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cherrynojutsu · 2 years

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Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes author's notes

It's a testament to Naruto's growth that he's started picking up on some of Sasuke’s weaknesses, few as they may be.

Number one: he’s got a missing arm to exploit. In spite of the fact that Sasuke hardly considers it a handicap in most instances, it certainly causes certain… difficulties.

Number two: Sasuke has been out of commission in terms of anything other than basic training for this week and last as he finished his prescription for strep throat. Really he’s just gone through the most standard and non-strenuous forms and exercises, prior; today is the first day they’ve actually sparred no holds barred in the span of a couple of weeks. The nightmare he awoke from promptly at three thirty-eight in the morning isn't helping matters in terms of his focus, the memory of Sakura’s eyes alight with fear as he cut towards her, his missing hand crackling with white electricity, seared into his subconscious. It has him jumpy and the slightest bit unfocused, throat raw alongside ripped open memories and one cheek still feeling the cold echo of ceramic tile, as if it’s been branded there permanently by the melancholy, a deluge of white noise.

Additionally to the second point, though he’s a ninja and has trained since the ripe age of six to fulfill the needs of said profession, and he’s also very accustomed to lacking sleep, this is training with a friend in the confines of the village boundaries, not a mission. Although ninja are rarely careless when handling weaponry or letting jutsu fly, repeated practice with the same comrade allows one to be lulled toward a certain false sense of complacency, especially if there’s a hospital nearby that could easily treat the lion’s share of catastrophic injuries, let alone a world class medical ninja who runs the place and one knows for a fact is on duty.

Number three: it is blazing hot. Muggy is a better word for it, honestly; it reminds Sasuke greatly of the harshest weather he encountered in all of the Land of Swamps, heat smothering on the inhale aside from the occasional cool breeze against his sweat-soaked muscles. His clothes are sticking to him like a snake’s skin does just ahead of molting, heavier than usual and clinging every which way. It’s possible severe weather is on a collision course with Konoha, sweeping air across the continent that’s not nearly as broiling as the dirt and granite below their feet. Only time will tell what the climate will bring, later today.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly: Sasuke has shit ankles, and it seems Naruto has picked today to finally make use of that fact.

So when the idiot feigns a barrage of punches to his torso this particular morning bleeding into early afternoon, Sasuke effortlessly dodges and doesn't think anything of it, as there was a lesson, once, early in his Academy days.

“Remember, kids,” he recalls Iruka instructing, following up his words by nailing a bright red target dead center with one of the worn Academy kunai. “Quality over quantity. One kunai dead center of the target is better than five kunai that are all three inches off.”

Naruto had loudly complained, because his aim was garbage back then. He then proved it by barraging twenty kunai in the general direction of the target. Iruka had to deflect a smattering of them away from their classmates, and not one was anywhere remotely near the bullseye when all was said and done.

This was well afore his clan’s massacre, back when he was just a normal kid, so Sasuke, like most of his classmates at the time, found it to be funny.

It was more irritating than funny when they were all a little older and he was a different person and Naruto, upon gaining mastery of Kage Bunshin no Jutsu, determined said jutsu to be his new sure advantage. When they sparred following becoming teammates under Kakashi, the dobe still hadn’t learned the whole quality over quantity thing. Twenty shadow clones would surround Sasuke, yet he was able to deflect and dispel each and every one with only a few well-timed kicks and six or seven on the mark shuriken.

It did offer some sense of satisfaction in terms of the quiet gloating that came after, he supposes. He used to wonder if the idiot would ever learn, if he’d ever realize that Sasuke did - does - have shortcomings, and furthermore, if he would ever manage to capitalize on them.

Today, however, there is no sense of satisfaction, because Naruto has belatedly chosen today to exploit Sasuke’s weakness. In a sudden blur of yellow, his teammate changes course at the last second, lunging for his left shin.

Sasuke has always been - had, he corrects himself after the fact dully - ambidextrous in terms of training all of his limbs to wield weaponry and react accordingly, but that doesn't mean he is completely without fault. He's always favored his left leg to lead with, even now that he's solely right handed. It's taken significant overhaul to correct his sword forms stretched across the past several years to compensate. It's not often he's pushed to the point of being midair in the first place, so he hasn't fully corrected his tendency to land his left foot first despite his proficiency in being one handed.

Naruto yanks his stupid ankle out from under him and twists to redirect Sasuke’s weight towards him rather than away as he himself intended.

As a result, Sasuke’s jaw collides with a fist, hard and biting: his right, Naruto's left.

His shoulder takes the brunt of the subsequent pummeling toward the ground, catching his weight sliding before he rolls into baked loam and dirt. His mouth takes another hit and he grits his teeth, or perhaps grits the lack thereof.

Grunting as pain sears him - " Shit," he curses - he haphazardly spits out his right lower canine and one of its corresponding premolars into his hand. They’re knocked out nearly fully clean, he thinks at first glance, stringy pale root and all.

His jaw throbs as Naruto arrives behind him in a flash, brandishing a kunai to his neck and whooping a cheer utterly unbefitting of a ninja.

This will be a fucking pain, he notes dully, rolling his eyes as the dobe shouts in victory. He supposes this is perhaps karmic justice for all of the occasions on which he defeated Naruto in their youth and then proceeded to fully rub it in.

"HA! I WIN, I WIN! In your fucking FACE, teme!"

Sighing, Sasuke nods resignedly so Naruto will drop the kunai. He then rises slightly, brows furrowing as he shifts his weight into a seated position. Wincing, he spits out blood and what appears to be a small chunk of gum, angry pink and crimson, but no additional teeth come out, at least.

Adjusting his jaw as the dobe rises to his feet behind him, Sasuke feels for the damage with his tongue, frowning. It doesn't feel like his mandible is cracked this time at least, but he'll need to go somewhere relatively quickly if he’s to keep his teeth. He carefully grabs hold of one, rotating it until it’s at the proper angle, and delicately pushes it back in place. He then repeats the action with the other tooth as they were instructed to do in another lesson at the Academy, this one more sobering even though they all only had baby teeth at that age and could afford to get one or two knocked out without major consequence. Keep the root alive , he thinks drolly, another reiteration of Iruka’s tutelage as pain rattles into the roots of his mouth. Maybe not all of them came out clean, he realizes, at least not in the case of his canine tooth.

"Teme's gotta go drinking, teme's gotta go drinking," his best friend is prattling in a sing-song voice, completely gleeful and taking approximately no notice of the dental conundrum he’s created. “Or, you gotta tell me what you gave Sakura-chan! Which will it be, huh?!”

"What dentist here would take a walk-in?" Sasuke bites out harshly in lieu of an answer, annoyed in full now given the pain and the dobe’s crowing. His brows furrow further as he retrieves his chokuto for stowing, rising. He's seen a dental establishment once or twice on walks with Sakura, but it was on the opposite side of the village, far from the training ground he and the dobe typically use.

Naruto pauses, fists lowered from the air temporarily. Blue eyes blink in mystification.

"Huh?"

Sasuke pins him with a withering look.

"Dentist. Before the roots die, idiot. Where?"

Naruto’s brows furrow in further puzzlement until Sasuke gestures vaguely towards his jaw and the fair amount of blood now caking just below his lower lip. The confused expression morphs into something else; the dobe, apparently, has the basic decency to seem a little abashed.

“Uh. Sorry, right.”

And then a grin Sasuke loathes overtakes his teammate’s expression.

”Well, Sakura-chan can fix it quicker,” the blonde says cheerfully. “So you probably just wanna go to the hospital!"

Sasuke arches a lone eyebrow in question as he uses his tongue to hold the teeth down into place; he was unaware Sakura’s medical ninjutsu extended to dentistry. Naruto nods emphatically in answer to the question despite its lack of verbalization.

"Yeah, she's kinda an expert! She'd have to be, I guess. She’s put a few of mine back, too, but…" A faraway look shifts into existence on Naruto’s face that Sasuke drolly recognizes as genuinely fearful before he’s shaking it off. Perhaps the dobe has gotten his teeth knocked out on multiple occasions, enough for Sakura to give him an earful and then some. He would probably find it amusing if blood wasn’t leaking into every nook and cranny of his mouth.

"Anyways, want me to go with you?" Naruto wiggles his eyebrows. “Or would you rather have more alone time with-”

“Shut up," Sasuke barks obstinately as he rises, though the words in his mind are further akin to absolutely fucking not. He tilts his head to let the blood pool to his other cheek so he can spit it out with less discomfort. Maybe his teeth will be fucked up enough that he can't eat or drink for a handful of days, at least, and he can put this whole state of affairs off until it’s not a Saturday night when the bar is bound to be packed.

"Haha, okay, okay! Sorry, I know I tease both you guys a lot but it’s just…” The dobe’s voice trails off as Sasuke turns to leave without another word, setting course in the general direction of the hospital.

“Hey, hey! Wait, you're not getting outta drinking, though!!" Naruto bellows as Sasuke jumps up the nearest tree to proceed to the hospital by rooftop. “I'll invite Sai, so you can invite Sakura-chan once she puts your teeth back! Maybe tonight around nine? At Utsura Utsura; Sakura-chan knows where! This is perfect, y’know, just in time, ‘cause I gotta leave next week for the Chunin Exams so stupid early in the morning! Oh, man, and-"

"Whatever," Sasuke growls back, uncaring if he’s within earshot or not as he lands atop the nearest gambrel.

It takes only a little over a minute to arrive at the hospital’s front entrance. The roots of teeth can die quickly, he knows, so it would be unwise to wait this one out in Sakura’s office. He does spit out another small puddle of blood into the bushes and wipes the corner of his mouth to rid it of most of the drying cruor ahead of stepping through the meticulously clean double doors. It’s unlikely the hospital staff are unfamiliar with blood, but he assumes he’ll have to speak at least a few words in order to explain the situation.

It's a foreign feeling, he finds, to step through the glass. He dislikes it, as it leaves him feeling a little exposed to medical staff who are not Sakura. He expects no patient truly enjoys coming to the hospital by nature of its very purpose, though, and less still for something more akin to an emergency than a casual injury.

The receptionist gives him a once over, raising a thin eyebrow.

"Teeth knocked out," he supplies quietly, eager to get the words out before his gums are swimming with amassed crimson; he doesn’t particularly wish to have it dribbling down his chin mid speech. "Two; lower left side."

The woman nods, hazel irises calculating in a way that seems fairly shrewd for what he presumes is a civilian.

"You put them back in clean for now?" She reaches for a clipboard and begins writing down what is likely his information, which forces him to promptly realize she knows who he is, as she didn’t ask for his name. He supposes one-armed former defected ninja aren't exactly a dime a dozen in Konoha, and he does wait outside the hospital to meet Sakura fairly frequently. Perhaps she's seen him through the glass entryway; he's never thought to check.

Sasuke nods about halfway through that stream of logic, shaking off his initial discomfort; it won’t serve him in this situation.

“How long have they been out?” The woman questions as she writes, not looking up. He now observes that the ID badge clipped to her shirt reads Nakamura, Mei. It’s similar to the badge Sakura carries around on her lanyard, though there are less symbols on it. He assumes the colored icons denote different levels of clearance within the hospital’s hierarchy and archives.

“Two or three minutes,” he says quickly, closing his mouth as soon as the words are out so as not to drip blood onto the floor. It has a thin and unpleasant tang as he swallows the currant liquid instead, placing his tongue back atop both teeth after he does so to keep them in place.

"Alright. Haruko, can you take him for check-in?" The receptionist asks, swiveling to face what must be a doctor or a nurse arriving from down the hall, a woman he deduces must be in her thirties. "I'll page Sakura since it's time sensitive. She’ll want to get them fixed in the next half hour, I expect."

Sasuke frowns. Paging likely implies that she’s working on one of her projects by now, no longer seeing patients. He hopes he won't be taking her away from anything pressing. She mentioned wanting to stay later today than she usually does to work on some things towards the end of her shift; he presumes it’s related to the stacks of papers she’s been bringing home. She was going to bring supper to his apartment once she was done, along with her chess set.

Those plans will need updating now, he expects with a pang of disappointment. If she really can fix his teeth, there’ll be no getting out of going to the bar, save allowing Naruto to unleash his Rasengan on the front door of his apartment until the wood converts to kindling. He wonders if Sakura will even want to come; Sasuke has gathered in the past couple of months that she doesn’t seem to go out drinking regularly, and she might be tired from working lengthier hours today, staying until five rather than three.

An image of a very prolonged evening involving himself, the idiot with all of his antics, Sai, a boisterous bar with sticky counters, and overly full glasses of strong alcohol repeatedly shoved in front of him materializes in his mind. It’s enough to set his mouth toward a frown, if there wasn’t one already permanently affixed to his face.

"Uh… Sure," the woman named Haruko says, drawing him from his thoughts. She comes to the counter to claim the clipboard the receptionist is extending out to her. "Is Sakura-san..?"

"Sakura's in the lab; her appointments were all for this morning. I’d guess it’ll only be a few minutes at most before she's up, though. Just take his vitals so that's done with; it'll save some time." There’s enough sureness in the woman, Mei’s, voice for Sasuke to gather she’s been doing this for a considerable duration of time, although she can’t be much older than Sakura. He doesn’t recall seeing her during his brief stint in the hospital immediately following the war, but the hospital was also in a bit of a state of chaos then. It wouldn’t make much sense to have an official receptionist when one could use an extra set of hands for help amongst hundreds of wounded ninja, medical ninjutsu capabilities or not.

Sakura herself was prone to working eighteen hour shifts during that time period, he recalls. She spent as many minutes as she could in his and Naruto’s hospital room prior to his detainment as he awaited Konoha’s official verdict, but he remembers she nearly always looked exhausted, and there were two occasions where he observed her popping soldier pills so she could continue to help.

"...Okay." The doctor or nurse, Haruko, eyes Sasuke warily prior to turning. "Follow me," she intones curtly, so he does, albeit at a distance, doing his best to seem unassuming as he recognizes her uncertainty as the matter of course uneasiness he often receives from the general populace. He assumes she also may be a civilian, if she can’t fix his teeth herself, though he supposes most medical ninja are nowhere near the level of proficiency that Sakura is. Perhaps replacing teeth requires the most finely-tuned of chakra control capabilities.

While he's not truly paying attention to each step of the check-in portion of the exam - he doesn't particularly enjoy being around medical staff aside from Sakura, given his history, even with things as innocuous as getting his height and weight taken - he notes with some satisfaction during his brief stint on the scale that he's up to 167. He's managed to put on four pounds.

Sakura will probably be pleased with that information. He is, too, he thinks as the woman named Haruko timidly hands him some gauze to stall the bleeding. He promptly pushes it into his mouth, sidled aside his tongue. She then proceeds to apprehensively take his pulse and dutifully scribble more of her findings on the clipboard. He hopes the gain will partially distract Sakura from the fact that he's here as a result of him and Naruto disfiguring each other yet again.

Promptly, Sasuke then arrives at the realization that Sakura’s fingers are likely going to be in his mouth for this endeavor in the ensuing half hour, and his brows draw together in sincere disquiet.

It's at maximum two minutes following the woman’s departure from the exam room before he hears a familiar set of footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. The door creaks open and Sakura breezes in looking every bit the professional, a white jacket shrugged around her shoulders and her own ID badge hung around her neck.

"Hey, Sasuke-kun," she greets, smiling warmly and closing the door behind her. The clipboard is in her hands. "Another spar?"

Sasuke nods, motioning briefly to his mouth. It’s no small task to force his features to relax, forcibly working out the tension in agreement with her steps as if it’s an unruly tangle stuck at the crown of one’s hair.

"...Yeah," he adds, voice somewhat distorted by the gauze; it’s soaked nearly half through at this point, he realizes. He sets to carefully removing it, as the blood has affixed it to his teeth; talking with it in will be less than ideal.

Sakura claims a seat in the swivel chair, wordlessly picking up the meager trash can to offer to him. He disposes of the stained gauze and she places the receptacle on the floor between them, glancing down at the information on her clipboard with concern prior to fully meeting his eyes.

"And?" She presses, and though her face clearly contains some degree of worry, her tone holds a fair amount of what sounds an awful lot like amused curiosity. He relaxes, then, as she doesn’t seem truly upset; if anything, she seems pleased he’s sought her out. He supposes she did specifically impart upon him to seek her expertise when injured.

Sasuke sighs, briefly deflecting his gaze to the wall as the corner of his mouth twitches entirely against his will.

"...I lost," he admits subsequently, turning his apperception back on her to find she’s attentively scanning the pages before her.

