Chapter Text

Sakura Haruno and the Routes to True Love

Route Two: Deidara of Iwa - Red Heart

To Sakura’s surprise, not only is this world’s Neji Hyuuga perfectly normal and not holding a long-standing blood feud against Hinata—he seems nice. He’s even on a pre-med path like her, though he’s a year older. 

“My dad and I had a bit of a falling out in high school,” Hinata explains, gesturing to Neji, “because literally everyone else in my family is in or lined up for the medical field. Doctors, nurses, dentists, whatever. They’re everywhere. Neji’s wanted to be a neurosurgeon since he was seven. I’ve always been an art kid, so we would all butt heads.”

“He came around after your photography exhibit Junior year though,” Neji points out.

“True,” Hinata smiles fondly. “Besides, my little sister wants to take over the family practice, so he didn’t have to worry. Plus I committed to a Business minor, and Dad’s always looking to make a deal. I get it. We get along fine. I painted the mural in their waiting room, actually.” She pulls a picture up on her phone, showing Sakura and Ino a photograph of a doctor’s waiting room, the wall behind the chairs covered in a painstakingly detailed field of painted flowers. 

The girls both coo over the beauty of it, Sakura grinning, “I didn’t know you could paint. That’s so gorgeous.”

“You’re a regular Jack of all trades, huh?” Ino teases her. It’s true—between the gardening club, photography club, painting, her Art major and Business minor—it’s a wonder she has any time at all.

Hinata flushes, embarrassed at the praise and changing the subject, “Are you both coming to the next gardening club meeting?”

They both agree. Sakura thinks about how she wishes she were involved in more clubs—and then she feels silly. There’s nothing stopping her. Well, nothing besides plotting to beat the Root app, and hell—is that really going to run her life?

“Maybe I’ll come too. When is it?” Neji says, pointedly making eye contact with Sakura.

She averts her gaze sharply.

Hinata quirks a brow at that, “Since when do you care about plants?”

“Hm?” Neji takes a languid sip of his drink, “Nonsense, I’ve always been interested in lovely blossoms.”

Ino chokes on her spit, looking sharply at Sakura, and back at Neji.

“You must be in Biology 101 now, right Sakura?” Neji tilts his head, silky hair swaying with the movement, nearly hypnotizing her. “If you ever wanted, I’d be happy to go over my notes with you. I got an A in that class.”

Sakura consciously stops her jaw from dropping. Did he—? No, that’s not asking her out, right? Like, a study date? “Well, I could always use more friends in my field, but I don’t want to be a bother,” Sakura tests. She’s not ready to date. Right? Right. Even if he has excellent cheekbones and incredible hair. Sakura has enough on her plate in her dreams.

Ino nudges her sharply with her elbow.

“Ouch,” Sakura hisses at her, but she doesn’t turn her way.

“I didn’t mean as friends,” Neji clarifies, the epitome of calm and collected.

“Oh,” Sakura says, and then again as his words register, “oh. Well, um, let’s settle on maybe?”

“Maybe it is,” he agrees amicably, returning to his food.

By the end of their meal, Sakura is in a great mood—which just goes to show how the universe conspires against her. As Ino and Sakura walk, she sees Sasuke out of the corner of her eye. And then, she sees a head of bright red hair that brings her good mood to a crashing halt.

Is that?

No. No, it can’t be. Sakura squints.

“Oh, no fucking way,” Ino whispers conspiratorially. “No-o-o fucking way. That’s Karin Uzumaki.” 

“Yup,” Sakura says flatly, and Sasuke must sense her wrath, because their eyes meet and he grimaces. That’s Karin Uzumaki alright. Karin ‘Please, Sakura, she’s just an annoying classmate’ Uzumaki from high school, nestled comfortably against his arm. 

“Gross, don’t look at that vulture,” Ino narrows her eyes, grabbing Sakura’s arm and marching her toward their dormitory to change out her laundry.

