To Paige, to Rhea, and to my fab4. Inspired by the fanart used as the image cover.

eterno suspirar

He grabs her wrist and pulls her towards him.

She falls onto his lap, green eyes wide and lips parted. Her pink forelocks tangle with her lashes and the combination of pale pink and red-violet and green is beautiful. But he doesn't let himself think that for longer than a second before he destroys the thought and just allows his mind to go blank, studying her and her resolve.

Sakura is taller, thinner, older; jaded with a war staining her hands red and betrayal cracking her spirit. But she's here and still standing tall, waiting for more.

She's still here, waiting for him.

Sasuke does not understand.

After everything, why is she still holding onto these feelings she has towards him? After everything, why does she still find it necessary to smile at him with a smile she reserves for no one but him—the one that causes her eyes to glow and her face to look young and brighter. Why does she find it necessary to spend time with him in outmost silence because he can't find it in him to speak a single word?

Why does she find it necessary to go out her way for him?

Why do you still love me, he wants to ask—demand, scream it at her so she can think and see that he is a monster undeserving of love especially from a girl like her. A girl willing to put her life on the line for him and his gratitude being his attempt to choke her to death. Why does she still love him?

So he stares at her and the way the wind causes her short pink hair to gently dance around her face. She's staring at him, eyes unblinking asking no questions but sitting there because he has pulled her there. Sitting there because, in his own way, this is what he has asked and there she goes, going out her way for him.

Sakura should lash out at him. Break free from his touch and scream to never go near her—fear him because at any second he can snap and try to kill her. Be repulsed by him because of every single crime he has committed—for every tear he has made her taste—for the heartbreak he cannot ever take back—for the words that hurt more than any doujutsu he could ever aim at her.

But she sits there, on his lap as he sits on a fallen tree.

Sasuke takes her hands in his and he looks down and stares at the way his engulf hers. Her fingers tremble under the cage of his larger palm.

Is she afraid?

He looks up and stares at her chest, waiting to see it rise and fall but it never does.

She isn't breathing.

He locks eyes with hers for a second. But he can't bare the look she gives him—this trust, this undying love and devotion, this friendship, this proposal of a future—so he closes them and lowers his head, messy dark forelocks shadowing his eyes. He brings one of her hands up and presses his lips to her knuckles, brushes them back and forth over the rise and fall of the sharp bones that could destroy him if she so much as wished.

Thank you, he wants to say.

He hears her breathing hitch and he believes she understands him.