born to blush unseen—I know that we were made to break.
「winter」your love—no, our love —is perhaps the greatest adventure the world that we gave so much for has ever and will ever know.
(rewind the time)
Twenty two and wearing men's breeches under her dress, she'd never felt more alive. The carnations were dead, but the imported watermelon slices and the hot chocolate almost made her feel like she were in another time, in a place just beyond her memory.
Her grin was wider than it had been in months, her eyes brighter, and not the hair caught in her mouth nor the darkening sky could take her away from this whimsy.
She, as she would proudly recall later on, had just spent the better part of the afternoon racing around the large fields and darting behind carefully pruned bushes playing hide and seek like they were six again. Finally, after months of being here, she felt alive.
The wind was brisk when she lounged against the steps, kicking off the shoes she'd muddied up as she leaned against Sasuke leisurely.
The garden was empty, and in a place where the walls had eyes, she finally felt blissfully alone.
"I want it to be like this forever," she sighed, nuzzling his arm with her nose. "I want to eat ice cream all day and sleep until one and go horseback riding until the sun sets. Then, I want to read until we retire to our room. I want to be with you every single night in a bed that is ours."
He peered down at her from the length of his nose, raising his glass of water to his lips. "Mm," he assented.
"I want to marry you." Her eyes were large and yearning, the longing bubbling up in her throat like hot water. The words left her lips like steam, and in that moment, the clamoring need inside of her had been silenced. Her eyes grew glassy, and she sucked in air greedily like she was about to run out, like everything was about to run out.
She'd never wanted anything like she wanted him in that moment.
He stared at her, stunned, and abruptly, she shook her head before he could respond, burying her face in her hands. "Why did I say that? Why do I say these things? I ruined it. This afternoon was perfect and just ours, and I ruined it."
"I want to marry you, too."
Her hands clapped to her mouth, and she looked more distraught than he'd ever seen her.
"But," he said slowly, "I want you to be happy. And marrying me won't give you that. I'd have whisked you away years ago if that were the case."
Something in his voice sounded acrid, and Sakura flinched.
He looked away, twirling a fruit fork between his fingers as his lips tightened. "At the end of the day, you don't want me. You want to change the world."
"Who says I can't have both?" she interjected.
He shook his head, and the wind blew around them again. Her hands, having searched for something to do for a while, took the opportunity to tuck her long hair behind her ears.
The heavy bells striking the hour cut through the tense silence. She stood to her feet and helped him up, clearing all the food onto the silver tray before settling it onto the unused patio table for the maids to clean.
She rearranged the skirt of her dress, unable to meet his eyes as the words stuck in her throat like wax. "This almost made me forget," she whispered after a long moment, and he turned to look at her curiously.
She smiled bitterly. "What we are."
"And what are we?"
She turned away, making headway for the parliament meeting that was starting in a few moments. She bent down to slip on new shoes. Turning over her shoulder briefly, she looked at Sasuke like he was an impossibility. "A dream. And every time I leave you, I have to wake up."
She didn't know when, exactly, she'd forgotten about the silver tray with the steaming soup on the side table. Somewhere between the snow melting against the warm window and the sneezing ("skeleton syndrome!" the maids had cried before promptly quarantining her) and the hot, sucking kisses, she'd dropped the spoon on the plush carpet and wound up arched against the chaise.
This, she knew, was how he unraveled her, exposed her most tender parts.
She didn't know quite when their relationship had devolved into calculated plans and hot-blooded trysts, but she couldn't recall the last time they'd just sat and had a conversation about something other than her burgeoning lust for the throne.
It seemed, these days, that this was all that remained of her. Just her heavy breaths, clammy hands, and the ever-growing hunger for change.
Her hands raked through his hair, holding nothing back as he kissed a wet trail from her shoulder to the curve of her breast. She held nothing back when he suckled her nipple into his mouth, and her fingers flexed as she moaned, eyes unfocusing.
But as soon as he'd let go, the echoes returned, bringing a shadow of thoughts that had always lingered. "I need it," she gasped when he buried his head between her thighs, breathing fire into her. His fingers drew sparks from her skin, and he wasted no time lightly grazing her inner thigh before leaving a puckered, pink mark behind.
"Need it?" he asked hoarsely, eyes heavy lidded as he ducked back down.
