Fandom Redemption [Closed] [Graverobber141/arbus]

[arbus]

Kakashi chuckled lightly. The tip of his sandal scraped over the floor in the shadow of a kata, one of the fighting stances he had adopted from his father, but it was a contemplative, tranquil movement, not in response to the Swordsman's deliberately communicated approach. "You were caught in a stalemate, and decided to have a drink together instead. Is that what you're saying?" Kakashi could not remember why he should have been there, or where this particular meeting had taken place. Was it in Sand? Had his father taken him on the mission? He had sometimes done that, but it struck him as odd, nonetheless.

Connection.

In his dark years, the ANBU years, Kakashi had shut out connection for the sake of duty. For a long while he had wanted nothing else, and then, with the massacre, while carrying body after body through the gates of the Uchiha compound, he had thought he would fade away if he kept going like this. Shortly after, Sarutobi Hiruzen removed him from the black ops, and he had been relieved and angered in equal measure. The prospect of being a sensei had annoyed him, then terrified him, but the need to reconnect with the world, with people, had been too strong to ignore, and ever since, that budding feeling of --

"I'm starting to", he allowed.

He let his gaze travel over the Swordsman's features and tried to reconcile them with the face from all those years ago, but it lay so long in the past, it was all a blur. He had been so young. He huffed. "I recall an alabaster vase", he said, steering them away from the muddy waters that was his psyche. He frowned with the effort to remember. "It broke, didn't it? Because I practiced throwing shuriken. I ... missed? I was miffed about that, too, because I usually didn't." He paused at a memory popping up in his head: Somebody had laughed. It hadn't been the Swordsman, too young and earnest, and his father had never laughed at him for his failures. And hadn't there been a third cup, a third pair of knees underneath the table, in his line of sight? Perhaps he was confusing this with another incident. "I ... Tell me what you talked about."

The request came like an afterthought, in a tone carefully constructed for it to sound like an inquiry made out of mild curiosity. He had not moved from his spot before the cell this entire time. From far away, they must look as if they were talking about the weather. But it was hard work to keep one's breath from sounding labored, to contain a sudden excitement that, unbidden, rose to the surface for reasons to diffuse to grasp.

 

[Graverobber141]

Takeshi kept his eyes on Kakashi, the old soldier's face softening considerably, like a rock smoothed over by a steady current and time, as he leaned against the concrete wall, arms folding across his chest. He waited patiently, letting him finish and work through his thoughts, watching him with the sort of fond interest someone might extend to the child of an old, dear friend, even if they had barely known each other back during the time they were discussing.

"We talked about legacy," he gently explained, after a moment of silence. "There was a time when Suna was also known for its swordsmen, predominately for my clan, yet over time, due to war, our numbers thinned until we became little more than a memory. The blade I carry? It is passed down from parent to child, and I had recently inherited it." A pause, amber eyes shifting momentarily to gaze into the darkness of the building, a dripping feeling of regret sinking within his gut. "Which means my mother had died, and I was the only one left to carry my name, the sword, and I was burdened by the knowledge that I had spent all my life anxiously waiting to get ahold of that weapon, only to discover how heavy it felt once I realized that I had lost so much to gain it."

One of his light grunts, filled with a dry humor tinged with sadness. "It wasn't exactly a stalemate. Your father beat me, then spared me, and I demanded to know why. He informed me, in kinder words, it was because I was still young and stupid. Then I declared that I was old enough to know what sacrifice was, and the White Fang decided to put me in my place, over a drink, with words."

A beat later, his gaze drifted back to Kakashi's, and the corner of his mouth titled upward, just so, for only a moment, but the half-smile had been there. "I remember the vase being broken, indeed, and in exchange for your father's kindness, I offered to fix it. In a way that my mother taught me, with golden lacquer."

 

[arbus]

**********​

Konohagakure, Present Day


In a way that my mother taught me, with golden lacquer.

A conversation buried underneath the rubble of time. He had thought it long forgotten, those visits he had paid the Swordsman of the Sand. How careful he had thought himself to be, how well guarded, but thinking back now, the man must have seen through him as one would through glass. A sort of desperate curiosity had driven him to return, time and again, over the weeks of Takeshi's imprisonment. On the second visit, they had talked about shogi, and on the third he had brought a board. He had promised the Swordsman his chokuto back, he recalled, and he had kept his promise, even though Shikaku hadn't been favorable.

Kakashi smiled.

Yes, it was all coming back to him now. The grief of having lost the Sandaime, the one he had still held over the death of his father back then, rusty but not mended yet. He had wanted to know everything Takeshi had to offer, had sensed in him the same spirit that had driven his father. What had he hoped to achieve, in talking to the man? What information could he have possibly gathered?

Had he still been so young, so raw?

Konoha lay under a thick blanket of mist, on this early morning. From the windows of his office, he could barely make out the inconspicuous silhouette that was T&I. A grey block of a building, ugly and practicable. Right about now, two guards would hand Satoru his clothes, washed and dried and likely carrying the clinical smell of bland washing powder and disinfectant. They would shackle him, his wrists and ankles, so that he would only be able to make the smallest of steps. At the same time, Sasuke would be handed the chokuto to keep, like a taunt, Kakashi thought, swinging over his shoulder.

The Swordsman of the Sand had humored him in the time he spent in that uncomfortable tiny cell, had not once grown impatient with Kakashi's now blatantly obvious attempts to forge ... connection. He thought of the alabaster vase, because it had been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, its once smooth surface interlaced with golden fissures. He had stared endlessly at that vase, fascinated by its flawed beauty. The vase was gone now, pulverized during Pein's attack. He had found something else, though, at the market; it was small, a cup with smooth edges, the color of jade and flecked with darker speckles. It was beautiful too, its cracks like scars highlighted with that same golden lacquer. One of the guards would showcase it to Satoru right about now. Kakashi tried to imagine what the shinobi would think of such a present.

