Chapter Text

Her feet are in the water. It splashes around as she swings her legs. It's cool, drawing near icy. The flow is strong. It could be a river. She swings her feet again, the skin around her ankles wrinkled, and sinks them back in. The flow is stronger. She looks to her side. A wave approaches, drowning all that meets its path. Slowly, she brings her gaze back to her feet. The water is still cold. It feels nice.

Sakura closes her eyes.

Her eyes open to a familiar bare ceiling, and the first thing she feels is a skull-splitting headache, and the sweat-drenched Tee clinging to her skin.

"Damn it..." she moans, rubbing circles on the sides of her forehead, then dragging her fingers to the middle.

It's a slow morning. Sakura wakes up before her alarm rings and finds Sasuke long woken up. She staggers through her morning routine, dodging the scant amount of furniture in their room and the daggers that Sasuke's glares seem to drive into her soul. If she didn't know him better, she would have assumed something about her annoyed him. Knowing him better meant she knew what did. A little over a month has passed since she married Sasuke. A month that feels more like a year's worth of... events. Fights and Reconciliations. Secrets and Revelations. In this brief span of time, she has unravelled more than what came wrapped for her. And so, Sakura could tell, it likely aggravated him seeing her eyes as swollen as a bee-sting and being unable to ask the reason they were in said state. So, she does what every reasonable wife should. She ignores him. A shower might help, she thinks.

It doesn't.

With her face so puffy, Sakura doesn't expect Sasuke to hold out even ten more minutes without erupting into an interrogation. Today, they planned to have breakfast with the family, which can't afford to be a more awkward affair than it already is. Sakura sighs, drained and already wishing for nightfall. It's half past seven in the morning and a sweltering start to May. The air conditioning in their room broke down two days ago and if Sasuke, as busy as their life is, doesn't get it fixed after the third and last time she asks him, she's going to open the damn thing and fix it herself.

Sakura strolls into their living area, leaving father with a polite whisper of a greeting, and dashes to the kitchen for some ice. Before she sees it, she smells the fried eggs and tea, and confirms it when she finds mother on the scene. It's not the same, however. The sight of Mikoto she is used to seeing is her fluttering around, a sweet hum on her lips when she thinks no one is listening in, a habit she might have passed on to her son. What Sakura finds is Mother fumbling with pans she would normally handle with ease, lost in the scrambles of her own thoughts, dragging herself all around the kitchen with no intent to her actions. Is it just her, or does the woman seem smaller than usual, Sakura wonders, walking into the kitchen, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders.

"Let me."

She takes the wipe cloth from her tiny, wrinkled hands, which remain where they are as Mother regards her with large, pearllike eyes somewhat red and moist.

"No, Sakura, please—"

"It's okay, mother," Sakura reassures with a smile. "Let me do it."

Mikoto must have admitted defeat, because she drops her arms and steps away without a word. Sakura wipes the plates on the counter when Mikoto trots back with a cold eye mask.

"For me?" Sakura asks, pointing a finger towards herself, brows raised in surprise. Mother just having one in store for the occasion surely cannot be a coincidence.

Mikoto looks hesitant, eyes downcast, but she gives a small nod.

"I noticed your eyes were swollen when you came home last night..."

When she came home... that could not have been more than a few seconds of her passing by. And Sakura had done her utmost to avoid her. A flutter reverberates through her heart, ringing in her ears, soft lips parting from the overwhelming gesture, and yet all she can feel is the acrid taste in her mouth. Guilt is silly. How could the woman standing before her and the woman who, apparently, bought her be the same? And yet, Sakura beats herself up for all the resentment she made her a target of. Her throat clogs up as she takes the mask into her hands.

"Thank you..." she breathes out, her stomach twisting into knots. For the first time in days, she sees the semblance of the woman she met when she first entered this house, as Mikoto smiles up at her.

Yet all that is stuck in her head is the image of the wrinkles around mother's ageing eyes.