"I need it like sharks need blood." She gripped his broad shoulders to tug him back up, pressing insistent kisses along his jaw before pushing him onto his back abruptly, straddling him. "I'm so…" she breathed, gaze desperate in a way that was slowly starting to become normal. "I'm so drunk on this ride."
"Hey," he said suddenly, fingers turning her chin towards him. She stared at how long his eyelashes were, trying to concentrate on the sobriety in his tone. He stared at her like she was someone he knew every nook and cranny of, stared at her like she was evaporating before his eyes.
He pushed himself up to kiss her already swollen lips, and she hummed into the gesture, toes curling before adjusting her hips and sliding onto him. He groaned, hands tickling over the lines of her ribs and making his mark on the thickness of her hips.
He looked away then, tracing along her forearms to locate her hands and lace their fingers together. She paused in her movements at the gesture and smiled the kind of smile he hadn't seen since before they came to this place. He sighed heavily, finally formulating the words: "Nothing."
(a hot cup of tea)
The room was quiet as she stirred in two spoonfuls of sugars into his black tea, sliding a lemon inside. "You know there are people who do this, right?" Naruto pointed out, watching her fingers close around the embossed end of the spoon.
Sakura smiled wanly. "Oh, I know, but I like to keep my hands busy." She pushed the cup over to him, steam slowly curling out of it.
She sat back down and pushed her long hair over her other shoulder, adjusting her winter shawl. Naruto had the bluest eyes she'd ever known.
From under the mahogany table, Sasuke squeezed her knee.
"How are you?" she asked carefully, the air quiet with Karin's absence. "I haven't talked to you since the…swimming incident."
Itachi, sitting next to Naruto, arched an eyebrow, gaze sharp. "Swimming incident?"
Naruto scratched the back of his head, self-conscious. "Ah, you know the day I went 'missing'…" he hedged, quick to change the topic. "I wish we'd talked sooner. When things weren't so..."
She nodded in assent. "I missed you," she admitted. "The last time we had a real conversation was…"
"Four years ago," he finished with a mischievous grin. "At your—"
"No!" she interrupted, cheeks flushing, and Sasuke smirked. "No, we don't talk about that day. Anyway," she tacked on quickly, "I wish Hinata could've come, but I suppose I can forgive her for having a fitting appointment with the tailor. She's going to be a beautiful bride."
Safely sidetracked, Naruto's full blown grin slid into a warm, crooked smile. He brought the tea to his lips, sipping thoughtfully. "I know. She'll be a great queen. She's so nice and so smart and she likes sneaking out of the palace to go get ramen from the street vendors."
Sakura laughed, eyes crinkling as the lies bled out of her gums. "I wish I could sneak out successfully, but you can't really hide pink hair. Besides, what with skeleton syndrome razing the countryside, I'm not sure I would even want to leave."
Naruto frowned, nodding. "Yeah. How is that, anyway? You always liked to keep up with the medical stuff."
She blinked owlishly. "You mean you don't know? Don't they give you updates about the state of the country?"
He squinted, folding his hands in front of him. "Well, yes, but…I mean, they're so boring," he said, leaning forward in a stage whisper. "I don't care about the price of cotton, you know?"
Sakura stilled, a carefully schooled smile on her face as she chuckled. "I suppose, I suppose. But don't you want to change anything? You're going to be king soon, after all."
Naruto sat back in his chair, and Sasuke's hand found hers, lacing their fingers together. She didn't dare meet his eyes. "I…well, the country's pretty steady. I like doing charity work, so I think I'll keep up with that. I want to care about my people, but at the same time, I don't want it to consume my life. I want my life to be mine first, the kingdom's second."
Her jaw tightened. "So what does that entail? A life without sacrifice?" she inquired softly, pulling her hand from Sasuke's as she gripped her seat, suddenly nauseated by the conversation.
"Building orphanages, cleaning up the water, and maybe shaking things up and declaring war against Mist."
Her voice was hollow. "War?" she echoed dully.
The cup met the saucer with a decisive click as he set it down, leaning forward intensely. "They took my sister," he said hoarsely, his eyes lancing with dull pain. "They have to pay. They have to fucking pay."
In those moments, the floral wallpaper swirled around her and the cup trembled in her hand. Her feet tensed in her shoes. "What of the sickness?"