The Hokage has been moved by your words. He wants you to have this.

He had told them to say it like that, and wondered now if he was growing senile or too sentimental for his own good. He wished Tenzo were here to make fun of him, because it would make him feel better, but Tenzo was in Sound, hadn't been around for a long time.

Kakashi turned to face the pile of scrolls, of papers, and heaved a deep sigh. He did not know if he had made the right choice, or if he was making a mistake, but it was not in his hands anymore, and all he could do now was to put his trust in Sasuke.

 

[Graverobber141]

It was so very odd, how the significance of moments could bubble underneath the surface of the mind, a tingling sensation that traveled along the nervous system, firing between synapses. How an ordinary morning for one person, a civilian traveling to work, a Jonin meeting their team for training, a lord walking into just another meeting, could be extraordinary for another: a manifestation of a crossroads. Something was going to happen, very soon.

Cool hands gently cradling the jade and golden cup as best as he could with his shackled wrists, in a manner that suggested he was terrified he might break it, Satoru's grey eyes looked like a lost child's, made him seem so very young, so very unlike the S-Rank criminal that had been shouting within the cell, throwing tantrums when he couldn't control the flow of conversations. Across from him stood a statue with a chokuto sheathed at his side, waiting with a patience unbeknownst to him, dark eyes resting on that piece instead of its holder, the look behind them indecipherable, but something was clearly going on behind them.

Something significant was going to happen. Perhaps the world would never know, never care, but one way or another, those two would be scarred by it; the only thing left to be determined was what shade the cracks would be.

It started with a clearing of a throat. A request, barely audible, as Satoru kept his eyes on one of the golden streaks embedded in the crack of the cup, running a finger across it, "Could you carry this for me?"

A beat of silence. Sasuke's fingers grazed Satoru's as he took the item in question carefully, turning it around in his hands with a contemplative and curious look, before nodding once and securing the piece of art in a safe place within his backpack.

---------------

Silence stretched between the two during their journey; it was neither comfortable nor hostile, somewhere near the middle like a scale that could be tipped to lean either way with one utterance, one look, yet neither engaged. It wasn't until the third day, when they were an hour's walk away from the border, that Sasuke set up the shogi board, placed the chokuto beside it, undid Satoru's shackles, and once the two were seated facing each other, that the silence finally broke.

"I've wanted to play you for a while now," Satoru confessed, eyes casually drifting to take in the weapon within reach. He had retrieved that golden cup, and now spun it around in his hands, tracing over the cracks with his fingertips. "To be honest, at first, it was so I could prove my superiority."

"And now?" Sasuke asked, keeping his dark gaze solely locked on him.

"Curiosity, mostly." Satoru's lips spread with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "To test a theory."

"Hm."

Silence came again, broken only by the scraping of pieces being pushed forward overtop the cloth board situated on the rock they were using as a table. The occasional click of Satoru's finger against the ceramic of the cup he held in one hand. The barely audible sound of rustling fabric as Sasuke drummed his knuckles against the inside of his cloak.

Something almost like a incredulously laugh fell from Satoru's lips, an exhalation of air tinged with that disbelieving humor, and he leaned back slightly, studying the board carefully, before he placed the reassembled cup between both of his hands, refraining from taking his next turn. "I want you to answer one question for me, Uchiha."

Sasuke quickly swept his gaze over the pieces, trying to find where he had either gained the advantage, or put himself at a severe disadvantage, because all he could see was a stalemate, before he was looking up at Satoru with a bit of weary caution, head tilting slightly in a gesture that gave the other man permission to go ahead.

He didn't immediately ask that one question of his, however, taking the time to turn the cup around in his grasp, seeming obsessed with those cracks. "When does it stop?"

Sasuke's eyes became wide for a moment, taken off guard, before they were softening. It no longer left like they were two enemies facing each other across a battlefield, in fact, it was like that battlefield never existed; they were just two beings, in pain, stumbling in the darkness, so desperately searching for that magic answer that would help them to move on, to stop tracing over old tracks, old mistakes.

"It doesn't," Sasuke answered automatically, because it was the truth. The pain never went away, could never be fixed, but...he had the thought of two people. One who had gone through hell and back to save him from himself, another that still stood by his side, no matter how hard and viciously he tried to push her away. And then a third, distantly, of someone who had tried to stop him from making those mistakes, yet simply hadn't known how. "But you find people who give you the strength to keep going."

"Who remind you what's worth fighting for," Satoru added almost absently, as if the words had just fallen out his mouth, and it sounded very much so like he was quoting someone. A pause. Still, he kept his eyes on the cup. "Kioshi plays with textbook strategies, always looking to find an answer in a book, because he hides behind his intelligence. Shiori, my other teammate, she just switches the positions of the pieces when I turn my back, because to actually care about a game, to take it seriously, would be to be open herself up to the possibility of failure. I expected a high risk, high reward strategy from you, but..." Another pause, as his eyes lifted to lock with the dark ones watching him intently. "You play defensively. Like Takeshi."

A breeze of wind made the leaves of the overhanging trees dance, rustled both sets of dark hair, and filled yet another stretch of silence with the shifting of clothing and grass.

"Part of me still wants to kill you," Satoru admitted, and Sasuke merely remained still, watching him, "And, tomorrow, if I learned that somehow you had died, I'd probably feel a bit satisfied about it. But I have a more important person to see, and even though it pisses me off greatly, you do remind me of him, in ways." He carefully placed the kitsungi piece into a pouch on his belt, before reaching for the chokuto. "Tell your sensei thank you, and one parting pieces of advice: the debate of what we deserve is irrelevant. Life has never been about we deserve. It's about what we're willing to fight for. And though I might not like it, you still have time, Uchiha Sasuke."

