‧₊˚✩彡

The first week or so passed by rather uneventfully. 

Itachi falls into the routine of summer that has sat in his bones for years. Wake up at dawn, water and harvest their crops, feed the livestock, have dinner with his family, try and get some reading in on the engawa, sleep… his days were busy, but he liked that.

Sakura slipped into life at the Uchiha farm like a fish to water, existing on the edge of his vision. She routinely patrolled their fields and orchards, following a schedule only she seemed to know, but would sometimes take on a few manual tasks around the house.

Mikoto would ask her to lug a barrel of water or load a particularly heavy crate onto their cart, and Sakura would easily complete the task. 

Itachi thinks she likes being busy, like him, as her eyes will always light up a bit, and her mouth will quirk with a small smile whenever Mikoto’s airy “Sakura-chan?” rings through their halls.

His first notable encounter with her happens nine days after her arrival, something that still makes a light pink tinge ruddy the tops of his cheekbones. It was probably an inconsequential interaction for Sakura, which made it all the more embarrassing. 

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It’s a very windy day, the kind that swirls leaves and dirt around their courtyard. Itachi was leaving the main house around midday when an especially harsh gust of wind blew some debris into the doorway he was standing in. He mumbled a curse, already annoyed at the thought of cleaning up the living room that his mother had just done a deep clean of the day before.

As he went to pull the shoji door shut, it simply refused to budge. Itachi tried shaking it left and right, shifting it up and down to loosen it, but it didn’t move an inch.

The screen was still stuck; another gust of wind blew more leaves into the hallway, and Itachi grunted in irritation. 

“May I?”

Itachi turned sharply at the sound of Sakura’s voice. She stood just off the engawa, looking unbothered by the wind that whipped her hair around her face. Her usual haori was missing, leaving her arms bare in the short-sleeved kimono top she wore.

She stepped closer, her eyes briefly meeting his before focusing on the stuck shoji door.

“If you would like,” Itachi murmured, moving aside to not crowd the smaller woman. The dulled scent of yuzu and jasmine filled his nose, evidence that she had recently come from their bathhouse. He pointedly ignored the strands of damp pink hair that clung to the back of her pale neck.

Sakura examined the door frame briefly, then placed her hands on the screen and gave it a gentle push and pull. With a small, decisive motion, she dislodged whatever was causing the stoppage, and the door slid smoothly shut.

The smooth muscles of her arms flexed subtly as she moved, drawing Itachi’s eyes for a split second before he forced himself to look away before the heat climbing his chest reached his face. It was apparent why the manual labor Sakura did around the property was so unchallenging for her.

It was an effortless gesture, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed by his inability to fix something as simple as a stuck door.

“Thank you,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. He tested the screen and found it slid back and forth perfectly uninterrupted.

Sakura turned to him with a small smile, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “No problem. Sometimes it just needs a particular touch.”

Her tone had a playful lift to it, and Itachi’s grip on the shoji frame tightened slightly.

Before he could respond, another gust of wind swept through the courtyard, blowing a flurry of leaves around them. A strand of pink hair fluttered across her face, and Sakura brushed it away with the back of her hand, eyes still fixed on him.

“You’re always so tense, Itachi-san,” she said softly, her smile widening just a fraction. “You should relax more.”

He didn’t have an immediate response to that. Relaxing wasn’t something that came naturally to him; always rushing around with chores to do and tasks to complete. It certainly wasn’t something he expected to hear from someone like her, whose own strength and discipline mirrored his in many ways. He hadn’t exactly seen her lay back and put her feet up.

Itachi said as much to her (more politely, of course), but she only laughed breezily. He felt a little embarrassed once more.

Sakura stepped back, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned to leave. “Anyway, if you ever need help again, just ask,” she added over her shoulder, voice light.

“And I find dusk to be a rather suitable time to relax.” That teasing tone laced her words again.

Itachi watched her retreating form, the sway of her steps, the quiet confidence of her posture. He wasn’t sure when he had started noticing these little things about her.

The smell of yuzu and jasmine still hung in the air, a gossamer of Sakura’s warmth that hung around his shoulders.