“...So you did,” Sakura murmurs, pupils making repetitions from side to side as she follows the flow of notes and data. “Two teeth, lower right side?”

He nods once in confirmation.

“Hmm,” she comments in a way that sounds absentminded, fine pink brows rising slightly as she scans the clipboard one last time. Apparently deeming she’s gathered all the necessary information, she sets it aside on the counter nearest to her in favor of grabbing a disposable glove from the box on the counter.

"Lucky for you I'm sort of a resident expert in putting teeth back in,” Sakura murmurs, smiling and pulling the glove over an unassumingly dainty hand that he knows can crack granite. His brow furrows as he again envisions Naruto hightailing it to the hospital to get his teeth reacquainted with his gums repeatedly over the years. Sasuke wonders briefly if the idiot even remembered to clean them, beforehand; it would be extremely on brand for Naruto to just shove dirt-covered teeth back into empty sockets at crooked intervals, inviting some kind of infection or root damage from an errant chunk of gravel.

Sakura must sense his confusion upon turning back towards him, because she chuckles, a high tinkling sound he loves as she rises further to reach for the upper middle cabinet.

"I’ve fixed Naruto’s back in place twice, but I have a lot of practice. Tsunade-shishou used to knock mine out all the time," she reveals, grinning as if this is the most jocular recollection in the world as she retrieves one bottle of liquid amongst several that must be medical in nature, as well as a disposable cup from a stack in the cupboard. "My upper left canine has been coaxed back in at least ten times. She got the entire upper left quadrant in one go, once. Made a game of it until I was good enough at dodging; I had to run laps around the village for every one she punched out."

Grimacing, Sasuke tries to visualize the tiny Sakura he left in the village getting knocked around by the former Hokage as the Sakura of today pours a small amount of the liquid from the bottle - it’s labeled 0.25 sodium hypochlorite - into the disposable cup. It’s an image he greatly dislikes, her spitting out blood and teeth at all of thirteen years old, but he can’t fault that Senju Tsunade’s tutelage proves effective. He expects Sakura would probably dislike or object to the majority of the training he underwent whilst operating under Orochimaru, were he to tell her about it. He himself vehemently dislikes recalling much of it.

“I’ll fix the roots back in,” Sakura mentions, garnering his attention back to the present. “It’ll hurt a bit, but only for a few seconds each. Not much worse than getting a cavity filled, really. Could you..?” Her voice trails off, and she glances at his mouth and then down at the trashcan below them.

Ah. He spits out the meager amount of red that’s pooled from his mouth into the receptacle, simultaneously wondering what getting a cavity filled feels like. Sakura then hands him the cup.

“Swish with this quick and then spit it out, please. It’ll kill any bacteria,” she requests politely, so he does. He then discards the cup and parts his lips as he meets her eyes, nonverbally giving her the go-ahead and trying to call to mind anything but the fact that her fingers are going to be in his mouth.

There’s the barest tinge of pink decorating her cheeks as she reaches out with her glove-free hand, delicately pushing with two fingers until he takes the cue and turns his head a bit, giving her better access to the area in question. Her hand then drops to rest flush against his mandible; he assumes she must have to feed chakra in from both sides.

Her gloved fingers are small, once they’re just past his lips. They’re sure, though, pressing with circumspect expertise.

Don’t think about it, he admonishes inwardly, directing his focus to the upper left corner of the room and focusing on the aroma of raspberries and strawberries intermixed with fresh antiseptic as a distraction.

The slate blue glove begins to glow faintly green out of the corner of his eye, and then there is pain where his premolar must be getting forcefully reacquainted with its socket, the nerve, and the blood vessel it left behind. It’s a strange type of hurt; not the most excruciating he’s ever experienced by any means, but also not mild. There’s a sensation of hot and cold just before it dissipates entirely; it must be attributed to the nerve fully reconnecting.

“I’ll coax the gums back into place over the tooth in a second here,” Sakura murmurs in explanation. He speculates that her focus is locked on his jaw, though he’s hesitant to look at her directly. “I want to fix the other one first.”

Her chakra pulses, docile and as if probing the damage. It’s enough to make him wince a little, as if it’s applied pressure against a direct nerve, and he’s suddenly certain that he was correct about the canine having left part of its concomitant root in his mouth.

“Your canine’s worse than the premolar; the root tore,” Sakura confirms after a moment, frowning in the corner of his eye. “This’ll hurt. I’m sorry, Sasuke-kun. Try not to bite.”

Her chakra pushes from both sides, and there are a solid ten torturous seconds of intense affliction. Sasuke screws his eyes shut in an attempt to not snap his teeth together as his instincts tell him to. It’s not worse than losing his arm by any means, but it’s extremely unpleasant, and a foreign feeling besides.

He exhales slowly once it’s over, her hand against the outside of his jaw dropping as she funnels alleviating chakra into the part of his mouth she’s just fixed. He feels his gums expand somehow as she does so, cajoled back into place to affirm the position over both teeth.

It feels bewilderingly like they were never knocked out in the first place, as if the pain he’s just experienced was nothing but a figment of his imagination. Sasuke resists the impulse to use his tongue to feel it out further, as her fingers are still there, inspecting her work.

Seconds tick by, a blur of complementary pale green and pink at his right and sterile white on his left.

"You have nice teeth," Sakura compliments softly a minute later as her chakra finally dissipates, fingers leaving his mouth and hands drawing back to herself. She peels back the bloody glove as he blinks, disposing of it in the garbage between them. She then rises, reaching for a new small cup from the cupboard, still open.

He spits as discreetly as he is capable of whilst internally marveling at her proficiency in medical ninjutsu. “...Thanks.”

"Have you ever even had a cavity?" Jade eyes glint with mirth as Sakura fills the cup at the sink, interrupting his wondering at how difficult healing such as this would be to learn. If he were to get a couple knocked out during a mission, it would be good to be able to save his teeth himself in the event he was unable to seek care for them immediately.

"...I don't know," he finally responds, shoving musings of new jutsu aside. Most of his adult teeth came in after he was already on his own and couldn't stomach sweet things anymore, so he’s never consumed any sort of sugar with them regularly, and when he does, it’s probably not enough to encompass significant damage in terms of decay. His mother also taught him early how to properly brush and floss his teeth; it’s a habit that stuck. "I don't think so."

Sakura arches an eyebrow as she hands him the cup of water, sink turned off now. He realizes that it’s for him to rinse any lingering taste of blood away, so he does, swishing the water around prior to spitting circumspectly once more into the trash can. He drinks the rest, feeling around his mouth with his tongue after he’s swallowed and noting that it really is completely healed. He’ll be able to eat and drink just fine, he gathers as Sakura returns the disinfectant bottle to its place in the neatly organized cupboard before closing it.

Pity, he thinks, resigned to his ineluctable fate now. Won't be getting out of it, then.

"Have you ever even had a toothache?" Sakura asks disbelievingly, drawing him from his musings. A soft smile decorates her features.

"No," he answers honestly as he discards the cup. A smirk begins to play at the corner of his own mouth now that he’s pain-free, because he’s about to ask a question he’s fairly certain he already knows the answer to, given her contraband drawer and the variety of sweet things he’s seen her consume in the preceding months. It’s also significantly more entertaining to tease Sakura than it is to contemplate an evening at a loud bar alongside his obnoxious best friend. "Have you?"

She flushes prettily as she takes her seat again; he’s sure she's immediately recognized the tone of voice he uses when he’s teasing her.

"...Many times," his girlfriend admits, looking away sheepishly.

"...Cavities?" He presses curiously after the clock's hand tracks several seconds, tone misleadingly innocuous and mouth twitching.

Sakura rolls her eyes, but her cheeks glow darker, and he takes that as his assumption being correct.

"...Six,” she answers after a beat. “Or, well… Six in my adult teeth. Though to be fair, most of them were before I turned sixteen.”

One corner of his mouth tilts upwards in full of its own accord; he expects that to mean her proclivity for sweets has been a lifelong endeavor, and that she probably had at least a couple cavities even while operating solely with baby teeth.

She bites her lip as she picks up the clipboard again, scanning the information there and for all intents and purposes appearing as if she is attempting to bully a smile into submission.

And then every aspect of her facial expression softens for a moment.

“You gained four pounds,” she murmurs softly, warm gaze speckled with golden flecks wandering to him meaningfully.

The other edge of his mouth lurches further upwards, dangerously close to a full smile, before he manages to catch it, biting the interior of his lip to keep it in place.

“...Six to go,” he comments.

It has the intended effect. An infectious and appreciative smile unfurls atop her lips, irises sparkling and expression clearly very pleased. There’s an inundation of seconds in which she holds his stare, beaming as if he’s simultaneously accomplished some monumental task and gifted her a palatial compliment.

Her visage then turns contemplative as she scans the rest of the page.

"Anything else wrong?" Sakura questions, inflection turning serious. "Haruko marked your pulse at forty-nine. That’s kind of low for you."

He regards her blankly for a moment ahead of recognition setting in. In response, he carefully averts his eyes, torrid heat rising to his neck.

"I'm fine," he supplies quietly.

Her head tilts to the side a little in his peripheral vision, pale rose baby hairs undulating amidst the motion. “You didn't hit your head when he got your teeth? Slowed pulse can be a symptom of a concussion."

"...No. Just above my chin. My shoulder took the hit, after."

Sakura’s frowning in full now, expression analytical at the corner of his gaze as if she’s trying to assess whether he's being fully forthcoming, during which time his neck enflames further and he exhales slowly in the hopes that she’ll drop it.

“No headache?” Sakura presses.

“...No.”

“You’re not feeling tired? Dizziness?” Her tone is nothing but courteous and caring, every bit a medic; he knows she’s just doing her job, aiming to help.

“No,” he repeats.

There is a tremendously long pause.

Then, “Sasuke-kun,” almost as quiet as a whisper, pleading, and he has never been able to shrink away from that particular tone of voice when she makes use of it, all compassion and auspicious altruism.

"...If something was wrong, I’d tell you," he reaffirms finally as he meets jade eyes drenched with concern. He's aware his adamance may be mistaken for something else in this particular instance. He in no way wants to give her the impression that he doesn't trust her medical opinion… but alternatively, he very much knows why his pulse was slower taken by a stranger than Sakura usually finds it, and admitting that openly would be rather embarrassing.

"I can't help but worry.” Her voice is small, yet simultaneously ripe with conviction. And she's right, of course; care is written all over her face, etched into the set of her mouth and the knitting of fine pink eyebrows, aggrandizing even into the posture of her narrow shoulders and the hue of shifting seafoam surrounding luminous dark pupils.

Corrosion, he recalls. Truly it's not such a big thing to admit. If anything, it’s normal; he's a man, grown and well past puberty. People are supposed to find their significant others attractive, reasonably enough that their pulse quickens. Such things should be… rather obvious, he thinks.

And yet.

Sakura's eyebrows furrow further together at his continued silence, a small crease forming between them, and her demeanor shifts toward moreso that of clinician Sakura, the one who, he’s gathered, doesn’t often abide a medical mystery, forever in pursuit of answers and the next penultimate discovery.

"...Did she use a different technique?" Sakura questions, frowning. "The wrist is the most accurate."

"...She used the wrist," Sasuke confirms after turning the statement over in his mind, searching for a way out through the admittance and finding none. He privately feels rather in the mood to bang his head against a wall; if he had sustained a legitimate concussion, it would get him out of going to a packed bar for a small number of days. Maybe even long enough for the Chunin Exams to begin in Sand, excitement crowding the idiot’s mind. He knows Naruto forgetting about this entire debacle probably isn’t going to happen, but it would've been worth a shot.

Sakura continues appraising him, perplexed, and despite his frustration with voicing his feelings, he finds her charming when she wears such an expression.

“Naruto said we’re meeting at Utsura Utsura,” he decides to say, newly subservient to his fate and changing the subject abruptly as that seems like the best and only available option at present. “Nine.”

She grows further confused. “We?” She echoes questioningly.

Sasuke’s mouth twitches.

“You, me,” he confirms, keeping the timbre of his voice nonpartisan. “Sai.”

Sakura blinks once, then repeats the motion several times, gears turning slowly but surely. Her dimple eases into existence alongside her smile; he’s relieved to witness its return.

“A Saturday night?” She questions, intonation incredulous as she arches an eyebrow in disbelief. Her lips are still curled upwards. “I can’t deny that a few drinks would be nice… Especially since we had to postpone our team dinner a bit.” Her lips purse to the side in thought, and she scrutinizes him dubiously. “But… Utsura Utsura? It’ll be loud.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes halfheartedly, although inwardly he’s relieved at her response. It won’t be so bad if Sakura’s there, and she seems open to the idea. It makes him contemplate other notions briefly, reviewing several potential options of recompense before he settles on one, though he knows she doesn’t expect it.

“...A deal is a deal.” That, at least, he’s willing to admit. Additionally, now reflecting, Kakashi would likely have been invited to drink, too, were he not swamped with preparations. Their team dinner is slated for Tuesday evening, postponed twice now due to last minute meetings and registration paperwork.

Drinking with Kakashi is not a prospect he finds particularly enthusing, given his old sensei’s uncanny ability to decipher what he's thinking. Perhaps tonight really would be better than any other option. He’ll use some of the week or two Naruto’s gone for the Chunin Exams to correct his footing so this doesn’t happen again any time soon. In addition, he’ll analyze all of the dobe’s weaknesses to use against him in their subsequent rematch.

Amusement ripples across Sakura’s face at his words, drawing him away from his contemplation.

“...Okay,” she agrees, searching his expression. “We can play chess another time. You promise me nothing’s going on with your head, though? You shouldn't drink if there’s a chance of concussion.”

If only you knew, he thinks wryly, sardonically stifling a snort. Something is definitely going on with his head, though it is not in any way an injury; he fleetingly recollects the variety of creative ways in which she occupies his cognizance, the manner in which she has sidled into each and every corner of his head.

“I promise, Sakura.”

He rises, as he doesn’t wish to take her away from more important things for too long, in spite of the fact that he’s still working through another impetus or two. She stands as well, pulling the clipboard inwards to her chest and maneuvering the wheeled chair back toward its previous station.

“...I’ll pick you up at your apartment at seven,” Sasuke finally murmurs quietly, eyeing her to gauge her reaction.

“...Seven?” She questions, free hand abandoning the chair as she blinks and tilts her head to the side curiously, peering up at him. Her lashes catch the light roseate, strawberry blonde and impossibly long.

“For dinner.”

At that, amusingly, Sakura smiles, although her fine brows rise quizzically.

“What an evening. We’re having dinner with them now, too?” She implores, tone playfully misbelieving. “I don’t know if I can eat Ichiraku’s twice in the span of four days, though. Do you think between you, me, and Sai, we could convince him to go somewhere else?”

It requires a fair amount of effort on his part to stay straight-faced, to hold his mouth in check to avoid giving himself away.

“...You and I are having dinner,” he corrects quietly, near a whisper and studying her earnestly. “Wherever you’d like.”

Fair cheeks flood arrant ruby as Sakura’s eyes widen, glit gold sparking at the edges where the fluorescence brightens her pupils. It’s not quite the chartreuse he often sees when they’re walking around the village after the street lights are illuminated for the evening, but it’s something similar, blueish light skewing jade green to nearly a pale and vivid teal at the edges.

Pretty. He would like to memorize this expression with his Sharingan someday. He wonders if she’d let him; he’s loath to do anything of the sort directly without attaining her express permission. Additionally, he’s also far too reserved to even consider asking such a thing in the first place.

For now, he thinks, shoving his self-indulgent thoughts aside for future consideration as Sakura stammers endearingly. It’s sort of funny, to watch her mouth open and close in surprise.

“O-oh?” Her skin is stained nearly the exact color of strawberries at their ripest, completely camouflaging the freckle that rests high on her cheekbone. “I…”

Her vision then sweeps away, left hand rising to rest atop her right. Her fingers have tightened their grip on the clipboard; she’s hugging it to her chest in the way she often does when he’s said something that’s caught her off guard.

“...Like a date?” She questions shyly, tone teasing as she bites at her lip; he appraises it as an effort to stifle a contented grin. It makes him feel as though he's opened some metaphorical window to allow the first spell of sunshine in, permeating his chest and heart and all the rest.

Carefully, he raises his hand until it’s level with hers, very deliberately running the backs of his fingers across her knuckles to urge her to meet his eyes again.

It works; jade irises flit immediately to his hand - she clearly didn’t expect him to do that, as her hands jilt a little at the contact, though they stay well within his range - and then upwards at him.

He affirms wordlessly, nodding and dragging his thumb tenderly across her digits once more prior to allowing his hand to fall away, satisfied that he’s been understood.

