#bell peppers? no no. hell peppers. you split them open and instead of seeds you find hell butterfly pupa

[unohanadaydreams]

As I’m planting my summer garden, I am filled with certainty that Mayuri would introduce GMOs beyond comprehension unto me.

[silverfootstepswrites]

HI! I saw you were writing itasaku fanfics and I was wondering if you could do a soulmate themed fic of them! THANK YOU

title Red Thread summary You just really get me.pairing Itasaku

I.

Four drops of water raced down the window pane. He leaned against it, staring out at the street below. When he pulled away, his fingerprints had smeared onto the glass. Teeth clenching around his pen, he swiveled away. His chair squeaked. He stared at the numbers on his computer screen. The cursor blinked endlessly at the end of the last word he had typed.

“Fucking shit. S’gonna rain,” Hidan grumbled from his desk. He turned away from the window too. 

“I’m going out for a smoke before it does,” Kakuzu said, already pulling his jacket off the back of his chair. He tugged his mask down, the elastic loops stretching from behind his ears. Hidan’s glare followed him all the way out.

“He’s had ‘allergies’ for like a month now. He ever think it’s because he smokes a pack a day?” Hidan muttered. 

“Good. Hope the both of you die,” declared Kisame, leaning back in his chair.

“Detective,” reprimanded Itachi without looking up.

“I’m not sorry, Itachi. Those two committed an unforgivable sin. I hope Jashin strikes them both with lightning,” Kisame huffed. He got out of his seat with his mug. 

“Dumbass. Jashin doesn’t do lightning. It’s more severing heads,” snickered Hidan. Kisame grabbed the warm carafe, shaking his head.

“Good. Even better. Hope he cuts off your head and then hits you with lightning,” amended Kisame.

“All we did was eat your ice cream. When are you going to let that go, man?” Hidan said under his breath.

“When you buy me more Chunky Monkey!” Kisame yelled back.

Itachi pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. As Hidan and Kisame continued to bicker, he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He accidentally wrote the word “chunky” in his report instead of “suspect”. Bashing the backspace button, he tried again. This time he wrote the word “ass-douche” as Hidan shouted the insult. 

First, his umbrella had broken in a particularly strong gust of wind. Then one of the beat cops had mislabeled some evidence and nearly gotten a conviction thrown out. And then his favorite coffee shop had run out of banana nut muffins and he had had to settle for lemon poppy seed. Now two of his detectives were screaming at each other like children. The irritation began building up inside Itachi’s skull like steam in a pressure cooker. 

“Well why wouldn’t you put your name on it?”

“I’m the only one who eats Chunky Monkey, Hidan. You don’t even like bananas. Also why would you eat anything that isn’t yours anyway?”

“Well maybe if you didn’t hog the whole fridge with your protein drinks, I’d have room to bring in my own food!”

“How does that have anything to do with my Chunky Monkey?”

“You’re a chunky monkey!”

Banging his palms down on his desk, Itachi stood.

“That’s enough, you two! I’m sick of hearing about this damn Chunky Monkey!” he shouted over the noise. And in the dead silence that followed, someone cleared their throat.

“Uh…Sergeant. There’s someone here to see you?”

Itachi opened his eyes to see one of the beat cops standing by his desk. The same one who had nearly destroyed his triple homicide. Itachi narrowed his eyes until he realized that a woman stood with him. She looked at him and then her eyes went wide.  She quickly averted her gaze. The officer coughed. He didn’t seem to know where to look.

“Uh, this is Miss Haruno. She’s the witness of that ATM robbery from yesterday,” he explained. Nodding to the woman, he quietly made his way out of the bullpen and to the elevator. 

Itachi quickly pulled out a chair so that she could sit facing his desk. When he gestured to the seat, she sank into it, her expression strangely unreadable. Which was odd, because the sergeant prided himself on being able to read faces.

“Uh, Miss Haruno. I’m very sorry about that. My name is Sergeant Uchiha. We spoke on the phone this morning,” Itachi stated. She nodded, looking around the room. She tapped her nail against the armrest; it was the color of cherries.