Blood rushed to her head, and she couldn't figure out if the stirring feeling in her lungs was the beginnings of a scream or shots of adrenaline.
He shrugged, oblivious to her internal crisis. "It will pass. It always does."
Her lips tightened at the corners, and she dug in her pocket for the velvet pouch, the material slippery against her bare hands. "This is for you," she announced, passing it over to him, eyes downcast. "I…gave it to Nawaki, because as a kid he'd wanted to be king. And now I'm giving it to you, because you're about to be. I know they say it's cursed," she added slowly, words thick on her tongue, "but it's always been good to me. And I think…he would've wanted you to have it."
Naruto tugged on the strings of the pouch, and the necklace fell onto the table with a gentle clatter, jade glinting in the candlelight.
His eyes grew wet, and he grasped her free hand on the table tightly. "Thank you," he rasped. "Thank you."
The snow fell against the floor to ceiling windows on the left side of the room, and the air retreated into silence. She looked away, and something inside of her that felt like hope flickered into darkness.
There was something tragically ironic about the afternoon that Naruto wed Hinata. The event was held in the rose garden where no roses were blooming, with a backdrop of snow purer than the people who milled around on it.
The stark whiteness was almost unnerving if not for the red river lilies shooting up through the snow around the walkway. Those, and the evergreen trees, were the only things that made the event feel more like a celebration and less like the medical ward in the castle.
Sakura had a front row seat to the event, gown draped with a mink stole to ward off the cold. Her breath came in visible puffs, and the snowfall drifted onto her like feathers.
Naruto's ruby encrusted crown caught the light of the midafternoon sun as he watched Hinata glide down the aisle. Her gown was embroidered with mother of pearl, and her hair was pinned with sapphires, but what caught Sakura's attention most of all was the necklace glinting against Naruto's full military regalia.
Her jade gift.
The wedding was beautiful, she supposed, in a disconnected kind of way. But in some kind of fantasy world where she married Sasuke, she knew it would be nothing like this. It would be the two of them under the warm sun in the early morning, when the world was asleep and the place was their own.
It would be simple, and it would be theirs.
This wedding, she knew, was less for Naruto's adoration of Hinata but for the public to know that their future ruler had a woman to plant his progeny in.
The public, she thought with a bitter smile, who wasn't even here, instead caught behind the large golden gates, declaring their fealty to their ruler in exchange for something, anything better than what they had now. Dressed in rags and cheeks red, she could still hear the echoes of their cries from when her personal procession passed close by the gates.
She bowed her head as the service began, and her hand sought out Sasuke's instinctively, gloved fingers tracing the veins along the back of his palm.
Something in the tremble of Hinata's voice when she declared herself felt like both a loss and a victory in those moments. The gold of the crown called to her, and it felt like the promise of something bigger, felt like glory.
He turned his hand over to lace their fingers together, and he squeezed gently.
Felt like a possibility.
(the other side of the wall)
"Oh, how awful," Hinata whispered softly next to her, voice tight. "How utterly..."
Sakura smiled bitterly. "Whatever are you talking about? The blood leaking out of their eyes are tears of joy-they must be. What a favor we're doing for them-quarantining them off in a hovel."
Children shuffled around them, and the scissors felt heavy in her hand. Not the red ribbon or the thick veneer on the poor excuse for floorboards disguised this place for what it was: anything but a home.
Something that could have either been vomit or porridge was crusted on the corners of the mouth of a little girl, her face flushed. She stared at the two of them in wonder before sneezing violently, blood beading out of the corners of her eyes.
"M'...my ma' is gon' be sleep for a real long time," she said hollowly, deep magenta hair sliding through the blood running down her face. "Can y'wake her up?"
Hinata gasped a sob, turning away, and Sakura knelt before the girl, brushing the hair out of her eyes and wiping away the blood and tears. "I'm afraid I can't."
At eye level, her ribs showed through her thin smock of a shirt, and it seemed that the baby fat in her face was all she had left. "Why not?"
"She's got to have her beauty rest. You'll be sleeping right with her soon, though. You'll both dream wonderful dreams together."
The girl's grimy hands tugged at her gown, scrunching the stiff material, looking off to the side, eyes more sunken and more aged than any child's should have ever ought to have been.
Sakura stood up and looked away, passing her scissors to Hinata with a nudge forward. "You can do the honors."