Sakura is smiling in full now, so he allows his own lips to quirk upwards a small increment in turn before he moves to depart. He doesn’t wish to keep her from her work for too long; whatever projects she’s been working on, he’s gathered they must be significant.

“...Sakura?” He murmurs once he's reached the door, pausing with his lone hand on the knob as he tilts his neck sideways to make eye contact.

It takes her a moment to respond; she hasn’t moved an inch yet, still standing firmly in place, unmoving as if in a daze.

“Yes?” She finally questions softly, wearing the rosy expression he’s come to recognize as expressly distracted. Further warmth unfurls in his chest, blood swishing and singing through his veins, no longer leaking into his mouth.

“Thank you.”

He’s pleased when her smile grows wider.

“You’re welcome.”

The hands of his apartment’s clock cycle by the hours. He counts them with a cough drop for each, beginning with a much-needed shower and dressing. He doesn’t really have designated “nice” clothing; mostly he just throws on his standard black sleeved shirt with black pants, traditional and common ninja garments. Still, he makes an effort to select the pairing that exhibit the least wear; although it isn’t a first date, really, it is the first he’s verbally categorized as one to her directly, so he feels he should make some effort at the very least. He brushes his hair more carefully than usual before shrugging on the one-shouldered sword sling he typically dons over his shirt, though this time the slot for his chokuto sits empty. He feels marginally off balance when he doesn’t wear the sling, and even moreso when the sheathe is vacant, but instilling any kind of fear in inebriated bar patrons is a recipe for trouble. Kakashi’s far too busy as of late with preparations to deal with any kind of mess on his behalf, and frankly Sasuke is tired of being the root cause of such situations. He hopes the idiot isn’t a clumsy drunk; he really doesn’t want the sling to end up smelling like alcohol.

Another hour is spent nursing two caffeinated cups of tea, leaning against the wall of the living room and studying the cherry blossom tree across the street as he sips. Presumably, this will be a lengthy evening if Naruto’s involved, and given that he’s operating on only a few hours of sleep, it seems the most advantageous course of action. The beginnings of small sakuranbo are commencing their seasonal appearance amongst the now apple green leaves, highly noticeable against the desaturation of the overcast sky and the rustling of an occasional gust blowing in from the southwest. The cut muscle in his stump is twitching, as if the barometric pressure has begun to change, but it’s not full-on pain yet; more just an over-awareness, anticipation, like something is about to happen, just within his grasp, good whereas Sakura is concerned or vexatious once the twenty-first hour arrives. It matches his mood well, and aids him in shaking off the lingering recollections from earlier this morning.

It’s somehow gotten muggier by the time he departs to meet her, in spite of the fact that the breeze has definitely picked up a considerable amount. It whips his dark hair askew at an intersection, then peters out by the next, verdure in abundance strangely still all at once as he passes the green building with its bed of alabaster azaleas, steering well clear of the swarm of people. Someone who lives there must be watering them; they’re even more overgrown and flourishing than they were when he first returned, amassing resonant blossoms.

As he pulls the glass door of Sakura’s building open, he sees the elderly woman in the downstairs apartment, Hanako, is in the midst of stooping low with the aid of her cane, irrigating the plants that enclose her egress. The cat turns amber eyes in his direction from its perch on the neighbor’s doorstep. Sasuke discerns that she must have been trying to tip the spout of the watering can to catch on the lowest few pots, although her balance seems undeniably off and her face betrays a grimace of pain.

“Hello,” the woman says, straightening a little to nod his way as the cat lazily strolls towards him simultaneously. Though he’s pretty sure Maru won’t try to bolt through the open entryway, Sasuke promptly closes the complex access door completely shut behind him.

The pained expression on Hanako’s face shifts into a wrinkled smile once she’s fully upright. Her eyes follow Maru as he saunters up to Sasuke, curling familiarly about his shin as if he’s greeted him a hundred times.

“I’m sorry, dear. I have a hard time remembering things sometimes,” Hanako says as he crouches briefly to offer Maru a scratch around his ears as he knows most cats like. “Your name..?”

“...Sasuke,” he intones quietly, thinking to himself that the feline has perhaps gotten fatter since the last occasion he’s seen him, now that he’s seeing him up close.

“Ah, yes. That was it,” Hanako says, drawing his attention back to her. Laugh lines crowd her mouth as she smiles widely, nodding in the direction of his shin. “You like Sasuke, don’t you, Maru?”

The cat makes some sort of trilling noise in acknowledgment of his name before a purr ripples through its throat. Sasuke gives him one additional scratch ahead of rising back to his full height, analytically surveying the smallest pots nearest the woman’s doorstep.

“Now, now,” Hanako admonishes as the cat curls its tail to encompass his other shin now, back arched. “We don’t need to get Sasuke covered in orange fur. Here, kitty, kitty.”

The cat cambers around Sasuke’s leg reiteratively, purring still, before trailing back to the center dwelling, where it promptly rubs its head affectionately against Hanako’s ankle.

“I was just watering my plants here,” she says jovially, motioning towards the pots. “Feels like it will rain tonight, you know? I try to mimic the weather outside for them, you see. That’s what my own mother taught me to do with indoor gardens. The plants know what to do, she’d say. No need to shelter them from the climate; we just help them along.”

Sasuke nods once, gaze traveling back to the planters inquisitorially. There’s one filled with freesia, another with carnations, and a third that’s difficult to identify from this distance. Conceivably her joints aren’t quite steady enough today to hold the watering can directly above the shortest pots, or at least, not long enough to fully sodden it without spilling moisture onto the floor where it would quickly become a slipping hazard.

Without speaking, he slowly approaches and extends his lone hand in pursuance of the navy blue watering pail. The old lady’s pale eyes widen momentarily in surprise, but she hands it over quickly, countenance sinking into clear relief.

“Well. Thank you, young man,” she says, tone grateful as he wordlessly tips the spout atop the soil the carnations are embedded in; they’re variances of rich pink and violet. “My hip is bothering me today. I broke it… well, it was a few years ago now, I think. Hard to remember when you’re as old as me, but I took a spill.”

Sasuke dips his chin again in acknowledgment, finishing his work on one pot before adjusting the watering can to drip moisture into the planter beside it: the freesia this time, more variances of ultraviolet and near magenta, intermingled with the occasional true red. They’re firmer than the average flower, stems thick and solid. They don’t bend beneath the moisture at all as he tips it atop them, watching the drips race down sepal and stem.

It’s unusual, he finds, to examine someone else’s flora following the slow and steady study he’s been afforded of the ones Sakura keeps around her home. Hanako’s are more intensely pigmented than hers, mostly florals with the colors high in saturation and skewed in hue; they remind him a bit of the garden at the Uzumaki household, a contrast against the pastel that lingers in his memory most often. The latest ones he’s noticed with clippings missing are the pale alabaster cosmos blooming on Sakura’s balcony, along with two florets from the lilac moth orchid beside her front entryway. He’s still not sure what she does with them; he realized the last evening he was invited to sit with her on the balcony that there aren’t any vases in her room, and the moth orchids blooms were a bit too big, he thinks, for interweaving into someone’s hair. Perhaps she’s using them in her research in some way, testing theories on poison antidotes or other medically-oriented fields he surely wouldn’t understand. It’s also possible she brings them to the different patients under her care within the walls of the hospital, enlivening their sterile white rooms with a burst of bounteous chromaticity; it’s something that would fall well within her character, though he does sort of wonder if purchasing flowers from Yamanaka Flower Shop would be more convenient, given her busy schedule. Conversely, he also privately understands that blooms fostered by one’s own hand are feasibly more meaningful.

There’s the quiet click of a door opening and closing above them that he recognizes to be Sakura’s. It’s shortly followed by her familiar gait, flouncing steps echoing across the landing above them and down the stairs. Maru slips away from Hanako in his peripheral vision; Sasuke assumes it’s to greet Sakura with the same lazy friendliness he himself received.

“Oh!” He hears Sakura’s surprised voice behind him, punctuated by a brief pause in her steps on what he calculates to be the middle of the stairs. “Sasuke-kun. Hanako-san.” Additional steps resound as Sasuke souses the last pot. Now that he’s close enough, he’s identified it as a bantam calathea plant.

He’s completely unprepared for what he sees as he turns his head to acknowledge her greeting, lifting the can slightly to lessen the flow of water to a trickle.

Sakura is descending the stairs clothed in a lavender dress, the color only a smidge lighter than the seal that adorns her forehead. Wide and loose-fitting lace straps, along with a thin tie, frame her collarbone and chest. A lengthy expanse of lace continues all the way down the garment, framing small center buttons on both sides that only end at the hem, just above the middle of her thighs.

“I could’ve gotten those for you earlier,” she says kindly. “I’m sorry; I should have checked.”

“It’s alright, dear. Sasuke here was kind enough to help,” he hears only faintly, utterly fixated on the entrancing freckle adorning her inner thigh, in plain sight as she takes the last two steps down the steps. Meager ties ornament the sides of the dress, too, tiny ribbons that tighten the fabric enveloping her waist.

It’s just as form fitting as her training gear, and thus it is just as distracting, though definitively more dainty; it may be what people call a sundress. It shows more of her collarbone and shoulders than anything else he has ever seen her wear.

“You know how my hip gets when it’s going to storm,” Hanako is chuckling as Sasuke blinks again, because Sakura stoops to give the cat a scratch at his mane at the bottom of the stairs. Expeditiously, he turns his focus back to the calathea plant in lieu of letting his vision roam across her cleavage.

Nice is too subtle a word for how she looks, he thinks as he rises, his goal of assisting in watering the greenery completed. Alluring is a more apt description. Supple is another word that materializes in his mind, the toned softness of her thighs burned into his retinas. He’s struggling to force his ruminations away from a temptingly new and utterly foolish mental combination that he has never considered: Sakura and lace fabric.

“It’s supposed to storm?” Sakura questions as she also rises back to her full height. His brain mentally catches up to the conversation as she adds, “Want me to look at your hip quick? I can alleviate the pain for you, if your medication isn’t helping with it.”

Hanako laughs again. “Well, I’m not sure on the weather. I don’t think the forecast calls for it, but…” She looks at Sasuke, then back at Sakura.

“Well… I think you’re probably going on a date, right?” The elderly woman observes more than asks, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “That’s a lovely dress, dear. I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.”

Sakura’s fine pink brows are knitted together in concern. Jade eases in Sasuke’s direction briefly, expression questioning, and it is so stupid how his gaze is drawn to her lips. He surmises she might be wearing some kind of makeup; they seem a slightly different color than they usually are, and subtly shiny.

Men are weak creatures, he thinks wryly, making a valiant attempt at pushing the unbelievably stupid thoughts tugging at his subconscious away into the darkened flames of a denotative Amaterasu.

“...I don’t mind,” he says absentmindedly, tearing his eyes from her mouth finally to meet her gaze intentionally. They still have plenty of time before they’re supposed to meet the idiot and Sai.

A sweet smile overtakes Sakura’s face at that, and a pleased, unnamed something turns over in his chest at having made her happy, as she then nods in the old woman’s aspect.

“Ah. Well, thank you,” Hanako says at his right, rotating to scuttle slowly back towards her door with the aid of her cane. “Come in, then.”

The cat trails after his owner, who leaves the entryway wide open, gradually making her way through what appears at first glance to be an entryway tremendously similar to Sakura’s.

Sakura makes her way past Sasuke to accompany the woman into her living quarters, and Sasuke promptly realizes that the back of the dress is also cut rather lower than most of her clothing. The scattering of freckles that remind him of serpens caput is in plain view, and there are a couple more on the middle right of her back that are now on open display.

She slips off her shoes - they’re nicer than her usual sandals, too, and taller - and disappears into the residence behind Hanako as if she knows the layout of the place. Perhaps she does; it doesn’t seem as though the woman was shocked at all that Sakura could help with her hip. She might do this rather regularly if she knows the woman’s hurting.

There is a scattering of seconds where Sasuke finds himself pondering a multitude of things: namely, for some reason, how the crest that adorns most of Sakura’s normal clothing must rest right atop that series of freckles, a white circle of fabric concealing them from view, and how he would like to trail his fingers there, or maybe his lips.

He doesn’t realize that his girlfriend has left the door open for him behind her, a silent invitation, until her head pops momentarily back around the entryway annex from the interior of the apartment. There’s a unique expression on her face, jade eyes silently questioning, as if to ask if he’s going to follow.

So he does, carefully removing his shoes and closing Hanako’s front door, traipsing past the threshold into the living room, where he chooses to linger at the edge of the space.

It is indeed a comparable layout to Sakura’s, though the kitchen is on the far wall in front of him rather than annexed on the right. There’s an entry out to the patio from the middle of the kitchen, easily seen through two windows and an all-glass screen door. His gaze is drawn to it at first, as the cat lazily makes its way to said entrance, resting on his haunches after coming upon it and seeming keen on beholding the outside world in all its motion and liveliness; it would be a good vantage point from which to view the birds, he surmises as he observes. There’s likely a nest under the moderate amount of awning he knows is affixed to the exterior building; he’s walked by it enough to have witnessed paltry fowl congregating nearby at least once or twice.

There are several things throughout the space that definitively foretell that an older woman inhabits the space: the mug on the dining table is antiquated, cream Hirado ware with inlaid indigo patterning, along with an army of small photographs framed in aged wood, hung meticulously straight across the expanse of wall. The pictures themselves are a testament to her life; they’re somewhat colorful up to a point, then fading into washed out sepia, followed shortly thereafter by black and white photos only; he realizes they must be arranged in chronological order.

It’s strange to see the connections forged in someone’s life laid out so plainly and visually. Many of the pictures include Hanako herself, although she gradually gets younger along with the children who are in the photographs with her. The newest one shows only a little girl, possibly five or six, sleeping in an armchair with Maru curled around her. It must have been taken here in the apartment, perhaps a chair out of sight in the woman’s bedroom once the girl was tired out for the afternoon. It doesn’t really look like it’s too new of a picture, but he notes the cat is significantly skinnier in it, so he gauges its age to be at least two or three years.

There is a scene of the girl at age two or three, out at a festival enwrapped in a small fuchsia kimono and holding a hand that’s barely in frame. Another features the girl as a baby, swaddled in a pale pink blanket that strikes him as having been knit by hand. A young man and woman along with Hanako smile at the camera, which prompts Sasuke to confirm what he suspected: the girl is her grandchild. The man must be her son, then; Sasuke observes that they share similar facial features, the same deep-set pale blue eyes and pronounced cheekbones. Sure enough, the man gets younger as his vision trails left; there is one of Hanako smiling next to him and the young woman in the other pictures on what must have been their wedding day. The bride is wrapped up in a pure white shiromuku, as bright as the fresh snow behind the three of them.

As he visually traces the line of pictures down the rest of the wall, he frowns, because the story it communicates isn’t necessarily a happy one.

It is clear that at one point Hanako had two sons. The one featured in the more recent pictures seems to be the younger, as the other is significantly taller in comparison in the pictures that include them both: an outdoor picnic in clear weather, a standard family picture at a formal studio, and finally, a tiny one in which the elder son proudly wears a Chunin vest with Hanako and her other son smiling on either side of him. It’s clear that he’s just attained promotion status, although the picture has faded to the extent that the trademark green is more of a brown in the swath of sepia.

The photos neatly transition into black and white prior to that; both boys when they were younger, playing with some sort of toys on a wood floor or sitting on Hanako’s lap in a rocking chair or a scene from a birthday, faces smeared with cake. There’s a man Hanako’s age in two of the earliest that must have been her husband, though it’s hard from the distance and the size of the photographs to discern any defining features. There’s a hitaiate tied to the man’s arm in one of them.

Hanako’s spouse has been gone a long time, and it’s probably fair to assume that he died in the line of duty, given their age at the stage of the photographs. The lack of later pictures of her eldest son implies that he, too, is gone. Sakura didn’t say the woman was a retired Shinobi, though; she must be a civilian who married one, and thus one of her sons became one, too. He hopes her youngest son is still alive, at least. He examines the recent pictures anew, trying to place when they were taken by how similar in saturation they are to the oldest pictures Sakura has displayed on her own wall.

A blur of pink moves suddenly in Sasuke’s peripheral vision, and he shifts his focus to Sakura, shaking off his conclusions as he realizes he’s been staring at the photos and that it might be poor manners, on top of the fact that speculating on the woman’s family is really none of his business.