Sakura thinks she hears her name from behind her, but she doesn’t look back. If her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, honestly, she doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. 

She forces her eyes straight ahead, on autopilot for the rest of the day, until she knows her head can hit the pillow. 

…

Deidara offers to carry Sakura every so often, and Sakura pretends this means he’d like to hold her rather than what it probably actually meant—that she looks as tired as she feels. “Healing takes a lot of energy,” Deidara protests when she accuses him of babying her. “I’m just making sure you’re up to your top tier level of kickass, yeah.”

“I’m always at top tier,” Sakura scoffs, but she reaches out to hold his hand anyway, if only to ease the worried look on his face. After all, by fixing the glitch, Deidara was only left with the impression that she hadn’t been feeling well - there was no indication whatsoever that he recalled Gaara seeing them intimately. 

Deidara immediately hones in on the connection, his thumb tracing small swirls along her skin. He hums happily, lost in the action. 

Sakura briefly wonders what circle of hell she would be sent to for her newfound love of soft, sad, touch-starved boys. She always thought she liked bad boys—the cold and aloof type—but honestly, there’s something so nice and personal about being loved like your presence makes them melt. She wonders if Deidara realizes he has a hand thing. It’s been fairly obvious since their first night together. She inwardly reminds herself to play into that later.

Temari keeps up easy conversation; she talks about Suns, about how things have been since Gaara finally took the official title of Kazekage, about her last trip as ambassador to Konoha and the weird ramen she tried at Ichiraku’s the last time she was there. As part of her duties, she apparently visits quite frequently. The other Jonin are quiet—maybe even, or so Sakura expects, intimidated by Temari—but they pipe in occasionally about the last time they’d been to Konoha and what they did there. 

They ask Deidara questions, not so much about the Akatsuki as about himself: everything from more details on where he was from to how exactly he makes the clay explode. Deidara, flattered by their interest, is eager to explain—he’s from Iwa, up in the mountains, where it’s always cold; most of the houses are built into the mountains, and the people are fairly traditional, if not strict; his parents died when he was young, and there was little purpose for an orphan in Iwa if not to become an excellent soldier. So, he became an excellent soldier.

To an extent, though she’s never experienced war, Sakura understood that. It even reminded her a little of Gaara. She gives his hand a squeeze and he returns it, turning briefly to give her a smile.

There was no love or passion for Deidara in being a shinobi, but it put food on the table, and the money gave him the resources to have his own place where he could pursue his art. Learning to detonate the clay was everything for him that Iwa wasn’t—it was inspiring, and more importantly, it was his gift. Perfecting his art, and the theft of the jutsu that helped him perfect it, was the reason he’d been proclaimed a missing nin—but Deidara was the type of person to live the way he needed to for what he loved, so he didn’t mind, and when the Akatsuki pursued him it meant just as little as being an Iwa nin. 

One of the Jonin is bold enough to ask how he and Sakura ended up together. “Not exactly a romantic first meeting, I imagine,” the Jonin sheepishly adds.

Deidara scoffs playfully, but his grip on her hand tightens, “I’ll never forget her first words to me: ‘What are you, five?’ Fireworks.” 

“He pulled my hair,” Sakura tattles, turning to Temari for sympathy. “I was just sitting there, a prisoner of war in my sad little cell, minding my own business.” 

“Hey, I saved you from that cell!” 

“If we’re being technical—”

“Pfft,” Deidara rolls his eyes, “technicalities.” He continues, free hand tucking back a loose strand of his hair, and he shoots Sakura a mischievous smile, “We got together because I didn’t want the Akatsuki to hurt her. It became quickly evident that I was going to have to make a choice, Akatsuki member or the Sakura’s safest option. We ended up together on the way to Suna.” 

