#sasukarin

Karin sat on the edge of the low bedding, her knees tucked beneath her. In her lap, she held an empty wooden bowl that had, until ten minutes ago, contained a simple, hastily prepared rice porridge with pickled plum. It wasn't gourmet, but given their lack of supplies, it was a minor miracle she’d conjured anything edible at all.

She shouldn't be sitting here. The sink across the tiny kitchen alcove was piling up with crusty pots, and Suigetsu had already threatened to use his Hydrification Technique to wash them if she didn't—which meant soap suds in their drinking water. She really needed to get up.

But she couldn't move.

Because Uchiha Sasuke’s left hand was buried deep in her hair.

It had started innocently enough, or as innocently as anything involving Sasuke could start. She had leaned over to wipe a stray smudge of porridge from his chin, her thick, unevenly cropped red locks cascading over her shoulder. Sasuke had grunted, his dark eyes cloudy with the lingering haze of heavy painkillers and exhaustion.

Instead of batting her away like he usually did, his pale, scarred hand had risen from the blanket. His long fingers had hooked into the vibrant crimson strands near her shoulder, curling lazily around them.

And there they stayed.

Karin froze. Her breath caught in her throat, her glasses slipping an inch down the bridge of her nose. Her heart, suddenly betraying her entirely, began to hammer against her ribs like a trapped sparrow.

"Is this a dream?" she thought wildly, her eyes darting around the dim room to ensure she hadn't fallen under a genjutsu. "Sasuke is... he's touching me. Voluntarily. Without me having to fake an injury or throw myself at him!"

Slowly, Sasuke ran his fingers upward. The rough, calloused texture of his fingertips scraped lightly against her scalp, sending a violent, electric shiver straight down her spine. He didn't say a word. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tight, his expression an unreadable mask of brooding stoicism. But his hand kept moving, parting the thick, chaotic layers of her hair, smoothing them out, and then clenching slightly at the roots.

"S-Sasuke?" Karin squeaked. Her voice was an octave higher than normal.

Sasuke didn't blink. "What."

"I... I need to wash the bowl."

"Do it later." His voice was raspy, deep, and utterly unyielding. To emphasize his point, his fingers tightened just a fraction, anchoring her in place. He didn't pull hard enough to hurt, but the possessive weight of his hand was an absolute dictate.

Karin swallowed hard. Her mind split into two fiercely warring factions.

Faction A (The Rational Sensor): This is ridiculous. He’s just bored, or delirious from losing half his chest tissue to the Eight-Tails. You have chores to do, and if you stay like this, you're going to look pathetic. Move!

Faction B (The Eternal Fangirl): IF YOU MOVE, YOU ARE THE STUPIDEST WOMAN ALIVE. If you take one step away, he will close himself off again. He will become the cold, untouchable Uchiha, and you will never, ever get to feel his hand in your hair again. Die in this spot if you have to!

Faction B won a resounding, unanimous victory. Karin stayed glued to the floor.

From the open doorway connecting the cramped bedroom to the main living area, a soft, wet snort echoed.

Karin’s eyes snapped toward the sound, her romantic delusion instantly fracturing.

Suigetsu was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, a massive, jagged grin splitting his face. His sharp, shark-like teeth gleamed in the dim light. Beside him, Jūgo stood like a massive, silent sentinel, though his usually placid eyes held a distinct, unmistakable glint of amusement.

"Well, well," Suigetsu drawled, his voice dripping with mock-innocence. "Look at the fierce rogue ninja. Out here conquering nations, but currently defeated by a bird’s nest of red hair."

"Shut up, Suigetsu!" Karin hissed, trying to keep her head perfectly still so she wouldn't disrupt Sasuke's hand. She glared at the swordsman with enough venom to kill a summoning toad. "He’s resting! He needs quiet!"

"Oh, he looks very restful to me," Suigetsu chuckled, walking into the room with deliberate, noisy steps. He leaned over Karin’s shoulder, peering down at Sasuke. "Hey, Sasuke. Is it soft? It looks kinda coarse from here. Like dried straw. Or maybe a tomato that exploded."