"And so do you, Kokoro Satoru," Sasuke quietly added.

Satoru chuckled at that, and for once, he did not feel the need to reprimand the use of his last name. "Well, now. I need to go see about a girl."

Sasuke smiled slightly at that, even if he didn't know its exact context, but he understood the sentiment on some level.

Three days before he arrived back in the village, one of Sasuke's hawk flew back before him with a message for the Hokage. It was rather simple:
'Prisoner successfully escorted home. He said 'thank you.''

 

[arbus]

*​

Departure

Sakura hadn't been nervous to go. She had woken beneath a thin blanket into the haze of a headache and the dull throbbing pain of her lower back. Her hair had been sticking to her face, she had felt hot and restrained and uncomfortable, and only when she had kicked the blanket off did she realized it wasn't a blanket at all, but the dark, familiar cloak -- Sasuke's cloak, with the smell of burnt leaves and fire clinging to it like a perfume. It had all rushed back to her then, her ranting with Tsunade, and Sasuke's face, swimming before her a bit fuzzy but for the black eyes, the intent of his stare.

Two days which she had spent in her bed, a hot water bottle pressed up against her lower back, feeling miserable from a hangover, a pain spreading throughout her back and stomach and shoulders. Tsunade-shishou had told her to rest, but instead she had heaved and gagged in a crouched position, and was paying the price for her guilelessness now.

In the end, she had known she needed to get away. Away from her thoughts that were like a cat chasing its own tail, round and round, maddeningly and without result. She had asked her mother to hand the cloak back to Sasuke, because the thought of facing him was more horrifying than the thought of exposing him to the antics of the madwoman that was her mom.

Kakashi-sensei hadn't seemed particularly keen on the idea of sending her with Lee and Tenten. She knew he had his reservations against her capability of separating Sasuke from her missions, from this mission in particular, but when she had stormed into his office, interrupting their meeting, she had known it was the right thing to do.

Even Naruto could not talk long enough to smooth over the storm raging inside her, so she hadn't told him.

*​

Journey

Traveling with Lee and Tenten was different than her time on the road with Sasuke. It was easier, for one, not laden with guilt and fear and this particular tension that hung between them, ever growing and yet unnamed. It was chattier, too, Lee's unending enthusiasm and Tenten's empathetic nature, and even though it rained non-stop, Sakura enjoyed herself, found herself raising her face to the sky and felt as if being washed clean of something, as if sweat and dirt had clung to her skin for way too long.

The woods where thinning out and changing; heavy storms swept the remaining leaves from the trees, and yellow and red turned to brown, decaying mud beneath their running feet. Their stops where short, as they where driven by bad weather and the urgency of their mission. Pressure, like a kettle on the stove, grew with every step that carried them nearer to the venue Kakashi-sensei had arranged in a drawn-out correspondence beforehand. They would be the first Leaf ninja to enter Sound officially, this newly found village that belonged to the snakeman who had destroyed Konoha, killed their Sandaime Hokage, taken advantage of a little, confused boy that happened to be the love of Sakura's life.

*​

Arrival

She was nervous now. Yamato-taichou was meeting up with them shortly before the border, and Sakura was surprised at how pale and unhappy he looked, eyes burning with some intent she could not name. He appeared driven, not quite his usual calm self, but there was no time to catch up, merely enough to exchange hellos as he was leading them into enemy territory without so much as a pause.

They were not allowed into the village, it turned out as they met Sound's envoy. Only the Hokage would be granted entry -- an outrageous claim, especially as it was raised only now, in that last moment -- but Yamato-taichou handled it with the sensible mind of a leader he had been for so long, and they agreed to adjourn the meeting for the next day. They needed to collect themselves, inform Kakashi-sensei, make a counteroffer. Yamato-taichou seemed dissatisfied with what small leeway he had been granted to conduct the negotiations, and as they spent their first night in a simple inn on the border of Rice Country, the lights in his room burned long into the small hours of the morning. Sakura worried about that.

Three days. It took them three days of churlish negotiations over the smallest issues to be granted a private conversation with Orochimaru. Yamato-taichou explained that this was nothing more than a play for power, saber-rattling to wear them down, and that they had expected as much, that nothing of it came as a surprise. When they faced the snake sannin, finally, Sakura felt tired out and high on adrenaline at the same time. She had worried what she might feel when she looked into this long, pale face. The eery eyes did not so much as graze her; he didn't seem to know what was connecting them, the hot-white anger that was stewing inside her -- he was oblivious.

Politics. Orochimaru knew Sasuke was back in Konoha, and he was quick to make demands to meet "my former student". In return, he offered safe conduct for the Hokage and his delegates, the outlook to the long hoped for peace treaty, and Sounds participation in the Grand Tournament (of which they had learned before their departure). All signs of Sounds willingness to adapt to the new world, a world devoid of wars and fighting. It was a generous offer, all things considered, almost too good to be true, but Sakura still had to suppress the urge to punch his face in. (She had not been trembling from fear, as she had thought she would, but from anger, until Lee had put his hand on her shoulder and walked with her, uncannily aware of her inner turmoil.)

