#ftm sarada

[kuriquinn]

Metamorphosis

Summary:  It’s been four years since Sarada quietly, haltingly confessed to Sasuke and Sakura over dinner that she – he – was not a girl. [Day 13 – Prompt: “It’s A Boy” ]

Disclaimer: This story utilises characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelisations, comics or short stories is intended by KuriQuinn in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author's own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All plot and Original Characters except for those introduced in the canon books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn. (© KuriQuinn 2016- )

Rating: T

General Warnings: I can’t believe I need to have a warning for this, but we live in a time where people can be horrid little monsters. There are LGBTQ themes in this story. There is a transgender character, and the story deals with some of concerns and difficulties that families, especially parents, of a transgender child deal with. If you are uncomfortable with this subject matter in anyway, you are welcome to click the “back” button and wait around for my next prompt. Nasty comments about my choice in subject matter will be ignored, and possibly mocked.

Trigger Warning: For those of you who actually are LGBTQ, this story may bring up some strong emotions. The person who proofread this for me had some difficulty reading this chapter as it hit on some of his own experiences and challenges coming out as transgender. He made sure I knew how important it was to tag this appropriately. Though he said this story was well-written, as someone who had dealt with the scenario personally, he didn’t like it. So if you have experienced something in your life where you are caused distress by reading about parents trying to come to terms with their transgender child do not read this story. I don’t want to cause mental anguish or reopen wounds that some of you might not have had a chance to heal yet.

Author’s Note: The minute I saw this prompt I knew this was the story I was going to write. There aren’t enough fics out there dealing with transgender kids coming out, and even fewer about what the parents (even the most supportive ones) go through behind closed doors. I’ve done my best to be delicate with the subject without sacrificing any of my usual style choices. Obviously, not every experience is the same from individual to individual, but I made every effort. And just to head off any comments about my own personal stand on the matter: I support transgender individuals and their rights. I believe that it is your mind and your soul that determines who you are, not your genitals. And while I am not perfect, and I still occasionally slip up with pronouns and accidentally say things which show my privilege as a cisgender woman, I stand by the transgender community. Especially in this time, when hatred and outrage are directed at across the entire world. The views expressed in this story are not all necessarily mine – in fact, there are several ideas that were difficult for me to put to paper, because I very much don’t agree with them. But based on my research, for good or ill, they are sentiments that have been expressed by parents when a child comes out. I only hope I have managed to treat the subject matter with respect and possibly given you, my readers, something to think on. I’m hoping to showcase that even the people we care deeply for (whether real or imaginary) can do some things we don’t necessarily like or agree with. Doing the right thing is not always as easy, and some people find it harder than others, but in the end it is worth it. No one should weight their personal discomforts or prejudices against another person’s happiness and right to thrive.

Beta Reader: Sakura’s Unicorn

Sasuke stares up at the large, draping banner in his living room which proclaims, ‘Happy Birthday!’. Bunches of blue helium balloons meander along the ceiling, nearly obscuring the clock that ticks closer and closer to the inevitable. He has to consciously rein in the desire to set it all on fire.

He hates parties. Always has, always will. Even knowing that this is for his kid isn’t much of an incentive to relax; he finds that hard to do even under normal circumstances. Naruto would say that that’s because he’s got a pole shoved up his ass, but then, Naruto’s judgement is questionable. It’s been questionable since childhood, the JSDF, their tour of duty in Iraq, and then their stint on the Okayama Bomb Squad seven years ago which resulted in both of them losing an arm.

Then again, his questionable judgement is also the reason Sasuke is even alive to have a kid— whom he’s throwing a ridiculous, superhero-themed birthday party for—in the first place, so he gets a pass.

This time.

The entire foyer is decorated with streamers and decals of the latest comic craze to hit television. Little cape-clad figures proudly proclaiming, “It’s a Boy!” are interspersed along the wall. Honestly, it’s utterly kitschy and targeted for a much younger demographic than an eleven-year-old, but then, today isn’t an ordinary birthday.