“Yes, although, you made fewer mentions of Chunky Monkey,” she pointed out. Itachi cringed. But when she turned back to him, she was smiling.

“I assume it’s one of those situations where I came in at the worst possible point in the conversation,” she asked. Itachi chuckled.

“You’re pretty sharp.”

Hidan crouched behind Kisame’s desk. They both peered out from behind his peace lily. Hidan glowered at the plant

“Can’t. see, anything. Stupid. flower!” he hissed, smacking at the leaves with each syllable. Kisame shoved him with his shoulder.

“Hey! Lay off my peace lily! It purifies the air,” Kisame whispered.

“Will the both of you shut up? I can’t hear.”

They both jumped. Kakuzu sat on the floor with him.

“When did you get back?” demanded Hidan.

“Shut up!” was all Kakuzu growled in return.

Heads clustered together like some alien plant, they attempted to eavesdrop on the pretty civilian speaking with the sergeant. She sat straight-backed, her short hair tucked behind both her ears. 

Itachi asked a question. She laughed, head tilting to one side.

All three men sighed in unison.

“She’s so pretty.”

The three heads swiveled. Deidara sat in Kisame’s chair. He lounged, a dreamy expression on his face.

“Deidara, what the hell. We’re trying to be subtle!” Hidan spat.

“Yeah, three grown men squatting on the floor of a police station behind a ficus is subtle,” he scoffed.

“It’s a peace lily, damnit!” Kisame bellowed.

The sergeant and the civilian both turned to look at them. 

“Ah, shit, Kisame,” groaned Hidan. He stood.

“Good going, moron,” Kakuzu agreed, also straightening.

With Itachi’s glare on them, they slowly made their way back to their desks. They settled for sneaking glances at the witness until she eventually gathered her things and left. As soon as the elevator doors shut, they scrambled over to the sergeant’s desk. They huddled around him while he did a good job of ignoring them.

“So, Sarge…what’s her name?”

“How old is she? Do you know what she does?”

“Is she single?”

“Does she like peace lilies?” Hidan snickered, earning another shove from Kisame.

“Her name is… none of your business. Whether she’s single is none of your business. And all of that is irrelevant to your jobs, which you should be doing right now,” Itachi finally responded, still typing. 

“Aw, come on, Sarge. We never get the hot witnesses. The last one I got was an 80 year-old woman who kept calling me ‘Peaches’,” groaned Deidara. 

“Detectives. If you’re still standing here by the time I finish typing this sentence, you’re all losing overtime this week,” stated Itachi. Rolling their eyes, they complained all the way back to their desks.

“Besides, we’re never going to see her again. So quit wasting time and work on your cases,” he added.

“Itachi sucks,” Hidan muttered under his breath.

“I heard that, Hidan.”

“Good. Now you know.”

True to Itachi’s prediction, he solved the case within the week. He didn’t have to call the pretty witness in again. And with another case closed, he typed up a new report. 

II.

At 8, he clocked out, backed out of his parking spot, and pulled onto the main street. Halfway home, he remembered that he was out of milk, eggs, and actually that pretty much his whole fridge was empty. Sighing, he made a legal u-turn and headed for the supermarket.

Pushing his squeaking cart down the fluorescent aisle, he grabbed the usual packages and leafy vegetables. The most exciting thing was that he decided to get red bell peppers instead of yellow this time. A surly teenager with a lip ring rang up his groceries. 

“Have a good evening,” he said in a flat tone as he handed over the receipt. Almost as if secretly hoping for the opposite to happen.

Itachi drove home and parked in his spot. He crammed all the paper bags into his arms at once, refusing to make more than one trip. He dropped his keys. Stooped to pick them up, dropped his phone. Picked that up, dropped his wallet. 

Blowing out a sigh, he crouched in the parking lot for a long moment. Gathering the vestiges of his patience, he scooped everything up and made his way up to his apartment on the second floor. Everything seemed to be going reasonably well until he got to his door, dropped his keys, his phone, and then a bag split open, unleashing every single cherry tomato possible. Like a river of fleeing tomatoes.

“….Tomato betrayal,” he uttered.