*​

Back Home

It was early when they returned two weeks later. The sun was still down, so that the thick, downy flocks of snow drifted from a black sky. It was a thing of beauty to watch the snowflakes fall like cotton wool through yellow slants of streetlights. They could see their breath, and their sandals crunched over first layers of snow as they walked through the village. The lights in the Hokage's office were on, and they went to debrief immediately. The inside of the office was warm. They stood in a row, all three of them, and if anyone found it strange that Yamato-taichou had refused to withdraw from his position in Sound, nobody touched on the subject. Kakashi-sensei, Sakura thought, appeared more at ease regardless, as if a great weight had been lifted off his mind. He joked that he would travel to Sound, bearing presents, perhaps the statue of a serpent charmer, or was that a tad to obvious? The meeting was brief, was to relate the most urgent aspects of the negotiations, the ones they couldn't have put in the letters for security reasons. They were to meet again later in the day, but now, as Sakura walked down the stairs of Hokage Tower and out into the cold winter air, with Lee and Tenten to either side, she was looking forward to a hot bath to warm her toes, a big breakfast and the comfort of her own bed.

 

[Graverobber141]

Sasuke had settled into a routine following his return to the village. He was forcibly up early in the morning, while darkness still reigned over the sky, and after a quick breakfast, he was out on the field his team had used as genin to clock in a workout and training session to keep his skills sharp. Then it was back off to the mansion to shower, prepare something for Ari to eat, and attend to his agenda of the day.

Mostly it was paperwork, talking to a real estate agent he had acquired to broker the selling of the compound; there was a surprising amount of bureaucracy to wade through when it came to selling land (and purchasing it for that matter; he had taken a few glances into buying a home inside the residential area), and he was about at the point of just keeping it, sleeping in a tent upon it for the rest of his life, but the intention behind this decision compelled him to keep moving forward, albeit grumpily. He also often spent time with Ari, conducting some research into Ice Release jutsu. While the determined kitsune would never spit fire, Sasuke was determined to teach him something, at least, to keep his promise, and they were making progress.

Today, after his exercise, he found himself lingering outside a shop window that had yet to open, eyes examining a bowl displayed with cracks lined with gold. Kitsungi, the medic had explained to him, when he had sought him out to relay what had happened with his teammate, and had asked about it, It's an art form and philosophy that Takeshi-sensei was particularly fond of. Broken pottery is fixed with golden lacquer; a suggestion that our scars become part of who we are. Just yesterday, a hawk had returned with an update: Satoru had safely returned to Suna, and the Kazekage was heeding Naruto's request; after a short prohibitionary period, Satoru would be reinstated as a Sand shinobi with the rank of Jonin.

You still have time, Uchiha Sasuke.

The conversation would rise up occasionally in his thoughts, had been floating around his mind as a constant presence, and he kept on mulling over that last piece of advice he had been gifted by the swordsman. Making a mental note to return when the store was opened, Sasuke continued on his journey, boots crunching through the snow as he neared the Hokage tower when--

His dark eyes fell first on Sakura. They were walking toward each other, and if it wasn't for the fact that he was sure he had already been seen, he might have used the rinnegan to avoid the awkwardness that was soon to follow, for next his gaze took in Lee, and a completely irrational emotion he couldn't quite explain--anger wasn't the exact word; it was subtler, sharper--sunk underneath his surface, feeding a more potent poison that still skulked within his mind, even after his conversation with Kakashi. He had a short-lived, childish notion to just keep on walking, driven mostly by the fact he hadn't given thought to what he would say when they ran into each again, but overtop of it all was one realization:

He had missed her.

It wasn't a dramatic, needy longing that left a hole in his chest, but instead a tingling, continuous thought that had settled into the moments of silence breaking up his routine: most prominent during his travel back, when he had been on his own, sitting near a campfire, left with nothing more than his thoughts. During their time together, he had grown comfortable with the notion she had been nearby, accessible, and her departure led him to become aware of that fact.

"Sakura," he greeted her first, stopping in his tracks, eyes lingering on her for a heartbeat, before they quickly swept over the other two. "Tenten. Lee." A pause. He shifted his weight, feet shuffling in the snow. "How did it go?"

 

[arbus]

Sakura started to suspect it would be one of those days in which the sun did not come out, at all. They had spent a good half hour in the Hokage‘s office, and though it was slightly brighter than before, the light was pale and diffuse from the thick blanket of clouds covering the entirety of the sky.

When the dark figure approached, she knew immediately it was Sasuke by the way he moved, but heard a (rather dramatic) gasp of recognition from her right only with some delay. Tenten drew in her breath an laughed awkwardly to smooth over her little slipup. Sakura understood. Even if she had known he was in Konoha, had spent the last month practically never leaving his side, to actually see him in the village was just short of mind-blowing. The most amount of time he had spent in the village since his genin days might have been the days of his incarceration, and that was hardly the same as seeing him out and about, like you would any other Konoha shinobi.

„Sasuke.“ Only when she uttered his name did she realized that she smiled, bright and broadly. It seemed the sheer joy of finding him here, of realizing that he was no longer a phantom they chased after, overpowered her embarrassment she harbored over their last encounter. But at the same instance that realization hit her, she remembered, and as the feeling of shame and the desire to perform a certain doton jutsu crept up on her, so did a profound blush that she felt like a wash of hot water spread from her chin to the very roots of her hair. Her dumb large forehead must look like one of those new, damned billboards hanging all over Konoha.

Lee and Tenten were, at the same time, the sort of flustered that spoke of how much they had anticipated this first meeting to be all shades of strange, but luckily (and that was the reason they had been sent on this delicate diplomatic mission, Sakura was sure) they were the opposite of cynical, clueless in social situations in the best way possible, and their kindness was stronger than anything else. So while Tenten overcame her surprise by greeting Sasuke courteously, Lee all but touched his toes with the tip of his nose as he bowed. And Sakura swore she saw tears glittering in his eyes when he welcomed Sasuke back to the village in more, much more words than that.

