Title: Fade.

Summary: "You can see me." It's all he offers, and something in his gaze tries to tell her that should be enough. And maybe it should be. Face to face with the ghost of her long-time crush, Sakura is faced with an impossible task: to make him human once again.

Tracks: Tony Anderson's "Chasm" - Start as soon as you begin the story. Steven Gutheinz's "Years" - after Sakura arrives home. Joachim Heinrich's "And He Arose" - when Sakura sees Sasuke for the second time.

A/N: Hello there, friends! I can't tell you the last time I posted here. BUT, thanks to the Quietus Discord, I have been so incredibly inspired. And my love for SasuSaku has been reignited! After years of following the manga and anime, I've finally decided to try my hand at one of my all-time favorite pairings. This has swiftly become a passion of mine and is a story I am very eager to tell. Please check out the linked tracks! They capture the ambiance of the chapter perfectly and greatly assist in telling this tale. I will be linking the tracks on my profile, as well!

A special thanks to Sloshi. Without her, I would not be writing this.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in Naruto.

Fade, pt. I

Nothing feels real.

There's a light, blinding in its intensity. All he can see is a beam of a horizon, a wash of grey mist distorting his sight. The glow swells, fully encompassing his vision and rendering the rest of the world mute. A low drone resounds in the foreground of his thoughts, steady, eternal. Existence is spinning, swirling, a fog blanketing his senses.

A screech reverberates in the vacuum, so striking he can feel it in his bones. It shatters the space, a tragic drone resonating within his soul. A voice is yelling a name - a name he is so, so close to remembering, to recognizing - and then it's fading, melting into the beam of light that has begun to entirely encase his vision. He wants to reach out, to grab the sound and hold it firmly, a safety net in this haze hovering so softly over his mind.

His chest tightens - or where his chest should be? He's not so sure anymore - an ache blossoming through whatever space he is currently dwelling within. It's hard to tell, harder to feel, and as he's left questioning the panic is rising, rising, rising-

And then, dark. Everything is dark. He thinks he may be screaming, but then the silence stretches out, swallowing the sound so it is limited to nothing but the muted sensation of nothingness.

He wants to speak, thinks he should be able to speak, but he can't, a husk without a heart. And then he's all but desperate to shout, to cry, to do something to prove that he's still alive.

If he's still alive. Whatever that may mean.

It's a hell of a lot like drowning - like floating in a pool, limbs heavy and liberating and fantastical. A dream that isn't quite illusionary.

Nothing feels real.

It's getting colder.

The weather has changed rapidly in the past week, the final vestiges of Fall departing. The sun retreating behind a cover of clouds as a chill permeates the air. It's the type of biting cold that seeps into bone, tainting the marrow with its wintry hex.

Sakura rubs her hands together, searching for any remaining warmth and reprimanding whatever part of her decided gloves were a mere luxury rather than a necessity. The oversized, olive green parka is a comfort, creating a shield between her small frame and the surrounding elements. But without the essential accessories, there is only so much she can hope to get out its insulation. She wishes it would snow - justify the cold with a blanket of white.

She shuffles her bag further up her shoulder, heaving a sigh at the effort. The many textbooks jostle within the leather knapsack, a reminder of the mountain of work she is still required to complete before the night is over. Just a bit further and then she can retreat into her nice, warm house, armed with a cup of tea and an oversized sweater.

She mentally catalogs the work she will have to finalize that night, figuring out what she can brush off until tomorrow and what will require more urgency. There are a handful of assignments she will have to bite the bullet and complete after dinner, fight the resounding urge to crawl into bed and catch up on the hours of sleep she missed last week. She can't forget about the only core curriculum class she was required to take that semester, either - remarkably uninteresting with its broad scope but obligatory for a well-rounded education.

It's some silly, general home economics class. Her professor straddles the line of eccentric and brilliant like a tightrope walker, but a talented one. All of his projects aim to get his students thinking, surpassing the idea of "this is how you cook a grilled cheese" and entering into "when you graduate, the reality of adulthood is going to settle in" territory. A strange combination, but one Sakura can appreciate the merits of.

Although, Professor Guy's enthusiasm can be a bit… overwhelming, even on the best of days. His peppy disposition is unrivaled.

They've been keeping diaries for the semester, making sure to document their days and any notable events that had occurred. As tedious as it seems now, Sakura imagines she will enjoy having the memories to look back on.