“Woah. Uh. Here, let me help you.”

“No, that’s really not necessary. I ap-” he began, looking up. But when he locked eyes with the kind stranger, his jaw went slack.

“Oh. Sergeant,” she said.

“Miss Haruno,” he said.

It had been a year since the ATM robbery case. She had grown out her hair. She was dressed in black this time. Her bright red sneakers almost seemed to shine against the beige carpet. She smiled.

“Last time was Chunky Monkey. This time it’s tomatoes, huh?” she remarked as she squatted to help him retrieve the runaway fruit. She gathered the cherry tomatoes in her palm. He quickly grabbed the rest. They stood up together. She poured them into one of the unripped bags. And then handed over his keys.

“There you go,” she said, grinning.

“Uh. Thank you,” he replied, voice wooden. And for some reason, he pointed at his door.

“I live here,” he announced. And then mentally threw himself off a cliff. That sounded so awkward. So stupid. Sakura blinked a couple times. She then pointed next-door.

“I live here. Just moved in a couple weeks ago,” she replied.

“Oh. Well, good night,” Itachi said in a voice that was too loud. He quickly unlocked his door and slipped into his home, locking the door behind him.

“You WHAT?” Hidan shouted.

“AW, SARGE! NO!” Kisame lamented. He slid out of his seat, melting into a pile of disappointment on the floor. He flailed around, throwing a mild tantrum. Kakuzu walked in, microwaved burrito in one hand.

“What’d I miss?” he asked. 

“Turns out Hot Witness now lives next to the sarge. And when he ran into her last night, he said ‘oh, well, good night’ and shut the door on her’,” reported Deidara, chin in his hand.

“Yikes,” replied Kakuzu in an equally flat voice. He took a bite of his burrito and winced as the beans burned the roof of his mouth.

“It’s simple. All Sarge has to do is make sure he never runs into Hot Witness again. Stake out her apartment. Find out her schedule. And then plan the rest of your life so that your paths never cross again,” Kisame listed, his eyes a little crazy.

“Honestly, Itachi, that was pretty humiliating. I say just move to another country. Or get a face transplant,” Kakuzu said.

“Not helping, Kakuzu,” Hidan said, glaring. Kakuzu shrugged.

“I never said I was trying to,” he answered before he blew on his steaming burrito.

“Y’know, I’ve lived in my building for ten years and I’ve seen my neighbors maybe three times. I doubt Itachi will see her again,” Deidara pointed out. He clicked and dragged a card across his screen. Kakuzu leaned on the back of his chair. He used his burrito to point at one of the cards and gestured where to put it.

“You’re probably right, Deidara,” Itachi agreed.

III.

Itachi spilled a bunch of chili down the front of his shirt just before he saw her. 

“Oh! Hey, neighbor,” she said. And then she saw the chili on his shirt and paused.

“Oh,” she said again.

“Uh, hi. Got a bit of a chili situation,” he explained, needlessly. She gave a polite smile.

“Yeah. Looks like it. I feel like food is always betraying you in some way or another. Do you need help?”

“No thanks. I uh…didn’t want the rest of the chili anyway…” he finished, lamely. She blinked a few times.

“Oh…is that why… you spilled it?” she asked with obvious concern.

“No,” he answered too loudly.

She blinked again. Itachi stared right back. 

“You should probably soak that quickly. It’ll set if you don’t,” she pointed out.

“Uh…” Itachi responded, eloquently.

“The stain. It’ll set…” she repeated. Her patience amazed him. Glancing down at his shirt again, Itachi sighed.

“A little detergent and maybe some vinegar if that doesn’t work,” she went on. When Itachi continued to stare, she tilted her head.

“You know what? I was on my way back up anyway. I can show you how,” she offered, taking a step forward. It was only then that Itachi noticed the big cardboard box on her hip. He pointed at it.

“I can carry that,” he told her. She turned to look at him. Then looked down at her box.

“I mean… I’m not bragging that I can carry heavy things. I was offering- er. I would be willing to carry it for you. Not that I think you can’t. Feminism rules,” he rambled. She jostled the box a little.