May is probably Sakura's spring of a lifetime. She will recall it as the period when she was the happiest she had ever been in her life, when it felt as if stars hung around her days like pretty trinkets and rainbows sang to her every morning. She felt like the princess she had always wanted to be. As the unusually hot weather melted into pleasant, sunny days with occasional showers to embellish her evenings, Sakura was glowing.

"It is either a facial or sex—so tell me what facial it is?" Ino had joked and earned a slap on her shoulder, as their giggles got soaked up by the hustle and bustle of the city. They had finally taken time off during Golden Week and decided on a shopping date. Sasuke, who was not lucky in his profession of choosing, was stuck at work, solving cases.

"So, how are you and hubby doing?"

"Well, good." Sakura fanned the heat spreading across her cheeks. For Sasuke, it seems she would always be a little girl in love.

"Any news?" Ino cooed, wiggling her eyebrows as her lips stretched into a mischievous smile.

"Well..." she wrung her hands behind her back, blushing up to her ears, "I'm bringing him lunch every day..."

"Ugh! You're so annoying!" Ino had pulled her hair and made a scene, but Sakura could only break into joyful cackles.

It was true. Sakura had used one of her off days to try cooking, something she wouldn't consider one of her forte. And while work swamped Sasuke, she had taken up bringing a bento to him. The commute on the bus spent with her earphones plugged in, soft music playing in her ears as the winds danced around her face became a breather she hadn't realized she needed.

"Where's yours?" Sasuke had asked, eyeing her with pure confusion, and Sakura hadn't primed up any answer except bringing two lunches the next day. Making lunches had also put her on talking terms with Mother, who had unilaterally declared herself Sakura's teacher, albeit the distance she had created between them had only managed to lessen, not disappear. She couldn't help not wholeheartedly trust them again. They had shattered the image she had of them once—the life she had shaped into now distorted—and Sakura couldn't bring herself to pick up the pieces.

The end of Golden Week spelled disappointment for her in several ways, just as it does for any working Japanese person, but the farewell of this new tradition they had conjured together hit a deeper wall of her heart. Or it did until Sasuke showed up at the hospital that very day with takeout boxes and a shy shirk of gaze. Sakura gained the reputation of the trainee doctor with the gorgeous, caring and scary husband among her peers, much to her delight.

They ate more frequently at home, albeit in complete silence. Itachi didn't engage in most of their meals. Sakura barely noticed his presence at home; he came home late and left early with no one to question it apart from a small shadow on Izumi's face and occasional grumbles from father. Mother and Izumi tried their hardest to make small conversations, and Sakura made efforts to answer whenever something came directed at her; otherwise, she maintained her silence. Her perception of the family had been crippled and rendered unamendable. Father was no longer a presence as encapsulating as an old tree. Mother wasn't as steady and tranquil as a river. Izumi wasn't delight personified. They were all damaged, with their jagged edges out in the open for people to scar, but Sakura held no intention of brushing past them.

Not all of their meals meant being at home. Sasuke would surprise Sakura with dinners by Juuzo's izakaya or other seaside stalls with owners not a part of his spy circle. Pink is unquestionably Sakura's favorite color, but her other, new favorite is the color of the sunset bending along Sasuke's face. He had tanned since high school, Sakura had noted, when the orange of the sun had melted into his skin like honey, while the salty air gently swayed through their hair.

"You've changed." Ino had interrupted her mid-rant about a senior doctor. Sakura had gaped at her, eyes imitating saucers, mouth shaped like a ring, before biting her lip.

"In what way?"

"Definitely a good way!" The blonde had laughed. "I could never have imagined you so straightforward with your feelings."

"..."

"He's definitely rubbed off on you."

If asked, Sakura would never have an answer about what exactly she loved about Sasuke. Not eight years back. Not today. She fell for him for the way the veil of shyness embraced his sharp, stiff eyes. Sakura also liked the broken boy who had cried his eyes out before her, fully clothed and despite that, naked. She also liked his smile or whatever the world can name the small, one-sided lift of his lips that makes one eye crinkle more than his other. But love... She wasn't sure why. Regardless, knowing that she might have been painted even in a drop of Sasuke's colors made her fall in love with herself a little more. Sakura was confident she would be a narcissist if she could see Sasuke reflected in the mirror.