At one point, Sakura felt it necessary to interrupt, as they would most likely have stood another hour in the cold if Lee had his way. So she searched for Sasuke‘s gaze and offered: „Painstakingly boring, but Kakashi-sensei thinks it was successful. We just come from the debrief.“ A pause as her eyes traveled over his frame. „You got your cloak back — thank you for lending it to me.“

Tenten and Lee exchanged a glance. Tenten was doing this awkward laughing thing again as she silently tried to convey to Lee the apparent necessity to leave the two of them alone. She could have been hardly any more obvious if she had used a megaphone, and Sakura felt her blush deepen.

Nobody needed enemies with friends like that.

„It‘s awfully cold!“, Tenten declared, pulling Lee along. „How about we go home!“

Sakura grimaced, because it was the only way to convey her deeply felt agony.

 

[Graverobber141]

Watching and listening to Rock Lee give his energetic, fast-paced welcome home speech, Sasuke simply stood awkwardly, using the snowflakes drifting upon his hair and shoulders as a way to gauge passing time, and a lot of time passed. He would never understand how or why, for that matter, people turned what could have been said with a few words into an ongoing rant; the appeal was lost on him. He was not even able to make it through half of what Lee was sputtering out before his mind began drifting off to other matters and his dark eyes shifted to glance at Sakura, a hidden, desperate plea held within his look, practically begging to be rescued from this overbearing onslaught of extroversion.

When she did save him with a returned look and an answer to his question, his eyes softened with a silent, greatly appreciative thank you. He hardly gave either Tenten or Lee a second glance, studying Sakura with a contemplative look, gears turning his head to decode that blush, as the two members of Team Gai left them alone, standing underneath a light snow fall.

Tugging at the collar of his cloak subconsciously, Sasuke wondered if he should just shrug off the last encounter they had, or try to reassure her. A beat of silence past. He shifted his weight once more, before clearing his throat. "You shouldn't be embarrassed, Sakura. Considering what we went through--" all we have been through, "--you deserve to let loose once in a while." His jaw shifted then, and while time had helped to smooth over the initial hurt and anger that had overcome him when he had first learned of her departure, understanding now tempered it.

Glancing down at his feet, examining the melting snow that coated his boots (his normal pair of sandals had been exchanged to accommodate the weather), he sought out the words that would explain what laid underneath everything he was, had been, feeling, and after a heartbeat or two of silence, quietly stated, "If you need space, I understand, and I will respect that. All you have to do is let me know."

 

[arbus]

Oh kami.

The distinct urge to bury her face in her hands was almost impossible to resist. She only managed because she knew it would make things even more awkward. She wished she would at least be able to control her fierce blush. She felt uncomfortably hot, and suspected that even her arms and chest underneath the white travel cloak issued to every Konoha shinobi were red as well. Maybe she could write it off as a reaction to the cold.

"Letting loose is an awfully nice euphemism for barfing all over the Inuzuka's flower beds." She looked up at him with what amounted to the most sheepish look she might have ever thrown any person, ever. The corners of her mouth trembled from either nervousness or the indecisiveness if to smile or pout. Only when he broke eye contact, uttered his next words, did she realize that something was amiss. Suddenly, as if she had been given a little shake, she was able to look beyond her own embarrassment, taking him in more consciously for the first time, his bend head, the way he kept more distance than usual.

"I --"

She blinked, because she suddenly realized she had no idea what was happening. Had she said something to offend him? Or maybe he felt repulsed by her behavior. But ...

He was perceptive, wasn't he? Perceptive enough to guess what the purpose of her mission had been, even though she didn't understand why he would look at his own feet like that, keep his distance like that, just because --

"Why would you say that?", she asked, because she was tired of figuring things out in her own head. Most of the time, she came to the wrong conclusions anyway. It was much more practicable to just ask.

 

[Graverobber141]

Sasuke's thoughts went back to the conversation he had with Kakashi, the words of warning echoing in his head, and the advice Satoru had left him with, these things battling with something ingrained inside him, something he was trying so desperately to free himself from. He tilted his head slightly at her question to acknowledge it, before he spent a few heartbeats determining what exactly he wanted, needed to tell her. "I've...just been thinking these last few weeks, and if you will bear with me..." How funny it was, for him to ask for patience, when he had never once stumbled over himself like this before.

His heart was thrumming in his chest anxiously, and he felt incredibly nervous, afraid, he realized, of what came next. Finally, his eyes lifted to search out her own. "I want you to be happy, Sakura. More than anything else, I want you to be happy. You said we couldn't be more than friends to each other, and I respect that, understand that--but every time I look at you..." He trailed off, dark gaze softening, filling with that single emotion whose meaning had haunted him for so many years. "And I know you feel it too, this thing between us, because if you didn't, you would be able to confide in me without fear of it turning into something more."

"I want you to be happy," he repeated, sorrow seeping into that gaze of his. "And if that means getting out of the way so you can move on, I would do that." Even if it ripped my heart out. "If that means staying as your friend, I would do that too, but friends are able to talk to each other."

He had the thought that he should stop there, that he was already treading too closely to the boundary between them, yet tugging at the inside of his cloak, as if to keep himself still in his spot, even as his gaze remained steady, he declared, "I would live for you." His mouth twitched with a small amount of humor; that must sound strange to her, so he clarified simply, "As much, if not more, as I would die for you."

A pause. Then it came hitting him, the realization of the speech he had just made, and his gaze dropped, as he quickly amended, "I'm not trying to force you into a decision, or give you an ultimatum. I just think...whatever it is that we're doing, we can't keep doing it forever."

 

[arbus]

**********​

Konohagakure, 15 or so years ago

" ... there's a boy I like."

Sakura stared at her hands, folded in her lap, and hoped with all her might that Ino would not laugh at her. She felt embarrassed to even admit such a thing, because it was her biggest, most guarded secret in the world, but she thought that if she didn't share it with someone, she would burst.