“You know, this is actually pretty heavy. I would appreciate the help,” she said, handing it over to him. Itachi accepted it and nearly dropped it as the full weight hit him. But she had already turned to walk up the steps into the building. 

Up on the second floor, she unlocked her door. 

“Could you leave that on the table? Thanks.” She pointed to the round wooden table in the kitchen. Itachi deposited it as carefully as he could. It still landed with a disturbingly loud thud. He even thought he saw the table legs vibrating under the weight.

“Lose the shirt, Sergeant. Here. I’ll trade you,” she said.

When something came flying toward his face, he caught it. He turned it over in his hands. It was a rather old shirt, the lettering so faded that he couldn’t tell what it had once said. When he looked up, she had her back to him as she walked down the narrow hall. Popping open the buttons of his shirt, he quickly swapped it out for the t-shirt. 

As he stared down at the heinous chili stain, her voice drifted in from the other room.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah. Of course,” he called back.

She held her hands up as she walked past. Itachi tossed her the shirt. She held it up to the light.

“Wow. You just completely missed your mouth, didn’t you,” she observed. Itachi felt his cheeks warm. He followed her to the kitchen sink. She plugged it and began filling it with water. Her fingers flickered in and out of the stream as she adjusted the temperature. 

“So there’s protein in this. You never want to put it in hot water because that’ll cook the stain in,” she explained. She dabbed soap onto the stain. Then she scrubbed the fabric together until the detergent foamed. She looked up at him.

“What do you usually do for stuff like this anyway?” she asked.

“I just pour bleach on it and hope for the best. I now own a lot of white shirts that didn’t necessarily start that way,” he admitted, looking down at the faded t-shirt. He squinted. Was that an M or an H? She plunged the shirt into the warm water, scrubbing harder.

“So do you do this all the time? Bring people up here to teach them how to do laundry?” he asked, looking around. Her apartment had the same layout as his. There was a vase of flowers by the door, filled with roses that weren’t quite pink and weren’t quite peach. Kind of like the color of her hair.

“Yeah. It’s how I get them so I can harvest their organs for meat pies,” she answered, matching his easy tone. When he gaped at her, she looked a little worried.

“I’m kidding,” she said.

“I knew that,” he replied, quickly turning away. He glanced over her counters. There was a stand mixer and a rather large blender. A variety of mugs hanging from a rack- each with some sort of animal ears or a face on them. Even the apron hanging by the oven was adorable. It was covered in little yellow chicks. 

“But you know, I was really surprised to see that you’re my neighbor. Kind of makes me feel safe living next to a cop,” she confessed.  His eyes drifted back to her. Their eyes met. There was no hidden laugh there. She was serious.

“Uh well… you know, even if it’s not an emergency, you can ask for my help. If you’re walking home late or something… you know…” he trailed off, mumbling. She lifted the shirt to examine it. Water dripped back into the sink. She plunged it back in, scrubbing again.

“You know, I don’t think I can do that…”

His heart sank.

“Given that I don’t even have your number,” she continued. 

His heart soared.

She looked over her shoulder at him.

“That number you called me at was my personal. Drop call me?” she suggested. Itachi cleared his throat.

“Actually, when I called you, I wasn’t at my desk. So… you have my number too,” confessed Itachi. She smiled.

“Well, problem solved then,” she declared. And then she lifted the shirt in the air.

“Two problems,” she amended, turning with it stretched out in front of her.

IV.

“Hm. Sarge is whistling,” Hidan noted to himself. He continued typing for a few extra seconds. And then he gasped. Ducking his head, he wheeled over to Kisame’s desk. He had aimed poorly. His chair smashed into the other detective’s. 

“What the hell, Hidan?” Kisame snapped. But Hidan threw his arm over his shoulder and pulled him down.

“Sarge is whistling,” he hissed. 

Kisame stared at him. Then his eyes widened. He glanced over Hidan’s shoulder. Itachi was typing away at his desk. The man was indeed pursing his lips, whistling some classical music.

“Theories. Quick. Kakuzu, keep track,” Hidan said. 