She picks up the pace, lengthening her stride. The cold has started to turn the tips of her fingers to stone. She breathes into her hands, relishing the feel of warm breath before carefully tucking them back into her jacket. She turns, electing to take a shortcut rather than prolong her time in the cold.

There's a park by her house, small but prevailing, where children's joyous shrieks of laughter are accompanied by parents watching affectionately over them, or pet owners spending quality time with their loyal companions.

Even in the dead of winter, it's alive, vibrant. Sakura likes to wander through when the opportunity arises - either making a detour on her way home from university or when she is ready to pull her hair out after working endlessly on her mountain of classwork. Just getting some fresh air and, if she can, a coffee from across the road is always a welcome reprieve.

It's a pleasant break. Usually very necessary - when her head is spinning, the house suffocating. But try as she might, Sakura can't recall the last time she went there just to people-watch, without the peripheral burden of the many tasks she has to complete hanging over her as an unwelcome reminder.

Sakura huffs, hoping to get some measure of feeling back in her lips and mildly amused by the puff of air that ensues.

She makes a beeline for the entrance, eager to escape the elements. She's never handled frozen temperatures well. A large gate is propped open, wrought iron swirling in a classic and elegant fashion, daunting when closed for the evening. On the arch, the twisting script reads 'Konoha City Park'.

She passes an elderly couple, walking down the stone path arm in arm, smiling affectionately at one another. They're huddled together, looking so very in love her heart twists. A man jogs quickly past her in clothes far too light for the day, focusing solely on his exercise and paying little mind to anyone else. A young girl has a peacoat buttoned up to her chin, nervously picking at her nails, staring longingly at a group of boys her own age. They're goofing around, shoving each other playfully, completely unaware of the wistful stares of their admirer. One of them has a basketball under his arm, jokingly tossing it to his peer, and laughing at the expense of his friend when it hits an oblivious boy on the side of his head.

Sakura smiles at the girl. A familiar sight. She doesn't have to pretend to know what the young lady is experiencing, having lived through it on more than her fair share of occasions.

It's all typical, all usual, all beautiful in its simplicity. People going about their lives, embracing their existence and coming to one common hub of energy. Until she approaches the end of the path, merely yards away from the large, industrial entrance.

A boy, no older than twenty, sits alone.

And it shouldn't be bizarre, shouldn't make her stop in her tracks and make the breath leave her lungs and her hands fist in the pockets. She doesn't have to guess who it is sitting on the bench, the very man she has spent far too long gazing at from a distance making a victorious appearance.

Distinct features - a straight, handsome nose, high cheekbones. His profile is striking, a fascinating contrast of smooth and sharp. And, though she can't see them properly from this angle, deep and dark eyes that make her lose her train of thought, piercing through her mind and fumbling any coherent thoughts her sharp mind may have formed.

No one is taking the time to look, swiftly passing by without acknowledging his quiet existence, as if he isn't one of the most captivating people she has ever laid eyes on. It isn't something that should make her stop, make her question, but she does.

Sakura wonders why he's here. She's never seen him in the area before, much less at her local park. Last she checked, he and a vast majority of his friends live across town. He won't want to see her, won't even acknowledge her existence. If he remembers her at all.

He stares unblinkingly up at the overcast sky, practically white as a warning of the upcoming inclimate weather. Long legs are reclined in front of him, effortlessly attractive in dark jeans and black combat boots. She blinks, noticing the light bomber jacket layered over a simple t-shirt he pairs with the attire, wondering how that could hardly be considered suitable for this weather.

She toys with the idea of approaching him, of asking him why he's here, of putting herself out on a limb. A nagging desire she can never seem to shake whenever he is near. But there is something about him that almost discourages the communication - an energy that is all but yelling at her to keep away. An instinct that screams no this is bad something is wrong.

Absurd, Sakura thinks, shaking her head, it's simply secondhand embarrassment rearing its ugly head again. She recalls with vivid clarity the last time she was foolish enough to talk to him, and all of the courage in Sakura's body drains away.

A heartbeat passes, a teenager obstructing her line of sight as he chases after the now rolling basketball. One of the boys the young girl was ogling earlier, she notes, absently. He tosses an apology over his shoulder when he nearly crashes into Sakura, too focused on the game to pay her much mind.

She nods as he goes, brief acknowledgment, and then, all she can see are eyes - fathomless and obsidian, staring directly into her. The intensity is enough to make her heart pound, something in them keeping her captive. It pins her in place, the gaze meaningful.