The crowd hushed, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Sasuke, Itachi, and Shisui exchanging words near the edge.
The ribbon split easily, falling away to open the orphanage, and the spectators clapped politely. "Oh yes," Sakura muttered beneath the noise of the crowd. "How generous of us to give them a shelter to die in."
Small hands nudged at Sakura's knee softly, and she looked down to see the girl from before looking for her pleadingly.
"Miss, thank you."
Sakura's eyebrows drew together in concern. "What…for?"
The magenta swept behind her grimy ears, and Sakura fought the urge to pick up the girl and take her back to the palace for a hot bath.
"For bein' there."
The embers of their fireplace crackled and popped, and with a small stretch, she rolled her shoulder muscles and nudged his arms apart, taking up residence against his warmth.
The heavy comforter she'd dragged from her bed across the room was pooled around them, and after situating herself in his lap, nose buried in his neck and eyelashes fluttering against his skin, she tugged up the back of his tunic, sliding her icy fingers against his back muscles.
He tensed up, scowling. "Stop that."
Her lips pulled into a smile, and she mumbled against his skin. "But you're so warm."
He sighed heavily, raking a hand through his hair.
"Let's play a game," she suggested after a moment, peeking up at him, eyes wide and excited.
"It's cold. There's no time for games."
"It'll be a warm game. I draw something on your back, and you guess what it is."
Without waiting for him to agree, she clambered out of his lap, moving aside the piles of blankets to sit just behind him, one leg on either side of his body. She lifted the embroidered comforter up and around her shoulders, throwing the ends on his lap.
Pulling up the back of his tunic again, she set to work, observing closely the light freckles he had in the middle, the Venus dimples just above his butt, the strange birthmark that lay between his neck and shoulder.
She traced over the scar that sliced his back just behind his heart and bit her lip. "What to draw..."
He sighed, turning his head as she wormed her fingers around the front to his flat, ridged stomach, her cheek nestled between his shoulder blades.
"I don't know. You were the one that wanted to play this ridiculous game."
She frowned, affronted. "It's not ridiculous. You're ridiculous." With a second glance at the scar, her eyes lit up and she began to write. "It's a word," she added, tracing invisible calligraphy onto his back.
All was silent for a moment as he concentrated on the feeling, and she concentrated on her work.
"Lucky," he replied finally just as she nuzzled his back with her face again.
"Yes," she paused, eyes watery. "I...I'm lucky. I'm so lucky."
He turned upon hearing the emotion searing her voice, peering curiously at her over his shoulder. "What?"
Her face filled with something that felt like happiness but looked like despair. "I'm so lucky to have you be mine."
The quiet mind had returned to haunt her.
Her hands shook that afternoon as she rested against the window seat, concentrating on breathing. The knife in her hands felt heavier than her heart, and she cradled the apple to her chest as she tried to peel it carefully.
The monotony of winter was beginning to claim Sakura as its victim, and no amount of wide-eyed bargaining at the moon could garner peace.
Between the heavy rains and lightning, and the slushy snow beneath the thickening sky, there was little to entertain. The last time she'd distracted herself was four days ago at the flower arranging class her distant cousin Ino had coerced her into taking. It had calmed her nerves, but Ino had returned back to her estate shortly after, and the weights had returned to rest on her shoulders without hesitation.
The red skin fell softly onto the bone china plate, and suddenly she was taken back to the dinner two seasons ago, the stew disconcertingly still in the elegant bowls. The chill that scurried down her back had jarred her hands enough that the sharp knife sliced open her hand.
She cried out at the swift onset of pain, and Sasuke was at her side immediately, taking the knife from her tight-knuckled grip and forcing her fascinated gaze away from the way the deep gash's blood fell like water.
The partially peeled apple rolled onto the floor, forgotten, and Sasuke ushered her up and towards the bathroom, anger already bubbling at the surface.
"What do you think you're even doing?" he snarled while forcing her trembling, dainty hand into the basin. He'd grabbed a flask of whiskey en route there, and with a considerable amount of dexterity, unscrewed the cap and poured it over her wound in the same motion.
She hissed, yanking her hand backwards, but his grip was tight. "No—what—"
"Was this some kind of misguided thought process on the next one? I told you to let me take care of it."
