinata.

“It’s good,” he whispered.

Something about him felt distant. She remembered telling Ino that Sasuke always seemed lost in thought—not unlike herself.

When she first met Ino as a child, she felt jealous for numerous reasons. However, the main reason was her belief that Ino had pure mind-reading abilities.

Her wish to read minds still resonated strongly, more than ever.

Hinata brightened. “I’m glad! I’ve been trying different ingredients—the lemon zest is from my backyard.”

She turned toward the window, where a glimpse of green peeked through—the small garden she had been tending. “If you don’t mind, Sakura,” she continued, “would you like to see it?”

Sakura’s heart swelled unexpectedly. She had always wanted a garden but never had the time or patience. “Yes,” she said, already pushing her plate aside. “I’d love to.”

Naruto patted his stomach and wiped his mouth. “That was so good, I might quit ramen!”

Hinata gave him a small but pointed look. He quickly corrected himself, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek in apology.

She blushed, beautiful and familiar—still not wholly used to the way Naruto loved out loud.

Sakura glanced at Sasuke, curious. He didn’t look surprised. Not embarrassed, not indifferent, not even uncomfortable.

He just looked.

His knee slightly bumped hers—

Naruto suddenly jumped up, his arm slung over Sasuke’s shoulder. “Let me show you pictures of my wedding,” he declared, grinning. “Since your bastard ass didn’t want to come.”

Sasuke clicked his tongue and shoved him off. “I was across the world, and you only told me a week before, idiot.”

“Still,” Naruto griped, his voice fading as he dragged Sasuke toward the back of the living room.

Hinata stepped closer, gently grabbing Sakura’s wrist. “The yard is right this way.”

Outside, the air was cooler than before but still hot. The grass was lush, the concrete paths smooth, and the white tall picket fence stood proudly. The sky burned with twilight colors—pink, orange, deepening blue. If she looked closely, maybe a hint of purple.

It was all beautiful, fresh, new. A home, warm and lived in.

A quiet spark of envy curled in her throat. She swallowed it down, and the lemon zest bit back.

The garden was different from last time. Cucumber plants had budded, and red wild strawberries ripened under the fading light. A small pot housed a young lemon tree. Near the garden’s edge, a carefully arranged cluster of flowers bloomed—clearly from Ino.

“I almost always prefer cooking with ingredients from my backyard,” Hinata murmured, crouching to adjust a vine.

Sakura smiled. “It’s impressive. I tried keeping a bonsai from Ino’s shop once, but I never had time to take care of it. It’s starting to turn yellow.”

Hinata stilled, then frowned. “Naruto told me this is your only free day?”

Sakura exhaled. “Yeah, but I made my schedule that way.”
 
Hinata didn’t respond right away. Then, gently, she said, “Maybe someone could take care of the plant for you in the meantime.”

Sakura didn’t like forcing others to care for her things. It was her responsibility. Still, the thought of someone else tending to it was appealing. Even a small plant could ease her burdens.

“Maybe,” she muttered. The heat wave had subsided since the morning, leaving only a slight warmth as her simple dress flowed gracefully.

"I'm not sure if Naruto has mentioned this, but I’ve taken on many of the Hyūga clan’s duties. Sometimes, I ask Naruto to help me with tasks I know I can't handle alone. In return, I help him with whatever he needs." Her voice was tentative, her brows furrowed slightly.

“So, I know how you feel, Sakura.” She met Sakura’s eyes now—soft, not pleading, but urging. “I hope Sasuke can do that for you, too, one day.”

Sakura's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name.

She wouldn’t tell Hinata this—her pearly eyes were too gentle, too understanding—but it was hard to imagine Sasuke doing that for her.

It’s not that she believed it was outside of Sasuke’s character; it was just hard to believe especially when he needed something to bridge him every time for them to interact.

She smiled slightly, her eyes glistening. “Thank you, Hinata. That means a lot.”

Her voice wavered as she continued, her words tumbling out. “Naruto has offhandedly mentioned it—your clan duties. I don’t understand why you take them on when you’re an Uzumaki now.”

Hinata’s face contorted into a small grimace. “All these new clans moving in are starting to make a dent in the Hyūga’s political position. My father needs me. At least until Hanabi is old enough.”

Sakura knew the village was changing, transforming rapidly—but to see it etched so clearly on Hinata’s face was troubling.

At the hospital, she could already see how the board delegates were growing more influenced by outside politics. It was one of the main reasons they wouldn’t let Yuki go to the inner district. Or any other civilian in the future, for that matter.

Hinata picked up a nearby bucket and gathered lemons and wild strawberries, pressing it toward Sakura when she tried to refuse.

“No, please. I know you love strawberries,” Hinata insisted.

Sakura hesitated, then bowed her head in deep gratitude. “Thank you.”

Hinata jokingly commented, surprising her. “You live near the Hyūga compound, right? With Hanabi?”

