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She’s pacing the tiles of their kitchen floor when the door cracks open.
Sakura turns on her heel. Sasuke ducks under the doorway, half his bangs fluttering forwards and uncovering his eye. He blinked at her, hands hidden under his massive cloak. “Sakura.”
“Sit,” Sakura says primly. Sasuke sits.
“You came quickly this time,” Sakura seethes, counting her steps as a distraction. One, two, three. It gets boring, so she starts to fiddle with her newly painted fingernails as her sandals burn marks into the floor with the force of each foot. Ino went out with her just yesterday. It was probably some sort of consolation on her part, because Sakura had cried and cried on her living room floor. “I send letters all the time, asking for you to come home, and now you show.”
Sasuke’s brows knit. “You said you—”
“I’m getting to that,” Sakura grits. She could crack a premolar if she bit any harder.
Sasuke shuts his eyes. The little clock on the wall pointedly ticks, quarter till twelve.
Sakura crossed her arms tightly. No time like the present. The steel of the chair shrieks as when she seats herself across from him at their kitchen table. There was never a need for more than one chair, really. Her elbows pang as she leans her weight on them, digging her fingers into her scalp, her hair going every which way as she covers her face. Tears threaten to leak. Nevertheless, she looks him right in the eye. “I can’t do— this,” she gestures to their house, “anymore.”
The look in Sasuke’s eyes is frustratingly accepting. He traveled here knowing the outcome. Sakura would bet he came running when he read the letter, requesting for a divorce. Maybe he’s waited for it.
She is doomed to walk on eggshells. This house, party of one, is a fucking hellhole. There is only so much Sakura has to do throughout the week. She does her job as a medic-nin, on time when she needs to be, sent out when requested. Then she returns to an empty home, no kids, no husband. Said husband doesn't respond to letters, returns once in a blue moon, and even then, he spends more time with the Hokage. Out and about, repenting for his sins. Her teenage self was stupid - this man - who she loves, with all her accursed heart - cannot be fixed. And she was blind to all signs. Didn’t kiss her at the altar. Hasn’t kissed her at all . Hasn’t even fucked her.
The truth had dawned on her around six months ago, when Naruto and Hinata divorced.
Naruto was a great husband. Tired, but kind. Hinata adored him, but she could tell how he felt. It was the same for those two, too—no kids, several years in. Even after he became Hokage, everyone thought that was what Naruto was waiting for. Just wait for him to become Hokage. He’ll have a baby! Everyone’s waiting for it! Sakura knew then that he wouldn't, if he hadn't already. She and Hinata had talked a couple days before the couple had their conversation about it - she knew Naruto wasn't in love with her. He was in love, but not with her.
Sakura knew how sorry he felt. He had cried signing the papers. Not in regret, or that he didn't want to - just that he was hurting Hinata. But she would be alright.
And Sakura knew right then, watching Naruto sit at his desk, writing to Sasuke in chicken-scratch penmanship, hearts in his eyes. Her heart had fallen to the bottom of her stomach, eating at her gut. A tiny little image popped in the back of her mind, like a measly, mean voice, poking and prodding at her— You know the truth. Sasuke’s private smile, perched on Naruto’s desk. Even decades ago, their arms freshly sliced off, Sasuke turned his head over so his nose was almost in Naruto’s hair, just to look at him. They’d almost kissed when Naruto turned in kind, and Naruto had freaked, jumping away from him. Winced when he did.
Sasuke’s eyes had narrowed. “Why are you so obsessed with me? Why do you keep chasing after me?”
Sakura watched Naruto look at Sasuke with wide, wide eyes. His lips just slightly ajar, a hand twitching in Sasuke’s direction. Sakura wished for Sasuke to look for her, too.
The hole in her stomach grew, enveloping her whole.
“Naruto and Hinata divorced not too long ago,” Sakura says quietly. “Naruto may have mentioned that in a letter of his own. If you read his.”
Sasuke’s chin dips. “I do. I heard.”
“And not mine?”
“Yours, too,” Sasuke replies.
A very, very long pause. Awkward and terrible.
Sakura downs her tea in one drink, like a bottle of sake.
“I should've just married Naruto,” Sakura hisses, caustic. Her hair was unkempt with strings every which way. “He would've treated me so nicely. A sweetheart. He’s handsome, too. I thought so when we were teenagers,” She breathes icily right through her teeth. Sasuke’s eyes were wide, stood straight up in his chair. “He - fucking - you know, I can’t believe it sometimes—”
She had the choice between the two of them. Naruto - pretty, kind, strong, brave, would've done anything for her. He held her hand after he and Sasuke’s fight in the Valley, when she used all her chakra on making their pain go away. Naruto cried with her, brushing her tears off her cheek, when he left them for the upteenth time. But she looked to Sasuke, a hurt and aching, traumatized boy full of hate, over the one with a heart of gold, and Sakura had said: that one, give me that one.
“You’re so damn alike, but not at all. So stubborn I could knock you both right in the skull and it wouldn't do a thing.”
Sasuke’s mouth was agape. Sakura couldn't ever begin to guess what was going on in his head, and she didn't bother to try.
