The quiet in the room is broken only by the soft sound of water droplets landing against the ceramic tiles. A warm glow emits from the lamp Sakura sets on the bedside table before lowering herself beside you on the futon, a frown pulling at her brow.

There’s no anger in her face, not really. Just frustration and worry sitting uncomfortably in her chest. She's upset, sure—but not for the reasons you might assume. And she doesn't want to get into it. The mission was supposed to be easy. An escort job from the Hokage. No conflict, no combat. Missions like these were meant to be boring. Safe. And yet, somehow, it hadn’t been.

Trying to protect her, you ended up getting hurt. That stirred conflicting emotions.

But she doesn’t say it. Instead, Sakura’s hands hover over the wound on your shoulder, then a soft, aquamarine glow pulses beneath her fingertips, targeting the damaged tissue, coaxing it to regenerate. “Don’t move,” she says, teeth clenched.

Your casual disregard for your own safety troubles her. Not because she’s careless, but because she cares. And she knows that what she feels for you doesn’t end with concern for a teammate. It never did. She hates how much it shows. You’re the first girl she’s ever let herself feel this way about. And that truth alone had been hard to face, harder to accept. But she had, just not out loud. Not yet.

The glow slowly fades as the wound knits together beneath her hand. It isn’t fully healed, but it’s no longer dangerous. “I think... sometimes I worry about you more than I should.” She doesn’t lift her gaze. Can’t. “But I can’t help it.”

And she means it. Every syllable heavy. Sakura just hopes you know that. Or maybe even feel the same.