To her surprise, the group starts asking Sakura questions, and she’s embarrassed with how eager Deidara is to hear the answers. She pauses before answering, embarrassed with how eager Deidara is to hear the answers. She pauses before responding to each question—while she doubts her favorite hobbies or foods are detrimental to the game if she’s not accurate to the character, and they’re vague enough anyway, she at least gives the game a moment to provide an answer before responding. 

When they finally do make camp, Temari warns them to prepare for the desert night to feel much colder than their breaks during the day. Deidara and Sakura share a look. How cold could it be, compared to being huddled in a frosty cave? Still, Sakura will take any excuse to rest. One of the Jonin helps them summon a barricade—to block the wind and the sand as they sleep—and Sakura makes quick work of unfurling the sleeping bags that Suna had provided. 

“You know,” Deidara teases, bumping his hip into hers, “we’d be a lot warmer in just one.”

Sakura chuckles in response and sets the bags next to one another, under the protection of their barricade. 

The group eats around a small, hearty fire and Sakura begins to look over one of the scrolls Chiyo had given her—an introduction to medical ninjutsu, with a focus on chakra control. She knows quite a bit about chakra control from her time with Gaara, learning to climb trees and buildings, but getting from step A (focusing her own chakra into her feet, a skill she still isn’t extremely confident in) to step B (sending her chakra out and using it to heal another person) seems like an impossible gap in progress. 

She tests out the hand signs, practicing on her surely developing sunburn, imagining the growth of new cells rising up in the form of skin to replace the damaged cells. She can feel the response of her chakra to her call, and her left palm glows green as she holds it over her right hand. She waits a pregnant pause, holding the chakra over her sunburned knuckles and hoping something would happen. There’s an itch, but nothing else. She heaves a disappointed sigh, but just as she’s about to give up, there’s a visible shift as new skin rises up to flake away the burn. Sakura watches, eyes wide with shock. She lifts her hand to her cheeks and feels the itch as her sunburn flakes, and quickly brushes it off of her face.

“Hey, great,” Deidara interrupts her work, coming to kneel next to her. “Me next.” 

Sakura shifts her hand up to his cheeks, irritated from the constant wind and sand, and feels the pull of her chakra into his skin. When nothing happens, she hangs on the expectation, waiting for the new skin that should rise to replace the damaged skin like hers had. Nothing happens. She waits a few extra moments beyond when she’d decided to give up before lowering her hands, frowning, about to say something when Deidara cuts her off.

“No problem,” Deidara says chipperly, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “You’re probably just exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Sakura mumbles, disappointed. “I must be.” So, healing herself comes relatively naturally, but healing other people is more difficult—and she can’t do it on her own, without the help of a mini-game, quite yet. 

Deidara settles contentedly beside her, watching the scenery as Sakura resumes her studying. 

Sakura reads until the sun starts to set, the colors changing around her as she memorizes methods for medical ninjutsu. She may not be able to apply them yet, but if she memorizes the scrolls, then she’s bound to be able to apply them eventually. After all, there was a point that she thought she wouldn’t be able to use the Substitution Jutsu either. 

Soon, the sun is sinking below the dunes, and Deidara interrupts her studying to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Look at the sky, Sakura.”

She looks up and sucks in a sharp breath at the brilliant colors across the sky: reds, oranges, the beginnings of purples. The sand shines, shadows cast behind the slopes, and Deidara’s hand finds hers. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” He says huskily, his lips grazing her ear.

Assuming he’s about to say something cheesy, Sakura starts to turn her head toward him, but his hand shoots to her shoulder as though to stop her.

“Stay still,” he says urgently, “watch every moment.”

So she does. She watches the reds curl along the sand and give way to purples, deep like bruises that fade and fade until the sun’s dipped below the horizon and soon the only light is their somber, flickering fire. “Wow,” she says, finally, when all is night and she’s finally realized the chill in the air. She turns to look at him, ready to tell him—well, that he was right, that the melting of day into night is a near magical thing to experience—to find he wasn’t watching the sunset at all. He is watching her, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth curled upward in a content closed smile, drunk on her.