"I was just cutting an apple," she said softly, eyes wet as he took a pitcher of warm water and doused her hand in it. "I was just eating a snack. I was just thinking."
"Is that what it's called these days when you completely remove yourself from the world for days on end only to end up playing with knives?"
She could have sworn that his callous words wounded her more deeply than the knife did, and Naruto's blue, blue eyes flashed before her.
"I…I don't…" her voice shook.
"What were you thinking?"
It became too much. The sky was too oppressive, Sasuke's words were too sharp, and her hand burned almost as much as her eyes did as he took cloth bandages and began to wrap up her palm. Her chin wobbled, and her lips pulled downward into a deeper frown.
"I don't know," she said, voice feeble as her emotions began to best her. Tears slipped down her face, and she wailed then, heaving sobs rising from her lungs like hot air. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know. I don't know. I don't—"
He let go of her hand, instead cradling her jaw and tilting her chin up. The serrated edge to his voice vanished, and he brushed away her tears. "Look at me."
Slowly, her glassy, red-rimmed eyes met his.
"I know you think you won't find peace until you're sitting on the throne, but there is no burden in this world that you have to carry alone. We'd agreed, remember? Anything for you." His arms came to wrap around her waist, pulling her close.
She leaned her forehead against his chest, head tucking neatly under his chin. "Everything, but together," she corrected softly.
He paused for a split second, but then pressed his lips against her forehead. "Everything."
(when the power fails)
She noticed he was gone when she got to the nine hundredth crane. Ever since the apple incident two weeks ago, she'd kept her hands busy by way of folding, on sheaves of stunning floral papers, a thousand paper cranes.
Maybe then, she'd thought, she'd be able to get all her wishes to come true.
She'd woken up that Sunday wrapped in a quilt on her bed, his hand rubbing circles into her back as he coaxed her to wake up and eat. He'd been unusually attentive—buttering her toast for her, pouring the tea, pressing the kisses to the nape of her neck.
He'd clutched at her sides like she was smoke and he couldn't grapple with her, and she'd busied her fingers with gaining more paper cuts from her self-assigned origami task. He'd whispered that he'd be back shortly, slipped into some boots, and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
It was remarkable how long it took her to notice the missing weapons bag by her wardrobe, how normal his absence had seemed until the room had been quiet for too long and a chill raced down her spine. The teacup in her hand shattered as it hit the ground, and she was running.
She trampled on the paper cranes littering her floor as she shoved her feet into riding boots insistently, not bothering to change out of the nightgown as she raced out, steps never more desperate than they were then.
She bolted from room to room, insisting upon seeing a grieving Kushina, waking a groggy Hinata, hands shaking and eyes blurring with tears. Naruto's new bride and mumbled about how he'd gone out early to spar, and her limbs went numb.
It was one of those dreams where she could never get there fast enough, where every step felt like she'd had a graveyard of bodies clinging to her ankles. She could feel his lips on her skin, his words in the shell of her ear, the sound of sand trickling to the bottom of an hour glass that she didn't know was counting down until now.
Nobody had ever meant more to her, and there was nothing she was more desperate to keep.
She needed him.
Her hands were ice against the doorway to the courtyard, and as soon as the doors were open, the cold settled in.
They were by the fountain, and she stumbled forward to her knees, snow soaking her thin nightgown. Her eyes were bloodshot, welling up with tears, as she processed the scene.
This was how Sakura's dream came true:
Naruto's body prone half in the marble fountain, neck sliced open and dark red pooling into the icy water. Snow collecting on his collarbones, his cheekbones, and the katana dropped, forgotten. The snow spattered with scarlet, his blue eyes dull and open in a permanent expression of horror.
Something in the image begged to be painted, this almost breathtaking disaster. She could practically hear the echoes of Sai's words, about how accurate her art had been.
This was how Sakura's dream fell apart at the seams, how her power failed:
Sasuke, a sword slicing through his chest, his eyes blearily focusing on her form, and his skin paler than it would ever be. She choked on a sob, and she crawled forward, her knees soaking up blood. Her hands shook as she cupped his chin, pressing her forehead to his.
"Why?" the words left her before she could hold them back.
His breaths were shallow against her lips, and she clung to his words, trying to keep her composure. Her lips trembled. "Because…" he began, voice husky, the words impossible to get out, "…we made a deal."
"Anything, everything for you."