“I know you married me to continue the Uchiha bloodline,” Sakura says, minutes later. It never made any sense: he wants to continue his clan, but they never had a baby. Her blood pressure took a second to level out. If she's not careful she’ll tear this whole house to ash. “Sasuke, you’re not, you don’t—”
The man cracked a little. He lowered his head, shameful, shoulders drawing tight. Sakura felt sorry; not for what she had said, but the situation as a whole, against her own wishes. She reached across the table, and held his hand in her own. “Sasuke, why did you agree to marry me?”
Sasuke shook his head. “I—Sakura, you were happy with me. And I thought Naruto was happy with Hinata—once they got married, I knew it wasn’t.. it was over.”
It. And it can only refer to a couple of things, and it’s not her and Sasuke's relationship. It’s teenager-Sasuke’s aspirations for a future with Naruto. The very concept, the idea, the bare bones of the life they could've had together rather than making everyone else take the brunt of their selfishness. And - if only Sasuke had refused her hand in marriage - and she knows she pestered him for years, but she was only a child. People will say this is what she wanted. If only Sasuke had refused her, if he had the gall, the balls to tell Naruto how he felt. If only Naruto wasn't so oblivious. It’s a tragedy, really. A boy with a heart of coal, letting his love chase after him indefinitely, begging for him to come home. You’d think after so many years married together Sakura would've realized she’s with a closeted gay man. Sakura’s heart shuddered. So many years of her life have gone to him, washed away to be dead and gone. An anger she's never felt before made her stand, walk to her counter, and pour herself a big fucking glass of wine.
And in a way, she does feel sorry for the two of them. They had a relationship nobody else could ever begin to understand. But Sakura was collateral damage to Sasuke hiding his feelings. She should've known, after all, that they'd never work. Sasuke would only ever think of one person, one man, anyway.
Nothing Sasuke had to say would make her feel any better, and he knew it. Sakura’s head snapped up, and she set the wine down, deadly still. “Did you ever fuck him?”
Sasuke looks up at her, aghast.
“ Naruto,” Sakura snarls, her tone snake’s venom. “Did you— did he—?”
“ No,” Sasuke says quickly, fiercely, leaning forward in his chair. “Aside from the fact I would never cheat on you, Naruto would never.. he wouldn't. You know he would never do that to you. To either of you.”
Sakura’s shoulders slump in relief, whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. Perhaps the mere possibility that the two of them had been hiding a relationship from her, behind her back—
“You understand, though,” Sakura says, shaking. “You are in love with him.”
Sasuke had no visible reaction. He leaned back in his chair, studying the ceiling to its last minute detail, his hands still sheathed in his cloak. Maybe they’re trembling. “I’m aware.”
“Then why,” Sakura starts, the tears finally bubbling down her blotchy cheeks. “Why would you stay with me? Which gives you too much credit, by the way, because you're never home.”
“I’m never with him, either.”
“But you wish to be,” Sakura shoots at him, daggers on skin. “I know you would want that. You hold that so closely to your heart you have no room for anyone else. And there’s barely any space for Naruto himself.”
Every mention of Naruto makes Sasuke shut down. He closes further and further into himself, like a caterpillar cocooning. Sakura never had a chance in comparison. Sasuke knows damn well he could've had Naruto if he had fought hard enough, if he was braver, prouder; Sakura was plan B. The back-up plan. The easy way out to an opposite-sex marriage the people of Konoha wouldn't blink at, rather than fighting tooth and nail for the man he so desperately ached for.
“Sasuke,” Sakura whispers. “Why do you think Naruto divorced Hinata?”
Sasuke is not so dim he cannot see the obvious. He cracks open an eye. The thin line of Sasuke’s mouth twitches, and Sakura knows right then: Sasuke knows why. That's why he came back home. That's why he answered Sakura’s letter with a physical appearance.
“I’ll never forgive you,” Sakura wobbles. She swallows the last of her wine, clears her throat. It takes everything in her power to keep her voice level, not to scream and shout and throw shit right in his face. He’s so damn selfish it’s hard for him to see it, but Sakura knows Sasuke knows it was wrong. He never should've married her if he knew he didn't love her. Sasuke knew, even back then, years ago, he felt something more for Naruto. And because he was too much of a coward to tell the man so, Naruto had married a woman, and his hopes were lost to the winds. The only one left in the aftermath was Sakura, who was easy. She was easy.
Sasuke squeezed her hand. She was glad he wasn't apologizing, because it wouldn't be genuine. And she was glad he wasn't saying anything at all, too.
“You need to leave,” Sakura says. Sasuke looks at her, and he looked sorry, and pitiful, and Sakura couldn't stand it. She sinks into the table, the pink of her hair flooding her shoulders and her sweaty bangs swiping down her forehead. Her fingers twitch for another drink, preferably strong enough to knock her out overnight, and she’s - tired, she realizes. Eyes burning, body aching with pain. “Go,” she muttered. “Just - I don’t know. Go see him. Leave. Please, please leave.”
Her husband wets his lips, and refrains from saying anything at all. Sasuke’s exit is followed by the clink of the door’s lock, and he’s so quiet Sakura doesn't even hear his footsteps, like he was never here at all.
A dull gong sounds. Sakura glances, red-eyed, and the clock strikes midnight.