He stared at the empty room. Wall. Wall. Wall. Window. Wall. Specifically the empty bed. The empty bed that was made up and left. Left for--what? For good?
He whisperwalks over to it, his hand outstretched and yet touching nothing, the room left and fragile in his wake. Deep breath Deep breath. Hand curling into fist and then flat against his thigh. He's staring at the crease in the sheets, the sheets he bought and helped worn and slept in, and he lets out the breath he doesn't know he's holding. And smooths out the crease. So when Sasuke comes back to him, when he brings him back, he can't say anything about his inability to properly make up their bed without him.
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