She couldn't get the last words out of her throat, the sentiment—the last, unspoken truth—clogging her arteries.
His eyes slid shut.
I love you.
It was so, so silent. Only her tears broke the white noise, sliding off the curve of her nose to patter against his cheek softly. "No," she finally found words to speak, voice cracking in despair. "Not like this."
This was how Sakura rose, victorious: on her knees, head bowed, with a sacrifice that she hadn't ever wanted to make at her feet.
In an effort to not wear black, Sakura never left her room.
She didn't attend the funerals, didn't acknowledge the newly assigned body guard, didn't speak to anyone.
She was a husk, a barely-there vacant imagining of what she once used to be. Her mother had returned to her after months of grief only to watch her daughter pensively trace the edges of floral pressed bookmarks, curl her fingers around the jade necklace that had, once and for all, been given back to her.
She clutched the tear-soaked sheets, burying her nose in them, trying to catch the wisps of his scent leftover: soap and happiness. And there, on the edges, something indefinable that smelled like love.
Her face felt sunken, and people tip toed around her like she were made of paper. She'd barely had time to acknowledge her new rise in power, the new title of Crown Princess attached to her name. Instead, she was wrapped up in thoughts of him.
She regularly traced over the scar on her hand—a certifiable tattoo—from when the knife and slipped and wondered how she could have stopped this, wondered if this is what her father had meant when he talked about court being a type of prison.
No, she couldn't imagine this was it.
This, what she'd done, was so much worse. And the most abhorrent thing about it was that she was still getting compassion. Somehow, amidst the rising body count and the ultimate betrayal of her family, she'd managed to garner sympathy.
The black tar that had one tainted her heart had claimed it fully, and with every glance at the window, she felt something in her harden.
It couldn't be in vain—that much she knew.
He couldn't have left her, couldn't have left this world, for her to mourn until her days ran out.
It couldn't be for nothing.
So after two weeks of minimal movement and an even more minimal diet, she shifted out of her bed, standing suddenly. Her ladies' maids all stood at once, looking surprised at the shift. Her gaze was determined.
"Draw a bath," she declared, "and fetch me whatever was served for breakfast. Find me an appropriate dress, and place the necklace in the locked cabinet. I need to visit Lady Uzumaki."
(it all comes back to this)
It all comes back to this, doesn't it? This desperate crawl for something greater, and this time, it's you.
You have become a problem, if I'm being honest. Every time I close my eyes, I see you. When I'm not paying attention, I turn to find you, but you're never there. I whisper your name in my sleep, my ladies' maids tell me, and I hear your laughter in the back of my mind.
In all our years, you became my everything, but more than that you became my habit. They say old habits die hard, and I guess for us, that was true in every sense of the word.
I keep remembering how it used to be in an effort to merge this present with our past. Do you remember, Sasuke-kun? How it felt to live beyond the boundaries of this prison? How it felt to hold my hand in the warmth of the sun, in a place just beyond the horizon?
Those are the memories that I breathe for. Every day, every minute that I push forward, make plans, give alms, have lone carriage rides, hold Hinata's hand in solidarity, I live in the hopes that I can find that place once again in the future. And maybe, if I'm as lucky as I've been, you'll be there waiting for me.
It's been a long time, Sasuke-kun, but even so, I don't think I can bring myself to regret this. Not the mind-shattering doubt, not the body count. After all, it brought me closer to you.
I know our time together was so much shorter than it should have been, and for that I am sorry. But I know now more than ever that the one thing I should have wished for was not the power to change things or for you in my arms, but for time.
It has always been my greatest enemy, and I never realized it.
Your love—no, our love—is perhaps the greatest adventure the world that we gave so much for has ever and will ever know.
Kushina has decided to step down from her throne; she has decided to put herself first and her kingdom second, and I can't fault her for that. I am to be crowned a month from now, but this doesn't feel like I've won. Not without you here.
There are few things that I know to be true that are left. The first is that I love you. The second is that you loved (love?) me.
And the last is this: The way I will rule this blood-and-brine soaked kingdom will hinge less on your dealings with the earth and much more on how I imagine you will hold me on the day that I come home.
I miss you with every breath that I take.
Until we meet again, always yours,
notes: last chapter of this with the last prompt should be out tomorrow. *^* thank you guys for all the support.