Unholy Love | SasuSaku

A Breath Away from Fire

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken."

C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Mikoto's POV

Mikoto sat alone in her chambers. It had been weeks since the last letter from her husband. Every passing day without word about her sons' fate clawed at her heart, and though she held herself with her usual grace, each dawn felt like lifting an unseen weight. Yet, her mother's heart told her that Itachi and Sasuke were out there somewhere, alive, and she clung to that fragile thread of hope.

The door opened and Izumi entered, balancing a tea tray. She moved with familiar lightness, though today her steps seemed slower, her gaze often drifting as though her thoughts weighed her down. Mikoto always had a soft spot for the lass, and she often saw her as the daughter she never had. When Izumi reached Mikoto's side, she poured the tea carefully before finally finding the courage to ask, her voice almost a whisper, "Lady Mikoto... is there any word of the young lords?"

Mikoto's heart clenched, and she met Izumi's searching eyes. She could see how much it cost the girl to ask. In Izumi's quiet agony, Mikoto recognised the signs of a heart bound by feelings it could never confess; feelings she had long noticed, quietly exchanged glances that had started when Izumi and Itachi were both mere children.

Her voice soft, almost pained, Mikoto replied, "No new letter... but I feel it, child. I pray for them day and night, and I can sense it... they're still with us. I am certain of that."

Izumi lowered her gaze, a fleeting relief passing across her face, quickly tempered by the worry that clearly still gripped her. Mikoto rested a hand over her own, offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance, though in her heart she knew it was a kindness to ease a longing that could never truly be fulfilled. For as much as she loved her sons and wanted happiness for them, their paths were bound to duty and legacy. And for Itachi, as Fugaku's successor, his path had been forged from birth.

Still, as she watched the young woman struggling to keep her composure, Mikoto felt a pang of empathy.

"Thank you, Izumi, for the tea," she said softly. "Your kindness is a blessing to this household, and I... I believe my sons know it too, wherever they are."

Sakura's POV

Three days had elapsed since that night conversation she had with Sasuke, and her cheeks still got warm whenever she remembered the things she had said. Those past three days she had tried to avoid him as much as possible, focusing on her duties in the monastery.

However, her mind drifted often to the stories he had shared with her in those few times she would muster the courage to ask him about the world. He had even shared memories of his childhood; stories of his mother, and Sakura had noticed how his face softened whenever he spoke of her. His harsh exterior seemed to melt away.

Now, the chill of the evening crept through the monastery as autumn deepened, casting a cold, sharp wind across the grounds. Rain threatened the sky once again. Sister Chiyo had instructed the nuns to prepare more blankets for the soldiers.

And yet, Sakura stood at her window, gazing out into the yard, watching as Sasuke and Shisui sparred with swords. She had never seen anything quite like it. The precision, the raw power in their movements —she couldn't tear her eyes away, despite the unease it stirred within her. Every step and strike seemed effortless.

The thought of such skill used to kill sickened her, but there was no denying that they were mesmerizing in motion; he was mesmerizing in motion. Sasuke's dark hair clung to his damp skin. His muscles were tense as he moved with grace. She could barely admit to herself that, even now, he looked... handsome.