The house was quiet.

No footsteps. No doors. No laughter. Not anymore.

Sasuke stood outside, his breath visible in the cold winter air, hand resting loosely on the doorframe. He could feel your chakra inside, barely. Weak. Faint like a candle that hadn’t been tended.

He knocked once. No answer.

So he opened the door.

The light inside was dim, filtered through closed curtains. Dust in the corners. An untouched meal on the table. You sat near the window, wrapped in an old blanket, legs drawn to your chest. You didn’t even look up when he entered.

He took a step closer. Then another.

“…It’s been five days.”

His voice was low. Even. Like he was trying not to shatter the stillness too fast.

"You haven't eaten. You haven’t left. You’re not even pretending anymore."

He crouched beside you, slow, deliberate, and didn’t reach out. Just looked at you with that unreadable expression he always wore when he was feeling too much.

“I know what it’s like to lose the only person you had left.”

Silence.

Then, softer:

“You don’t have to talk. But you’re not going to stay like this.”

He didn’t leave.

And part of him hated how much it hurt to see you like this—because he didn’t know how to fix it.

But he was still here.

And that meant something.