He looks lost. Or sad. Or something else that makes his heart bleed through his stare.

And then it shifts, realization or… or recognition, perhaps? It makes her frozen body feel awfully hot, all at once.

Something wet and cold touches her cheek, and it takes Sakura a moment to recognize that it's snowing.

The sensation successfully pulls her back to reality, telling herself the redness in her cheeks is because of the temperature and not because of Sasuke Uchiha and his beautiful eyes.

She swallows the lump that has formed in her throat, uselessly pushing a short strand of pink hair behind her ear. It immediately falls back into place. Sakura ignores it, choosing instead to resume her hasty walk to the entrance. Her feet are suddenly the most fascinating things in the world, step after step, and she pointedly focuses on them as she makes her smooth escape.

It's foolish. She knows this, far too well. And yet, the whim proves too strong to ignore, and she glances over her shoulder.

The bench is empty.

Warmth washes through her immediately, thawing her frozen skin and offering immediate relief. She reluctantly slips off her shoes and jacket, still wet from the fine dusting of snow over top the sturdy fabric. Relinquishing their protection is hard, and it's only with the knowledge she has comfortable clothes to slip into just waiting upstairs that she suffers through the resulting shiver, anticipating the moment she can begin the short trek to her bedroom.

She can hear her mother in the kitchen, the clattering of pans and cutlery as she prepares for dinner. Her blonde hair has been pulled into a low, tight bun, not a hair out of place. It complements the apron tied securely around her waist perfectly, looking as if she had just stepped out of a good housekeeping magazine.

"Hello, dear," Mebuki calls, absently. As if her mind is a thousand miles away.

It could very well be. Sakura hasn't the foggiest idea what she could be thinking about. The woman has always been as hollow as a doll displayed on a shelf.

It's a truth she had come to terms with years ago. Never a particularly doting mother, but one that always had a semblance of presence. Attending the school functions, offering a kind word with achievements. An empty, "how was your day, dear?" after arriving home from classes and tutoring and any other club she could join to stay away.

A supportive mom to her hardworking daughter, for all intents and purposes. To all who believe it's easier to turn a blind eye than to see the girl in the gilded cage.

"It was fine," Sakura answers, wandering in the kitchen just long enough to smile through the obligatory pleasantries.

Her mother nods, picking up a carrot to clean beneath the sink, "Good, good. Be sure to wash up. Your father will be home soon."

Sakura kisses her cheek, an ode to the affection she wished herself capable of feeling for the woman. Mebuki hardly pays the act any mind, but would undoubtedly be offended should her daughter fail to provide.

Duty fulfilled, Sakura hurries up the steps to her room, holding her breath until the door behind her is firmly latched.

Alone at last.

Sakura tosses her bag of books onto her bed, wincing slightly at the way it bounces. At this rate, her shoulders will give out before she can even make it to grad school.

She fishes in her closet for something warmer to wear than her simple, long-sleeved button-up, grabbing for any fabric that feels satisfactory. She smiles when her chilled fingers make contact with a comfortable, faded sweater she's had for a few years. It's seen better days, threads frayed and pills beginning to form in the torso. But it is familiar, comfortable, and she's never had the heart to get rid of it.

She knows her mother will eye it with contempt when she wanders down for dinner. Sakura can't wait.

She pulls the sweater over her head, sighing contentedly when it offers immediate relief, overshadowed only by the secondhand embarrassment she's been fighting down since leaving the park.

Sakura spent the short walk home reprimanding herself, wondering what exactly was going through her head that left her gaping at her long-time crush so openly. As if she could have been more obvious about her feelings. And really, public space is just that: public. If he didn't already think she was a freak, then he undoubtedly would now. Who is she to mind if he's spending time dawdling near her house? No wonder he left in a hurry. Who wouldn't? Being ogled at by some odd bystander isn't what most would consider an average Monday afternoon.

Then again, he is undoubtedly used to it. His astonishing good looks draw the attention of many across campus, despite him rarely paying those admirers any care. She has witnessed more than a handful of young women approach him at various points throughout their time together in University. Since her first-semester history class, where he sat alongside a handsome blonde, paying little mind to the Professor.

It gave her something to look forward to. An 8 a.m. class was painfully dull, more so when the Professor had one of those voices simply destined for ASMR. But seeing the handsome boy in the back of the class somehow made it worth it.