“This is stupid,” Kakuzu sighed even as he flipped to a fresh page in his notepad.

“Go,” Hidan ordered, pointing at Kisame.

“Itachi found a rare state quarter that he didn’t have before. Because you know he totally collects coins,” Kisame theorized, throwing down a crumpled twenty. Kakuzu nodded as he jotted it down.

“He ordered a really old, rare book and it’s coming in the mail today,” he then conjectured. He reached over and threw in another $20 bill.

“Ooh! Good one!” Kisame agreed. Hidan reached into his wallet to pull out a crisp $20 bill. He stretched it, making snapping noises. He handed Kisame the money, then rubbed his hands together.

“Okay. He marathoned a bunch of history documentaries he’s had on his DVR forever,” Hidan guessed. 

“Damn, I should have guessed that,” groaned Kisame, sagging in his chair.

“That is pretty good,” Kakuzu said, writing. 

“Yo. Deidara. What about yours?” asked Hidan.

They all turned to look at their coworker. He had his head down in his arms. Kisame grabbed a sheet of paper off his desk, wadding it into a ball. He lobbed it at Deidara, hitting him in the back of his head.

“Cough it up. And then talk, Deidara,” demanded Kisame. Deidara lifted his head, scowling.

“Pay up, nerd,” Kakuzu said. Deidara grumbled, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Muttering under his breath, he found the money and slapped it onto his desk.

“Your theory?” Kakuzu badgered him, holding his pencil ready. 

“Your theories are all wrong. It’s obvious. The Sarge got some,” Deidara replied in a flat voice. He leaned back in his chair, arms limp at his sides. 

The three other detectives stared at him before they burst into raucous laughter. They thumped their fists against Kisame’s desks. Even Kakuzu snickered, still jotting down the response. Clicking his tongue, Deidara spun his chair to face the sergeant who, surprisingly enough, wasn’t glaring at all the noise.

“Hey Sarge!” Deidara called out.

“Deidara, shut up!” hissed Hidan.

“You’re in an awfully good mood. Something good happen last night?” Deidara asked, ignoring his panicking coworkers. Itachi’s fingers stopped clattering against the keyboard.

“Shit,” muttered Kakuzu, lowering his head. Kisame ducked behind his peace lily, as if he could hide his huge body behind the ceramic pot. 

“Not bad, detective,” Itachi stated.

Kisame’s head shot up.

“What?”

“No way!”

“Hand it over, you morons,” crowed Deidara.

“Wait, with Hot Witness? Was it Hot Witness?” Kisame shouted.

“Get back to work, detectives,” Itachi simply said as he resumed typing.

At noon, the Sarge always took his lunch break. On the rare occasion, he chipped in a couple bucks and stood eating pizza at Hidan’s desk. But more often, he took a walk to his favorite coffee shop. 

A warm cup of Americano was a given. And he had a few favorite paninis and wraps that he cycled through. It was a quiet little joint. There were minimal hipsters crowding up the place and so it was an ideal spot for a relaxing lunch. 

The barista at the counter recognized him and fired up the espresso machine.

“Oh, hey. We’re trying out a new recipe. Do you mind being the guinea pig?” the barista asked as he poured the coffee into a paper cup. Itachi’s eyebrows rose.

“Can I ask what kind of recipe?” 

“Uh. I think she said some kind of chocolate? Hold on,” the barista hedged. He stuck his head into the kitchen and shouted something. The front of the kitchen was opened up to the rest of the coffee shop. Half the wall had been cut out and replaced with smooth wood countertops. He sometimes saw hands push out foods and such, but it had never been anything worth noting.

There was a distant bang. And then he saw hands emerge from that partition holding a plate. The bright red nails made him pause.

The barista returned with the plate.

“She says it’s a chocolate chiffon pie,” he reported. But Itachi wasn’t listening. He craned his neck, trying to peek into the kitchen. The hands were still there, tapping against the counter.

It would be embarrassing to be wrong, but the uncertainty honestly felt worse.

“…Sakura?” he called.

A head popped into view.