Hanako has taken a seat in a creaking rocking chair, a well-worn cushion placed atop its wooden frame in the middle of the living room. There’s an end table with an already lit lamp on one side, and a modest stool with a pillow placed on the other. He would think it was an ottoman to rest one’s feet, except for its placement; it’s on the far side of the chair, and every square inch of the pillow is clearly covered in orange fur. It must be a spot exclusively for the cat.

“Lint roller’s still by the door,” Hanako is saying as she shifts slightly, giving Sakura easier access to what he assumes is her bad hip as her hand begins to glow verdant. “Feel free to use it up if you need to. I’d feel terrible if your dress was coated in fur; that purple is such a lovely color on you.”

Sakura laughs, despite her jade eyes still being emphatically focused. “It’s just a dress, Hanako-san,” she says, waving her free hand noncommittally. “Fur comes off. No big deal.”

Though he obviously says nothing, Sasuke inwardly agrees with Hanako; he very much likes the dress. The angle Sakura’s working at puts her in a position that allows him to study the graceful arch of her nape shifting into her trapezius; nimble muscle flexes there accordingly as she speaks and moves, swaths of lace framing her torso and accentuating her curves. Everything about her is slender and lithe, he deems as he studies the expanse of bared skin. She’s muscular but slight, all soft curves that scream dainty to the average unacquainted admirer, although he knows she is anything but. The dress somehow suits her just as well as her pristine doctor’s coat, or the purple skirt she wears from time to time, or the training gear that partially bares her midriff and besieges his weaker moments.

There is a long moment of quiescence as he watches her, fine blush hair turned desaturated dusty rose in the fading light of indoor evening against creamy skin; it sweeps her neck once as she moves, as if to examine the hip she’s working on through the woman’s house dress. It could be she’s probing for a nerve there with her chakra, cynosure following the impulse like muscle memory even if she can’t see anything with them. She does that recurrently if she’s helping with his bad arm, chakra tendrils threading in until she finds the nerve she must have been looking for, sight intently preoccupied on his stump as if in search of something she can’t see below the marred skin.

He then realizes that deep-set blue eyes have shifted to him knowingly at the edge of his vision, and that he’s been staring at every inch of Sakura’s exposed skin for the better portion of at least a full minute if not two. His neck warms in embarrassment as his gaze shifts to the elderly woman’s briefly; her expression tells him that not only is he caught, but also that Hanako is endlessly amused by what she’s just observed, crow’s feet crowding the edges of her senescent eyes in clear delight.

Wizened pupils glance down momentarily as if she’s briefly searching for something - perhaps to gauge how Sakura’s healing is progressing, as she must be nearly finished by now - before ice blue settles back in his direction as if reassured by what she’s seen.

He soon discovers the reason: privacy for what she’s about to do. Chin tilted far enough upwards so that Sakura can see the woman’s wrinkled grin but not her eyes as she heals, Hanako winks at him.

Dinner is a quiet and breezy affair at a small temaki stand located on the far south side of the village, far from the central commotion that Konoha can be during the dinner rush. The place reminds him of Ichiraku’s a bit, though its counters are simple shiny black instead of red currant, dark as obsidian and a sharp contrast to the pale pastel beauty sitting beside him. Sakura’s eyes glow as she chatters animatedly about anything and everything: why she likes this place’s umeshiso flavor the best of any of the fillings offered in Konoha’s restaurants, how she’s going to take him to meet Kakashi’s cat at some point in the next couple of weeks while their Hokage is away, and how Ino wants her to watch some new movie Sai discovered soon; he assumes that means the kunoichi is also going to be stationed solely in Konoha during the next few weeks as a precautionary measure, no missions to crowd her time.

Sasuke admires her mostly silently as he chews his own dinner - zuke maguro flavor - appreciative that all of his teeth are intact and asking a whist question now and then. Gray overcast sky deepens in grayscale value as the zephyr picks up slowly but surely around them.

“Hanako-san might’ve been right about the weather,” Sakura remarks, carefully popping the last roll into her mouth with delectation and chewing as she angles her head, clearly observing the sky through the flapping banners behind them that confine the restaurant. Small flyaway pink strands whip in the wind, and he arrives at the rather sudden realization that Sakura’s hair is a bit longer now than when he initially returned. He wonders if she’s growing it out, or if she’ll cut it in the near future. He would like it either way, he thinks; he’s immensely fond of the color, and, conjointly, of the way it feels in his hand on the few occasions he’s touched it, the pellucid evidence of trust he’s beginning to earn back.

Nine comes too soon.

Utsura Utsura, etched in prognostic neon scarlet and sky blue lettering, hovers above the entrance to the bar. It’s luminescent against the cloudy and darkening sky, and bright to the extent that it hurts his eyes a little. It’s clearly packed, he deems as they approach the building, boisterous noise spilling into the street surrounding the place and the faint smell of alcohol filtering into the air, barely caught on each breeze that pushes past them both.

It is, in fact, the bar Sakura pointed out just after their first team dinner upon his return to the village, only a few blocks from Ichiraku’s, and it’s certainly the exact type of bar that the idiot would enjoy, hugely loud and filled to the brim with people. Sasuke analyzes it, frowning and trying to mentally prepare himself for a slew of annoyances: lack of personal space, loud voices, and what will undoubtedly be at least a few drinks pushed into his hand via the dobe unless he comes up with some sort of distraction.

“Not too late to escape,” Sakura teases, grinning up at him as they approach. He can faintly make out the reflection of the sign’s lettering atop the crown of her head, pale rose easily catching the light.

Sasuke then promptly rolls his eyes, exhaling a sigh.

“...I’ll never hear the end of it if we do.”

Her grin pulls wider, lips catching on a tooth, and he’s pretty sure there’s a hint of a flush gracing her cheeks.

“We won’t,” she agrees, pulling the door open by its worn handle. He follows close behind her, and this ear-splitting odyssey begins.

It’s a sea of people as he assumed it would be, nearly all of them plainly in the beginning stages of inebriation and holding various glasses or bottles. A handful of them take notice of the newcomers filtering through their midst, focus succinctly flickering to Sakura with some interest before they notice Sasuke lurking at her heels; then, it seems, most of them can’t look away fast enough, eyes glazed intoxicant but not to the extent that they are incapable of recognizing him.

Good, he thinks, gaze briefly locking on Sakura’s back. For once his lack of people skills may work in his favor.

The interior of the place is darker than he imagined, although he supposes most bars probably are. He rarely has entered any similar establishments, barring when it’s a necessity to gather intel or track someone down for a mission. Lanterns he assumes must be wired to the electricity in scarlet and sapphire line either side of the building, framed by softly glowing lights in the same colorway. It extends wall to wall, creating alternate “sides” of the bar, one burning pale red and one glowing lightning blue. A wall of alcohol and a menu sidles along the blue side, fronted by a long cobalt countertop edged by stools. Tall tables litter the middle pathway, and smaller, densely packed ruddy booths line the far expanse.

Commensurately, it’s enough people milling about to make him feel somewhat out of his element, and more than a few of them, those that don’t manage to look away quite as quickly as they think they do, fleetingly display either enmity or unease at his presence. Personal boundaries are something that doesn’t really exist here, he gathers as they venture through the throng of patrons. He supposes that goes both ways, though; he dislikes personal space, and in return, a rather large number of people dislike him. If it forces them to make their way to a different bar, then so be it. It could do with less people for one night.

Sakura’s dress seems lighter in here, he notices, training his surveyance on it in the crowd. It catches almost neon pink on the red side and periwinkle on the blue. A clearly graceless civilian drunkenly steps in front of her, cutting her off as they approach someone across the way that they’re shouting about knowing, drink sloshing in their hand. Sasuke stops as a result, crowding closer to her than he normally does in public; her hip skims by his for a millisecond.

“Naruto usually gets one of the booths,” Sakura tells him as she shifts, near shouting to be heard in the raucous and deftly avoiding any of the civilian’s booze splashing that would mar her dress. It’s hard to tell amidst all of the noise, but there’s music lilting in and out, he realizes for the first time after she stops speaking and moves again, heading towards the far corner of the building with purpose.

Sure enough, they mill through the people a few additional augmented steps and finally arrive at a vantage point to see the interior portions of the last few booths; Naruto and Sai are both seated at the second from the end. A trio of juniper Chunin vests, teetering blue under the neon of the bartop mirroring the booth, captures his attention briefly - wearing official ninja garb out on a Saturday night seems odd to him, though he can hardly critique it, given his own state of dress is the most basic ninja clothing - but he redirects his attention to the booth, as he doesn't identify them as being anyone he's overly familiar with. Were it Shikamaru or Choji, he would at least acknowledge them, should they look in his direction, but they aren't. He wonders if Choji will both be out of the village for the exams, then. Sakura already offhandedly mentioned that Shikamaru would be accompanying Kakashi and Naruto, the exams being considered an opportunity for coordinators of the Shinobi Union to also meet.

“SAKURA-CHAN!” Naruto shouts, loudly enough to be heard above absolutely everyone and then some; an exceedingly high number of the heads turn their way. “TEME!”

“Naruto,” Sakura greets in turn, near shouting as the dobe squeezes out of the booth to stand; his drink doesn’t quite spill, but it’s close. Sasuke’s brow knits together as she briefly greets Sai as well, prior to sliding into the center of the booth. She must usually take the inside seat, he realizes as she scoots, in a spot that leaves ample space for one more person on either side of her. If Ino ever comes to these gatherings, she likely sits in the vacuum of space left between Sakura and Sai.

Sakura flashes him a smile once she’s in place, and he takes it as a cue that he’s supposed to sit between her and the idiot. He supposes that makes sense, as his best friend is still standing, a shit-eating grin overtaking his expression as he raises his glass to take a sip.

So Sasuke carefully slides into the spot next to her, not close enough to touch, but nearly so. It feels a little like he’s just entered some sort of trap as the dobe takes his place again, though he gives Sasuke plenty of space on his side. He inwardly surmises that perhaps it’s just his personal disdain for social gatherings coloring his experience.

“Hello, Ugly,” Sai greets plainly, smiling in that odd way he has, clutching a can of lemon chu-hai; it’s the same brand he’d been drinking at the movie night. “The hue of your dress is nice.”

Sakura smiles encouragingly, shifting in her seat in what Sasuke realizes is her kindly trying to give him additional space, although she doesn’t need to; he doesn’t mind.

“And Traitor. I have not seen you in a while. I hope you have recovered from your illness?” The inflection of the statement is odd, in a way that Sasuke wouldn’t have recognized as out of place were Sai not forced to nearly shout to be heard in this establishment.

Sasuke nods in acknowledgement, at which point Sai smiles slightly wider.

“Ugly tells me you finished the book,” his replacement informs him, causing Sasuke to wonder when Sakura has seen him, but he shrugs it off, assuming it was probably with Ino. “Did you identify a favorite piece?”

Sasuke dips his chin once more. “...Page two hundred fourteen.”

Immediately, Sai pulls a miniscule sketchbook and a pencil from his pocket, flipping it open to apparently scribe the page number atop an empty upper corner of paper. It makes Sasuke frown; he didn’t anticipate the artist would actually put in the effort to look. He returned the book the other day, along with the one he finished and discussed with Sakura while he was ill and out of commission.

“Wonderful. I will study it on my next trip to the art section,” the artist says simply, stowing the sketchbook back into his pocket. “I learned much about kenjutsu and sword formations from the one you recommended.”

Sasuke simply blinks, unsure what he’s supposed to say in response to that.

“Eh?” Naruto questions loudly, setting down his glass finally. “Kenjutsu?”

“Sasuke and Sai traded book recommendations,” Sakura supplies helpfully, setting her elbow on the table so she can prop up her chin with her hand. Her green gaze meets Sasuke’s before looking at Sai.

“Yes,” his replacement confirms. “I learned that kenjutsu typically operates from five primary stances known as Itsutsu No Kamae. Sword held overhead, to the side, middle thrust, sword down, and sword held horizontal. There is a chain of motions that connect them all, which makes the style effective at adapting to most any battle conditions. Muscle memory is instrumental to this style, as repetition trains the body to react instinctively.” Sai pauses as Sasuke blinks, because he’s pretty sure that was the opening passage of the book he recommended nearly word for word, recited in a near shout to be heard in the busy bar.

“It makes it more impressive that you have adapted your style rather than replace it following your amputation,” Sai continues bluntly. Naruto and Sakura both cringe a little in his peripheral vision on either side of him, though Sasuke supposes Sai means well, so he tries to take it as the commendation it’s intended as; his replacement has seen him wield his chokuto once or twice on the couple of missions they were assigned together thus far.

“You are missing to my estimate approximately fifty-three percent of one arm, and yet you display remarkably fluid swordsmanship with your remaining one. I would pick you as the most skilled kenjutsu user I have met. I found myself curious while reading if you have always been right hand dominant, or-”

“Sai,” Sakura cuts in, voice somewhat reminiscent of a parent admonishing a child when they’ve been unintentionally rude. Sasuke thinks it’s also perhaps accompanied by a swift yet subtle kick to his replacement’s shin underneath the table. “I know you mean that as a compliment, but it comes off as tactless. Too direct.”

An expansive pause passes, Sai seeming rather like he is working through a math problem in his head as his dark eyes observe Sakura. He then looks back at Sasuke.

“My apologies, Traitor,” he offers, to which Sakura’s smile reappears in his peripheral vision. “It was not my intention to be rude.”

“...It’s fine,” Sasuke says, because it is. He’s in no position to fault anyone for being overly blunt, and he’s been slowly but surely coming to sure terms with the fact that Sai’s strange mannerisms and lack of social intuition stems from a childhood that was, similarly to his own, poignantly fucked up. Kakashi summarized the whole debacle that was Sai’s addition to Team Seven while visiting Sasuke in the hospital after the war; Sai’s Shinobi career found its beginnings in a secret branch of Anbu established by Danzo, where he was cut off from normal interactions early in his orphaning and trained to be emotionless. Sasuke never doubted the truth of Kakashi’s words, nor did he believe anything but the worst in regards to any sort of program Danzo had established, but it’s only by spending extended time periods around the artist upon returning that the reality of it has become abundantly clear.

“Right-handed with writing, ambidextrous with weaponry,” he decides to add after a moment of retrospection; the question was asked with genuine curiosity, and there was a compliment attached, besides, however roundabout.

Sai blinks, unhurried and assessing. Sasuke notices Sakura looking between both of them for a couple of seconds at the admission, expression betraying a little surprise, though she doesn’t say anything.

“Ah. Thank you for answering, Traitor.” His replacement smiles, then.

Sasuke dips his chin, satisfied.

“Wait, wait,” Naruto intercedes, at which point Sasuke slides his attention to the opposite side of their booth. “Two questions; what the hell is an amby-destress??”

“Ambidextrous,” Sakura corrects as Sasuke rolls his eyes. “It means you can use each hand equally well.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” the dobe comments, nodding enthusiastically. “Right, right! I knew that.”

Imbecile.

“Wait, so then my next question! What did teme have to read?”

“Art From Around the World,” Sai supplies, to which Naruto snorts, loud and attention catching. Sasuke turns only to see him shrink away, unoccupied hand held up in defense, which can only mean Sakura is leveling him with a frosty glare from his other side.

“Sorry, I’m sorry! Sakura-chan, I didn’t mean to- to-” The dobe stutters, clearly searching for words to explain himself. “I mean, uh, it’s just still so hard to picture him reading a book! I kinda thought that was just an excuse to hang out with you, ‘cause no one but you likes those things-”

Now Sasuke narrows his eyes. “Bold words from someone who can’t pronounce echinacea,” he retorts harshly, swiftly cutting off whatever nonsense he was about to say. This prompts the idiot’s brows to knit together as he shrinks further into his seat, looking properly sheepish as he takes a sip of whatever poison he’s drinking; it doesn’t smell pleasant from where Sasuke’s sitting.

“Ugly is not the only one who likes literature. Beautiful likes books. I do as well,” Sai cuts in, tone perfectly level and drawing everyone’s attention back to the opposite end of the booth. “Have you considered that you do not like books because you are a dumbass?”

On purpose and excessively audibly, Sasuke snorts. He thinks he can see Sakura trying to hide a smile.

Leave it to Sai to put the dobe in his place. They’ve barely been here a few minutes and already his teammate has inadvertently earned himself chastisement; Naruto is guffawing, mouth hanging open like an idiot.

“I’m not a dumbass-”

“When I asked you, you said you hadn’t read a book since you were in the Academy,” Sai interrupts, tone still completely level and utterly devoid of emotion. “It is possible you have forgotten how to, as it has been nearly eight years since you graduated. You must hone your skills to stay sharp in them.”

