As she stands on the terrace, her face turned up to the night sky, her eyes closed, the cool breeze shifting strands of her hair across her cheeks, Sakura cannot help but think how exquisitely wonderful it is, that her faith has been rewarded.

I see you, a voice seemed to say along the path that led them here, the same voice she always hoped would answer for every tear she'd shed, every wound she bore, every trial she endured, every hardening of her heart. The blood, the sweat, the scars. I see you, I know you, I am a witness.

I see you.

Her lips curl into a smile and she tilts her head further back, hugs herself even though she isn't cold. The worn, oversized sweater she's wrapped in keeps her warm enough despite the way it slides down over one shoulder, too big on her to stay put properly. Her hands don't quite clear the bottoms of the sleeves. What a novelty. She giggles because she can, because she's fearless, because, as far as she's concerned, she's allowed to behave like a giddy little girl once in a while.

You don't win somebody as a prize. A person isn't a reward. But this - this old, worn sweater, this unbridled joy - is.

She fought tooth and nail for it, bit and scratched and clawed, kept moving, kept pushing. She didn't waver, no matter what new obstacle was thrown in her path. She didn't quit. She didn't break. She didn't lose faith.

Haruno Sakura loved.

She loved fiercely, she loved selflessly, she loved completely.

Haruno Sakura believed.

She believed when she was told she shouldn't, when she was told to let go, when she was told she was a fool, and blind, and reckless, when she was told she deserved more.

Maybe she was and maybe she did. But she'd do it all over again if she had to. She'd make the same choices and regret none of them. There are many forms of bravery, many forms of strength, and she was, she is brave, she is strong. Nothing can take that away from her, just as nothing can tear her down, not completely - she was made to get back up.

I see you.

She senses him when he comes to stand behind her, feels the ghost of his fingertips along her exposed shoulder, his lips at her ear.

"What were you laughing about?"

It still amazes her to hear him sound the way he does now, his voice gentle and quiet, washed clean of anger, of pain, of hate. He sounds like the boy he was meant to be, the boy she knew existed and fought so long and so hard to save. She opens her eyes as he wraps his arm across her front and draws her against him; she holds him there with both fabric-covered hands.

They are new to these waters, navigating a sea neither have traversed before, learning each other and how they work together, how they fit. She has no illusions that it will be easy, that this small, perfect moment at the start of the journey will reflect what awaits them further down the line, but the future, their future is a challenge she's ready for.

And she'll take the small, perfect moments whenever she can get them.

"Your sweater," she says, gazing out at the stars, her heart fit to burst. "It's very roomy."

He's quiet for a few moments, and then, "So?"

"So, I've waited for this for years, Sasuke-kun."

"For my sweater," he says dryly, though she catches the amusement there.

"For the opportunity to wear your sweater," she huffs, swatting his arm.

He tightens his grip in response, props his chin on her shoulder. "If all you wanted was to wear my clothes, I could've sent you a package from the road."

"Oh, stop it," she says, with good-natured exasperation. "You know what I meant!"

He turns his face, presses a kiss to her neck. "Tell me," he whispers. Another kiss. Another.

She shivers. A person isn't a reward, but this is. This. Spots of color burn on her cheeks and she doesn't care. She doesn't care a bit. "You see me," she says, helplessly. "I've been here all along, and you see me." When she cuts her eyes in his direction, she finds he's looking at her. Seeing her. There's a strange, fluttery feeling in her chest. "I see you, too."

"Sakura..."

He says her name as if he never has, as if he's only just discovered what it is. At once, he's both very old and very, very young, and she loves him for it, she loves him. Her eyes are already shut when he seeks her mouth with his, kisses her so sweetly she wonders if she might faint - he was more demonstrative with her neck. The thought is enough to make her giggle again and he pulls away, bewildered. "What is it?"

On impulse born of pure mischief, she kisses the tip of his nose.

He continues to appear disgruntled, though she notes, gleefully, that he doesn't move to release her. After a time, he says, "Your explanation was garbage."

Her first instinct is to bristle, however, with Herculean effort, she manages to arrange her features into a semblance of serene indifference. "Oh?"

"It had nothing to do with my sweater."

"My sweater, you mean," Sakura says, primly. "Anyway, I'm sure you'll put your superior mind to use and come up with a better explanation yourself. I can't wait to hear it."

Sasuke snorts, then rolls his eyes. A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, we've got an early start tomorrow." He begins towing her backward without so much as a by your leave, and she stumbles over her feet.

"Uchiha Sasuke! You- horrible person- !"

The echo of her laughter cuts through the still night, and she is wild, and she is free, and she is loved.

and so I make my return to Naruto (and this site! it's been years!) with a pairing I used to loathe utterly. whoops.