It’s been four years since Sarada quietly, haltingly confessed to Sasuke and Sakura over dinner that she—he—was not a girl. It was an announcement that, Sasuke maintains, caused him considerable confusion and, if he’s not lying, a little resentment.

He comes from a traditional background. His ancestors were samurai of note and, in their small community of Konoha, the Uchiha name means a lot—an old, founding family with traditions and taboos and expectations. These “LGBTQ issues” that his wife and child keep talking about falls very naturally under the umbrella of what Sasuke was brought up to categorise as “don’t ask, don’t tell.”

It’s an unspoken rule that men and women among the Uchiha may take lovers of the same sex if they wish as long as they fulfil their duties to the clan: namely, get married and produce children. Hell, his own brother’s been in a twenty-year relationship with a male masseuse, but Itachi still had the prudence to get married and produce two kids first.

The point is, it’s not talked about.

It is how everything has always been done. And in just the same way, among his family, members of the Uchiha play the role they are assigned by birth. A man has his place, as does a woman. The idea of operating outside of those very separate spheres, let alone the idea of a man being born into the body of a woman, is nonsensical to him.

To say Sasuke had instant reservations would be putting it lightly.

If he were a man of a different temperament—a man like his father—his first instinct would be to point out the impossibility of the situation, and if that failed, attempt to find some counsel to get his child over it. A very, very small part of him continues to be tempted to do just that.

The other part—the one who has travelled the world and been exposed to many different lifestyles, the one who has struggled with his own demons (both addiction and the trauma of active combat), the one who married one of the most open-minded women in existence—that part tells him to keep his fucking mouth shut and go along with it for the sake of his family.

If it weren’t for Sakura, he doesn’t think he could manage it.

His wife reacted to the announcement with the same sympathy and openness he’s seen her display at every major milestone—like the time Sarada shamefacedly admitted to needing glasses, or when their Uchiha cousins throw around insults about “commoner blood.” In every case, Sakura is always the calm and comforting one, the one ending her assurances with, “We love you, no matter what.”

In her usual whirlwind manner, after hearing Sarada’s announcement, she made it her personal mission to ensure their child’s needs were met completely. Because of the nature of her job, she was already very knowledgeable about it all, to the point of being matter-of-fact.

“The important thing here is to show that we support him from the beginning, no matter what,” she insisted.

Suddenly, the house was filled with every book written on the subject, and every other day, she was on the phone with some expert or other. For four years, she organised psychological and psychiatric consultations, fought for an official diagnosis of gender identity disorder, had them attend individual and family counselling sessions as well as meetings with a sexologist, and schooled Sasuke in the usage of proper pronouns.

And woe betide anyone—friends or even family members—who questioned her decision to support Sarada. There’s a reason that Sasuke’s family, with the exception of Itachi, will be conspicuously absent from today’s festivities.

It’s another one of Sakura’s ideas, a formal show of support, as Sarada has decided the time is right to live as a boy from now on.

They’ve told a select few people, with Sarada’s permission, over the years—the respective grandparents, Naruto and Kakashi and their families, Sarada’s teachers and best friend ChōChō—but today is the official “coming out.” Sakura was seconds from taking out an ad in the damned newspaper before Sasuke and Sarada stopped her.

He wonders if there’s such a thing as being too supportive.

“How are you doing with all this?”

Sasuke glances to one side, notices Kakashi eyeing him knowingly. His former bomb squad captain and mentor is always observant. Today is one of those days Sasuke wishes he wasn’t.

“Fine,” he replies neutrally, taking a sip of tea. He isn’t actually thirsty, but he just needs something to occupy his hand and mouth.

“And Sarada?”

“Fine.”

Kakashi sighs in annoyance. “Is there any point in asking how Sakura’s doing?”

They both glance through the door to the kitchen, where Sasuke’s wife is fighting with Ino about pretzel-to-chip ratios (“Don’t you dare fuck up my child’s birthday party, Pig!” “You’re the one who can’t manage proper place settings for shit, Forehead!”).

“She’s in her element,” he replies simply.