Sakura flushes, “H-hey, I thought you were watching the sunset too.” 

Deidara hums softly in response. He was already close, and just when she thinks he’s going to kiss her, he rises slowly to his feet and helps her up gently. “Come on,” his hands envelop hers, his thumbs tracing over her wrists reverently, “bedtime.” 

Sakura nods, lost in him, following as he leads her backwards and away from the fire. One of the others begins to snuff the flames to embers—Temari had volunteered to keep watch. 

With little thought, Deidara huffs and kicks one of the sleeping bags from their spot. “We’re sharing,” he says stubbornly.

Sakura squeaks, eyes shifting to the others getting comfortable in their own sleeping bags behind their own wind blockades. 

Deidara tuts and quietly admonishes her, “Not for sex, goof. But I’ll be damned if I’m not going to hold you.”

Sakura melts a little at that—how can she say no? “If you unzip it all the way, we can use it as a mat and the second one as a blanket.”

Pleased with her agreement, Deidara sets up the sleeping bag, and soon the pair is curled up together. Deidara pulls her against his chest so that Sakura’s cheek is snuggled securely against his collarbone. 

Her fingers ghost up, under his shirt, and she can practically feel the accusatory look he shoots her. “I’m being good,” she whispers, her hand resting comfortably on his heart. She knows he has a seal there, but it doesn’t activate, and the thumps of his heartbeat are comforting. How can something fake feel so certain under her fingertips? “I just wanted to feel your heartbeat.” They stay like that, warm despite the desert chill, Deidara’s steady heart lulling her to sleep.

“Nobody’s naked in there, right? ‘Cause it’s upsy-daisy time.” Temari’s voice wakes them before dawn, and the pair emerges with tired grumbles.

“Everyone’s fully clothed,” Sakura chuckles as they get up, quickly moving to pack up so they can get going toward home—as weird as it is, she really misses her virtual bed. 

Deidara offers to carry Sakura’s bag—and immediately after, Sakura herself—but she politely declines. After a full night’s rest, she feels fully recovered and ready to go.

Though she’s spent most of this route in discomfort—kidnapped, freezing cold, injured—Sakura couldn’t help but be enamored with the bright spots. Deidara’s smile, when he looks at her, could melt ice. As they walk, he holds her hand and urges Sakura to spot the tiny, meticulous, ever-changing details of the vast desert landscape.

Even the other Jonin are growing a piqued interest in his philosophy. “The desert will be a desert for as long as we live, longer, sure,” Deidara explains, one hand gesturing erratically and the other tracing tiny circles over Sakura’s hand with his thumb, “but in no two moments is it exactly the same. Every beautiful moment is fleeting. The dunes will change and shift, the clouds move, the sun hits the rocks just a certain way and it’s always a tiny bit different. So, every moment is precious and you should appreciate each one.”

It is, Sakura thinks, a lovely philosophy: to cherish the little moments in life, to create them in rushes of excitement—something Deidara clearly tries to achieve with his explosions. Each one is a little different: purpose, result, and method. 

“But what’s the point of dating if everything changes?” One of their companions challenges. “What’s the point in anything, let alone love?”

Sakura flushes, because they haven’t said the l-word yet, and knowing it meant the end of the route made it incredibly daunting, but Deidara is unfazed. “Love is the accumulation of all those moments. Sakura is beautiful every day, but the way she’s beautiful shifts constantly. Like when the sun hits her skin just right, or when she’s embarrassed, or the way her nose does that thing when she’s mad—”

“Alright, alright,” Temari jumps in, giving Sakura a sly smile, “we didn’t walk this far so your girlfriend can die of embarrassment before we get you both home.” 

Sakura softly meeps and Deidara squeezes her hand reassuringly. 