Ino, however, didn't laugh, didn't even pause in her movements as Sakura had expected, but kept on adjusting the paper flowers they had cut out for what was to become their joined hideout -- a real ninja's hideout, just more nicely decorated, because who said that boys were right if they put everything in washed out greens and mud colors? "Really?", Ino offered eventually, "I didn't know that." Now, Ino was turning her head, and under her scrutiny Sakura thought she might burn up from how warm her face felt, warmer even than after that day on the beach when she had refused to let her mother apply any sunscreen.

And what was Sakura thinking? How could she even think such a thing, let alone confess to it? How could she, kami, because if anything, Sakura had tried really hard to hide her feelings. She was shy and prone to blushes; then again, the boy never seemed to look at her anyway. Uchiha Sasuke, prodigy and well-guarded heir to the Uchiha name, sure, but that wasn't at all why Sakura liked him. He was the most handsomest boy she had ever seen. But that wasn't why she liked him, either, not really. He had those huge, dark eyes, and a gaze that seemed to bore right into her when, for once, it landed on her, and his eyes were so kind and his smile was pretty, all the more so as it was so rare. And if he didn't mind her overly large forehead or maybe could look past it she had promised herself to try everything to make him smile much more often.

"Who is it?", Ino inquired, back to her ministrations to correct Sakura's failures in decorating. Sakura was really lucky to have found a friend like Ino, who was so beautiful and stylish and always knew exactly what had to be done. "Is that why you've been more cheerful lately?" She let go of a papier maché bird, clapped her hands together and declared: "Okay, all done!"

Sakura kept looking at her hands. Her nails were dirty and bitten off. Her mother didn't like it when she bit her nails, but Sakura couldn't help it. "Not really. But Sasuke ..."

"I see." Ino's voice had taken on a peculiar tone. Almost disinterested. "It's Sasuke?"

Sakura hadn't known that a heart was able to be beating so fast. It felt as if it were about to jump right out of her chest. Like a frantic little bird, caged. And it wasn't all embarrassment to confide in Ino. Uttering the words, even in the small space of their hideout, made them real in a way they hadn't been before. Sakura sputtered: "I heard Sasuke likes girls with long hair", and part of her wished Ino would reassure her, and another part that she would nod and declare Sakura insane to like such a cool, popular boy. Ino didn't reassure her, but Sakura stood before Sasuke the next day anyway, weak in the knees and feeling as if she was about to faint when she ...

Sasuke. I really like --

Who are you?

**********

It's always been you, Sakura.
​

There comes a time when you have to confront your fears. When decisions can't be postponed any longer. When you can't fool yourself anymore. Ultimately, it was like walking right off the edge of a cliff, without so much as a pause, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do for her. She took a step and another and fell, fell, fell, and it was the best worst most exhilarating feeling that was rising in her, a feeling like wind beneath her carrying her up, up, up until she soared.

She took that step with a sob on her lips.

Tsunade had said "Either one of you could die: maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe ten years from now."

She wasn't fool enough to fool herself anymore. "You're impossible", she heard herself say as she stepped right into his personal space, because he was like a magnet and she could not deny herself any longer. She had tried, with increasing difficulty, feeling increasingly stupid for doing so, and how could she try any longer, when he offered her everything she had ever wanted on a silver plate?

Would it make you happy to be with him?

Yes.

The bird in her chest tried to free itself, and she knew she must smell of her days on the road, but she didn't care as she stood on her toes and kissed him. The little girl with the ribbon in her hair straightened her shoulders and held her chin high and refused to run anymore. Decided to make herself heard:
Sasuke. I really like you.
Her hand was in his neck and erratic breath on his cheek and her heartbeat so wild and uncontrolled against his chest that she was dizzy with it.

I would live for you.

Yes. She would live for him, too, until today, or tomorrow, or ten years from now.

 

[Graverobber141]

In that moment, watching Sakura close the distance between them, standing on her toes so she could reach him, Sasuke realized, finally, that Itachi had been wrong.

His beloved brother, the center of everything he had done; it all started with one night, one phrase, one push that had led him down the path to become what he had become.

One word: hatred.

Because Itachi thought he had needed strength, had wanted him to become strong, strong enough to one day kill him, and so he gave his little brother that goal, and instead of salvation, Sasuke had found damnation.

Itachi had been wrong, so very wrong.

Because more than strength, he had needed--

This thing he had been running from then searching for, this ever elusive emotion, connection, and it was right here in front of him. He possessed the most powerful, perceptive visual prowess in the shinobi world, a cursed gift from his brother, and yet he had been blind to it for so long, had resisted it, and now--

'People like that don't usually enjoy the privilege of being loved, and if they do, they should think long and hard if they want to throw it away.'

Never. He would never let it go.

Sasuke embraced it, embraced her.

For what he lacked in experience, he made up for in fervor, hand reaching up to intertwine his fingers in her hair as he returned that kiss, mouth moving against hers as if he was trying to pour everything he felt for her into it, to make up for the lack of words he possessed to convey what was burning inside him, this warm feeling of home and love, and how grateful he was to know what this was like.

'You're impossible,' she had said.

The smile that was on his lips was unconfined, lighting up his dark eyes with a joy that hadn't been there for a lot longer than it had: years, a lifetime. Cheek pressing against hers, arm drifting to her waist to hold her tighter against him, he added teasingly against her ear, "And bossy." A kiss was pressed against her jaw, before his lips traveled to rest against her forehead. "And stubborn."

A few heartbeats, for his heart was thrumming wildly within his ribcage, throwing off the normal gauge of time, and then he leaned his forehead against hers, eyes gazing into her endless sea of emerald, as he declared, "And yours."