“Man, I’ve got so much respect for you guys,” Naruto says with a low whistle, and then takes a chug of his beer. “I don’t even know what I’d do if it were my kid.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “You’d be doing the same thing I’m doing, moron. Only with more panicking and oversharing.”

“Very funny,” Naruto replies with a scowl, but then his face relaxes into earnestness. “I’m not so sure. I mean, yeah, in theory, I’d like to say I would, but in reality… It’s just weird. I mean, one day, you have Sarada and the next day…well, the next day, you have him.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Sasuke replies shortly.

Any further rumination on the topic is cut off when the doorbell rings.

“I’ve got it!” Sakura sings, flying from the kitchen to greet their first guests.

“Shouldn’t Sarada get the door?” he inquires. “It’s his party, after all.”

“He’s busy. ChōChō said something about a surprise,” his wife answers, hauling open the door and exclaiming her delight at the first guests.

Sasuke sighs, squares his shoulders, and prepares for the longest afternoon of his life.

うちは

The atmosphere at the beginning of the party is pleasant, but there is a definite undercurrent of curiosity and uncertainty beneath the requisite excitement.

When Hinata arrives with Boruto and Himawari, the latter chirps a sunny hello to Sasuke and bounds upstairs to find Sarada. As in all things, Naruto’s youngest is utterly unaffected by the whole matter. To her, life is simple: yesterday, it was sunny; today, it’s overcast.

Sarada was a girl, now he’s a boy.

In contrast, Boruto skulks in, glowers at everyone, and sits in the farthest corner with his handheld gaming device. Naruto scowls at him, and when Sasuke raises an eyebrow, he shrugs, and confides in a low voice, “He’s having some trouble adjusting. Sarada’s his best friend. Even knowing this was coming…I don’t think he actually thought it would.”

Neither of them mention the fact that Naruto’s son has always had a crush on Sarada, and that this complication might be a major part of his resentment.

Besides, Sasuke has more to concern himself with, not the least of which is the minor heart-attack he has when his daugh—his son—makes a grand entrance about half an hour later, ChōChō and Himawari beaming smugly on either side.

Sarada has shorn off his long hair and bangs, leaving nothing but spiky black bristles. The horn-rimmed glasses he’s sported since childhood have been replaced with a thick, squared rim. And even though Sasuke hasn’t seen Sarada in anything resembling a dress since the age of three, the sight of loose-fitting khaki shorts and a dark blue polo are a bit jarring.

It’s like looking at himself when he was eleven.

“Oh, darling!” Sakura swoops in, tackle-hugging Sarada from behind and pressing a kiss against his temple.

“Mom, you’re choking me!” their beleaguered offspring complains, but Sasuke can tell it’s just an act. Sarada is pleased by the contact.

“Doesn’t he look great?” Sakura exclaims as they watch Sarada head over to a group of friends and cheer about the pile of waiting presents.

“Sh—He cut his hair,” Sasuke points out through gritted teeth. “Why does he need to cut his hair?”

“It’s his way of asserting his masculinity.”

“There’s nothing masculine or feminine about hair,” he protests. “None of the men in my family have cut their hair, unless they were in the service. Itachi’s is practically down to his ass, and he’s got flee-on-sight warrants in three different jurisdictions.”

Sakura’s face is set in that particular way—the “if you don’t shut up I will grab you by the short-and-curlies and twist” look he only sees when he’s doing something socially unacceptable.  

In a quieter voice, Sasuke adds, “Isn’t this the sort of thing that requires parental consent?”

“It is, and we’ll discuss it with him later, after his friends have gone home,” his wife says crisply, returning to the kitchen before Ino sets it on fire.

Naruto gives him a knowing look and Sasuke snaps, “What?”

“Nothing. I just find it interesting that you’re getting upset about ancient Uchiha hair traditions. Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk about?”

“You’re the one who feels the need to emote everywhere. Go do that somewhere else.”

His best friend sighs and meanders away, knowing better than to push. Kakashi exhales a weary laugh and says, “For what it’s worth, I think he improved on your look. Your hair always reminded me of the back-end of a duck.”