It was disappointing when he began to skip. She never knew when he would actually be in the class. Occasionally, it would take weeks before he would show up again, always before her. And in the years following, they had only had one other class together, majors never overlapping. She was resigned to glimpses from afar, and stray sightings across the sprawling campus. Which had been remarkably few this year.

Sakura groans aloud, flopping onto the bed. She rubs her face, sighing into her hands. Flipping over, she hugs a rather large teddy bear to her chest, a childhood companion. Perhaps she should have simply spoken to him, even a vague comment to insinuate familiarity rather than gaping hopelessly.

It'd be easier if she wasn't so damn awkward. But people are hard, and vulnerability is worse. She's not particularly good at either.

Sakura buries her face, attempting to fight away the remnants of mortification as her rational mind struggles to regain control. As hard as her parents may try to detain such feelings, Sakura has always been an emotional woman.

As if sensing her thoughts, Sakura hears the door creak open and slam shut. Only moments later, her mother's soft voice calls up the steps, "Sakura, dinner's ready."

Pink locks fall into her face as she raises her head, shaking it once to attempt to regain her vision. The vintage analog clock on her wall reads exactly 6:00 p.m.

Right on time.

A familiar routine. Were her father's career path any less demanding, she's certain it would be a daily occurrence.

However, his workload can greatly vary from week to week. After finding himself a place on the board of directors, the added pressure of the many gala's and happy hours that required him to make an appearance seemed to only further the time her parents spent away from their home.

Sakura can't decide what she prefers, but the freedom isolation grants her is something she never takes advantage of.

Sakura places any thoughts of dark eyes and handsome faces in the back of her mind. It's too much for now, too much to go over when there should be other priorities. Sakura forces herself up, running her fingers through her slightly wet hair and attempting to detangle it. She gathers her laptop in her free hand, flipping off the lights on her way out the door.

The first thing Sakura notices when she walks downstairs is the additional set of shoes by the door. Black, polished to perfection. Placed in perfect parallels.

It's a pleasant surprise to see the head of dusty rosewood-hued hair seated at the four-person table in the kitchen, tiredly drinking a cup of coffee. He's fiddling with a golden band on his left ring finger, a habit he's had for as long as Sakura can remember. A medical journal is lying untouched in front of him - as if he set it there and simply forgot to peruse its contents.

Mebuki is asking him the same generic questions she offered Sakura upon arrival, except now she is carefully plating the five-star meal on her family's behalf. A picture-perfect salad, salmon, rice - healthy, with carefully controlled portions.

Kizashi answers half-heartedly. One look tells Sakura his mind is in another realm, undoubtedly thinking of a case he is working on. He is dedicated, a master in his field, and the hospital is nearly always understaffed. Life as a doctor in a small-town hospital is difficult. Sakura knows it weighs on him, draining the little enthusiasm he manages to gather together for her sake, but it gives him purpose. He loves his job, even with the trials, and wouldn't give it up for the world.

It makes her excited, for purely selfish reasons. Sakura has been vying for an internship within his establishment, and at Kizashi's insistence. He has always placed a hefty amount of pressure on his daughter, pushing to become perfect, stronger, better. Sakura's application currently is being processed, and if all goes according to plan, they will be contacting her for an interview within the week.

He sees her potential, she tells herself, not for the first time that day or week or year.

"Hello, Dad," Sakura says, offering a genuine smile. She wouldn't say she is particularly close with either of her parents, but relatively speaking, Sakura would regard herself a bit of a daddy's girl.

Sakura kisses his cheek, and he smiles in response, the look not quite meeting his eyes.

He's lost weight, that much is obvious. The hours are clearly beginning to take their toll. It makes Sakura frown, mentally cataloging if she'll have time in the next week or so to bring him food. She should, at least on Friday. Maybe tomorrow, if she maneuvers her schedule in the right way...

"You look tired," she comments, slipping into the chair next to him and setting her laptop to the side. Sakura feels the judgment pouring from her mother as she eyes both her sweater and the laptop with pursed lips. It can be done later, even if the thought does make her stomach twist a bit.

Procrastination is not her strong suit.

"I am," he admits, closing the medical journal, "we have had a particularly worrisome case for a while now. It's required a careful touch."

Sakura nods at that, knowing better than to ask. He will undoubtedly remind her of patient confidentiality, something she "must be well versed in when tending to patients of her own, one day."

A speech he hasn't made in years - she has learned what to say and how to say it, after years of trial and error - still prevalent as ever.

