Sense Memory

Disclaimer: This story utilises characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelisations, comics or short stories is intended by KuriQuinn in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author's own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Beta Reader: None yet; this is unedited but I'll fix it when I'm feeling up to it.

Spoilers: Everything up to Blank Period

Author's Note: Someone on Tumblr asked me for a fic of Sasuke performing CPR or listening to Sakura's heartbeat. And this is what I came up with. The river/stream in this story is kind of based on Bolton Strid. Google it. Also, timeline-wise this is after Land of Waves, but before the chūnin exams, so Sakura hasn't yet gotten in the habit of saving Sasuke or Naruto. While writing this, I realised I never really write about Sasuke saving Sakura...Guess I just love having the girl be the hero too much haha. Oh well, Sasuke gets to have a moment this time. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: No one at the moment, except for me and my writing aids 😊

Translation: This story is available in other languages on ArchiveOfOurOwn. In French (KuriQuinnFR) and in German (KuriQuinnDE).  

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Sasuke lies across his wife's chest, ear pressed against her sternum; he takes in the frenetic sound of her heartbeat. His own pulse races in counterpoint, his lungs burning for oxygen that he ignored while engaged in other pursuits.

Not that he is complaining.

The steady thrum of Sakura's heartbeat echoes like a victory anthem to him. He never ceases to be amazed at the primitive pride he feels when he hears it. A part of that is basic male smugness, he supposes, but most of it is knowing it is Sakura's heartbeat. She has such raw strength and endurance that for her to lose control of herself because of him still amazes him even after being married for years now.

It is almost as amazing as the fact that no one ever has or ever will listen to her heartbeat so intimately.

He nudges his nose against the flat expanse of her sternum, lips brushing against the skin between her breasts in a not-quite-kiss as he gazes up at her. Sakura's face is relaxed, a satisfied smile beneath eyes half-lidded in the afterglow.

It is rare that he gets a chance to watch her so openly. He was raised to believe it was impolite to stare, and so even into adulthood would only allow himself to watch her out of the corners of his eyes. Marriage has not eradicated that habit.

She is unquestionably beautiful like this, tangled in their bedsheets and with the dawn sunlight streaming across her hair. He wonders if he would have realised this fact earlier if he had stayed to grow up in Konoha instead of seeking his fortunes elsewhere. As a child he was so filled with pain and anger, that the concept of beauty held no meaning to him. Even when he looked right at it—at her—he could not recognise it.

The memory hits him then, with the surprising clarity that repressed memories sometimes do; it is so present he wonders for a moment if he has activated his Sharingan.