The dobe is glowering icily across the table when the waitress arrives, holding a lone beverage that looks like it’s about ninety eight percent sugar: some sort of dark pink concoction, blended with ice and topped with a wedge each of lemon and lime. There’s a straw in her other hand.

“For Three Second Haruno,” the waitress says simply, grinning and motioning towards the northernmost part of the counter where the three ninja in Jonin vests sit.

There are a solid three seconds where Sasuke positively, invidiously bristles, mouth sinking into a sharp frown and mood souring all at once.

And then he realizes that the three ninja at the counter are paying absolutely no mind to how Sakura reacts to the drink; they’re still faced forward, slouching as if they’ve had a long day and engrossed in their conversation, as if there’s no reason to spare so much as a glance for Sakura’s reaction.

He is very curious as to what the nickname means, but whatever it is, it’s clear it wasn’t intended to indicate any romantic interest. The frown stays, but he relaxes his eyebrows, realizing they were furrowed. He then glances at Sakura next to him, realizing he would like to see her reaction.

He finds her just finishing up the action of rolling her eyes.

“Tell Genma I say thanks,” Sakura tells the waitress in a tone that suggests this is a regular occurrence. She tentatively reaches for the drink, at which point Sasuke realizes he has a relatively ample view of her cleavage when she moves from this particular direction, also; he promptly looks away. “But he doesn’t need to keep doing this. It’s embarrassing.”

“Yeah fuckin’ right, Sakura-chan!” Naruto laughs heartily, reaching for his own booze and seemingly happy to draw the conversation away from his lack of reading comprehension and poor vocabulary. “As if he’ll ever shut up about it. And he shouldn’t! It was awesome! Also, he kinda owes you.”

Sasuke blinks, perplexed as the waitress shrugs helplessly. Perhaps Sakura healed the ninja from some life-threatening injury. Even now, not one of the trio has even turned to look their way. They do sort of seem familiar; he thinks he’s vaguely recognizing them from before his defection from Konoha.

For a moment, Sasuke turns his analytical pursuance to Sai in search of answers, but even his replacement’s normally expressionless face betrays some level of amusement; it seems as if they’re all in on an inside joke.

As Sakura carefully rids each wedge of juice, squeezing it into the beverage, he realizes the waitress is looking at him expectantly, at which he feels further nonplussed. There’s not really a menu fully within sight from here, and he doesn’t know much about alcohol; certainly he doesn’t know enough to be able to order something he might like off the top of his head with no options or descriptions to refer to. His focus switches to the lettering on the far wall, partially obscured by the booth wall and Naruto.

“Teme’ll have a…” Naruto’s voice trails off as he frowns. “Wait, what alcohol do you even like, anyways? Probably something strong!” The dobe’s focus turns to the waitress as he asks what her absolute strongest alcohol is, completely missing the withering look Sasuke shoots his way. He agreed to be here and drink something. He did not agree to the idiot shoving the most pungent and vile spirits in front of him all night; he’s had enough of throwing up for one day.

He glances at Sakura in pursuit of silent help as the waitress begins to list the establishment’s strongest available booze, things with strange names like kirakira and honokuni awamori and iichiko special shochu. Jade eyes search his for a long moment assessingly, as if she’s trying to decipher what his expression means.

“The kirakira is sweet, right? I think Hinata-chan had it once, so that’s a no-go.” It’s more of a shout on Naruto’s part than a thinking out loud voice, and it fades out again at Sasuke’s left as the dobe hums in thought.

Sakura blinks, expression suddenly understanding. She holds his gaze a second longer ahead of switching her attention to the waitress.

“Chimamire no geisha, please,” she partly yells to be heard over the ruckus of the crowd. “A little less rice wine than usual.” She gestures subtly towards the pink drink in front of her. “And I’ll get through this first before I order something.”

“Of course!” The waitress acquiesces, bowing slightly before she’s gone in a blink, parting through the small crowd of people with purpose. Following her departure, Sasuke looks at Sakura questioningly.

“What is that?” He asks in a low voice, barely loud enough for her to hear. She knows his taste well at this point, so he assumes it’s something that he’ll have a chance of liking, although he’s not much one for rice wine on its own; he knows from using it occasionally for cooking that it tends to lean sweet.

“Tomato juice,” Sakura responds faintly; the flecks of gold in her irises flash garnet amidst the lights glowing above them. “With lime juice and a dash of soy sauce.”

Ah. Not sweet, then. Sasuke nods once appreciatively, warmth pooling in his chest. He murmurs quietly, meant only for her ears, “Thank you.”

Her lips quirk upwards, and he thinks her cheeks flush faintly. It’s hard to tell underneath the red lighting as of yet.

“So, Sakura-chan!” Naruto perks up from his left, and whatever discreet spellbinding thing that was hovering in the charged air between he and Sakura dissipates. “How was work today?! Other than, uh…” His voice trails off, and the dobe scratches at his head nervously, clearly slowly realizing that perhaps it’s not the best conversation starter given he knocked two of Sasuke’s teeth out, creating extra work for her. “Other than, uh, putting teeth back, that is!”

He then squints at Sasuke for some reason, blue eyes glinting with suspicion.

“You did manage to put them back in, right, Sakura-chan?” The idiot questions, laughing nervously and focus switching from Sasuke to Sakura. “I uh, kinda forgot about it till now. Guess I should’ve asked?”

To his surprise, Sakura giggles, at which Naruto visibly relaxes.

“Yeah, I did,” she confirms, circling the straw around the concave of the glass prior to drawing it to her lips. There’s a long pause where she seems completely relaxed, eyes falling closed temporarily as if savoring the first sip of slush. “It was kinda busy most of the day; quite a few Genin who pushed training too far, or that’s what I gathered from the report, at least.”

Sai nods on Sakura’s other side as Sasuke contemplates; conceivably he was not the only thing that pulled her from her work today, though he also imagines that normal Genin training and sparring doesn’t often lead to major injuries or missing teeth.

He then wonders who was running the hospital back when they were all Genin before Tsunade, experiencing an acute few seconds of pity on their behalf. From what he gathers of Sakura's schedule, it’s a demanding occupation without orphaned and emotionally volatile children unleashing their most powerful ninjutsu on the roof.

“Yes,” his replacement says, drawing Sasuke from his thoughts and back to the ear-splitting mess that is this bar. “The training grounds have taken a beating. I am looking forward to their scenic views being restored soon.”

Sasuke takes that to mean that Sai enjoys drawing scenery in addition to nude women and… whatever else he must draw. Now that he’s reflecting on it, the training ground on the southwest edge of the village he and Sakura venture to from time to time is fairly scenic. Ino must like that one, too; when they ran into both kunoichi and ended up having lunch, they had been walking as if they came from that direction.

“Yeah, I imagine today is the last day of harsh training for a while for them,” Sakura confirms, smiling and resting her chin on one hand, elbow propped on the table again. “Their senseis will want them to be fresh for the trip and the exams.”

Naruto nods emphatically. “Yeah, that’s true. Kakashi warned them not to let their Genin push themselves too hard!”

Sasuke barely suppresses another snort, reflecting on the arduous process of learning Chidori, pushing his body to its absolute limits directly under their sensei’s supervision and tutelage.

“Gee, I wonder where he got that piece of wisdom from,” Sakura laughs ahead of a further sip of her drink. “Anyways, it was busy, but I missed most of it. Thank the gods for good staff; I managed to spend most of the day down in the lab and a bit at the clinic.”

Sai dips his chin once in acknowledgment, observing Sakura calculatingly.

“Have you managed to adequately adjust your bitchiness?” He then asks with a completely straight face, voice monotone yet curious as Sasuke frowns. Naruto cringes on his other side, though his expression is more one of fear on Sai’s behalf than disdain as it is on Sasuke’s part. That word doesn’t adequately describe anything Sakura does or is responsible for.

Bizarrely, Sakura laughs again. “Sort of,” she responds, waving her hand. “I’m working on it, anyway. My brain gets sort of fried after staring at empirical data for that long.”

“Soooo, it was a good thing that I knocked teme’s teeth out today, then!” Naruto surmises cheerfully and loudly, orotund shout nearly deafening Sasuke’s left eardrum as he unleashes a scowl towards the idiot’s side of the booth. “You gotta take a break every now and then, right?”

Before the retort has made it to Sasuke’s mouth, the waitress reappears holding a crimson beverage in a clear glass, ice cubes and a lime slice floating at the top. She slides it in front of Sasuke, smiling amicably, prior to slipping back without a word through the crowd in a hurry; he supposes the bar is pretty busy.

“Well…” Sakura hesitates from his right, almost utilizing an inside voice in comparison to the ridiculously cacophonous baritone Naruto employs. She then shrugs, smiling as she tilts her head to the side. “I haven’t been out with a group in a while, I guess. It’s a good way to unwind, now and then.”

Naruto nods emphatically, grinning before gulping down more of his alcohol. Sai simply smiles, but he, too, raises his can to take his own measured sip.

In the conversation’s lull, Sakura’s jade eyes find Sasuke’s, fulgurating to the drink and then back to him. There’s more than one unspoken message simmering amidst the lushly green verdant, and he gets the sense that she is somehow showing appreciation in his direction of all places. Possibly it's gratitude for dinner earlier, although she doesn’t need to thank him again for that; it’s the least he can do. Conversely, if she thinks she’ll be paying for his alcohol as some sort of quittance for the meal, she’ll have to think again.

There’s also an unspoken Aren’t you going to try it? So, carefully, he takes a sip, holding eye contact.

There’s something nearly savory about it, and obviously he likes the tomato juice. The lime makes it almost sour, disguising the taste of the rice wine remarkably well. It’s still leaning stronger than he would probably care for, but he can stretch out the process of consuming it slowly. If Naruto gets drunk enough, he might not notice that he’s only had one drink by the conclusion of this whole obstreperous debacle.

Not bad.

“...Not bad,” he murmurs, trying to saturate his voice with his thanks. She shoots him a glowing smile prior to raising her own glass to her mouth. He notices, once she pulls away, that her lips have left a rubicund imprint on the straw.

There are perhaps multiple things about this evening that are due to haunt him later.

“So, Traitor,” Sai begins, and Sasuke drags his stare away from the stain to the artist. “Do you intend to get plastered?”

Internally Sasuke heaves a lengthy sigh.

“Yeah!!” The idiot shouts as Sasuke responds, “No,” with a high degree of finality. This prompts Naruto to narrow his eyes at him, which Sasuke promptly ignores, taking another sip instead.

Chimamire no geisha. He’ll have to remember that. It beats choking down whatever disagreeable nonsense his dimwitted teammate would have shoved in front of him.

“I must admit I am confused,” Sai says after a moment, focus oscillating from Sasuke to Naruto. “Dickless made it sound as though you were to drink limitlessly.”

The artist deftly and effortlessly dodges the sandal thrown his way.

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

Sasuke sneaks a glance at Sakura and finds her looking rather amused as she watches the exchange. There’s something terribly fond in her expression as she takes another sip, almost like her very existence right now is tinged with nostalgia and cheer. He supposes it probably is. It’s not like they’ve really gone out like this as a team before to drink.

It’s… nice, to spend time all together, though he would prefer a less public activity. Sai is inordinately odd, difficult to read and awkward in speech, but he’s part of Team Seven. Sasuke would never admit it, but it’s been good to get to know him a bit better; it’s helped to enmesh him back into their lives more, to understand the dynamic that developed in his absence.

“Say, Sai, did you bring your hanafuda?” Sakura asks cheerfully after a tense moment is spent on Naruto’s part glaring at Sai while the artist himself remains firmly blank-faced, entirely devoid of emotion; clearly she’s trying to diffuse the tension.

Dark eyes flick to Sakura.

“I did,” his replacement remarks, reaching into his opposite pocket this time and pulling out a small stack of cards. “It is tradition. Should I deal?”

Sakura appraises Sasuke on her other side, then Naruto, whose eye is still twitching.

“Sure,” she says to Sai, turning back to him. “Hana-awase?”

Sai nods, and Naruto does, too, albeit begrudgingly, so the artist begins to expeditiously shuffle the cards.

As he deals, Sasuke lifts the cards as he receives them - apparently he’s supposed to play, too - and realizes they are handmade, though it would be difficult to tell until one touches them and can examine them. They’re made of thick paper, and he surmises the designs on them were created by way of an extraordinarily small brush and perhaps ink or watercolors, as they are exceptionally intricate. A clean, even black border surrounds each edge, and the cards are laden with intricate illustrations that also contain the occasional elegantly painted kanji phrasing.

All in all, he is dealt five cards, each containing detailed illustrations that would require a large amount of expert dexterity. Sai made them himself, he concludes as he studies them transiently: he’s been given the camp curtain card of March, the boar of July surrounded by bush clover, a September card featuring a blooming chrysanthemum, an October card that depicts lackadaisically falling maple leaves, and a December card with dark foxglove tree sprouts.

“New set,” Sakura offers in Sai’s direction, her tone endowing it as a compliment as she sorts her own cards, angled marginally away from him. “Very pretty.”

A genuine smile slowly unfurls on his replacement’s face.

“Thank you, Ugly. I made it recently. I was in need of practicing my fine detail skills and calligraphy once more.

Sasuke is of the opinion that it looks less like practice and more like the work of a master, finely tuned swishes of black ink kanji and meticulous linework, but he supposes being critical of one’s own skills crosses over to the world of art.

He vaguely knows the rules for hana-awase despite never having played it himself. Many of the people working under Orochimaru when he was in Sound made use of hanafuda decks and card games to pass the hours. There were several periods of time that required maintaining a low profile as various experiments and plans were carried out. He dislikes reflecting on that time, as being stuck underground tended to put him on edge, but he did observe many card games there from afar that he never ascertained from his younger years, given he spent most of them either a little too young to fully understand card games or too focused on revenge to spend that much time sitting still.

Sasuke plays quietly, using the game as a distraction to his advantage in terms of blocking out the loud noise of the bar. Though hana-awase is often a game of luck, it seems Sakura is particularly good at it and, as promised by a conversation regarding table games a while ago, Naruto is terrible. They play through a full round in which the idiot is decimated by all three of them before Sakura finishes her drink and, laughing, orders another, at which time he learns that it’s called a strawberry daiquiri. Whatever ingredients it’s made of - plenty of sugar, surely, he expects, mouth twitching in amusement - he thinks it’s fitting that that’s what she likes.

He himself sips on his own beverage lethargically, growing accustomed to the taste. That is, until Naruto complains that he’s drinking too slowly at this rate, at which Sasuke promptly begins consuming it even more languidly just to irk him.

It’s not so bad, once he gets mentally past all the noise and commotion. The alcohol mellows him as it has in his limited past experience, to the extent that he loses an iota of his usual discomfort with social activities and relaxes a little.

“Sakura-chaaaaaaaaaaaaan,” the idiot whines loudly from his left upon his third defeat of the evening, just as Sasuke finally and unfortunately arrives at the bottom of his glass. “Can we play a different game? This one’s no fair.”

“You losing doesn’t automatically mean it’s unfair,” Sasuke states, not glancing up to see the dobe’s indignation as he gathers his own cards, prompting a feminine giggle from his right that he rather enjoys. When he looks, sliding his stacked cards to the center of the table, he sees Sakura has polished off her third strawberry daiquiri.

“You’re such a bastard-”

Sasuke rolls his eyes.

“-Y’know, you’ve barely even finished one drink! It’s not fair!” Naruto shoves the upper portion of Sasuke’s left shoulder. It’s not a true push; moreso, it’s half-hearted, reminiscent of the bickering they used to get into on missions as kids.

It’s still enough of a push, however, to have his good arm make fleeting contact with Sakura’s.

He allows it to linger there longer than is strictly necessary, insides twisting pleasantly when she makes approximately zero effort to pull herself out of shared space this time. In fact, he thinks she leans a little towards him for a compendiary swoop, though it’s subtle to the extent that no one who’s further than a drink deep would notice.

“We could do a koi-koi tournament?” Sakura interjects jocosely on his other side once he finally eases back into his own space; he hears her swirling the straw in her glass. When he turns, her cheeks are edging more pink than fluorescent crimson, clearly not a by-product of the lighting this time.

“What- ever! ” Naruto gripes, grumbling under his breath something along the lines of you’re no fun and briefly glaring at his half-full cup.

The waitress reappears to take their empty glasses as well as Sai’s empty can, and Sakura slides both hers and his own across the table so they’re easier for her to reach.

“Another, please,” Sai says calmly, not sounding inebriated in the slightest.

“Yuzushu lemonade,” Sakura orders next - also a fitting choice for her, Sasuke thinks - at which point the waitress nods and then waits politely, regarding Sasuke.