A dangerous, icy spike of chakra flared in the room. It didn't come from Karin.

Sasuke’s dark eyes shifted slowly from the ceiling to fixate on Suigetsu. The menace in that gaze would have made a lesser ninja flee the country. Even with half his ribs cracked and his internal organs still knitting together under a layer of medic-nin paste, the Uchiha aura was fully operational.

"Suigetsu," Sasuke said softly, his voice dangerously low.

"Yeah, boss?"

"If you don't leave the room in the next three seconds, I will use whatever chakra I have left to Amaterasu your water-bottle body into steam."

Suigetsu raised his hands in mock surrender, though he didn't look particularly threatened. "Hey, I’m just looking out for the team. Karin’s been sitting there for thirty minutes like a statue. I think her legs are falling asleep. And frankly, the kitchen is a mess."

"Jūgo," Sasuke muttered, ignoring the swordsman entirely.

"I'll take him outside," Jūgo replied instantly. He reached out, grabbed Suigetsu by the back of his purple high-collar shirt, and began dragging him backward out of the room.

"Hey! Let go! Jūgo, you giant ape, I wanted to see if he was gonna braid it!" Suigetsu’s complaints faded down the hallway, followed by the heavy thud of the safehouse’s front door closing.

Silence reclaimed the room, thick and heavy.

Karin let out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry about him, Sasuke. He has no boundaries."

Sasuke didn't answer. His hand had stopped moving for a moment during the interruption, resting heavily against the back of her head, the warmth of his palm seeping through her hair to the skin of her neck. Now, as the silence stretched, his fingers began to move again.

Slowly. Rhythmically.

He slid his hand downward, tracing the uneven line where her hair had been roughly cut, a stark reminder of her past, of the rough life she’d led before Orochimaru, and the even rougher life she led now.

To anyone else, Karin’s hair was loud, absurd, and a dead giveaway of her Uzumaki lineage. To Sasuke, right now, it feels like a anchor. The texture was thick, slightly wild, and vibrantly alive. After days of touching nothing but cold steel, burning fire, and the edge of his own mortality, the heat radiating from Karin’s scalp seems grounding.

Karin watched him out of the corner of her eye. Without his usual Akatsuki cloak or usual clothes, clad only in loose, grey medical pants and bandages wrapped tight around his torso, he looked younger. Vulnerable, almost. The sharp line of his collarbone was prominent, moving slightly with each shallow breath.

"Does it hurt?" she asked softly, her voice losing its usual abrasive edge.

"No," Sasuke lied automatically.

Karin frowned, her sensor abilities flaring slightly to read his network. "You're lying. Your chakra pathways are still constricted near your lungs. You shouldn't even be moving too much or lift your arm like that as you are."

"Then don't move," he said.

The bluntness of his words caught her off guard. She looked down at him, her heart doing a frantic tap-dance again. Sasuke was looking at her now. Not with the cold gaze he used when planning a mission, nor with the manic, bloodthirsty intensity he’d shown in the Killer Bee fight.

It was a dark, exhausting look, heavy with a strange kind of exhaustion that went deeper than physical injury.

"If you move, the pulling hurts," he clarified, though his tone was entirely devoid of actual complaint. It sounded more like a poorly constructed excuse to keep her exactly where she was.

Karin felt a flush creeping up her neck, hot and rapid, dyeing her cheeks a color that matched her hair. "He... he wants me here. He’s using an excuse to keep me close."

"I... I see," she stammered, completely losing her ability to function as a mature kunoichi. "Then... I guess I won't move. For your sake. Obviously. Just for medical reasons."

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. 

Sasuke’s movements grew slower, his eyelids drooping slightly as the exhaustion of his healing body began to reclaim him. Yet, his fingers remained firmly entangled in her hair. Every time he seemed to drift off, his grip would tighten a little, as if ensuring she hadn't slipped away.

Karin’s left leg was completely numb. A sensation like hundreds of tiny needles was pricking her foot, and she desperately wanted to shift her weight.

