sometimes she recalls the day at the bridge.
she never tries to, it is never an active endevour, but sometimes sakura closes her eyes, her head upon her pillow and her arm or her leg touching sasuke’s, and despite the years that have passed, her sleeplessness takes her back to that day in that time and when she wakes, she wakes breathless.
it is, of course, a quiet affair.
while she understands that trauma is hardly a competition, sakura can never help trying to push her own away in light of everything sasuke has been through.
so she gasps for air, calming herself with slow, deep breaths, and by concentrating on the line of light cut along the wall by what little the moon can see. she counts her inhales and times her exhales and she does this all carefully, discreetly, because the last thing she wants is for someone — for her husband— to see that she’s still perhaps, just a little bit broken.