Slowly Sasuke exhales, frowning and wondering if he’s going to regret this.

“...Chimamire no geisha,” he ultimately requests, brows knitting together at the way Naruto whoops at his left; he tries not to roll his eyes this time given the waitress is still there. “Same as before.”

It’ll get the idiot off his case for a bit, and two drinks really isn’t that much alcohol, anyways.

The waitress flits away back into the crowd, returning roughly five minutes later to deliver their order; Sakura is well into a match of koi-koi against Naruto by then, fluorescence causing the paper of the homemade cards to catch the color of a salmon’s scale when they’re turned at a certain angle.

Upon her victory, Sasuke promptly finds himself engaged in his own match against Sai. It’s lengthy by nature of the luck of the draw, though he’ll admit Sai is an apt challenge; he’s beginning to suspect that Sakura’s tenacity in board games has gained at least some level of practice from repeated matches against his replacement. Perhaps he’ll ask him at some point; if he enjoys cards, it would stand to reason that he could be well-versed in board games, too.

Ultimately Sasuke loses - “Ahahaha, in your face , teme!” to which he responds, “You lost, too, Usuratonkachi,” - but it’s not without putting up a good fight. He sips unhurriedly on his drink, after, allowing it to dull his senses the tiniest smidgen more. It’s still not enough to be properly drunk, but it’s plenty to relax him a little, to lessen the sharp edge of the clamorous bar’s volume.

Sakura makes her way through the spiked lemonade, the lemon wedge floating at the top of the glass gradually sinking to the bottom. She orders another about halfway through her match against Sai, progressively getting increasingly sprightly as the game progresses.

“Guess I lose,” Sakura relents finally as they finish tallying the latest round of points and Sai’s victory becomes clear via way of the sake card and an extra ten added to his score. She doesn’t sound the least bit chafed by it. In fact, it’s rather the opposite; there’s a permanent grin affixed to her face, a lazy sort of smile and slightly dilated pupils swimming in green-red fluorescent shift. She catches and holds his gaze once deliberately, cheeks flushing as Sai shuffles the cards back together and returns them to their place in his pocket.

The maundering about anything and everything continues for the better part of another hour; Naruto leads the conversation, though Sakura definitely helps and Sai interjects to add something every now and then. There’s talk about a woman someone named Yamato is dating, on which Sakura extrapolates, because apparently she knows her, a surveyor by trade who helped with property lines when they expanded the clinic. This in turn leads to Naruto going on a grating twenty minute tirade regarding an old land dispute he had to sit through alongside Kakashi, complete with overly exaggerated impersonations and intermittent pauses to gulp hefty sips of his newest liquor, some concoction that had a ridiculous name like Bunraku Barrage.

“I thought they’d NEVER shut up! I had a whole page where I was supposed to take notes that I filled with drawings of little toads by the end of it ‘cause they just kept sayin’ the same stuff over and over, and I told Hinata-chan after that-”

“I did not know you knew how to draw, Dickless. I would like to see your work-”

The dobe’s response is to scowl in offense, dig drink-sticky ice cubes out of his drink, and fling them at his replacement one by one in successive order as Sakura tries to hold back a tipsy chuckle next to him.

Sasuke listens more than he participates, though he would be hard-pressed to say he isn’t sort of enjoying himself, given he’s arrived at several rather obvious conclusions as his teammates all grow increasingly inebriated. Said conclusions are like most things he thinks, in that he keeps the thoughts to himself.

Naruto is the loud, lightweight type of drunk, carousing with grand merriment and even more conviction than usual, although Sasuke reasons that the loud portion of that assessment isn’t really a change from his base personality. Sai is moreso the type who outwardly doesn’t betray much of a change, other than a slightly delayed reaction time and occasionally interrupting whoever’s speaking rather than waiting for them to finish whatever they were saying.

But Sakura?

Sakura is cute when she's been drinking.

Her green eyes spark with easy, unrestrained joy, and she seems to find the most innocuous things funny, though she’s still adroit in terms of reaction time and interjecting into the flow of conversation when appropriate. Her pupils dilate unrestrainedly when she looks at him, as if to assess his reaction to something that Naruto and Sai said, more open in that she’s not hiding the fact that she wants to know what he’s thinking. Her cheeks flush, too, darker than her hair, and one of the lace straps of her dress keeps slipping the tiniest bit off her shoulder.

It’s her mouth that distracts him most of all. A lazy grin has been firmly planted on her face for the better portion of the last hour, and her lips are still kind of shiny despite having gone through several glasses and leaving lipstick marks on each one. It’s enough to make him ignore the noise, ignore the dobe’s taunting, because she’s within arm’s length and less, with no sign of any desire to exit his proximity. In fact, it’s quite the opposite; he’s fairly certain she’s at least three inches closer to him than she was when they initially sat down.

She’s clearly enjoying herself - it’s possible that she’s been working too hard lately, and thus perhaps she needed a night out - so he’ll begrudgingly inwardly admit that he’s enjoying it, too.

Now if he could just get out of nursing any further alcohol. He doesn’t want to push it; a small loosening of his tongue is plenty ample for tonight.

It’s not until Sasuke drains the last bit of his second chimamire no geisha that the dobe’s focus eases off of Sai; apparently he’s run out of ice cubes.

“Finally! I thought you’d never finish that thing!” The dobe’s speech is more sluggish than it usually is, signifying that the alcohol has begun to stake greater effect. He turns, comically slowly, in the direction of the waitress, currently milling in between the center tables.

“HEY, CAN I ORDER A BARRAGE FOR MY FRIEND HERE-”

“I’m not drinking that,” Sasuke deadpans, frowning. He would say something, but judging by the waitress’s reaction, she didn’t even comprehend the idiot’s asininely slurred speech with all of the noise encumbering the words.

“Awwww, teme, why not?!” Naruto bemoans, shaking the small amount of liquid left at the bottom of his glass prior to draining it. He wipes his mouth with approximately zero courtesy, after. “I’ll even drink another one with you! You said you’d driiiiiink.”

“Yes,” Sasuke asseverates, betraying no enthusiasm and gesturing to his empty glass. “And I did.”

“Two drinks barely count-”

Again, perhaps Naruto has matured in that he is more perceptive than he used to be.

“You never specified a quota, Dead Last,” Sasuke counters.

“Pssh.” Naruto waves his hand flippantly and attempts to roll his eyes, although it seems as if the prospect is making him dizzy. “You gotta lighten up a little, teme. What are you gon’ do after this anyways? Decipher more scrolls since you’re so good at them?”

It is then that an entirely amusing idea occurs to him, and he latches onto it as an easy way out of this situation.

It could work… if Sakura plays along.

More pertinently, it’ll annoy Naruto.

"No," he murmurs, barely audible over the clamor of the bar and working hard to contain his smirk, lest he completely give himself away. It’s hardest when he lets his gaze temporarily flicker calculatedly to hers prior to landing back on their idiot teammate. "I’m walking Sakura home."

It only takes a second before Sakura’s grinning up at him in his peripheral vision, nimble-witted no matter what. In turn, Naruto immediately glares at him, seeing straight through the ruse. Sai just regards the three of them blankly.

"Nuh-uh! No way are you getting out of it this easily!" The dobe frowns ahead of adding, "Besides, Sakura-chan's even more of a menace when she's been drinking! One time she punched me so hard when we were getting wasted with Granny Tsunade, I had internal bleeding!"

“I remember that,” Sai vocalizes.

"It's true," Sakura giggles ahead of taking another sip. At first he's not sure which statement she's referring to. A long pause passes in which Sasuke, Naruto, and Sai all look at her anticipatorily.

Ultimately, her attention lands on Sasuke, gears briefly turning as she silently assesses what he’s really after: an accomplice to rescue him from the grim fate of having to consume a copy of whatever that poisoned monstrosity in the dobe’s hand is. As Sakura grins conspiratorially, her cheeks somehow flush darker.

“I’d like some company,” she reveals with a convincing show of agreement, though the set of her mouth strongly implies that she’s trying not to laugh. “Who knows what kinds of unsavory characters could be lurking about?"

It is so utterly Sakura to still use a word like unsavory when she's been drinking, Sasuke mulls, stifling a snort of amusement. Naruto groans animatedly on his other side, sounding utterly defeated even as he continues to bitch.

“You think I buy that for a second, Sakura-chan? Or should I say Three Second Haruno?!”

Sasuke is too distracted by Sakura meeting his eyes again, smirking brazenly, to even throw a gloating glance in the dobe’s direction.

And suddenly, a deluge is torrenting the roof.

Sasuke is the least inebriated of all of them, so he notices it first. It doesn’t ease into it at all, really; there’s just a crash of roaring pitter patters suddenly there, torrenting from above as if vengeful gods have just rather unceremoniously thrown out their bathwater across all of Konoha.

It doesn’t stop, however, and Sakura’s the next to notice, chin barreling upwards at the noise. She beholds the ceiling and its dissonance, long pale pink lashes glowing strangely ruby against the fluorescence, though she doesn’t say anything.

“Strong rain,” Sai comments in a monotone voice, drawing Sasuke’s focus away from Sakura and the way her lips have fallen open; the artist is draining the remaining alcohol from his can by the time Sasuke looks further right. “I suppose that is a sign that this evening must end.”

“Eh?” Naruto asks as he nearly drops his glass, clearly straining to listen. “Rain?”

Sasuke twitches, because he really is one of the least observant ninja he’s ever been around. Even some of the civilians milling about paused in their guzzling prior to his idiot best friend did.

That thought is punctuated by a raucous boom of thunder.

"Shit," Naruto mutters, rising suddenly and nearly falling over woozily; it takes him a moment to recollect his balance before he begins to dig in his pockets for his wallet.

"I didn't know it was 'bout to storm… I gotta get home. Hinata-chan hates ‘em!"

While Sasuke was unaware that nineteen or twenty something Hinata is fearful of storms, he’ll admit it’s a little endearing, the speed at which the dobe slams down enough money to cover his drinks and then some and is the first to speed out of the bar, shouting, “Bye, Sakura-chan, Sai, teme!” The term besotted newlyweds comes to mind; as with the majority of Kakashi’s lackadaisical descriptions and understanding of things, it’s apt.

Sai pushes his now empty can to the center of the table with one hand as he retrieves money from his wallet via his other. “I will be going then, too. I expect Beautiful will want me home.” His replacement shoots them both an unusual smile as he rises, pulling the custom scroll Sasuke recognizes as the one the artist utilizes for his signature ninjutsu.

Sasuke frowns, confused, but all becomes clear as Sai makes a short sweep of his brush and a rudimentary umbrella pops into existence via the manipulation of a very small amount of chakra.

“This outing was most entertaining,” the artist comments, stowing his supplies in advance of gripping the handle of the sketched umbrella. “I will see you later, Ugly, Traitor.” He then proceeds to turn, rather unsteadily; he must be more drunk than he appears, although now that Sasuke is reflecting, he doesn’t think the artist went through too many cans of chu-hai.

And so Sai is parting through the crowd and out the door in short order, too, just in time for a crash of thunder to echo through the streets. It’s enough to quiet the few remaining patrons in the bar who were too drunk to hearken the sound of the torrent smattering atop the roof. Quite a few of them are suddenly digging through their own pockets for wallets now.

“Sounds like quite a storm,” Sakura comments as another crash of thunder echoes above Konoha. When Sasuke turns back to her, he sees one of the straps of her dress has slipped off her shoulder again.

“...Yeah,” he manages absentmindedly, eventually tugging his gaze away long enough to reach for money from his own pocket. It probably would be wise to get Sakura home before the rest of the storm rolls in; it sounds as if it won’t be a particularly pleasant one. He knows she’s plenty capable of making it home on her own, but he wants to make sure.

When she shifts slightly, moving to reach into her own pockets, he realizes she’s getting out her own money to pay, so he nudges her gently with his elbow.

“I’ve got it,” he murmurs at a volume that only she will hear.

A dark, rich blush inches its way across her face.

“I…” Her voice trails off, and he bites the inside of his lip subtly to prevent it from twitching upwards.

“You don’t have to,” she finally says as he lays enough on the table for a rough estimate of both their drinks and a sizable tip, faintly unfocused green eyes following the payment. “You already got dinner.”

In lieu of responding to that, Sasuke simply begins to shift out of the booth to rise, shooting her an amused look that’s also tinged with a suggestion to get her home: Aren’t you coming?

At first he expects she’s going to argue, but as the gears turn, something in her expression subsides. A smile ekes onto her features, and she averts her eyes momentarily.

“...Thank you,” she expresses finally, rising and meeting his gaze afresh and appreciatively, though still accompanied by the dark blush.

Sasuke simply nods, searching the shifting crowd of people for the easiest path out of the building. It’s easier than when they came in; quite a few people have made their escape out the door already, barreling down the street at the lagging speed civilians tend to have given they use no chakra to aid. Sakura lingers close behind him, following him to the door. A civilian jumps back hastily when they see Sasuke, a lingering expression of fear on his face, at which Sasuke frowns but tries not to react.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” He catches Sakura saying once they’re three people away from the door, at which he turns to her abruptly. “We could-”

“I’m still walking you home,” he tells her huskily, throwing her a meaningful look and quiet so as not to be heard by the majority of people within earshot. “...If you’d like.”

There is a lengthy silence, or, rather, as much silence as there can be in a semi-crowded bar, but her soft features bit by bit morph into a smile.

“Okay,” she agrees as they finally get to the door and another round of thunder barrages the sky. Sasuke sees the corresponding lightning explode across the firmament through the open door in front of them, this time. Thick raindrops are collecting in the streets, and puddles have already begun forming in the crevices of the road.

“Probably won’t be much of a walk,” Sakura jokes as the streak of gold subsides, grinning, at which Sasuke nods.

They tear through the caliginous streets in a grayed blur. Sasuke doesn’t quite make it up to full speed, as he wants to keep pace with her, but Sakura is also a bit speedier than he remembers her being, even while intoxicated. The street lamps are all lit by now, the lights bleeding into the refractory of raindrops and obscured architecture. Lightning lacerates the horizon twice more along the way, although there’s nothing directly overhead as of yet that carries urgent danger.

Were they not capable ninja with speed as their aid, they would be more than damp by the point at which they make it to her apartment building. It’s the first monsoon of the season, sudden and intense rainfall soddening civilization; thick raindrops trail their way down the mirk and brick and wood of each building, flow down every shimmering leaf in each garden, and collect determinedly in the diminutive pooling concaves of the road.

Sakura’s pink hair clings to her neck with moisture once they’re finally inside her complex, dulled dusty rose in the darkness, and Sasuke finds himself thinking he’s glad, actually, that it’s the middle of the night, because he’s pretty sure her dress is clinging a little tightly to her skin, too, and were he to view it with the aid of broad daylight, he…

Well, it’s better not to dwell on it.

A boom of thunder that sounds closer than the previous handful resounds behind them as Sasuke pulls the complex door shut. There’s a subtle sound of raindrops dripping off of both of them, quietly plunking atop the concrete flooring before quickly expanding and subsiding. He can barely see the small watermarks they leave in the lack of light; none of her neighbors appear to be up, no luminosity emanating from beneath their doorways.

Briefly, there’s a look of worry on Sakura’s feminine face as her eyes flip upwards to the bay window, clearly in response to the roar rattling the clouds; her shoulders straighten at the sound. When the last clap fades, Sakura settles and makes for the metal stairway, casting a cursory glance behind her as if this time she’s the one asking Are you coming?

So he does, hand settling into his pocket and trailing behind her.

“That thunder sounds kind of close,” she voices in a hushed tone as she pulls her key from her pocket, clicking it into the lock and turning. It catches, clean and smooth. “I hope it doesn’t hit any of the electricity supply. The rain’s good, but… Well. I guess the hospital has a generator. Two, actually. Should be fine.”

Ah. It makes sense she’s worried about that. Despite the influence of a few drinks, she remains the levelheaded and cognitional woman he knows well, concerned for the wellbeing of others to the nth degree and sharp as a tack. Sasuke nods in agreement absentmindedly as his fingers close around his own copy of her apartment key, feeling the worn metal against his digits and tearing his gaze away from the damp fabric at the small of her back to the pastiche of pots that adorn her entryway. All of her plants appear recently watered, he notes, soil still dampened to a darker loam; she must have watered them before meeting earlier.