 

[arbus]

The relief that washed through her body was so great, so intrinsic -- corresponding to her ever-present fear of rejection -- that she sank against him, suddenly drained from energy by the unsteadiness of her breath and pulse. Nestling her face against his, the tip of her nose against the line of his jaw, against his neck, she laughed. She kept laughing, even through the shudder running through her at the words whispered so close to her ear. Slinging her arms around his neck, she pressed up against him. She was overwhelmed not by this moment, but by the possibilities it carried in its wake. It was as if they had just teared away a veil obstructing their future, which suddenly looked bright, and promising, and full of hope.

Had Uchiha Sasuke really just told her he was hers?

Had he really just kissed her, as if he had waited his whole life for it?

She thought it would be grant if she chose this moment to pass out; never would she hear the end of it. Worse than any romance she had ever seen, or read. So she forced herself to calm down, her breathing so smooth out, gaining at least a resemblance of balance.

She felt giddy with joy.

In their embrace, as she had thrown her arms around him, she had enveloped him with her traveling cloak like wings, her body pressed up against his. And she didn't move, not for what felt like a mere heartbeat but must amount to a long while. Long enough for their hair and shoulders grow white from snow. "I'm freezing", she confessed at last, "I think my toes might fall off."

Damn the standard shinobi attire. It never snowed in Konoha, and how had she known that the possibility of hypothermia would get in her way to ravel in this moment, that felt like soaring still, like a quiet, happy sort of triumph. "I think we'd better get inside." She knew she sounded irresolute, as if staying out in the freezing cold was a viable option. She knew it wasn't -- but as much as she did not want to part from him just now, she could hardly invite him back to the apartment, as her parents would be there, and that, she thought, suddenly horrified, was a conversation for another day. Hopefully one in the far, far future.

 

[Graverobber141]

When he had first asked her to travel with him, he had meant it as an ending, a part of his redemption. He had seen hope as dangerous, had thought--known, at the time--that the only thing awaiting him in his future, the only thing he deserved, was silence and loneliness. But it had been there, underneath the surface of his conscious, this little seed of a dream, and with the time they had spent together, what they had endured, the people they had met, the wisdom of a mentor, a friend, it had grown into something pure, a willingness to take this risk, to reach for something more, for her.

Haruno Sakura.

Perhaps he didn't deserve this, but embracing her, feeling her heartbeat against his chest, her face so close to his own, the warm, rich sound of her laughter that brought a smile to his lips, which he couldn't help but to return with a few of his own, he found that he didn't care; that the question of deserving wasn't relevant at all. Because this is what he had now had, and he would go to the end of the earth, farther, to keep it whole.

He was so damn happy that the fact--he, Uchiha Sasuke, possessor of the sharingan, ever vigilant, ever observant--they were standing in the cold, under falling snow, just at the verge of the crack of dawn, about to freeze, completely and utterly escaped him. It took her hesitant words to make his mind once again register anything else beside the two of them, and humming a reluctant hm against her cheek, he relented to his chosen, unideal environment to make his confession, but not before pressing his mouth against hers in another, last, soft, quick kiss.

"We should," he uttered against her lips, and it sounded like an admittance he didn't want to make, because he didn't want to withdraw from her just yet.

He thought of the practically empty mansion, and how Kakashi was hardly ever around anyways. Part of him had the notion that it might be incredibly brash and rude of him to just invite a guest into a home that wasn't his, that he was a guest of himself, but when had he ever cared about being rude to anyone, nevertheless Kakashi, the man who had kept his genin waiting endlessly with his perpetual lateness?

"I know you're tired from your journey, but if you wanted to come back to the mansion with me, I could fix us breakfast," he offered with a small smile, arm drifting from her waist to seek out one of her hands, fingers intertwining with her own. "I'm sure Ari would be glad to see you."

 

[arbus]

"To the mansion?"

In her delight of a kiss received like it was the most natural thing, a matter-of-course gesture between the two of them, she only belatedly registered the feeling of ill-behaved curiosity rise in her. While she had passed the Hokage's mansion on countless occasions, practically since she had decided to become a shinobi, she had never once seen the inside of it, not even -- or perhaps especially -- with their former sensei being its latest resident. And the invitation was the perfect excuse to stay in Sasuke's company, to keep reveling in this new-found shift in their relationship, which she faced like a kid in a candy store, wide-eyed and disbelieving and seriously overwhelmed.

She felt strangely light-headed as she agreed, as she walked by Sasuke's side holding his hand, and the little bow-headed girl inside her rejoiced at the notion that this fantasy she had held for a good fifteen years now was finally coming true. "This feels like a genjutsu", she blurted, with her hand warm in his, "this isn't a genjutsu, right?" If she was talking a bit too fast, if her smile was a bit too wide, it was because of the indomitable excitement within her. Impossible not to let it show, even though a small part of her feared he would be repulsed by it, remembering how he had always hated her displays of affection. She was saved, however, when they turned the corner, and the mansion came into view, by the sight of a small ball of fur, nose-diving with a yipping sound into a mountain of snow.

"Woooohooooo", Ari yelled, first muffled by a blanket of snow as he buried his way -- like the mole he most definitely wasn't -- beneath the snow, only to emerge near them, on a platform of ice of apparently his own creation. He sat on it like it were the pedestal of a sovereign, very dignified if it weren't for the small heap of snow mounting on his head and snout. "Sakura-chan!", he declared (was this Naruto's influence shining through, she wondered, a bit miserably), beaming in that way foxes could, showing his teeth and lolling his tongue. She was sure he was more excited by the snow than the fact of her return. "Look, I can to ice jutsu now!" He swept his tail, which grew bushy with effort, and the pedestal beneath him grew the tiniest bit.