“No way! Sarge?” She grinned. “You’re the regular that Haku won’t stop talking about?” And then her eyes went wide. She held up one finger.

“Hold on!” she said.

And then she disappeared. It only took a few seconds for the kitchen door to swing open. She looped around the espresso machine and plopped her elbows down on the counter. 

“Okay. Now take a bite. Let me know what you think. I kind of messed with this recipe,” she ordered. Face resting on the backs of her hands, she waited. Itachi looked from her down to the plate.

“Is this a new job?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No way. This is my store. I’m always in the kitchen, though,” she replied. And then she pointed to the menu mounted above the counter. She was wearing an adorable apron, just like the one hanging in her kitchen. Although, this one had a light blue pattern with piglets.

“But maybe that means I should show my face in the front more often,” she added, laughing.

Itachi leaned in closer. He took her hands. A blush rose to her cheeks.

“So you’re the one who bakes those banana nut muffins?” he interrogated. Sakura nodded.

“Fresh. Every morning,” she confirmed. Itachi lowered his voice.

“My life has been made so much better by those muffins. If I could, I would live inside one of them for the rest of my life.”

Sakura blinked.

“Thank…you? I think…”

Haku blinked at the both of them.

“So…y’all gonna try this pie or what?”

V.

“Oh my god. Itachi,” Sakura exclaimed. He looked up from his newspaper. It took him a moment to find Sakura laying on her stomach by the couch. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her actually sit on the couch. Instead, she seemed to always lie on the shag rug beside it. And once again, she was there. 

“Itachi, come here. You have to see this,” she insisted. Setting his paper down, he made his way over to her. A large book was spread open in front of her. She motioned for him to come closer. And so he sat on the rug. And he finally understood why she was always on it. It was so perfectly soft and fuzzy. 

Sakura pointed to something on the page.

“So I was looking through my high school yearbook. And look!”

Itachi followed her finger. It was a picture, he read the caption, of the debate team in the gymnasium. To the left of the photo was Sakura in braces and a maroon blazer. She sat at a long table with several other teenagers dressed in the same blazer. In the background, he glimpsed a banner informing about the upcoming school dance.

“Cute?” he offered, not knowing what else to say. 

“No. Look at this!”

She then pointed to someone in the background on the opposite side of the photo. There was someone carrying a trumpet case. Itachi squinted.

“Is that me?” he gasped.

She flipped to another page. There he was sitting in the courtyard with a couple of his buddies. He was in his letterman jacket, the school’s maroon and yellow proudly on display. And then he found Sakura on the edge of the photo, talking with her friends.

She was in front of some lockers, smiling and laughing. And there he was walking past with his own friends.

“I had no idea we went to school together. That’s so weird!” she exclaimed.

“I mean, our school was really big. And you must have been a freshman when I was a senior,” he rationalized. 

“Still spooky, Itachi. I love it,” she hummed, legs swinging back and forth.

But the coincidences kept piling up.

Sasuke called, asking if he could crash on his couch for the weekend. 

“Sure. I mean, it’s a little cramped but you’re always welcome to stay,” Itachi replied. He turned in his chair and found Kisame and Deidara leering at him from behind the peace lily. 

“I’m on the phone with my brother, detectives,” Itachi said.

“Ugh. Boring,” they immediately groaned.

“Yeah, you see, one of my friends moved to your city like a year ago? Haven’t seen her in forever so a bunch of us are coming to throw her a surprise party,” explained Sasuke. Itachi nodded as if his younger brother could hear him. He continued clicking through the details of his latest case, half-listening.

“Actually, she went to school with us. Maybe you know her? Her name’s Sakura.”

Itachi dropped the phone.

“Hello? Hello? What was that?”

Itachi scrambled to pick the phone up. He jammed it up against his ear.

“Wait. Say that again?” 

“Yeah. Sakura? We were in concert band together? She’s got pink hair, kind of pretty but also really weird,” Sasuke listed.

Leaning back in his chair, Itachi stared up at the ceiling. There was an old water stain above his desk in the shape of a rabbit. He tilted his head. Or maybe a duck.

“Okay, Sasuke. Get this,” he sighed.