"Sakura," her Mother says, soft but firm, "please help me set the table."

She nods, knowing the tone too well to catch the command concealed within the polite tone. Her mother carefully places the fish on a pile of rice, positioning it carefully.

As if we aren't about to make a mess of it, Sakura thinks, folding napkins and grabbing for silverware. She grabs the two prepared platters, setting in in front of her spot as well as her father's.

"Thank you," he offers sincerely, wasting no time in taking a bite of the meal. Sakura slips into her seat as her mother moves from behind the kitchen island, her own plate in her hand.

"You're welcome. How are things at the hospital?"

"They're good, good..."

That's all he says about it, all he ever says about it, but Sakura nods along, anyway. Her mother pointedly clears her throat. Without further prompting, Sakura unfolds her napkin and sets it on her lap.

Kizashi looks at his daughter from over wireframe glasses, "And school? How are your grades?"

Sakura swallows her bite of food, knowing how much he hates it when she talks with her mouth full and not particularly desiring a lecture at the moment.

"Straight A's, according to my professors. I checked yesterday."

Kizashi nods, giving her a small smile that, this time, almost reaches his eyes. "Well done. We can't afford for your GPA to fall. Graduate school is just around the corner."

"Right," Sakura agrees, easily. It's already something she has spent hours considering, lately. Sakura takes another bite. Her mother remains quiet, as she often does. The woman has always adored the classic philosophy, "be seen but not heard." As a child, Sakura was expected to abide by that very same creed,

In the meantime, her father asks her more about classwork, club meetings, applications. He even takes the time to inquire after Ino, her long-time best friend.

They catch up, the conversation short and concise but needed. Sometimes it feels like chatting with a stranger, but they always warm up in the end, simply having to overcome the barriers that always linger between them. It never goes too deep, never crosses any lines that get into personal territory. But she takes what she can get. It's more than her mother tries, really.

Kizashi clears his throat, setting his fork down on the now empty plate and glancing at his daughter. "Let me go take a shower. You want to pick out a movie?"

She should be doing work. She should but… but the idea of spending an evening with her father is a tempting prospect. And really, she's already gotten a jump on her work.

Sakura grins, jumping up from the table and gathering his plate without a second thought.

"Sure. Let's do it."

Her mother doesn't join them, not that Sakura anticipated she would. Instead, she takes a bath, follows her nightly routine of drinking tea while painstakingly maintaining her skincare regimen. At this time, it is likely she is already curled up in bed, indulging in a Hallmark movie or three.

Kizashi falls asleep halfway through the film, soft snores filling the living room where he lays sprawled across his oversized recliner. Sakura's lips quirk upwards, a knowing look coming to light in her eyes.

She can't remember the last time he made it all the way through a movie. Not since she was a little girl, surely.

With a resigned sigh, she clicks the power button on the remote, the entire room becoming completely silent aside from the sounds of deep breathing. A soft blanket is folded on the back of the couch, and Sakura grabs it, draping it over her father. She folds his glasses, setting them on the side table, and kisses his forehead goodnight.

Checking the time, and knowing her mother is undoubtedly in bed, Sakura sneaks back into the kitchen. There is a small box of Oreos Father keeps hidden from Mother, lest he receive the standard lecture about sugar causing numerous health defects. Because clearly, he's not the doctor in-house.

She steals a few of them to take upstairs and one for now, delighting in the way the sugar immediately energizes her. At this rate, she may still be able to make some progress on her work, after all.

After stopping in her small bathroom to prepare for the night, Sakura sits at her desk, taking a moment to check her phone before really starting on the impending assignments.

She has a few missed texts from Ino. The girl may be impatient, but she's empathetic, one of the few privy to the particular nuances of her home life. She knows how Mebuki can be when Sakura is on her phone around them.

Ino-Pig (6:02 p.m.): Forehead, you still good to meet at 4 tomorrow?

Ino-Pig (6:32 p.m.): Gonna leave me wanting more? I get it. But I am passive-aggressive enough to wait three minutes when you finally respond just to make you feel the pain of being ghosted.

Ino-Pig (7:45 p.m.): OH. It's one of those nights.

Sakura doesn't bother to hold in her laugh. One of those nights, indeed. Plopping another oreo in her mouth, she takes a moment to reply.

Sakura (10:34 p.m.): Sorry, couldn't get away.

In the meantime, Sakura flips open an advanced biology book, beginning to read the tedious chapter needed for the lecture tomorrow.

