empathy (rewritten 2019)

うずまきナルト

He saw her three times this month. And each time their talks became shorter, shorter, until all he could hear was him--him, cursing, crying, muttering sorries; and her, staring, blank and gone. And in the three times they passed by, bumped into, and stared at each other, he had never offered an apology. And in each time, she had never asked for one.

The first time was over a week ago, when they fought. He said something. And she said something back. And they fought, in the shadows, behind the curtains of a party. He tried laughing it off. She was too hurt to laugh along.

The second time was in the streets of an early day. She was smiling, beaming at him, as if they never fought, and there he stood, remembering and guilty and ashamed. "Good morning, Hokage," she said, bowing, gripping Tsunade's lists to her frame. She looked tired and thin, nothing like the thick-armoured, tough warrior she'd once been.

"Hello, Sakura-chan." He tried smiling, tried beaming just the same smile as hers, but it was only fake and faltering. His chest was tight. "How are you?" He ran a hand through his hair.

Her face cracked and she smiled brighter. "Good." And she paused, and he followed suit, waiting for her to step aside or cross the street. They shared a few more words before delving into silence once more. And so she pushed on after a beat, stuffing the lists under her armpit as she nodded and waved, gliding past him. "We're having a party tonight, it would be wonderful if you came. See you later!"

And she, pink haired and green-clothed, somehow blended into the crowd of early risers and vendor sellers carrying baskets of their trade to their stall. He watched her pass as though she were only a commoner, paying time to dutifully wish the Hokage a grand day, before continuing with her life. As though she were a girl different from the one who yelled and he yelled at that night, like a stranger with the purpose of reminding him of his guilt. And as she hurried down the street, off to buy the necessities on Tsunade's lists, he let the fleeting opportunity to apologize slip by. She never asked for one, but damn, he should have.

The third time, he saw her after her mission with Tenten. He tried his best to avoid her gleaming face, informing Tenten about the mission for her to pass on to the other kunoichi. This third time her smile was still there, faded by the edges, but curved and lasting for an afterlife. She was, this time, weak and pale and worn out. Her uniform was tattered and bloodied, yet her knuckles without the bruises and scratches it should have--really, really should have--carried. And Tenten came running back with her, crying and begging and apologizing (Naruto thought, no, no it shouldn't be you saying that). This third time everyone surrounded him and her, watching him fall to the ground on his silky Hokage robe, Sasuke telling him it's not your fault, it's done and gone, and Tsunade refusing to check the body, saying I don't need an examination to know her state.

This third time he felt lost and afraid, waiting for her smile to grow and her laughs to fill the air, waiting for her to rise and continue on with her day like she did before, as though the blood nor the pain was never there.

This third time was his last to apologize. But it was too late.