"... and then, he saw his wife giving birth," Sakura took a deep breath in. "And literally dropped. Vertically. He was standing like this," she motioned with her hand, "and then, BAM! On the floor. And the patient was screaming, I was still a resident newbie, whew..." She dramatically sighed, tired after a long monologue and took a side glance at Sasuke to find an amused smile on his face. The waves washed away at their sandy feet, empty cups of instant ramen between them. The gradient glow of the setting sun bedazzled his eyes, and Sakura smiled to herself, hugging her folded legs, resting her face on her knees, still facing him.

"Sasuke?"

"Hm?"

"When is your birthday?"

"...July 23."

Her eyes sparkled.

"That's good. We can celebrate."

Maybe it was hesitation that made him pause before he gathered his legs, resting his head on his knees, mirroring her pose.

"I haven't celebrated it in years," he confessed, a small, pensive smile on his face.

"In eight years?" She asked, following a gulp, her voice small.

Sasuke left it unanswered, instead, straightened his back, leaning on his hands and staring right at the sunset with no change in his expression. Sakura knew to end it there. His hair danced in the breeze, slightly greasy from the humid air.

"When is your birthday?" He asked.

"28 March."

He whipped his head, wide eyes finding her.

"That was our..."

"Wedding day," she completed. Sasuke narrowed his eyes, forehead creased, lips stretched in dissatisfaction. It made Sakura break into a small giggle.

"We can celebrate next time." She reassured seeing the sorry look in his eyes. "There's a lot of next times." She remembered the head poke, and the hushed whisper of "maybe next time", and Sasuke did too, for he let the tension melt away from his forehead without a word. There was promise in the air.

May is to drop the curtains when she receives the text.

'Can we meet? Chord Coffee @ 2 pm?'

Why would Izumi want to meet outside? Sakura squints at the message and then at the time. 2 pm is her lunch break. It is also when Sasuke would come to her office with takeout. Sakura is about to ask for a reschedule when her phone pings with a new message. It's Sasuke this time informing her about his not showing up today; a case has him busy. The timing seems too good to be true, but Sakura lets the suspicions decay and types out an 'OK'. She presses send, does the same for Izumi and leans back in her chair with a sigh. It's still an hour to 2, and she has a round of patients waiting for her.

Ino barges in as soon as the clock strikes 1:45.

"Here before your husband steals you."

"He's not coming today."

Ino looks pleased.

"Great! It's been a while."

Sakura shakes her head. "Izumi asked me to meet her."

"Why?" Ino frowns, and Sakura replies with a small wag of her shoulders.

"Where?"

"Chord Coffee." Sakura recalls, stuffing her things into her purse.

"Should I come with? I was about to order in, anyway?"

"If it's not a bother?"

"Of course, it isn't. Are you crazy?" Ino laughs, lightly slapping Sakura's shoulder.

One of the staff drops them at their location on Ino's request. They can see Izumi seated through the glass windows, poised and pretty, waiting inside the café. Sakura muses how long she had been sitting there or how she had arrived. The café is relatively close to the hospital but quite a distance from their house. The two walk inside to a greeting from the employees. It's not too busy. Besides Izumi, the only people there are the employees and another getting takeout. Sakura takes the seat opposite Izumi, and Ino excuses herself on the table next to them.

"Sorry for calling you out during a busy time."

"It's fine. Is it something urgent?"

"No," Izumi says, graceful as always, her belly a little more noticeable even under loose clothes. "I had something to talk about."

"Something we couldn't talk about at home?" Sakura has zero reason to find Izumi suspicious. Since her introduction into the new family, Izumi has undoubtedly been a good friend, even akin to a sister. However, Sakura can't help but look at perfection and see a masquerade. Izumi has always been soft and loving. Sakura deluded herself into believing it was transparency. Now, as the to-be mother sits before her, Sakura cannot read her thoughts. Her face remains impassive, a fabricated smile to give nothing away. Sakura ends up being reminded of Ino's words. Couples do become alike.