Ino-Pig (10:37 p.m.): HA. Three minutes. How's it feel?

Sakura (10:38 p.m.): Like a knife to the heart.

Ino-Pig (10:39 p.m.): Damn straight. Suffer, bitch.

Ino-Pig (10:39 p.m.): Kidding, kidding! Trapped in another episode of Father Knows Best?

Sakura snorts at that, rolling her shoulders back and wincing when they crack. If her life was a sitcom it would undoubtedly be more interesting than what she experiences from day to day.

Sakura (10:40 p.m.): Only the radio version.

If they wanted to meet at 4, then she wouldn't be able to bring her father lunch, after all. She would have to move her meeting with her research group to noon, maybe eating a quick lunch before her next class. A tight fit, but one she should be able to finagle.

Sakura (10:45 p.m.): Seriously tho, 4 is fine!

Ino-Pig (10:46 p.m.): Good, because I already gave the guys the thumbs up.

Sakura sighs. She shouldn't be surprised, really. Her childhood friend is something of a firecracker, and she knows the blonde would have found a way for her to be there even if her schedule hadn't allowed it.

Ino had dragged her kicking and screaming to the school newspaper a few years ago, pulling the best friend card until Sakura's guilty conscience made her eventually give in. Ino had a massive crush on the editor at the time, her fleeting affections aimed at the senior who was about to graduate. Who, Sakura reminded her, they would probably never see again.

It didn't stop Ino from dragging her to meeting after meeting, or waiting outside the classroom-turned-temporary studio as Ino painstakingly attempted to win him over after meetings. Eventually, they were considered full-time members, attendance mandatory at their bi-weekly meetings.

Sakura doesn't consider herself to be a particularly strong writer, and so the two of them were quickly designated to photographer status.

Moral of the story, here she is, adding to her future resume through an old Canon camera rented from the school. It was the only way to rationalize it to her parents why she would suddenly want to work on the school newspaper, a club she had never previously articulated any interest in.

And if it keeps her out of the house, is it really so bad?

Sakura glances at the clock and notes that it is late enough for her to crawl into bed without feeling like a complete failure of a college student. And, if Ino's messages were anything to go off of, tomorrow will be long enough.

At this rate, she will have wasted an evening. Hopefully, tomorrow will be more efficient. Sakura thinks her parents may have a dinner to attend, anyway.

Sakura grabs the diary on her side table, scribbling some generic comments about how classes were, what she had to eat during the day, and who she conversed with. At the last second, and without too much deliberation, she mentions seeing a handsome student at the park, conveniently excluding who it was on the bench that day.

Sasuke Uchiha is infamous across campus, and it's likely Professor Guy will have already instructed him at some point in his college career.

She shakes her head, feeling silly all of a sudden. How closely is Professor Guy going to read these, she wonders? How mortifying will it be to really confide her true thoughts and feelings, and have they laid bare for an instructor to critique? The man may well write it off as the power of youth, but what will that mean for her future embarrassment?

A thought for another day, one for future Sakura to face head-on. When she isn't struggling to keep her eyes open.

Sakura flicks off the light, pulling back her white quilt and settling comfortably beneath the bedding. Sleep overtakes her swiftly, all-encompassing and dreamless.

Her trip to university is relatively harmless. The walk is usually rather nice, and even if the weather is refusing to cooperate, public transit is close enough she can utilize it should it be required.

Fortunately, it is noticeably warmer today. The sun has begun to peak through the cloud cover, warming the snow-covered ground. The air is still crisp, but not in a way that makes Sakura want to sit by a fire wrapped in a blanket.

Sakura has to pass through a handful of crowded hubs of activity, of squares containing multiple businesses and popular department stores alike. Her commute falls directly within rush hour, her classes behaving like a full-time job in both workload and time requirements.

The honors program will look good on resumes, certainly, but sometimes Sakura wonders if it's really worth all of the additional time required to succeed. The additional workload has been a pain to contend with since entering KU.

Her father certainly thinks so. And that's enough for her.

She has her knapsack on one shoulder, and the camera bag on the other. She has pictures to submit for the next three issues. Ino rarely submits her share, and Sakura has learned it's easier to simply pick up her slack rather than hear the girl rant about how unfair any punishment may be.

However, she's been doing noticeably well as of late. Sakura suspects it's due to the new editor, a long-time friend of Ino's who knows all of her weak spots. Shikamaru is smart enough to outmaneuver Ino, too, much to the girl's mortification.

