summary: The difference is who’s leaving. Absence is felt differently when you know it’s only temporary.
notes: slice-of-life—because what comes after “the end” is kind of the point, isn’t it?
And after: the gods have disappeared, the worlds are restored, and battles are won, there is this:
Sakura leaves for her first medical mission in the second month of spring, after Konoha has, more or less, risen from the ashes.
“I’ll write you,” she says when they reach the gates, a smile unfurling on her lips like a new bloom. “Often and without warning.”
“Hn,” he replies, a little somber, and surprised to be sad. “Just keep yourself out of trouble.”
(“I love you” in eight syllables, she thinks)
“Until winter, Sasuke-kun.”
In the little village where she is stationed to help educate the local medics, Sakura wakes to the sunlight, eats when she remembers, and, true to her word, composes a letter to Sasuke-kun at odd intervals.
Dear One, she writes, you would have loved the tomatoes the villagers sold at the market today. They were bright red and juicy, perfectly ripe and still on the vine. I had them with rice and a little salt, and a few pieces of sour green mango, which were good, though I still prefer the ripe ones—you remember, the ones you got me from your trip to Amegakure, the color of the setting sun.
As you have recommended, I am trying not to miss you so much. I have kept myself busy, playing with the children here, when I am not on duty; they are kind and bring me wildflowers. Enclosed, you will find a bundle, pressed and preserved and full of love for you. Please keep them beside you while I can not be.
Some days, she is not so wistful—she writes about the inclement weather, terrible days, and other inconsequential things.
It rained again last night, so my hair is Frizzy, and when I woke up this morning, I could only find one of my socks. The market was out of my favorite ponkan, and the very first patient I treated today threw up on my newly washed pants. I smell like disaster, and today, Sasuke-kun, if it’s all right, I think I’ll miss you, just a little.
Sometimes, Sasuke writes back:
The dobe was intolerable without you today; without you someone else to deflect his attention, he made me participate in an eating contest at that infernal ramen-ya. I went home in a stupor and slept until Kakashi woke me for a B-rank in the middle of Sand. I am sending this letter via one of my hawk summons. Don’t be alarmed if he charges you; he doesn’t take to strangers very well.
(Sakura replies: That sounds like fun, though I’m glad I missed the vomiting that no doubt followed. I hope you remembered to eat something besides ramen that day. I left some plums in the icebox for you; they aren’t too sweet, so they should do you just fine for a midday snack. Please make sure I am missing at least twelve of them upon my return. Your darling bird of prey ate bits of dinner from the palm of my hand; I’ve enclosed a drawing.
and I love you I love you I love you.)
There is an emptiness in Sasuke’s chest of drawers—a Her-shaped hole—the only sign of absence in his otherwise orderly home.
Gone, is the gossamer scarf he had gotten her for her seventeenth birthday, the color of sea mist, the perfect complement to her bright eyes. She had packed it, along with her favorite grey cardigan—the one with mother-of-pearl buttons—and her stalwart black leggings (the ones that made him need to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat).
Her half of the closet is bereft of flak vests, cotton turtlenecks; her floral dresses and v-necked blouses, gone the way of her regulation black pants.
She had left a bottle of her favorite perfume—“for when you are missing the scent of my hair in our bed”.
He has used it just once, so far.
(but there are many hours left in these two small seasons)
Sakura grades tests, and judges practicals, treats patients, and writes letters.
Sasuke takes missions, eludes Naruto, trains with Kakashi, and, despite himself, misses her (just a little).
Spilt sunlight on hardwood floors, frost clinging to window panes and the sudden, unexpected, scent of apples in October—
“I’m home,” she says lightly, the dust of the day’s travel still on her skin.