“The point is: love is appreciating all of these intimate moments, as many of them as you can get. I’m greedy. I’d like them all, yeah.”

Sakura’s heart hammers in her chest and she tugs softly on Deidara’s sleeve. 

He turns his attention to her, blue eyes bright, “Hm?”

She tugs at him again, tilting her chin upward, her lips slightly puckered to indicate what she wants.

Deidara swoops in eagerly, peppering her lips with chaste kisses as they walk. 

The other ninja hive teasing groans, but the mood is playful and light, and Sakura feels like she could walk a million miles.

They are not prepared, as the landscape slowly changes over the day from the shifting sands to the beginnings of the rocky terrain that leads into the Land of Fire, for the inevitable. That is to say, they are not prepared for Itachi Uchiha and Kisame Hoshigaki. 

Sakura’s surprised they are the two that come for them. After all, they’re bordering Itachi’s home country, where he and his Sharingan are bound to be most recognizable, and everything about Kisame made her assume he was best suited to the water. Combat here, even if the desert has given way to the beginning of the dense forest leading to Konoha, didn’t make much sense for the pair of them. 

Deidara senses them first, tensing up. Everyone senses the shift in mood immediately, taking a fighting stance before he can say anything, and Sakura can practically feel the chakra presence like a roaring wave as a thick tree is leveled in front of their path.

“Well, well,” Kisame announces his presence loudly, “haven’t you two been trouble lately?” 

“Sakura,” Deidara instructs, the mouths in his hands already hard at work, “get behind me, yeah.” 

Kisame stands before the group, broadsword brandished in all of its bandage-wrapped glory.

Sakura knows it’s foolish; she knows that even if she could replicate the earth shattering strength that had surprised everyone with—including herself—earlier in the route, she has no idea how to control it. But still, she can feel the mettle within her saying fuck that, “I’m fighting.”

“Very well,” another voice surprises them both, and Sakura whirls around with her fists raised to see crimson red that bled all other colors out of her world.

“Sakura,” a smooth voice calls out to her. 

She opens her eyes to this world, painted in the negative. The sky is blood red—no, Sakura realizes as she sees the man standing in a forest suddenly black as night, Sharingan red. She has seen those ruby red eyes in action only in his brother, and never against her, but here is the stern-faced Itachi Uchiha as her opponent. “I hear you bested Sasori.”

“Deidara did all of the hard work.”

“That’s not how Sasori tells it,” Itachi approaches her and, as her awareness fades into this reality, she can feel the stretch in her arms as she’s bound to a cross. She glances around, but her allies and Kisame are gone. Or rather, she is gone, to wherever Itachi has brought her.

“Where am I?” Sakura says, a clear bite in her voice. “I warned you already, Uchiha—”

“It will be a quick battle. The Sand Shinobi do not stand a chance against Kisame. Even Deidara, who at this moment is more preoccupied with you, cannot defeat him. And even if he could,” Itachi’s eyes flash, “I have bested him before.”

Sakura knew this already from the preview, and she can’t help the shudder that runs up her spine, but she clenches her fists stubbornly, “That was before.”

“Surrender, and I may spare you this fate,” Itachi warns solemnly. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Sakura scoffs, and she’s a little satisfied to earn a blink of surprise. “Kill me so I can respawn and land an earth shattering punch right to your stupidly chiseled jaw.” 

If he’s registered anything she said as not making sense, it doesn’t show outright on his face, but a piercing noise rings throughout the forest. With it, the black and white scenery splits, lines of code appearing at the seams in bursts of zeros and ones. Sakura falls to the ground, the bindings of her cross disappearing, and she whirls around, terrified that she’s broken the game. 

Itachi’s stoic expression melts into plain confusion, and before them, amongst the zeros and ones, a scene from Sakura’s earliest memories appears in normal coloring. It’s her childhood birthday party, a young Itachi Uchiha holding a pristine looking cake out for her to blow out the candles. Sasuke claps impatiently for cake and his mother affectionately ruffles his hair. They sing to her and Sakura blows out her candles. Mikoto, the Uchiha boys’ mother, winks and announces that Itachi has been working for weeks to perfect making strawberry shortcake just for her party. 