Sakura scoffed, her ears turning red, recalling the awkward way she had to formally introduce herself to the Hyūga branch members. “Yeah, is it that obvious?"

Hinata smiled. “Very.”

Naruto slid open the back door, his voice drifting in mid-conversation. “Hinata, do you remember how many people we invited to our wedding? Sasuke doesn’t believe me.”

Hinata hummed thoughtfully. “I can’t remember the exact number, but we had to kick almost everyone out. There just wasn’t enough space.”

Naruto grinned. “See, I told you!”

Sasuke deadpanned. “That’s not a number, dumbass.” He stepped onto the patio, glancing at Sakura.

Hinata rose from her crouch, brushing off her hands. Dust swirled in the air. “It’s getting late,” she reminded gently.

The sky wasn’t quite as deep as Sasuke's indigo shirt—rich and smooth but not yet dark.

“You should come over more often, even if it’s just for a few minutes,” Hinata suggested.

“I should,” Sakura admitted, realizing dinner had been more enjoyable than she expected. She adjusted the weight of the small bucket in her hands.

Naruto yawned, stretching his arms behind his head. “Today was fun. We should do this again, but watch a movie or play board games.”

Sakura dully commented, “We’re not watching that samurai movie again.”

"Aw man, you know that’s my favorite," Naruto whined, moving toward the gate in the backyard, his soft sandals dragging against the concrete. Sakura noted the backyard had a latched door at its outermost edge and a white picket gate.

Naruto studied Sasuke for a moment before flashing a tired but bright grin. “Goodnight, guys! I’ll see you later.” He squeezed Hinata’s hand.

Sakura echoed, “Goodnight,” offering a smile to break the silence.
 
Sasuke nodded toward the couple—a silent thank you.

The soft sound of the door shutting was a punctual reminder that the day had ended, leaving her alone with Sasuke in the dark.

“Um,” she began. “I guess I’ll see you next Saturday?”

He stared at her for a moment before glancing at the sky, his hair falling like a black veil.

She wanted to cut it. To see both of his eyes together—their mismatched nature.

Then, after a beat, he turned back to her. “I’ll walk you home.” His voice carried a sense of finality.

She swallowed, a rush of shame washing over her. Naruto had probably given him a pep talk. Maybe he felt guilty. Once again, Naruto was the bridge between them.

“You don’t…” She hesitated. Sasuke’s eyes froze with anticipation.

She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to act out of pity. There was no need to compensate. But standing there, waiting, he made her rethink. 

Her mind was her biggest enemy, fixated on the concept of a "bridge." Perhaps there wasn’t any bridge at all; maybe it was merely Sasuke, his shoulders growing tenser by the moment. No continuity or logic—just action and inaction and the meaning of what he does and doesn't do.

But Sakura couldn't even read in between those.

Eyes on the ground, she reworded it, softer. “You don’t need to, Sasuke-kun.”

“I know.” His eye softened, his voice quiet in the dead of night, the cicadas long gone.

She focused on the concrete beneath her feet—smooth, a stark contrast to the roughness of her neighborhood. “Okay,” she sighed, adjusting the bucket on her hip. “Thank you.”

He continued walking beside her, their elbows nearly grazing.

Despite being in the inner district—crowded with heavy traffic, bars, and ambitious night dwellers—the neighborhood was pleasant. This was one of the quieter areas. The buildings lining the road varied in materials; some were framed in dark wood, while most were held together by brick.

“I don’t think I really thanked you nearly enough for that bookshelf,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“You thanked me once enough,” he reiterated, gazing at the streetlamp above.

She huffed. “Well, I’ll thank you again. That saved me so much funding for the clinic.”

He turned toward her, his attention fully on her now. “You would’ve paid for that with your clinic fund?”

She blushed. “It would go toward Yuki, so technically, it fits the objective.”

His brow twitched. “… You could’ve said no.”

She pursed her lips. She wanted so badly to point out his hypocrisy.

He had bought it for Yuki anyway. He didn’t have to. He was back in Konoha—he needed that money.

So why had he done it? And why did he think it was wrong for Sakura to do the same?

But she held back from asking, aware of how fragile things were between them. Any pushback from him might be too much for her to handle right now. Not when he looked at her like that—so expressive, his mouth twisted in a way that let her pretend it was concern on his face, not for the quiet indignation that it is.

She sighed. "It's hard to say no to those kids. They go through a lot, so I don’t mind spoiling them a little."

Streetlamps buzzed, casting just enough light to mark their locations but not enough for her to make any real judgments about the neighborhood—probably due to a light pollution policy. It made the stars more visible.

Tiny, faint clusters scattered across the sky. Aquila wasn’t visible as far as she could tell, so she hadn’t bothered looking closely. Maybe that was the Cyg—

“Why do you do that?”

His voice jolted her.

