He dreams of her that night.
It's the first time he doesn't dream of Rin or Obito, and for the first time in nearly his entire existence, he is happy to be caught in the plane between sleep and wake.
It's beautiful.
Vivid yet hazy.
Detailed yet vague.
And to this day, it sticks in his mind in bits and pieces, full as a whole, yet he can't recall all of it.
Sakura is bright.
So bright.
He couldn't tell you what they were doing or where they were, but the memory of her face is still clear as day, fuscia hair against the grey backdrop of his mind.
And flowers.
He remembers flowers, in an open field, encased around her, blowing past them in a breeze. Everywhere.
And she laughs, says something he can't remember though her mouth moves, like the audio of a film that's been cut out, white noise.
And she stares at him, gives him her softest, most tender smile, and without words he knows that he is loved.
And it's short, and pointless, and fleeting, but when he wakes up, he doesn't mind in the least that he's called into the Fifth's office first thing in the morning, or that he's about to get sent on a three-week long mission.
His only qualm is that Sakura is not in his dreams the next night.