“Mom!” Itachi whines, face stricken with a sheepish grimace.

“Thank you,” little Sakura beams, “my favorite!” 

This Itachi clearly recognizes his own family, even if he didn’t know any of Sakura’s family at the party. Even if he doesn’t exist there, not this Itachi who murdered most of the very people he just watched scattered in Sakura’s backyard, that’s undeniably him and undeniably his family. “What is this?” Itachi asks Sakura, his face ashen.

The scene changes, and any rebuttal Sakura has regarding her innocence dies on her lips as the memory overtakes his own genjutsu. Instead, an older Itachi—well, a few years younger than this one, since she can clearly remember this embarrassing moment from high school—appears. “It wasn’t a secret,” high school Sakura says, scuffing her shoe along the concrete. “We just weren’t ready to tell our families. It’s new, you know? Sorry you had to find out that way.” She gives an awkward, short laugh.

“Oh, no,” that Itachi says with his usual seriousness, looking up from his tumbler cup of coffee to give her a tight lipped smile, “it was a surprise, but you two are my favorite people. I’m happy for you, Sakura.” 

“You’re the best, Itachi,” Sakura says sheepishly, relief evident in her smile. “No more making out on the couch, scout’s honor.” 

The real Sakura blanches. Why is she remembering this? 

That Itachi chuckles softly, eyes flickering back down to his cup, “You’re not a scout.” 

“Stop this,” the game’s Itachi snaps at her, his fingers darting to curl dangerously around her neck. “What have you done to my genjutsu?” 

“Dude,” Sakura wheezes, kicking around him sharply, “you’re the one doing this!” Isn’t he? She lands a solid kick to his knee, and she can feel herself dissolving into dust, or particles, or whatever makes this place. The fabric of it begins to unwind, fraying at the edges, and then Sakura comes to.

The Itachi before her looks nowhere near as composed as the Itachi who sent her into that—that dream world, his eyes now squinting and strained. It buys enough time, Sakura thinks, for her to get out of the way. Just as she bounds on her feet to put distance between them, an explosion rocks Itachi square in the chest. 

In one fluid movement, she’s snatched by the elbow and positioned behind Deidara so that she’s at the center of their circle of allies—the Sand shinobi facing Kisame on one side and Deidara squares against a staggering Itachi on the other. “Can you stand?” Deidara asks, focusing on the clay spiders forming in his open palms. He doesn’t give Itachi a break, the spiders leaping to singe him as they violently explode in targeted blasts that drive him further back.

“Yes,” Sakura says, focusing on him—Temari has a three-on-one against Kisame and, not that Sakura is much help against experienced fighters, Deidara is going to need her more. “I’m fine!” Did he see her memories? Did he know how Itachi did that?

“He used the mangekyou on you and you’re fine?” Deidara asks incredulously. 

Sakura doesn’t know that word, but she doesn’t have time to press, and instead she draws a kunai knife from her pouch. “It was trippy. I’ll explain later.” 

Itachi tears back, moving so quickly that Sakura can’t see the hand signs forming, but Deidara suspects what’s coming. He forms a substitution, snagging Sakura with him, but not quickly enough to stop the flames of Itachi’s fireball jutsu from singing his right pant leg. 

They reappear behind Itachi, and Deidara levels him with a clay explosive to the back. Sakura almost cries out as he crumples, and in a flash Kisame catches him and they make their escape—if Itachi is down, there went their huge tactical advantage. 

Sakura grits her teeth, choking down her cry for him and reminding herself that the burnt man wasn’t her Itachi—even if it was Sakura’s fault this Itachi was thrown off in the first place. 