Ten minutes later, Itachi hung up the phone as Sasuke continued to roar with laughter. It only took a few minutes for their family’s group chat to blow up. He didn’t bother opening it up. He didn’t have the energy for that. But he did happen to see Shisui type, “Yeeeeeaaaa get it boiiiiii”. 

Itachi silenced his phone.

“Detectives, if I look up and I don’t see you doing something work-related, you’re all going to be staying late organizing case files,” he warned. Chairs squeaked around and someone began shuffling papers very loudly. 

VI.

Itachi hesitated in front of her door. He held up his fist, lowered it again. Raised it. Gathering his courage, he took a deep breath and-

The door swung open. Sakura nearly barreled into him with a pizza box. On the lid of the box were drawings of bright red discs of pepperoni.They stared at one another for a minute. And then she opened the lid.

“I asked for a small and they gave me a large. I will die trying to eat this. I was just about to ask if you wanted to eat together,” she explained.

Itachi held up a six-pack of beer.

“Sasuke left these and they’ve been sitting in my fridge forever. Want to help me?” he said. 

“There’s pineapple. Do you like pineapple? I know it’s a very polarizing topping,” she asked even as they stepped into her apartment together.

“Pineapple haters will go to jail,” he answered in a solemn voice. She laughed as they shut the door behind them.

VII.

Grocery store. There was a manger’s special sale on red pepper hummus. After a shift that ran late, Itachi arrived to find that there was only one package left.

He grabbed the last round container from the refrigerated display. The only problem was that someone else grabbed it too.

Left eye twitching, Itachi lifted his chin. It was Sakura, looking rather rumpled and exhausted herself. 

“Itachi, release the hummus,” she ordered in a low voice.

“….I will have you arrested, Haruno,” he replied.

VIII.

“Ugh! I can’t believe the Captain is making us stay late for this. We should just let Deidara screw up. Then the Commissioner will grind his body up in his protein shake for breakfast tomorrow and Kisame can take his chair,” groaned Hidan.

Nodding, Kakuzu shot a glare toward the Captain’s office. But the blinds were shut and his glower was wasted.

“You guys should calm down. Sarge got here earlier than all of us. He’s been here for over 24 hours,” cut in Kisame, pointing. Itachi stood in front of the whiteboard, staring at the evidence. His necktie was loose and the back of his shirt wasn’t tucked in. 

“Deidara, did you talk to the suspect’s sister?” Itachi asked.

“Already did. She has an alibi,” Deidara called back.

“Damnit. Now I’ve got no leads and I’m hungry,” sighed Itachi, rubbing his hair. He crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

“I really want some Thai food,” he grumbled to the heavens.

At that precise moment, the elevator doors dinged open. 

Sakura walked in, shivering and huffing. She said something garbled but her huge scarf muffled her voice. Itachi walked over to her, opening the gate to let her into the bullpen. While he was at it, he tugged her scarf down, revealing her red nose.

“Hi! Got your text that you were working late. Thought you might be hungry,” she said, holding up a bulging plastic bag in each hand. Itachi trailed after her, jaw slack as she made her way to his desk. She set down the bags and undid the knots. And an absurd amount of food poured out.

“So I had Haku make you a bunch of Americano and put it in a thermos. It should stay warm all night. Here’s some of your favorite banana nut muffins and some carrot cake. I also had some rye leftover today so I made a pastrami sandwich for you,” she listed, hovering her hand over each food. 

“Wow. Sakura. Baby. Thank you,” Itachi said, running his hands over his hair again. Her put his arms around her, pulling her chilled body against him. But then he pointed to the second bag that she hadn’t unpacked yet.

“What’s that?”

Sakura unwound her red scarf, shivering again.

“Oh. You know, I had the weirdest craving for Thai food on the way here. So I picked us up some Pad See Ew and Gai Yang. And I got you that pineapple fried rice you like with mild spice,” she stated. 

It was silent when she finished speaking. She looked around the bullpen. At the frozen faces, puzzled.

From the back of the room, Deidara peered over his computer screen.

“Wow. Itachi, like, just marry her,” he yelled.