Sakura passes through the sage green door, and Sasuke trails behind her inside, closing it behind them both. He would like to say goodnight to her prior to leaving, but he also doesn’t wish to drip water all over her floors, so he lingers on the mat as Sakura removes her shoes, thus far betraying no change in balance despite her moderate insobriety. Another detonation of storm rips through the darkened building as she does so, louder than the one afore; it causes her shoulders to stiffen upwards just so once again. His head angles, trained on the sound as a frown inscribes itself onto his mouth.

It's not as if he hasn't weathered worse storms - he has, many times - but he doesn’t particularly enjoy being without cover when close lightning is involved due to its unpredictability. He supposes it will only be for a few minutes at maximum, though, and a building with electricity is much preferred to the nearest damp stalagmite-laden caves or dilapidated abandoned buildings he sought shelter in while on his journey.

“How long do you think it’ll keep up?” Sakura asks with a searching expression, drawing him from his ponderings back to her entryway. She carefully nudges her shoes onto the rug with bare feet, albeit not looking at them as she does so; she’s regarding him casually instead, arms crossed as if she’s thinking. A more subtle crackle of thunder punctuates the air just then, and Sasuke shrugs, looking determinedly away from the semi-transparent lace strap that’s lolling off her shoulder. She hasn’t turned the lamp on, so it’s dark, but not dark enough that he can’t still see the way the dampened fabric is clinging to her skin.

“...Could be a while,” he observes, straining to listen, to hear if the deluge has let up even in the slightest, but it hasn’t. The droplets are comparable to a symphony composed entirely of percussion, a firm and overwhelming beat pummeling above their heads. “First monsoon of the season.”

Sakura nods, pupils a little unfocused as if she’s considering his hypothesis but the alcohol is acting as a buffer to obscure whatever problem she’s working through in her head.

Briefly her gaze falls to his feet, and her face communicates befuddlement; he assumes it’s confusion as to why his shoes are on. He’s struck for the second time tonight that Sakura is endearingly cute when she’s been drinking. Perhaps she’s failed to note it’s well past midnight.

And then Sakura, without falter, softly speaks into the swathes of silken gray coating them both here, enunciating each syllable completely clearly and betraying not an ounce of intemperance.

“You should sleep here.”

It takes him a moment to fully process it, sinking into his being agnate the stentorian drizzle over their heads and saturing him with the complicated tonic of internal conflict. The sandals around his feet suddenly feel as if they’re cemented to the rug, rooted in the boundary of the threshold and indecision.

It’s absolutely nothing to do with her and everything to do with his tendency for disturbed sleep, the nightmare that gripped him the night previous. It’s a one in three chance minimum, and there are periods where multiple days of them run together, so there’s no guarantee he won’t be besieged tonight merely because he was last night.

That cannot happen here, although he would very much like to stay at Sakura’s apartment, and he cherishes the offer. He knows, albeit the fact that she’s at least a little drunk, that she’s being kind, concerned for his well-being.

But he can’t.

Unless…

“...The couch?” He asks quietly, finally, after the seconds have paralleled years given their slowness in crawling by. It wouldn’t be so formidable a thing, then. If he wakes, he could read one of the books from her shelf and possibly make her an early breakfast. If it’s a really bad one, he could easily flit back to his own apartment prior to her waking.

But Sakura’s lips pull into a frown, fine pink brows knotting together.

“Of course not. My bed is…”

Big enough for two, he finishes internally for her as her voice trails off, feeling both elated and wretched.

She really does trust him enough for that: shared sleep, close proximity, and the like. He’s slept near her before, sure - missions necessitate it - but never that close. Never beneath the same blanket.

And he has to turn her down.

Sakura’s cheeks are growing darker by the second, scarlet stained into the dark warm gray of the hour, as if she’s just realized what her words could imply, despite the fact he knows she’s just talking about sleeping.

"Um, I just meant- Well, I-" She fidgets, biting her lip and fingers twitching at her sides. "To sleep. Just sleep. If you want. Since it's storming. And… well, the lightning."

She says that often, he realizes. If you want. Doesn't she know that she is all he wants? That she has just offered him something that he badly wants? Something that he contemplates nearly every night despite his knowledge of the fact that it would only serve to unjustly burden her?

Hesitation claws at his windpipe dutifully even as a clashing something twists pleasantly behind his ribcage; he thinks it’s his heart, ramified with vines overtaking superannuated brick, urging him to say yes. And then feelings are off to war in his throat, arrows flung and trebuchets loosing blows of logic against his traitorous tongue that wants nothing more than to agree.

It is in the midst of that battle - in his lack of response, the mangling of hesitance at his possibility of being unduly exposed - that he watches Sakura's expression flash with hurt.

"Um." Sakura shifts her gaze to the floor, and everything in him plummets along with it in alarm, like lead has been poured into his chest cavity just prior to being pushed off a steep cliff. It reminds him of the looks she used to give him when they were Genin and he said something that deeply disappointed her, shoulders shrinking in as if to barricade herself off from him as her smile faded. Or worse, just after the war when she'd been eerily silent in his presence the first few days, as if her feelings needed biting her tongue or pulling a mask over them, as if her love was some kind of grand burden on him, as if she hadn’t just saved him from bleeding out after he cast the most categorically, conclusively cruel genjutsu on her-

Say something.

"Never mind. Sorry, Sasuke-kun. Uh-"

Corrosion, you craven idiot.

"Thank you for walking me. I'll see you… tomorrow?" Sakura is not looking at him, and any kind of overture she's offered to him is shrinking back as quickly as it came, sure to be kept close to the vest for the foreseeable future and then some; this will resemble a rejection to her, like he doesn’t want her close, when that’s not it; it’s just-

Her eyes are crestfallen and shiny, he realizes. Despite the crepuscule and ataxia the storm is providing, Sasuke has excellent eyesight; blatant tears are conspicuously pricking atop jade skewed gray, barely held in check by her eyelashes and willpower.

Speak up.

"Or… maybe later this week, if..? Well, if you have… other things to do."

Sasuke is tired of many things, but above all, he is tired of being a coward, of his tendency to decathect, of making Sakura cry.

Her eyes are shiny-

"I'm really sorry, Sasuke-kun. I didn't mean to overstep… Or to… Well, I didn't mean to push you. I just meant-"

When he finally manages to wrench his tongue away from hesitance - I just won’t sleep , he reasons - he says possibly the stupidest thing he could, the first thing to come to mind, though he supposes the day sort of began with teeth.

"I don't have a toothbrush."

It’s accented by additional raindrops sliding down the roof, as if they are an accompanying drumroll to emphasize his statement’s imbecility.

Sakura studies him for a long moment as if processing, and it makes him wonder if the damage is already done, if he's already rived and ruined things. Her eyes are still shiny; she blinks several times to clear them.

Were it a fleeting offer, he supposes it provides her an out, though there's a beast, desperately trying to claw its way out of the fissure that is his chest and into his throat, that shrivels at that prospect, hurts in a way that makes his own vision blur for a second, then two.

"I have extra," she ultimately responds softly, happily, tone audibly relieved and her lips pulling upward into a breathtaking smile. "You can have one."

So, slowly, carefully, Sasuke removes his sandals, placing them neatly on the rug prior to trailing after Sakura to her bathroom. She flips the light on before kneeling to the height of the cupboard below the sink, from which she pulls a small package of two remaining unused toothbrushes.

“I usually buy the bigger pack and just use them over time,” she explains, rising to her feet and turning to him with a pale purple one in hand. It’s remarkably similar in color to her dress now that it’s damp.

Yes, the dress is very… damp.

It is at this point that he locks his vision firmly on Sakura’s face, which is flushed red as a cherry; he gathers that she has perhaps glimpsed herself in the mirror with the lights on.

“I’m… going to go change quick… Er, if you want to brush your teeth first?”

Sasuke nods, and she presses the lavender toothbrush into his hand prior to, thankfully, flitting out of the room.

Brushing his teeth seems to happen in a blur, existence seemingly slowing and quickening all at once in tempo with the spate of precipitation as well as another brawl of thunder. He brushes his teeth as if on clumsy autopilot, movement of the bristles slow and uncharacteristically disorderly.

It doesn’t take long for Sakura’s bedroom door to click open again. She emerges clad in a dark, blessedly dry pair of shorts and a loose fitting shirt somewhere between gray and pistachio green; he sees it clearly in the mirror’s reflection, right as he’s staring at the countertop cup that contains her own toothbrush, wondering if he should put the one he’s just used there.

She deposits the dress, folded neatly atop her arm, in the laundry room at the apex of the hall before making her return to the bathroom. Her smile is sheepish as she grabs her own toothbrush and stakes a place next to him in front of the mirror, reaching for the toothpaste.

It’s strange, to see both himself and her, side by side in the mirror. Their height difference is further pronounced than he thought, he reflects. The difference in their coloring is more apparent, too; his dark hair and lone visible murky eye are sharp in contrast to her pale skin, her lighter irises and the slightly damp pink hair still clinging to her neck.

Sakura has just begun her brushing, gaze meeting his in the mirror, when his eyes drop to the toothbrush in his hand, rinsed clean already, in silent question. Dark pupils assess him for a moment, then flash to the cup where she stores her own toothbrush in silent answer, lips quirking upward encouragingly.

He exhales a slow breath he didn’t realize he was holding prior to placing it there. He then waits, taking a step back from the immediate area of the sink, not wanting to crowd her there but also not wanting to enter her bedroom without her.

Her own motions smooth and unencumbered by the evening’s activities, Sasuke observes that Sakura brushes her teeth thoroughly and methodically now. On missions when they were younger, Sasuke always spent the longest of any of them on the task. Naruto rarely brushed his at all until Kakashi started forcibly shoving a toothbrush in his hand anytime they were somewhere overnight. Sakura always fell somewhere in the middle; she always brushed her teeth, but perhaps could have spent a little longer at it on certain occasions. He supposes multiple cavities probably inspired her to take greater care for the action, over the years.

She’s still smiling after she’s finished up, like the grin is permanently etched into the set of her mouth.

"Which side do you like?" She asks the question softly, kind as ever as he trails behind her into her bedroom.

"Left," he manages to say quietly, albeit a bit absentmindedly as he wrenches his head away from the uchiwa fan across the room, still displayed prominently atop her vanity. Despite the hammering of the rain, it somehow also seems quiet enough here for one to hear a pin drop, the air laced with something that feels much the same as anticipation to him.

Sakura nods, grinning as if pleased with this information and not seeming to notice his prior preoccupation. He's pretty sure she prefers the right side; her book, the same one as the first occasion he’d seen her bedroom, still rests on the end table placed at the right of the bed, and that is the side with the lamp currently switched on. She proceeds forward to prehend her place, beginning to pull back the blankets and sheet.

He carefully follows her lead, carving a slow pace to the opposite side, intent on mirroring her actions. Her sheets are lavender, too, he sees now, though perhaps they’re a slightly brighter shade than her comforter; they match the pillowcases. He stares at them a moment, so unlike his own bedding and thinking on their visage of opposites even here. He himself always chooses dark colors as they weather the longest.

Sakura settles on the far end of the bed, closer to the edge than the center, enough so that there’s acutely defined space between them. He’s sure that it’s on his behalf, giving him plenty of space with which to reconcile his boundaries.

Even still, there’s a crossing of some metaphorical threshold here, ill defined on pale lilac fabric pulled immaculately smooth as of yet on his end. A few hairs at his nape are standing on end in anticipation.

Sasuke tentatively meets her eyes, already looking at him and desaturated from being backlit. It’s possibly the softest expression he has ever seen Sakura wear; it steals his breath, makes it feel like the air is heavy yet warmer in his lungs.

Slow as molasses slides down the concave of an upturned jar, he takes his invited place, leaving the clean unblemished boundary in the middle. He takes up more space in the bed than she does, he realizes, feet creating an indent beneath the blankets at the foot of the bed that briefly catches his attention.

The blankets rustle, and his focus drags away from their feet - her own are pretty small, he notes at the motion - and to Sakura’s craned torso, twisting to flip off the lamp.

As she does so, the spine of the book on her bedside table lingers briefly within view, just to the left of her shoulder from his vantage point. It reads An Introduction to Electrocardiography.

Sasuke nearly snorts for two reasons.

One, amusement, because of course Sakura would house, of all things, a well-worn medical text at her bedside. He’s not sure if it’s to assist herself in falling asleep at times or because she genuinely finds it that interesting of a read. Either option greatly entertains him.

Two, he’s not sure what exactly electrocardiography is, but he recognizes the cardi prefix as having something to do with the heart. Fitting, he thinks; his own feels rather like it may beat out of his chest currently, if he continues to allow his whirlwind of thoughts to careen out of check. It feels rather as if someone has come into the hallways of his mind and rearranged all of the boxes he typically keeps shoved out of sight for safekeeping.

She reaches the switch in short order and the world plunges into low saturation, shades of gray and subtle violet or green.

He lays his head back on the pillow as she does the same, gaze affixed to her ceiling for now. He’s not sure if it would be weird to turn to look at her again, although he wants to. He contents himself with other observations instead as they listen to the rain, straining for visuals or his other senses to make sense of the present and trying greatly to leave the past in the past.

Her comforter is thicker than his, he notices first; it makes it warmer beneath the blankets, a suitable subsidy for a night like tonight. His focus wanders to where the ceiling meets the wall, examining it: there’s a thin layer of mortar line, a remnant of the cruder tools utilized to construct buildings that have been abandoned for newer methods. His own apartment building has it, too, small flaws here and there, reflecting skilled work accomplished with obsolete apparati.

“Did you run into many storms like this?” Sakura surprises him by asking quietly, tone barely hovering above a whisper yet easy to hear above the din when he’s this close to her. “When… Well, when you were away, I mean.”

“...A few,” he responds after a moment of pondering, reflecting on the multitude of squalls and tempests he encountered while on his journey. Depending on the climate of the locale, it varied from simple thunderstorms to the more dangerous monsoons, and on one occasion he had to leave the coast rather quickly due to an approaching irate hurricane.

Another cannonade resounds, reverberating against every building; a flash of lightning accompanies it across the sky, briefly illuminating the balcony entranceway and the windows in the pitch. He apprehends, finally, that, while this storm is certainly loud and all-consuming, it doesn’t feel… fractious.

In fact, it reminds him of-

“I remember…”

Sasuke angles his head her way slightly, tilted left atop the pillow and in a climacteric search for distraction. He can make out her side profile, button nose and curved mouth and the barest hint of splayed lashes.

It grounds him, a stable tether to the present with a lot of slack, should he want it.

“...I remember, you wrote a letter from the Land of Woods.”

Sasuke blinks.

“You said the thunder sounded different there,” she murmurs softly. He watches her lips move, the subtle way the outline changes as she switches between vowels and consonants. “In the forest, I mean. You said it… echoes longer through the trees, if you listen. No buildings to bounce off of.”

His brows arch a little upwards, surprised she remembers that. He’d found a cave for the evening, tiny and cramped and not very deep. It was shelter, but he barely fit beneath that particular bedrock; it had given him a front row seat to the clashing concerto of pealing lightning streaking across the arching sky. The wind was mighty, too, a sad hymn of anguished autumn whipping the sonance around. Luckily it had come from the direction of the back of the cave, which put him out of the worst of the blustering November chill.

He’d listened to it for some time, watching the dark clouds roll across the sky and mother nature stake her dominion. It had sounded different, though, noises swishing through pine needles and crunching leaves rather than the more organized din of storms rushing through coordinated streets and roofs all roughly of a similar height. Sasuke had recorded his thoughts in a letter to her, one he hesitated to send, wondering if she’d find it tedious. It’s not like a storm is the most interesting thing in the world.

But she always responded to his letters, quickly and kindly - he was nearly a year into his journey at that point, their correspondence a familiar routine that felt as much needed to him as water or food - so he’d sent it anyways. Sure enough, her response had been positive; she’d said something along the lines of wanting to experience such a storm in the woods someday, far from civilization.

The bedding rustles slightly, and he realizes Sakura is turning to lie on her side, to face him. He finds himself emulating the action, shifting to rest on his left side as if his body is acting on its own accord. Although it hasn’t yet progressed to pain, the action makes his stump twinge a bit again until he’s shifted his weight off of it.

There’s still a divide between them, a place where the blanket cleaves to rest against the mattress rather than bodies, clearly delineating the boundary.

“Thank you. For the letters, I mean,” Sakura says softly, articulation emblazoned with authenticity. It’s a gift to look at her more fully here. Her hair cascades off her pillow now, neatly melting into the pillowcase, and her eyes, her entire countenance, really, is gentle something that he thinks he recognizes but would struggle to voice.