Deidara collapses propped against a tree, and Sakura is immediately tending to him. His pant leg is burnt away, the skin of his leg charred terribly. 

Sakura stifles a gag at the smell, focusing on tending to him. 

He pants, pupils wide under half lidded eyes as his fingers reach for her. He grazes her cheek, searching for any indication that she isn’t okay.

“Stop,” Sakura orders, her voice trembling as she tries to call upon her medical knowledge, “stay still and let me help you.” If she’d taken more time, if she’d just studied harder, if she’d been stronger—

“You’re okay, yeah,” Deidara finds his words, palm cupping her cheek. His thumb moves, spreading wetness—is she crying? When did she start crying?

The Sand shinobi rally quickly, maintaining a defensive stance around them as Sakura works. Sakura numbly hopes for a Mini-Game, or something, to come to her but all she has is what she’s already studied. The game gives her nothing. Her mind is blank, her hands hovering uncertainly over his burnt leg, and then she hears his terrible, wet intake of breath as the pain hits him all over again. 

His hand cringes away from her face, and the signs come to her.

She knew what she needed to happen and wills it so, the energy bubbling through her, and she can see it in her mind: bone, muscle, nerves, skin. Her shaky hands steady with newfound purpose, forming the signs and lowering over his skin to radiate soothing green.

There is no visible change, not at the surface, as her chakra seeps deep into the wound. It’s a terrible burn, there’s no denying it. The fire caught him just as they were escaping, and a moment or two longer might have killed them both. Deidara’s breathing steadies, and Sakura’s eyes flicker up to meet his.

She inhales sharply at his expression, his hair pulled back, his face smudged with ash. His eyes are half lidded, but he’s watching her keenly, like he’s afraid to miss a single moment. His jaw is slack, lips parted slightly, and she can see how hard he’s fighting to stay conscious. Her tears run anew when she sees the bright red of his heart meter. “Stay with me,” she says, her voice trembling, “I can’t lose you yet. Not right now.” It can’t be the end, not like this. 

“It’s just a burn,” comes his shaky reply. “It’s just some pain, Sakura. You know I’m stronger than this, yeah. Might pass out for a bit but I’m still kickin’.”

Of course, that wasn’t what she’d meant. The medical ninjutsu isn’t working. Nothing is happening. 

“You should get out of here,” Deidara says solemnly. She assumes he can tell nothing is happening. “Itachi was shaken, but given enough time, they’ll be back.”

“Are you suggesting leaving you?” Temari responds, and her tone isn’t as dismissive of the idea as Sakura wants it to be.

“No!” Rage shoots through her, and she glares at Deidara, “Don’t you dare suggest that again.”

One of the other shinobi volunteers to stay and try to hitch him up so that they could get Sakura out of immediate danger—if the Akatsuki recaptures her, Konohagakure will be exactly where it started, minus a living Deidara to help Sakura escape. The Sand shinobi agree it’s the best course of action to minimize potential casualties. 

“You have to get home,” he insists, his fingers flitting up to slowly graze her jaw. 

“What about you?” Sakura says, her bottom lip trembling. She couldn’t leave him here. The route can’t end like this. She focuses her energy on his leg. If she can just heal his leg, they can keep moving. He doesn’t have to say it.

Deidara heaves a sigh. “Nothing wonderful is meant to last forever.” His thumb traces longingly over her bottom lip as she works, “Go. I’ll get myself out of this somehow, but you have to go. I love you.”

And there it is. 

“I’m not ready to go,” Sakura’s vision goes blurry with her tears. “Please, just stay with me. Just stay. I’m supposed to take you to Konoha. Everything is supposed to be okay.” 

“I’ll find you,” Deidara says, shifting up, grimacing at the pain. “I promise I will, yeah.” 

“I love you too,” Sakura finally says, admitting it, leaning into his shoulder as she numbly hears Temari tell her that they need to go. She knows. Sakura knows it’s time to go. She’s not ready. 