Which Sasuke doesn’t even dignify with an answer. Instead, he wanders over to the dining room table, which has been lovingly decorated with every type of junk-food offering and warehouse-sized plate of fruit imaginable, and resentfully begins picking through it.

Across the room, Sarada is having a blast.

He takes great glee in opening presents, laughing uproariously over stereotypically boy gifts. Occasionally, he shoots a glance up at his father, showing off a video game or football gear, and rolling his eyes which makes Sasuke’s heart lift a little. Just because he’s a boy doesn’t mean Sarada fits a particular mould—it’s a relief to know he’ll still probably want Sasuke to show him proper kendo form, instead of attending some brutish sports rally.

Throughout the party, Sarada’s friends are curious but open, most of them already knowing the specifics, while some still ask questions. When anything gets too close to inappropriate – such as whether Sarada intends to get surgery—Sakura is there to swoop in with small, yet pointed reminders.

“That’s a rather personal question, Yodo. If he wanted you to know that, he would tell you.”

In his corner, Boruto pretends not to listen in, but the scowl on his face isn’t as pronounced. The parents are more quiet in their curiosity; these are all old family friends, and more than one of them owes Sakura in some way. No one will say anything unkind here, and once Itachi shows up with Shisui in tow, no one will dare think it, either.

But it still makes Sasuke nervous, having to stand there and answer questions or hear comments about matters that he doesn’t truly understand himself. If his wife wasn’t so busy playing the hostess, she could be making infantile conversation, instead of him.

Somehow, the time does pass, and they eventually get to the point in festivities when Sakura and her mother carry in a huge chocolate cake, and the din becomes overwhelming. It’s amusing how a bunch of kids who insist they be treated like adults turn feral when sweets are introduced into the equation.

Sarada waits until everyone has finished a horrifying rendition of the birthday song to stand up and call for silence.

“I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for coming by today,” he says. “And for all the cool gifts. And I really want to thank my Mom and Dad for doing this because it’s been awesome.” He beams at them, and Sasuke feels Sakura appear beside him, leaning into his side. “I also wanted to share something with you guys because it is my birthday. It’s a pretty huge deal for me, and you all mean a lot to me, so I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He shifts nervously.

“So…when I was little, I asked my Mom why they called me Sarada. It’s kind of a weird name.”

“Yeah, they basically called you salad,” Boruto grumbles.

“Fuck you, Bolt.”

“Language!” Sakura snaps, her voice like a whip-crack. Every kid in the vicinity, and some parents, wince.

“Sorry, Mom,” Sarada says, ducking his head penitently before continuing on. “Anyway, Mom told me how she and Dad came up with the name. It’s made up of parts of their names, and my Uncle Itachi’s—who, if you guys don’t know, is brilliant and could probably make James Bond cry like a girl.”

Over in the corner, stuffing his face with dango, Itachi waves a stick in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“And the thing is… even though it’s a cool name, and I’m honoured to be named after these three people, it never really felt like my name. I knew I was going to have to leave it behind someday,” he continues solemnly. “It’s been a hard decision. I never really brought it up with my parents because, well, they’ve been so focussed on helping me through all of the other stuff. It never seemed like the right time. Besides, it’s been hard finding something that fit. And I didn’t want to completely forget what went in to naming me the first time, so I decided on something that still keeps alive the spirit of what my parents thought of.” He takes a deep breath. “From now on, I would prefer if you all called me Sachiro.”

It’s the first time either Sasuke or Sakura have heard the new name, even if it has been discussed.

The cheers and clapping from the guests wash over Sasuke, who flashes back to that day eleven years ago, when he and Sakura were debating names. They hadn’t been able to agree on anything in the months leading up to the birth, and now it mattered, and neither of them could think of something fitting.

He recalls how she looked, flushed and exhausted from giving birth, but so obviously happy. Her tentative suggestion of naming the baby after them both, and Itachi, who was the only reason the Uchiha family had accepted Sakura as Sasuke’s wife. How, at that moment, he couldn’t think of anything that was more appropriate.  