The smell of the dirty porridge bowl in her lap was starting to bother her. She was a neat freak by nature, living in Orochimaru’s pristine hideouts had ingrained a strict sense of cleanliness in her. The thought of the dried rice starch hardening on the wood was causing her physical anxiety.

"Just slide out out of it," the rational part of her brain pleaded. "Just gently untangle his fingers, put a pillow under his hand, and go wash the dish. It will take two minutes!"

"Nooo!" the other part screamed. "Look at him! He looks so peaceful. If you wake him up or pull away, he’ll realize he’s being human and go back to being an emotionless rock! Do you want to ruin this?!"

She closed her eyes, agonizing over the dilemma.

Suddenly, Sasuke’s thumb brushed against the shell of her ear. It was an accidental movement, a mere slip of his hand as he shifted on the pillow, but the sensation made Karin jump.

"Ah!" she gasped, her knee jerking upward.

The wooden bowl in her lap rattled dangerously. Sasuke’s eyes snapped open, instantly clear and sharp, the instinct of a hunted missing-nin overriding his fatigue. His grip on her hair tightened automatically, pulling her down a few inches closer to his face.

"What is it?" he demanded, his voice sharp. "An enemy?"

"N-no! No!" Karin said quickly, her face mere inches from his now. She could smell the minty herb paste on his bandages and see the tiny flecks of dark grey in his irises. "No enemy! I just... my leg fell asleep. And... and I really need to wash this bowl please, Sasuke."

Sasuke stared up at her. Way longer. The proximity was dizzying. Karin could see the faint pulse in his throat. For a second, she thought he was going to snap at her, to tell her she was annoying and push her away. Her heart sank, bracing for the inevitable rejection.

Instead, Sasuke let out a long, slow sigh through his nose.

He didn't let go of her hair.

"Bring the basin here," he muttered.

Karin blinked, her brain stalling. "What?"

"The dishes," Sasuke said, his voice laced with irritated patience. "Bring them here. Wash them next to the futon."

"Are you insane?!" Karin squawked, her usual loud demeanor slipping back into place. "I can't bring a washbasin, soap, and dirty pots into the sleeping area! It'll get water all over the tatami! And besides, how am I supposed to carry all that here without moving my head?!"

Sasuke’s brow furrowed, a faint line appearing between his eyes. He looked genuinely annoyed that his logic had failed. He looked at his own hand, still buried in the bright red strands, as if realizing for the first time that he was the one causing the logistical nightmare.

For a moment, Karin thought "This is it." He’s going to let go.

His fingers loosened. The tension dropped. Karin felt a sudden, distinct pang of grief in her chest. The coldness of the room seemed to rush back in to fill the void.

But he didn't pull his hand away completely. Instead, his hand slid down from the roots of her hair, tracing the length of it until he caught the very ends of the strands, twirling them loosely around his index finger.

"Then stay," he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper that was barely audible over the sound of the wind howling outside the ravine. He closed his eyes again, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. "The dishes can wait."

Karin sat frozen, her breath entirely suspended.

The rejection hadn't come. He had chosen the dirty dishes over letting her leave. It was a bizarre, twisted version of domesticity, completely warped by Uchiha dysfunction and the trauma of their lives, but to Karin, it was everything.

A slow, radiant smile spread across her face. She carefully set the empty bowl on the floor beside the futon, making sure not to pull on his hand. Then, with agonizing slowness, she shifted her weight, sliding off her numb leg and stretching it out beside the bedding.

Sasuke didn't stir, though his finger remained hooked in her hair, a tiny, bright red thread binding them together in the quiet dark of the safehouse.

From the hallway, the door creaked open again.

"Hey, Karin," Suigetsu’s voice whispered loudly from the crack in the door. "Jūgo found some wild berries. You want some, or are you still acting as an Uchiha headrest?"

Karin didn't even yell this time. She simply picked up her discarded eyeglasses from her lap, threw them with pinpoint accuracy at Suigetsu’s face, gave a little splash of water, and went back to watching Sasuke sleep.