She lifted a brow. “Do what?”

His gaze briefly flickered to her abdomen. Only then did she realize she had been smoothing over her scar, even though her dominant hand still held the bucket.

Heat crawled up her neck. She quickly stopped. “It’s a bad habit,” she muttered, voice small, sheepish.

He stared at her stomach, then back at her. His voice was low. “Who…”

His mouth pressed into a hard line, struggling to shape the words.

“When did you get that scar?”

She glanced down at her stomach for a moment before turning to face him. “When the Akatsuki captured Gaara,” she breathed in, memories flooding back like a haze. “I was ordered to eliminate Sasori alongside Chiyo-sama—may she rest in peace.”

His eye widened with recognition. “I remember,” he muttered. His voice was quiet in the stillness, but clear to her.

“You do?” she asked, her hand twitching as she absentmindedly smoothed the scar again.

He nodded. “You were the first Konoha ninja to defeat an Akatsuki member, right?”

She nodded absently, shocked that Sasuke knew about such a significant moment in her life.

She wanted to ask him more—what else had he heard about her? What did he think of her fight when—

“We’re here,” he announced calmly.

“Oh!” she realized, fumbling for her key.

“Sakura,” he said, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite name.

The last time he stood on her porch, illuminated by the sun, he had resembled the Agni god.

Tonight, he transformed into Chandra, the moon god. Deep blues washed over his face, the distant moon casting a soft glow along the visible side of his features.

His lips pressed together before finally parting. “…You forgot to schedule my bloodwork.”

She gasped. “Oh, gods! I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I forgot!”

She would have been more entranced by how his mouth twisted into a tiny smile if she weren’t so alarmed.

His heart rate wasn’t abnormal—she knew that, even through her worry. But the fact that she had forgotten was extremely concerning. Had she been so caught up in her head all this time? First, she hadn’t even remembered that Sasuke had been traveling, and now she’d forgotten to schedule his bloodwork.

Her heart pounded at the thought, brows knitting together in a deep furrow. If she’d forgotten his bloodwork, what else had she forgotten?

“Please come to my office at noon, whenever you can. Ask for Hana, and she’ll show you to my office in the east wing.” Her voice came out winded.

Sasuke’s face returned to its usual neutral expression, but laughter coated his voice. “Don’t worry.”

Sakura thought she saw his two pointer fingers twitch, but as soon as she blinked, his hand fell still.

It was dark. She was tired.

“I’ll see you soon, then.”

She could only nod, mumbling something similar before gently closing the door.

Startled, she lingered at the stairs longer than necessary, blinking.

Her eyes drifted to the beautiful, lush arrangements of wild strawberries and organic lemons—then to the wilting bonsai, its yellowed hues blending into the base azalea color.

Why did Sasuke ask for the bloodwork? What was the bridge there? Maybe his health, but since when did he care enough to ask? 

She rubbed her forehead, then clenched her fist before reaching out, grazing the tiny petals of the bonsai—half-wrinkled, half-soft.

Sometimes, she wished her Byakugou seal wasn’t merely a colored mark blending into her skin but something she could feel—an imprint pressed into her like a constant reminder of who she was. 

She had a long week ahead of her.

 
.
 
 
.
 
 
.

“Hey, Sakura-san,” Yuki asked, the light from her windows hitting her eyes, dust filtering through the air. The sound of the breathing vest was a gentle drone. The brand-new bookshelf—pastel, misty, and jagged—stood like the center of attention in her living room.

“Hm,” Sakura lightly hummed, flicking through pages of potential jobs Yuki had been interested in, asking Sakura to vet them.

Freelance writing would suit her needs—

“Why would Sasuke live in the outer district if he attended the academy?”

She paused, looking directly at Yuki.

How could she put this?

“Well,” she exhaled, puncturing the air, “Sasuke-kun… isn’t necessarily popular with the rest of the ninja population.”

Yuki didn’t like that answer, a frown on her face. “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.” She huffed.

Sakura’s eyebrow twitched, irritation coloring her words. “It’s not that I don’t want to—I can’t.”

Yuki’s eyes strayed to the bookshelf; lips pursed in thought.

“Fuck them, then,” Yuki exclaimed before falling silent, a mischievous smirk danced at the edge of her mouth.

Sakura scolded her loudly, and Yuki giggled, high-pitched and twinkling.

She finished her breathing techniques and removed the vest.

Complete silence ensued, to Sakura’s content.

“Did you guys ever date?”

Sakura embarrassingly turned immediately red—she could feel it from ear to somewhere along her neck. “Why would you say that?” she stammered, job applications forgotten.

Yuki propped her head in one hand, a smile on her face—gentle and all-knowing, not quite fitting for a fourteen-year-old.

“Whenever you two would look at each other,” she uttered, voice light, almost teasing.

“It’s like there’s no one else in the world.”