Sakura thinks back sometimes to the world she gave up-to Konoha, her friends, her family; the little bookstore on the corner where she liked to scrunch between dusty shelves and read for hours; the café with her favorite sticky buns. Compared to that, objectively, she realizes, the choice she made must seem like an exile.
Sakura knows better. In her mind, she only traded one world for another.
Sasuke's silences. His bitten fingernails. The way he eats his breakfast quickly and without ever looking at it, staring unfocused over the bowl's rim at something only he can see.
The pale, smooth skin of his cheek from the side. The sure bend of his elbow as he pulls a shuriken from the holster. The way he pulls off his shirt when they stop to sleep like it means nothing, then stares at her like a dare betray herself with a flush.
The way he curls in on himself, sometimes, in his sleep. And other times, snarls and clenches her wrist hard enough to sprain.
Sasuke. Sasuke is her world now.
Forests, alleys, towns, motels-a blur, unimportant in her peripheral vision.
Sasuke is the only thing she sees anymore.
Maybe that ought to frighten her. Most people would feel regret, at least, she's pretty sure, for the universe they threw away. But she hardly thinks of sun-drenched streets or faded photos these days, and when she does, it seems so distant; someone else's.
Somehow, Sasuke eclipses all the rest so completely, the dim corona only marks where things used to be.
Come to think of it-he's always been that way, hasn't he?