The dishes could rot for all she cared. This is way important.

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She’d told him not to worry. "I’ve got the clinic, the garden, Jugo dropping by with fresh vegetables. I’m fine", she’d said, pressing a pack of his favorite ration bars into his bag.

He’d looked at her then, his dark eyes soft, and brushed a strand of red hair from her face. I’ll send word when I can, he’d promised. But the last message had come five days ago, just a single line: Seals holding. Be late. No “I miss you.” No “I’m coming home soon.” Just late.  

──────────

“You ever feel like you're waiting for something that'll never come?” Karin said, flicking a pebble off the hospital rooftop an hour later. The sun was low, bleeding orange across Konoha's jagged skyline, the same color that still made her flinch, that still pulled her back to the war.

Beside her, Suigetsu chewing loudly on a stick of dango, his shrug more liquid than solid. 

She didn't expect an answer. The question wasn't really for him. Her fingers traced the edge of her glasses, old habit, leftover from when she used to push them up with deliberate impatience. Now they just sat there, lenses smudged from neglect. Below, the village buzzed with the usual post-mission chatter, genin laughing, vendors packing up. Normal.

Years ago, she'd have scoffed at the idea of staying in one place long enough to memorize the rhythm of it. She really hates it. It's like a prison.

But here she was, counting the seconds between the ramen stall's lantern flickering on and the old florist pulling her shutters down. Routine carved grooves into her bones, deep enough that sometimes she forgot how to move without them.

The pebble hit the dirt far below with a sound too small to hear. Karin exhaled through her nose. Waiting was stupid. She knew that. Yet every time the wind kicked up, she still caught herself turning, half-expecting to see wild red hair and a grin sharp enough to cut, not his, never his, but a ghost of the past that still lingered, a reminder of all the people she’d waited for before him.

Suigetsu finally swallowed his dango. “You're doing that thing again,” he said, jabbing his stick toward her face. “Where you look like someone pissed in your tea.” She swatted at him, but his forearm dissolved into water before her fingers made contact.

The bastard laughed, a rough, easy sound that felt out of place in the quiet of the rooftop. Suigetsu left.

Three floors down, a medic-nin shouted for clean bandages. Karin's shoulders tensed, a muscle memory from years spent elbow-deep in other people's blood. The scent of antiseptic clung to her even now, though she hadn't worked a shift in weeks.

That was the problem with smell: it lingered in the folds of your clothes, in the creases of your skin. Like chakra residue. Like grief.

The rooftop door creaked open. Karin didn't turn. Footsteps are the light, deliberate. Not Orochimaru's slick prowl, not Jugo's heavy tread. Her pulse spiked anyway. Stupid. Hope was a reflex she couldn't seem to cauterize, even after all these years of being burned by it.

A gust of wind slapped against her cheek, carrying the ozone-tang of lightning or something else-chakra. The scent hit her like a kunai between the ribs, sharp, intimate, gone before she could brace for it. Her fingers twitched toward the scar below on her neck, the one from the war, from him, when he’d bitten down to draw her blood and save his own life.

Old wound. Older habit.

“Just me,” Sakura said softly, stepping beside her. She held out a cup of tea, it was green, sweetened just how Karin liked it.

“Heard you were up here.” Karin took the cup, her hands warm against the ceramic. She didn't need to ask how Sakura knew why she was up here.

They’d both spent too many years waiting for the same man, in different ways.

──────────

Late. The word echoes in her head as she leaves the rooftop and heads toward their cottage on the edge of the village. The sun is almost gone now, and the sky is turning a deep purple that reminds her of his eyes.

Back then, loss had been sharp and immediate, a physical pain that had made her knees buckle. Now, it’s slow and insidious.

A drip, drip, drip of emptiness that fills the spaces he used to occupy.

She unlocks the cottage door, and the first thing she notices is his cloak, draped over the chair by the fireplace. He’d left it by accident, she thinks or maybe on purpose, a silent reminder that he’d be back. She walks over and runs her fingers over the fabric, feeling the worn wool, the faint scent of cedar and rain.

