It didn't register for a moment, Sasuke staring at the linens that had been transferred from the nurse to his arms, and then he recognized the scent -- the dryer sheets Mikoto liked to use (he'd helped her fold laundry when very, very young), the softness of the fabric in comparison to stiff, starched hospital bedding. And Fugaku had brought them for him ...
... had his father been worried?
It was a weird thought, one that left Sasuke blinking blankly at Fugaku for a long moment -- not so much because he didn't think that Fugaku could, but more because ... a very old, very familiar voice inside him supplied: but Itachi's fine. And he was. And so was Sasuke, physically, all the injuries long healed up, even the remaining bruises mostly invisible. He was still young enough, the medics had said.
"Thank you," he said, belatedly, stumbling now that the silence had stretched into awkwardness, and slipping unconsciously into the more familiar form of address for Mikoto. "I'm not -- I'm no longer injured. I'm fine. You can tell Mom not to worry."
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... had his father been worried?
It was a weird thought, one that left Sasuke blinking blankly at Fugaku for a long moment -- not so much because he didn't think that Fugaku could, but more because ... a very old, very familiar voice inside him supplied: but Itachi's fine. And he was. And so was Sasuke, physically, all the injuries long healed up, even the remaining bruises mostly invisible. He was still young enough, the medics had said.
"Thank you," he said, belatedly, stumbling now that the silence had stretched into awkwardness, and slipping unconsciously into the more familiar form of address for Mikoto. "I'm not -- I'm no longer injured. I'm fine. You can tell Mom not to worry."