“Let me see you,” Deidara says, smiling weakly at her confession. “To hold me over until I see you again. We made a promise. I’m not going to die.” He tilts her head up to look at him, humming contentedly, “I wish I didn’t make you cry right before we have to part ways. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make it up to you a million times over, yeah.” His gaze shifts to the side, “In my bag—”

“I’m not going to take your provisions, Deidara,” Sakura says, sharper than she would’ve liked.

“No, your mug. I kept it. You should take it with you.”

Sakura feels the lump in her throat get bigger. “Keep it. You’re going to return it to me in Konoha, alright? In your new home, with me?”

“Alright,” Deidara smiles at her fondly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, memorizing the texture of it between his fingers, “I’ll take good care of it until I see you again.” 

Sakura can hear his voice, she swears she can still hear his voice, but the warmth of his skin is gone and she wakes up in an empty bed. She cries until Sai can stand it no longer, stepping forward from the shadows, his hands outstretched toward her. 

Sai wraps his arms loosely around her as she weeps. His understanding of the code can only get him so far, and with every shake of her shoulders as the sobs wrack her body, he feels less and less confident that he understands the game script. When she says nothing to him, Sai speaks up uncertainly, “Physical intimacy is meant to help you feel comfort.” 

Sakura shoves him away sharply, turning to face away as he falls from her bed. She lets out a half-strangled noise of protest and anger as she wraps her arms around her knees. 

From the floor, Sai stares at her, frozen with surprise. He analyzes the behavior data for some indication of what he should do—perhaps nothing, perhaps the best course of action would be to leave her alone, but she’s clearly suffering. He doesn’t want her to suffer alone. “Sakura,” he finally says, hesitantly rising to his feet, “I don’t know how to comfort you.”

“Leave me alone!” Sakura snaps at him.

“But—” Sai’s fingers brush her shoulder, “But you’re in distress.”

“Of course I’m in distress,” Sakura twitches away from his touch. “This game is evil and it’s breaking my heart.” 

“You don’t have to play another route right away,” Sai offers. “Stay here, with me. I won’t hurt you.” 

She knows he isn’t real, that his servers or codes or whatever are just trying to interpret her in a logical way. Frustrated, she brings her hands up to her temple. This is a dream, she reminds herself, and if she knows it’s a lucid dream then can’t she—

…

Sakura spends most of the next day misty eyed, trying and failing to remain hidden in a corner of the library.

“Hey,” a voice calls out, far too loud for the study section of the library, “pink hair!” 

Sakura recognizes the voice and panics, not ready for the real world confrontation. She pretends she doesn’t hear him, hoping that he’ll take the hint and go away, but she has no such luck. 

Deidara playfully tugs a lock of her hair, “Oh come on, you’re too cute to be squirreled away up here all by your lonesome! Sakura—Did I remember that right? Sasori told me you almost drowned in his pool.”

“That’s true,” Sakura says, turning in her chair and rubbing the back of her hair, annoyed and hurt at the reminder of the route she’s just lost. “Deidara. Can I help you with something?” 

Deidara squints at her, taken aback, “Are you crying?”

“Yes.” She says, hardly in the mood to be coy about it. 

“Well, that’s no good,” Deidara huffs, puffing out his chest. “Come on. Let’s go forget whatever ass made you cry, yeah?” 

Sakura has to swallow a bitter laugh. It’s you, she wants to tell him. You’re the ass. Well, sort of. “I don’t know if I’m up for it.” 

“Are you sure?” Deidara hums, a mischievous smile on his lips, “Because I’m told impromptu adventure is my specialty.” 

And maybe it’s because she misses that smile, or because this Deidara’s done nothing wrong, but Sakura starts to pack up her books. “Alright,” she says, her hands trembling, “why the hell not?” 

“That’s the spirit,” Deidara beams, the blue eyes she loves bright with mirth.