For a second, she lets herself imagine packing it up, folding it neatly and putting it in the closet. Closing that door on him. Leaving him behind, like she’d almost done so many times before.

Back in the Hebi days, she’d planned her escape a hundred times. She’d map out routes, hide supplies, tell herself that she didn’t need to be anyone’s healer, anyone’s anchor. But every time, she’d look at him, being quiet and brooding, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and the plan would crumble. He needs me, she’d tell herself.

Now, sitting in their quiet cottage, she wonders if it was the other way around. I needed him to need me. The thought makes her throat tight.

She walks to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for stew. The one he loves, with root vegetables and slow-cooked meat. As she chops carrots, her hands still steady after all these years of healing, she thinks about all the times she’s faced loss. Her mother, who’d died protecting her from the Hidden Grass’s experiments. The friends she’d made in the lab, who’d faded one by one. The version of herself that had been willing to give up everything just to be near him, even when he didn’t deserve it.

But this loss—this possible loss—is different. It’s not just about losing him. It’s about losing the life they built together. The garden where he helps her plant herbs, his hands covered in dirt. The nights they spend on the porch, watching the stars, him pointing out constellations he’d learned as a child. The morning he’d woken up early and made her tea, burning the leaves because he’d been too focused on watching her sleep.

All of it—simple, quiet, theirs, and it could all be gone in a single message, a single moment of carelessness.

She puts the stew on the stove, then walks out to the garden. The cherry tree he’d planted for their anniversary is starting to bud, even though it’s still early spring. Jugo had stopped by yesterday to water it, telling her that Sasuke had asked him to look after it “just in case.” Just in case. The words hang in the air as she runs her fingers over the small stone bird he’d carved for her last winter, its wings spread, like it’s about to fly away.

That night, she can’t sleep. She lies in their bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the wind howl outside. The emptiness beside her is so big it feels like it’s going to swallow her whole. She thinks about what it would feel like to leave, to lock the cottage door, take her medical supplies, and start over somewhere new. No one would miss her, she tells herself.

The clinic could be run by someone else. Jugo and Suigetsu would visit. But then she thinks about Sasuke coming home to an empty house, to his cloak still draped over the chair, to the stew in the fridge that would never be eaten.

The thought makes her heart ache so fiercely she has to sit up, pressing her hands to her chest.

I can’t do that, she realizes. I can’t leave him behind. Not now.

The next morning, she wakes up to a knock on the door. Her heart leaps—then sinks when she sees Suigetsu standing on the porch, holding a scroll. "From Sasuke", he says, handing it to her. She unfolds it with shaking hands. The writing is messy, like he’d written it in a hurry: Seals fixed. Had to help a village with a plague. On my way home. Be there in two days. Miss you.

Miss you. The words hit her like a wave. She leans against the doorframe, tears finally spilling over. All the fear, all the doubt, all the thoughts of leaving, they don’t disappear, but they soften. She thinks about the stew in the fridge, about the cherry tree budding, about his cloak on the chair.

He’s coming home. He always does. But this time, she knows it’s not just his promise that’s keeping her here. It’s the choice she’s making, over and over again: to stay, to wait, to love him even when the fear of losing him is so big it feels impossible.

She walks back into the kitchen, pulling out more ingredients. She’ll make extra stew. She’ll clean the cottage. She’ll sit on the porch and wait for him, watching the road.

And when he finally comes home, when she sees him walking up the path, his hair messy from the wind, his eyes tired but bright, she’ll tell him. She’ll tell him about the question on the rooftop, about the scent of lightning-chakra that made her heart race, about how much she needs him.

Because love isn’t just about the good days. It’s about facing the fear of loss head-on, and choosing to stay anyway.  

──────────

The stew simmers on the stove, filling the cottage with warmth and the smell of home. Karin looks out the window at the road, a small smile on her face. Two days. She can wait two days. And after that? They’ll have more sunsets, more stew, more quiet mornings.

More time. And that’s all that matters.