The music and chatter seems to start up again tenfold, and Sasuke finds himself staring down into eyes that are the exact colour as his own.

“That’s okay, right, Dad?” his child asks quietly, and a little uncertain. “It’s a good name?”

Sasuke’s chest constricts a little, and he nods slowly. “Aa.”

Sara –Sachiro beams up at him. It’s the same brilliant, joyful smile of Sakura’s that Sasuke fell in love with, the same smile he’s seen when he read stories, visited the park, taught her—taught him—to swim and climb trees. Toothless, or beneath a scratched nose, or covered in mud.

A smile, he realises, that’s grown rarer over the years.

Sarada was always a little sullen, a little quiet and reserved. Sasuke always thought that sh—he—was just similar to the way Sasuke was as a kid. But right now, the way this boy beams and laughs and just exudes joy, Sasuke sees more of Sakura for the first time in almost a decade. There’s a joie de vivre there, a confidence and sense of self Sasuke has barely felt.

And the idea that he could be responsible for that smile or certainty disappearing, that’s the thing that convinces him, finally, that all of this is right. Whatever he personally feels, it’s no longer about just going along with it and humouring the situation as if it’s something that’s been done to him. It’s about his child’s happiness and frame of mind.

The realisation isn’t a happy one, per se, but it’s solid enough that Sasuke thinks he will make peace with it, eventually.

“Mom?” Sar—Sachiro is asking, bringing Sasuke back to the moment. “What do you think? It’s still got yours and Dad’s and Uncle Itachi’s name in it. I mean, the ending is a little different, but I thought—”

“It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” Sakura says, reaching out and brushing a hand over newly-shorn hair. There’s a warble of emotion in her voice as she says it, but when Sasuke glances down at her to check, she’s already pulled away. “I’m going to get plates for the cake, all right?”

Sachiro nods, grins one last time at them, and hurries back to his friends.

Sakura crosses the room, and Sasuke is concerned to notice a stiffness in her back that wasn’t there before. She makes a beeline for the kitchen, pausing only when intercepted by Tsunade, who she greets with a wide—and false—smile and accepts a nondescript plastic bag. As she continues to the kitchen, Sasuke sees her fist clenched around the handle, knuckles white and shaking.

He isn’t the only one to notice, either. Naruto watches Sakura disappear into the kitchen and shoots a questioning glance at Sasuke. They’ve all known each other since they were toddlers which means he knows as well as Sasuke when something is wrong. Without words, he communicates to his friend to keep an eye on things, and follows his wife.

うちは

He finds her standing over the sink, fingers clenching the metal, her shoulders shaking.

“Sakura?”

There’s a sharp inhale and she straightens up, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “Oh. Darling, you’re here. Did you need something?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing! Nothing. I’m just…cutting more onions for the dip.”

It’s an utterly different story from before, made all the more unbelievable by the fact that there are no onions anywhere in the house.

“Sakura…”

“Tsunade stopped by from the hospital,” she goes on, making a vague gesture toward the kitchen table. The plastic bag Sasuke saw earlier has been casually tossed there. “She knew we were so busy with everything, so she filled the prescription for the… for the blockers.”

Sasuke tenses, staring at the package with renewed understanding. They’ve had discussions in the past weeks, as Sarada grew closer and closer to making the official, full-time transition. There were mentions of intervening before the onset of puberty, recommendations from the psychiatrist to get started now while they wait for official permission to start him on testosterone injections, but—

Looking at the nondescript plastic bag, Sasuke can’t help a resurgence of his apprehension.

He knows it’s only a temporary measure; in theory, it’s like a pause button, a chance for Sachiro to be absolutely sure before any actual commitments are made. There are still many more milestones in the future; this one isn’t even the most important. But it still unnerves him. Judging from Sakura’s shakiness, she’s affected too, even though she tries to chat like normal.

“We can give them to h-him tonight, or…or maybe giftwrap them and add it to the present pile? It would be a nice surprise, I think…don’t you think?”