“You really have… Well, I mean. The way you described it was-”

Whatever she was about to say lingers in her throat, unspoken as she’s interrupted by a boom of thunder so loud that Sasuke deduces the storm must now be directly overhead. Her eyes widen, and her focus leaves him to study the ceiling, following the sound with concern as resplendent lightning flashes across the glass outside. He supposes she’s likely mulling over the hospital’s generator situation anew.

There is a change in the air, a sudden lack of electric current where previously there was. The vent nearest her bed - he appraises it is on her side, close to the wall - goes silent.

"Oh," Sakura murmurs. "Power's out."

Sasuke nods absentmindedly, caught on the way she purses her lips around the end of the statement, mouth slightly slackened.

He would like to kiss her here, he realizes all at once.

It’s not a new realization. He’s known it for a while. Years, if he’s being honest and recollecting certain dreams, resulting in wakening conundrums and general introspection on the nature of intimacy, on what it means to allow oneself to be that close to another person without an escape plan, no contingency for evasion.

Congeneric with most things he contemplates inwardly, things he turns over in his mind to view in every angle of light before actually doing , he finds the thought of being invited to share Sakura’s bed can’t compare to the reality of it, the exhilaration and tactility of being within her realm of reach.

It’s copiously overwhelming, this dizzying desire to reach out, ambit be damned. Sasuke would like to intertwine each of their fingers. He would like to run his thumb across the plushness of her lower lip, across every freckle dotting her skin. He would like to pull her close and press his lips to hers until neither of them can breathe.

He would like to do more than that.

He can’t, won’t, or at least, won’t for a long while, because that would be akin to asking for trouble. He has things he needs to fix beforehand, numerous plants in need of watering, habits he needs to break so as not to be found lacking.

It’s just… overwhelming, this conflict, the desire to do something, now that he’s here in the drastic thrill of this moment, hesitancy near conquered by the aroma of tart berry and the way his heart seems to be doing somersaults in his chest, overriding his mind’s best intentions.

“You smell nice,” Sakura says as her vision belatedly slinks away from the ceiling and back to him, at which point his neck warms; just how many times can one be caught staring?

Her words then catch up to him. He blinks in surprise, a flush inking onto his cheeks now, too; he finds himself thankful for the fact that his skin tans, as it’s roughly the same value as the red trickling across his cheeks and thus likely indistinguishable in the current lack of light.

"...I do?” He questions, once he’s realized he should actually formulate a response.

Sakura nods, slightly sheepish in the dark. He’s pretty sure her face is flushed, at which point he subtly, slowly exhales, because at least the flustered emotion is mutually assured; her digits are twitching a little at the edge of the blanket, betraying that she is not unaffected by his proximity.

"...Like what?" He’s never considered that he has any sort of aroma about him. His own soap’s scent is exceedingly subtle; he barely smells it, even an hour after showering.

Sakura explains in short order, barely missing a beat, as if she has known the answer for years.

"Woodsmoke with a hint of… something. Maybe sage?" She murmurs softly. "Or pine, maybe? Wild plants. And fire."

The explanation, albeit being uttered softly and kindly, tugs his mouth downwards a bit.

"I smell like fire?" It doesn't seem that would have a particularly good smell to him. He wasn't aware his Katon left any sort of aroma behind. He supposes his first few years of life he was rather surrounded by people who used the jutsu regularly, so he may be desensitized to it.

"I… Well, not like fire. Just… I think maybe your Katon no Jutsu?" Sakura extrapolates quietly, eerily mimicking his thoughts. "It's a good smell. Cedar, sage… other things… I don't know. I just… Your…"

He blinks, holding his breath for a second, because darkened green is holding him in place, studying him with an expression that seems… shy.

"Your lips get chapped, I think, after you use it. It's stronger then."

His frown sinks deeper, although Sakura is smiling as if this is the most wonderful fact in the world.

"...Is it bad?" He questions. Kissing someone with chapped lips sounds unpleasant. He appreciates the softness of her lips, often, to his muddlement. It's never occurred to him how his own mouth may feel to her.

"No, no!" Sakura insists with a small giggle. Her laugh shifts the blanket they’re sharing, a strange new sensation he finds he likes; it makes his frown dissipate. "No, I like it. I just mean, the aroma is stronger when your lips are a little chapped, so that might be where it comes from?"

He blinks, exhaling. It does make sense.

"I… I really like it. And… Well, I miss it, when you're away."

Sakura’s gaze disentangles from his, sweeping away. Her fingers are still playing with the edge of the blanket, fidgeting. And perhaps it’s the miniscule amount of alcohol circulating in his system, or, more likely, the ardor augmenting in his chest cavity consonant with oil drizzled atop fire, but he finds this revelation compelling enough to loosen his tongue, to a degree. The world won’t end if he voices certain things.

"...You smell nice, too." It’s true, after all.

Her focus comes back to him with suddenly rapt attention, eyes widening.

“I… I do?”

Sasuke nods once, in pace with the rain’s tempo on the roof. And then her countenance is questioning, so he offers more.

“Berries. Raspberry, mostly. And antiseptic, sometimes.”

Raised brows lower as her expression shifts from pleased to something stuck amongst befuddled and troubled.

“Antiseptic?” She asks in a small rattled voice, and he thinks she’s exceedingly cute.

“Aa,” he confirms quietly, failing to hide his amusement. “If you’ve been working.”

A pause stretches between them, conversation briefly overtaken by raindrops and wind in the beams and brick.

"How romantic," Sakura comments at last, good-natured sarcasm saturating her laugh. He exhales breathily in response via his nose, his own version of one.

Corrosion.

"I… miss it, too," he admits, distinctly quiet to the extent that he’s near whispering, as he finds baring his thoughts like this arduous. He assumes that the when I’m gone is implied.

"...Oh." Sasuke could be mistaken, but he believes there is perhaps awe in her tone as well as exorbitant appreciation for the admission.

"Um," she says after a moment as he continues to enjoy admiring her. Her visage is somewhat different in the dark, in her bed, color schemes throwing reflected light across her palette. "Thank you. It's my soap."

"I know," he says unthinkingly as he continues studying her, at which she blinks thrice and his brain catches up to what he’s vocalized. His neck heats of its own accord and he sweeps his gaze away from hers.

Idiot.

"I… Oh."

More rain spatters across the roof, plunking an even cadence like waves against a shoreline. He tries to force his pulse into a matching beat through sheer willpower.

"Um. Thank you.”

Sasuke nods absentmindedly, gaze remaining trained on the lavender blanket, the angle of the folds between them both.

“Hey, um… Sasuke-kun.”

Exhaling slowly, face still feeling inordinately warm, he meets her eyes anew to find her expression timid.

“Sorry, I know I’m talking a lot. I… Well, I… Do you think I could see your wrist?” She asks quietly. “I’m still… Well, I just… Would like to check your pulse again, I mean.”

His brows furrow together in question, at which point Sakura smiles sheepishly. A flash of lightning illuminates the sky through the glass; the scintillant plays across the sculpture of her face, cascading across a tilted cheekbone before streaming just as easily away into the gloaming.

“I mean, to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

Barely holding back a snort, the words you don’t need to worry hover on his tongue, unsaid.

He gives in to the impulse from earlier instead, humoring her by slowly outreaching above her bedspread, past his perimeter to offer his hand. It may appease her; Sasuke doesn’t wish to make her worry.

Sakura’s fingers make contact with his skin and he tries valiantly not to shy away from the contact, the refuge, warm and soft.

It’s just her hand, he tells himself inwardly as she feels along for the vein, his pulse, and there it is: the thrill rushing through his veins.

Sixty seconds and then some tick by, agonizingly slowly. He spends them noting the exact hue and darkness differences between his tanned hand and her paler one, the mostly smooth expanse of hers versus his, nicked with puckered scar tissue.

“It’s back to normal,” Sakura eventually declares, tone tacitly relieved, although she makes no effort to pull her fingers back to herself. They rest atop the boundary of the middle of the bed, another message of opposites.

There is an immensely drawn out pause as he exhales slowly, thinking about the constitution of trust and radical honesties. He wishes, often, that he had known the truth about his clan from the get-go. He may have made vastly different choices, no apostasy and resultingly, no ensuing heartache for her and Naruto and Kakashi.

This is less high stakes than that, and it is that comparison that pushes him.

She’s drunk, though to what extent it’s hard to gauge. Perhaps she won’t fully remember tomorrow, if he admits it now. It shouldn't be such a colossal thing to admit, anyways, and she’s already offered him several things this particular evening. Sure, he’s vocalized one thing he’s been musing about for months, but that was in return for her acknowledgment. And he’s right here, with her, under her roof and invited into her bed.

“...It’s not,” he tells her quietly, forcing the truth out.

She frowns, and it amuses him immensely despite the way he’s suddenly finding it a challenge to swallow.

“It’s seventy-two,” Sakura says matter-of-factly. Her fingers still haven’t left his skin, resting against his wrist. “Your pulse typically runs a little fast for a Shinobi.”

He gives her a look that he hopes communicates what he’s trying to say, but she merely stares back as if flummoxed, as if what he’s said doesn’t make an ounce of sense. He may as well have just told her that the ocean is bronze instead of blue, or that finches are mammals instead of birds.

“It doesn’t,” he manages to confess, searching her expression for any meager glimpse of understanding that could save him from explaining the rest. And still, the rest of the words escape him, several avenues of relaying this information slipping through his fingers away into the interminable abyss.

You're the common denominator, he thinks and doesn't say, the words hovering in his throat; the phrasing is too detached for such a revelation. Were she to go searching in the archives of his medical files, the ones that are from the time they became Genin or earlier, she would see that well enough; his pulse has always run low, clear evidence of their profession’s requirement of physical fitness. He’s certain she has access to them, given her position. That she clearly hasn’t, that she is only working on the medical knowledge that she herself has been directly involved in, speaks volumes of her care for his privacy. It prompts more direct avenues of relaying this information.

It's you that makes-

No; perhaps not that direct.

Sakura’s entire being has shifted to severe confusion and concern. He looks at her directly, swallowing and searching for the words.

“...Sakura,” he enunciates slowly, daringly, voice almost a whisper and laden with meaning as he slips his fingers into the spaces between hers, effectively intertwining their digits amongst the schism separating them, careful and slow.

There is a lengthy pause in which she simply stares at him in confusion.

Then, the barest flicker of understanding leaks in.

“I…” Her voice tapers off, studying their joined hands. The quietness of her voice is nearly lost amongst the clamor of the precipitation.

“...I?” Sakura finally asks it in a tone that could be innocent, trailing off as if she's losing the thought, and he thinks to himself that inebriation aside, she remains very much Haruno Sakura, observant and shy and sharp as a whip and phrasing her speech in a way that gives him an out, should he want it.

For now, his mind repeats, and yes, sometimes that will do, a level of partnership they slowly but surely approach. But logic demands that it will be for longer if he isn’t willing to be direct about the more minor minutiae and fine details.

“You,” he confirms, wringing the single word out of his throat, realizing he doesn't want the out and simultaneously relieved that he won’t need to vocalize further than that. Perhaps admissions are easier said amongst pillows and darkness, holding the hand of the one you love and wrapped in the warmth of a blanket during a monsoon.

At his words, Sakura flushes dark, crimson smudging her pale cheeks to a darker gradient, but thanks to his brother, his eyesight is crystal clear.

“O-oh.” A smile, jubilant and infectious, ekes across her features. She bites her lip, gaze dropping to their intertwined fingers, studying them. She’s pretty even without light, he thinks.

"Me, too," Sakura whispers then, peeking at him and nudging his pointer finger to her wrist; he can easily reach it without untwining their digits, he finds when he follows her beckoning.

It takes him a second to comprehend that she’s inviting him to count her own pulse in return. So he does. The flicker of life is pleasant against his skin, counted in a thriving tempo against his own digit as the torrent pelts the roof.

He counts eighty-one beats in the span of the minute’s passing. He whispers it, too: “Eighty-one.”

Her smile turns shy, and she tightens her grip on his hand, squeezing.

“My normal is fifty-four.”

Ah.

It's nice to have that bit of knowledge, precious confirmation that the nerves he feels are reciprocated in objectively equal measure for it. It feels a bit like a reward for speaking what he’s thinking.

They stay like that, hands clasped together at the center of the bed resembling a promise and harkening to the rain and thunder and lightning as they dance into oblivion, time drizzling away.

Given it’s been a rather prolix day on her part, it doesn’t take long for Sakura to drift asleep. Her eyes slip closed, and soon her breathing levels off fully, hand slackening slightly in its grip against his.

As he planned and for multiple reasons, Sasuke doesn't succumb to sleep. Other than those that are rather obvious, puddling memories that begin to throb in equivalence to his stump at the pressure change, there is one that stands out above all else.

Now that she's mostly still, chest rising and falling evenly in sync with the plunk of deluge against the shingles, he sees that Sakura’s hair in this lighting blends in with the color of her comforter near perfectly. It almost looks mauve, a small shred of moonbeam igniting the mulberry crown of her head. He’s studied Sakura while she sleeps here and there over the years, mostly on missions, though there was once in the hospital after the war when she fell asleep at both his and Naruto’s bedside, and then the time more recently when he encouraged her to take a nap on her own couch.

This, however, is different. There’s a threshold crossed, some deeper succedaneum of intimacy ruptured between them and dipped into. The buzzing, muddled, good feeling filling the zenith behind his ribs still hasn’t let up since the second she asked him to stay.

He’s allowed to be this close to her. Moreso, she wants him here, in her bed. And that’s before the mutual admittances, the quiet credence and metamorphosed cognition.

Sasuke knows that Sakura is attractive, uniquely so. He thinks to himself that she's pretty at minimum several times a day, and, often to his great consternation, more than that during certain nights.

But here, slivers of a scant moon and haphazard storm refulgence cascading across her hair and catching a pale eyelash or three, Sakura is beautiful. Completely at ease with his presence aside her, freckle faded a cooler subset, even breathing causing her chest to rise and fall mere inches away from his. She is a soft balm for the sharp edges of life, a violaceous respite enwrought in shades of mauve and plum.

She's also warm, sharing a blanket as the torrent batters the roof. He feels it in their numinous enlaced fingers, in the body heat that inches its way further to his side beneath the comforter the longer he looks, crossing the centered ambit due to the nature of endothermic process.

He pushes the aching memory beckoning at the corner of his conscience away repeatedly, allocating it for later and trying to focus on aroma alone, uniquely her, all remnant petrichor and raspberry.

And what he wants is wickedly selfish, but he loves her so much that it physically aches behind his sternum, the avidity palpable and enthralling. It is also an alternative, a diversion with the potential to tug him away from doors that have been closed so long the hinges have rusted together, decayed metals that may disintegrate in his lone hand, were it not kept occupied.

And, above all, he knows he wants to remember this for as long as he lives, far beyond life’s epilogue of fallen, frosted leaves and colorless ash.

So once she's been out for at least an hour and he's turned the idea over in his head half a hundred times, he capitulates, and a trio of tomoe begin spinning.

This is the purpose of Sharingan eyes, he thinks as the colors spin into sharpened, captivating clarity: capturing the evanescent. Her hair really is lavender here, beguilingly ataractic, cascading messily across her pillow of a like value. Forget training, forget battles, forget the Uchiha being made to be warriors, in possession of fire and alloy bones and acuminate teeth; this is exactly what Itachi's gift is for, his sacrifice, what his ancestors should have fought and died for.

He captures her in his cognizance perfectly, unmitigated in all-immersive study, her fingers paramountly intertwined with his and her fair skin and the even rise and fall of her chest, scattered and skewed lavender hair framing her like the prettiest picture as time melts through a sieve.

Selfish , he thinks after a few minutes of careful examination, sated atramentous tomoe revolving away as if carried swiftly by nature’s stream, but her image, safe and at ease in his presence, is drenched into his retinas for the rest of his days.

Selfish… but worth it. It is something to behold foremost, to clutch immemorial and dear, filaments to recall and turn over in the light when he is at his disconsolate weakest. He understands why people write poems about lovers, all at once; this is a level of intimacy he's having difficulty fully grasping, all heart amalgamation, yet there isn't a thing in the world that could affright him away from her at this moment.

She's lovely, fairer than any rose and ethereally unparalleled, the most beautiful mercy he's ever rhapsodically espied or memorized this way.

He still doesn't sleep, but the steady ballad of tenebrific fading rain, emulsion repelled down the wet roof, and Sakura’s quiet breathing inches rather than feet away keeps him close company over the ensuing hours.

Under the gleaming light of a quiescent clear morning, the rising sun sweet and heavy with gold, her hair regains its true color.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #sasuke #sakura #i know it's late but in my defense it's 27k #happy holodays besties

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