Izumi ignores her question and taps her fingers on the table.

"Would you like to order something?"

"Sure." Sakura plays along and lets her gaze linger around the place. It's empty but well thought out. Sunlight seeps in through the large glass window and brightens up the area around the counter. Wooden chairs line the tables, of a similar apricot shade as the flooring. Through the glass beside her window-side table, Sakura can see cars driving by. Ino treats herself to some pasta and some sort of coffee.

"Cappuccino, please," Izumi says.

Sakura goes through the menu. "One Mocha Almond Latte and a Chicken Egg Sandwich. Thank you." As the server jots down her order and returns to the counter, Sakura turns to her sister-in-law.

"So?"

Izumi, for the first time in their meeting, lets her well-assembled visage falter. Her caramel eyes flit all around the place, fingers, which tapped the table confidently, now squirm, brimming with anxiety.

"Izumi?"

"I assume you had a talk with Itachi."

Sakura's stomach drops, her throat suddenly parched. Anger and hurt rise behind her widened eyes, green irises glowing from the warm moisture.

"I hope you're not implying what I think you are." Sakura barks out, her voice laced with bitter venom.

"Let me rephrase that better," Izumi cuts in. "I know what you talked about. Itachi told me."

"What?" Sakura frowns, eyes narrowed in accusation. Her hair escapes her makeshift bun and falls out of place. She trusted Itachi with her feelings, not so he could babble them all to someone else.

"He tells me everything." She says, as if reading her thoughts.

"Good for you."

"Sakura! I'm not..." Izumi lets out a dragged-out sigh, her forehead wrinkled. "I understand why that would make you feel angry. You thought you trusted Itachi with your secrets. But I'm the one who asked him to do that."

Sakura pinches the bridge of her nose, her jaw tightened.

"So you told him to suggest me a divorce."

Izumi nods.

"Why?"

"I used to think that would be best for you two."

"Used to?"

"You're doing well now, aren't you?"

The server serves them their food, and Izumi lets him go with a small, polite nod. Her coffee smells heavenly, and so does the sandwich. Sakura, with a deep breath in, lets the aroma settle her beating heart.

She takes a sip before asking, brows crossed and eyes hardened, "What exactly do you want to say?"

Izumi ponders her thought for a while as her eyes dawdle over the road outside.

"While I agreed with the solution, my and Itachi's reasons don't match." Izumi plays with her spoon, stirring her drink mindlessly. "I'm sure Itachi vilified mother and father too much—"

"Vilified?" Sakura spits out, frantic. "You say that as if they did nothing wrong."

"They did what was necessary."

"Izumi!"

"You don't know the state Sasuke was in."

"And what about me?" Sakura refuses to let the tears squeeze out, but she feels it—the widening of the cleft in her heart—and she is, once again, a hostage to helplessness. As the fight in her dries out, Sakura becomes dust, fearing every single strong wind. But until then, she swallows her pain. "They bought me for that."

"It didn't hurt you." Izumi replies, but what shatters her being is the concern in Izumi's voice; as if all she is saying is for Sakura's well-being. "You are okay. In fact, you're living a much better life than you previously were, aren't you?"

"I was belittled." Sakura tries to calm her voice, but the anger comes out like a cry for help through gritted teeth. "I was treated like an object. As if I have no autonomy. As if I have no value outside of being a replacement."

"You were treated like a princess, Sakura. Mother and Father adored you."

Sakura slams her hands on the table.

"So what? I should forgive them?"

"I understand it's difficult, but for your happiness and the family's, we can all be a bit more accepting."

Before Sakura can lash out and crumble, she finds another voice raging, "Okay, that's enough."

It's Ino, cushioning Sakura from that strong wind, her hand on the back of her head which she pushes into her side, her arms immediately wrapping around her.

"I won't let you say another word to her."