AN: So I haven't managed to do the prompts every day, apologies! Here's my take on the Festival prompt. Poor Papasuke!

Day 5: Festival

The message crumpled in Sasuke's fist is abundantly clear: miss the festival, and you'll regret it.

Sarada hasn't said it in so many words, but it's there in the frustrated brush strokes and what he thinks is a tear stain, testament to how much his daughter regrets the mission that will take her out of Konoha over the midsummer matsuri.

He's not too far from Konoha at the moment - in fact, if he concentrates, he can feel the buzzing of so much chakra - and while Sasuke is not in the habit of acquiescing to demands, it's harder to ignore when it's the child he wants to build a better relationship with. Even more so when her demand is that he go home and spend an evening with his wife.

Yes; he's not one for festivals, but he is one for Sakura's smile. And Sarada's.

Decision made, it doesn't take long before the Uchiha is near enough to sense the overwhelming presence of ninja in close proximity to one another, the unconscious jostling of chakra that permeates a hidden village to its bones. Sighing, he spots the festival procession as it winds its way through the streets. He's late, but Sakura has always preferred the stalls to the ceremony anyway, and if he times it well he'll catch her adjusting her kimono before stepping out.

Sasuke is half right: his wife is still home, but Sakura doesn't look like she's preparing to go anywhere. He's barely over the threshold before he smells the sharp salt of tears, dropping his cloak to the floor as he moves to see what's wrong.

"Sa-Sasuke-kun?" Sakura exclaims. Because she's unprepared he can see the way the tears have washed her face clean of colour.

They're alone, and in their privacy he feels no qualms in crossing the distance to where she's slumped on her armchair, placing a hand on her head.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and she looks up at him with such an embarrassed sense of anguish that he's instantly on high alert.

"Nothing!" she squeaks, but when Sakura tries to lie to him he can see it in the very cadence of her breath. She's lying now, and all it takes is a raised eyebrow before she's half out the chair, arms thrown around his midsection.

There's a crunch that might be his ribs; Sasuke feels all his breath leave him at once, but he's not a ninja for nothing, standing firm against the accidental onslaught of his wife's embrace.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like this-" she's apologising, little hiccuping breaths punctuating her words, "but I realised this will be the first time in years I've been alone for the summer matsuri, and…"

Sakura trails off at the feeling of Sasuke's fingertips on her forehead. As she looks up into his face he can see the surprise across her features, chased with a blush of colour at the way his fingertips trail down from her forehead to her cheeks her lips.

He coaxes colour back into her skin, and when her lips part to ask him a question Sasuke leans forward a little, shortening the chasm between his standing height and her seated one, and says,

"You're not alone, though."

It brings a smile to her face. The one he'd come home for, and she doesn't ask him what he's doing here but instead wonders whether he'd like to get changed and go out to eat takoyaki.

Neither of them particularly like takoyaki, but that's not what she's really asking. Sasuke knows the undercurrent of her words, nodding to her before helping her to her feet. They stand too close to one another for a moment, each contemplating in their own silent way the prospects of missing the festival, but Sakura's eyes truly are glimmering with excitement so he lets her bundle him into his summer yukata. It is, Sasuke notices, pristine and as ready as though he'd worn it yesterday.

"Do you remember," Sakura chants as they leave the house, she wearing a yukata decorated in the colours of the Uchiha fan, "the first midsummer matsuri we went to together?"

He does. They were nineteen and they weren't quite together yet, and the festival lights have remained in his memory a backdrop to the yearning of youth.

Sasuke nods. "It was warm."

Whether that was a true recollection of the weather or a memory of the fire he felt, he couldn't tell, but Sakura smiles at him like she understands what he means anyway.

"And Naruto followed us everywhere." Sakura shakes her head indulgently, taking his arm with the confidence of a wife as they move closer to the crowds of people. People don't stare at him as much these days, but they do watch Sakura, some with the reverence of legend and others with the knowledge that their one more day on earth has come from her. And Sasuke doesn't like to be the centre of attention, but he finds he likes it when Sakura is.

"Hn," Sasuke grumbles, before maneuvering so that she can open the small purse around his wrist, "thank the gods that Naruto has a family to distract him these days."

Fishing for coins - he knows she'll order onigiri first - Sakura grins at him from under her fringe, knowing what he is really expressing: thank the gods that Naruto found a family.

He thinks her softening gaze says thank goodness you did, as well, but she doesn't comment and they wander through the food stalls, onigiri in hand while Sakura's free arm hooks into his elbow. Sasuke has no description for what they're doing but a date and it's nice; they don't often get to spend time together like this.

And when he spots Sarada giggling with Chouji's daughter behind a stall, he realises that it's deliberate, too.

AN: I love the idea of a precocious Sarada. She's my little ace 3