She sounds like she really wants his opinion on this, and he opens his mouth to agree, to disagree, to do something, but it feels like his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. He’s only just had his personal revelation on the subject. Before this, he’s kept himself out of any major decisions, and she’s aware of this. Why the hell does she want him involved in this one? She’s the one who’s been so keen on pursuing all of this, why—

There’s a sudden choking sob.

Before he can really parse what he’s seeing, Sakura’s face seems to crumple, her bright eyes and trembling smile imploding into a look of horror.

“What are we doing?” she whispers, and shaking fingertips go to her lips. “Oh, Sasuke, what are we doing? What if this is wrong? What if…” She emits a staggered sob. “People understand here, but what if she…what if he wants to go somewhere else. For college. For work. People can hurt him—you’ve read the stories in the paper. What if that happens to our…”

She trails off in a moan, and tears are now leaking from the corners of her eyes, her voice getting higher and more panicked in pitch.

“We’re rushing this—I feel like we’re rushing this—”

“Sakura…” he begins, reaching for her, but she evades his touch, pacing now.

“Sh-she said she needed this, and everything she asked for, everything she asked us to do, I did, but maybe we should have talked more first—four years isn’t that long, maybe…maybe it’s a mistake, maybe we’re not doing the right thing—”

“Sakura—”

“Why couldn’t she just be gay?” she whispers suddenly, rounding on him with wild eyes. In her panic, she is no longer able to use the correct pronouns. “This would…this would just be so much easier if she just liked girls, because then she…then we wouldn’t…”

“Didn’t you tell me it isn’t the same thing?” he asks, tentative and uncertain.

“I know it’s not!” she snaps, and then presses her fist against her mouth, stifling the uncontrollable sobs that now rack her body. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You did not do anything wrong,” he informs her, taking her by the shoulder now and squeezing in reassurance.

But his wife doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she looks off into the distance.

“And the name,” she continues in a whisper. “I knew there would be a point when we…but…but Sarada was our miracle. She was our little g-girl and I’ll never get to say her n-name anymore. And she...didn’t even ask and I…I mean, is it…is it wrong that I should want a say in m-my own child’s name?”

Sasuke exhales, drawing Sakura into his arms and holding her close. “No.”

“I h-had a daughter, Sasuke,” she sobs into his shoulder. “I g-gave birth to a girl, and she was beautiful and w-wonderful and…and do you remember that first year? With the ladybug dress, and the s-strappy shoes?”

“I do.”

“And the way she would pretend her mattress was a magic carpet and ride it down the stairs, and I…I know we said we did this for her—him. We’re doing this for him, so he can be healthier and happier. And I’m trying my hardest to let h-him be who he is, but why…why does it feel like I’m killing her?”

The question is so raw, so wracked with pain, that for a split second, Sasuke wants to call everything off. His wife is hurting, and the event going on in the other room is causing it, and since he was seventeen years old, his life has revolved around ensuring the Sakura does not hurt.

But since he was twenty-two, his life has also revolved around ensuring his child does not hurt either.

He knows that if he walks in there now, telling everyone to return home—or even just calls Sa – Sachiro in and points out that his mother, the one who has been a pillar of support since the beginning, is having second thoughts, it will break him.

And his…his son is the kind of person who will accept a lifetime of misery if he thinks it will save someone he cares about a little pain. If it’s someone Sachiro loves with the same fierce devotion as he does Sakura, he’ll quietly go back into the closet and never say another word about it until his dying day.

And from the articles that Sasuke has read over his wife’s shoulder, that’s something that could come much sooner than later.

The idea is chilling.

Which is why it only takes another split second for Sasuke to pull out his phone and send a text to Kakashi and Naruto, both of whom are as protective of his child as he is and order them to keep everything running smoothly. Then he leads a still-shaking Sakura up the stairs to their room.

Shutting the door, he steers her to their bed and sits her down, then silently takes the place beside her. For a long while, he simply allows her to cry, holding her until she gets past the wordless, grief-filled sobs.