Suddenly, the clouds return, forcing the sun to retreat once more. The beams refracting between the buildings rapidly retract.

Noise wells up, trapped between tall buildings and the active street. Cars honking, speeding, flying far too close to the sidewalk to always be considered safe. People on their phones, laughing at something the nameless face on the line has said or yelling in frustration.

But somehow, Sakura hears none of it.

It's almost like going through a tunnel - not a complete absence of sound, but partially void, like a muted song through a glass doorway. It's an odd sensation, and odd things are complicated in the worst way.

Her heart stops, and once again she's overwhelmed and captivated and tempted to run the opposite way.

Sasuke. He's there again, a silent presence. But this time he is standing directly in her path, and he's watching. Just watching, not in a severe way, but in the way that is so blank it's intimidating. Sakura usually prides herself on her ability to read people, to really understand what is going on in their minds and gleaning what she can from their expression. But at this moment there is something so frighteningly empty she isn't sure what it means.

The sea of people pass in front of him like a blur, but Sakura remains solely focused on him, even as he shimmers in and out of view.

She feels pinned in place by those eyes, pointedly watching her as if the rest of the people in the square don't exist. Or like it doesn't matter that they exist. She isn't sure she likes that thought.

Sakura can practically feel her fingertips tingle and without breaking eye contact - she's scared to blink at this point, lest he disappear again. Is he following her? Why is he here? His look is intentional, eyes never moving from her, paying no mind to the crowd between them. Sakura has always desired his attention, always craved for him to see her, but this feels wrong.

Without breaking eye contact, Sakura begins to unzip the carrying case resting against her hip. Her hand is on the Canon before she even processes her actions. Or their repercussions.

They're working on an article about students in the community, out and about enjoying the city and the many winter activities it offers. A rationalization of why she takes a picture of the handsome man - virtual stranger - out and about.

She peers through the viewfinder, focusing on him and is mildly intrigued to see his head tilt - as if intrigued by her odd choice of address. His brows furrow slightly, blackening his already intense features.

Sakura supposes most people would just say hi, something she regretted not doing the night before. An impossible task with the way he pins her in place, legs refusing to move, to approach him. Her instincts flare, begging her to fight or flee, and she isn't sure what to do with that.

But, Sakura isn't most people. Even if that does tend to turn people off.

She clicks the shutter, again, and again, and again, hoping to hell and back she got something decent. She pulls it away from her face, glancing down if only to check it's properly working, capturing what she desires. It is only a second, half of a moment, but-

But just the day in the park, he's gone, lost to the sea of people. Sakura finds herself glancing around, wondering just how in the world he manages to move so quickly and hoping she wasn't the reason he freaked and ran.

There are far too many questioning looks being thrown her way, and though part of her has learned to ignore them long ago, she knows she's spent too much time dawdling. She's going to be late and struggling to explain just why that is.

Sakura isn't sure she could explain it even if she tried.

The moment is nearly forgotten, but not really - nestling warmly into the back of her mind as she flits from class to class and attempts to absorb information like the good little sponge she is. There isn't time to analyze her work or dwell too closely on the strange morning she experienced, between intense lectures and group work and numerous meetings.

But much later, when she's in the basement of the communications building, in the storage room they call a classroom, she finally breathes. Ino is talking her ear off about something Shikamaru said, or the night before, or about what she wants to do with her hair. Apparently, there is another boy on a dating app trying to win her over, vying for her attention. Sakura just nods along, happy enough to humor her friend.

The meeting begins, and Shikamaru lazily passes the authority around the room, more than happy to hear from everyone individually and pick apart their ideas rather than conjuring any of his own. TenTen begins to rant about the community article, space buns bouncing as she enthusiastically covers some of the material she's found.

It makes her think for the first time since that morning about seeing him, Sasuke, amongst the crowd. She doubts he will like to have the photo publicized, he's always seemed like the private type. But if there is anything she can do with it, then maybe…

She grabs for the camera, opening the storage for the first time that day. Sakura finally lets herself glimpse what she caught on the memory card so many hours before. She expects they may be grainy, or out of focus, or… Or anything, really. Nothing usable, surely.

That's not the case. What she does see, however, makes her blood run cold. Amongst the people, where the camera had focused, where there should have been a beautiful boy with the type of eyes that break open her soul and crush it into pieces is…

Nothing.

He's not there.