When he senses her coming back to herself, he takes up the conversation as if there was no break.

“You are not killing anyone,” he tells her quietly but firmly.

“But she’s still going to be gone,” Sakura says dully. “It’s almost worse.”

“You don’t mean that.”

She swallows. “No. I don’t. But I… Sometimes, I still feel like our daughter is…dead. And we’re supposed to replace her with this…this stranger.”

It is the first time Sasuke has heard his wife utter any of this, the first time he’s heard her insinuate that she is just as uncertain of this whole situation as he is, that she has doubts. And it’s the first time that he finds himself in the position where he has to be the one with the answers.

He has no idea what to do, but it’s clear silence is not the answer in this case.

Stick to the facts, he decides. He’s better at logic than emotion.

“That child downstairs is still our child,” he tells her firmly. “The child you carried inside you. Everything you love about that child is still there, whether we have a boy or a girl. And our son is happy which means we’re doing the right thing.”

Sakura sniffs. “You’re just saying that,” she mutters. “I know you haven’t been completely on board about this.”

“I haven’t,” he agrees. “I’m still not sure that I completely understand. But I do know that Sar—Sachiro is happy. And he’s safe. And protected. And accepted by his friends, our neighbours, and most of the town. And that’s because of you. He wouldn’t have even this much anywhere else. And if he were growing up the way I did, he wouldn’t have any of it. He would be miserable.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know that, Sasuke. In my heart I know it, but every so often, right when I’m least expecting it, there’s just this moment. And I just feel it all—all over again. I can’t say anything, especially not to S-Sachiro. It would crush him. And if anyone else thought I wasn’t supporting him, maybe they’d stop supporting him, and—”

“Then you tell me,” Sasuke interrupts her.

She glances at him in surprise. “What?”

“You’re supposed to tell me these things,” he continues, dogged. “I can only guess you haven’t because you thought, if you wavered, I’d put a stop to this whole thing.”

“I-I didn’t mean to…”

“You might’ve been right,” he concedes. “But that was before. I’m also the only person in this whole situation who’s going through the same thing as you. From now on, you tell me when you’re feeling like this. It’s not healthy for you to keep it inside. Isn’t that what you say to me?”

“Sasuke…”

“Did you…want me to set up a meeting?” he suggests, tentatively because this next bit is definitely not his strong suit. “With the therapist?”

She sniffs, rubbing at her eyes. “Yeah. Yes. But I’ll make the appointment.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“You hate talking to therapists,” she points out.

“If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

“…I want you there.”

“Then that’s settled.”

They are silent for a while, just sitting quietly together, her ear pressed against his heart and his fingers stroking her hair in comfort. For just a few precious minutes, they can be two parents struggling with a change that has been a long time coming, but which neither has been truly prepared for.

Eventually, Sakura breaks the silence. “We should go back downstairs before we’re missed.”

“Hm.”

“If Sar—Sachiro comes looking for us, we’ll have some explaining to do.”

“You could take your top off. That would forestall any questions.”

“Sasuke!”

She smacks him a little more than lightly on the shoulder, but there’s a hint of her smile from earlier back on her face. He considers it a win.

“Do you think this will all turn out all right?” she asks, tentative. “He’ll be okay?”

“I don’t know. But I believe his chances are better if he’s secure in the knowledge that he has our support.”

“Yeah…” Sakura inhales a deep, shaky breath and squares her shoulders. “All right. Let’s go back down,” she says with only a little less of her usual certainty. She catches sight of herself in the bedroom mirror and frowns. “Everyone will know I was crying. I look horrible.”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” he tells her because they both know that he always finds her beautiful. He takes her by the hand and leads her from the room.  “Besides, we can always say you were cutting onions.”

終わり

Apologies if I got anything horribly wrong, this was a difficult piece to write and I did my best to do so with the proper respect. 

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome, but if you feel like keeping me caffeinated out of the goodness of your heart, it certainly would be appreciated! I’m also starting to post original works to my patreon.

I’m only able to keep writing as I do thanks to the support of readers like you, so every bit helps!

栗