 

[Graverobber141]

This isn't a genjutsu, right?

While focused on the street in front of them, Sasuke had been watching her unsubtly, throwing glances in her direction as if to remind himself of that same question that seemed to be bugging her; yet once it was posed and vocalized, his dark eyes shifted to lock with her own, brow lifting slightly, as his gaze drifted down to take in that smile of hers, a catalyst that caused his own lips to tilt upwards. He squeezed her hand firmly, as if to offer reassurance, ways to make her realize that it was very much so real turning around in his head, but then Ari was barreling towards them, obviously ecstatic that it had snowed, giving him a winter playground to happily run around in.

"Impressive," Sasuke declared, looking over the pedestal of ice like a parent examining a crayon picture his child had drawn him. He was proud: with no ice affiliation himself, researching the jutsu to help Ari learn it had been difficult, along with the actual teaching, but the kitsune was just as determined as the Uchiha, to the point that one might wonder if his clan had any past, forgotten history of dealing with the creatures. "Keep practicing, but after break--"

Revenge was apparently a dish best served cold.

Sasuke wondered, in this moment, hearing the vindictive, distinct caw of a certain hawk, how this feud had started. How a summoning creature, who was supposed to be his vassal, had become so disobedient? How was it that he, the Uchiha prodigy, wielder of the sharingan and rinnegan, one of the most powerful shinobi in the world, kept on being outsmarted, taken off-guard by a damned bird?

By the time he saw the hawk land on the snow-laden branch conveniently hanging over his head, it was too late. A second smug caw filled the air as an avalanche tumbled upon him, enough snow raining down his shoulders and head to off-balance him. He stumbled, shaking his head like a dog to free himself of the worst of it, shivering and practically fluffed up like a cat that had just been thrown into water, when he registered the giggles.

Oh, no. That was a declaration of war.

Shaking the remnants of the blizzard from his cloak, his slightly narrowed gaze shot between Ari and Sakura, before a smirk, promising mischief, spread across his lips.

"Funny, hm?"

He bent down and packed in a snowball, eyes darting between his two choices of a target, before they settled on Sakura, glinting with a devilish playfulness. With one flick of his wrist, the ball was flying towards her: an escalation to the careless declaration of war.

 

[arbus]

Ari was rolling on the floor, shaking with laughter, like a small, yipping ferret (better not to let him know that particular comparison). There had been this tiny moment of indecision, when he had swayed between giving into the giggle fit or to bark the intruder off the tree (another influence, this time most likely Bisuke‘s, the most outspoken of all of their host‘s dogs). In the end, though, the picture Sasuke made, looking much like an irritated cat, was too funny as not to give in.

Sakura, who had never heard a fox having a laughing fit before, was giggling as much because of the peculiar sounds falling from Ari‘s jaws as from Sasuke being so clearly taken by surprise by the falling snow. She held up her hands, palms out, drawing a breath and just about to ask him if he was alright, when, in one of these moments when several things happen at once, the snowball hit her smack in the face.

Kakashi-sensei would be mortified to know one of his former students displayed such poor reflexes.

Tsunade-shishou would straight out send her into exile. After giving her an hour-long speech on wasted potential.

Naruto would, much as Ari did now, laugh his ass off.

„You.“

Very suddenly, and quite unsubtley, the worry and amusement fell from her face with a junk of fluffy white snow, a few crumbles of ice. It was replaced by a frown of grim determination, but Sasuke could not have gotten more than a glimpse as she was moving, and her initial shyness triggered by their kiss was gone, replaced by the urge to retaliate.

She might not be as quick as Sasuke, but she was pretty sure she was on par with him in physical strength, and so the snowballs that flew in his direction were tiny projectiles, hard knobs of compressed snow aiming to smack into him without a hint of mercy.

„Uh-oh“, Ari said, helpfully, his eyes growing big.

 

[Graverobber141]

One could find it quite amusing, watching Sasuke's satisfied smirk slip from his features, dark eyes widening with a slight panic that clearly displayed the exact words going through his head in the moment Sakura decided to charge him: Oh, shit. There are certain things he probably should have considered before starting this battle: one, the shinobi whose strength rivaled the legendary sannin Tsunade's, two, the fact he had one arm (which made making snowballs rather difficult), and three, Ari's useless disloyalty. Yet, even as the first snowball collided with his face, followed by a harder second assaulting his shoulder, that one filled with a good chunk of ice, he couldn't find it in himself to regret the decision.

After all, if there was one thing that could be said about the Uchiha, it was his determination. Even in snowball wars, it became evident, and he was determined to not go down easily. He gave as good as he got, dancing around trees to use as cover, using his speed to his advantage, and focusing on landing precise hits instead of a fury. And while the First Great Shinobi Snow War raged, the occasional laugh would fall from his lips--scoffing, victorious ones when he landed a hit, rich, muffled ones when he received one in return--and he had this light feeling growing inside him, besides the cold seeping into his bones, one he hadn't experienced for so many years: joy, happiness, fun.

The conclusion came from a fourth factor Sasuke hadn't considered before firing the first shot; the traitorous, vindictive hawk that he swore was out to kill him. Under bombardment from Sakura, he had retreated to a tree, and with a second series of caws, these sounding very much so like laughs, another avalanche descended upon him, and he was falling on his ass, before simply tilting over in defeat, covered in a blanket of white.

"I surrender," he declared, though, being face down without any remaining dignity, his voice was muffled by snow, so he grasped ahold of his cloak, waving the edge (which was white enough) in a gesture that resembled waving a flag in defeat.

 

[arbus]

Having trudged over from her spot on their battlefield, Sakura stood, upper body slightly inclined, hands stemmed into her hips, eyeing the bundle of snow and cloak that was Uchiha Sasuke. Later, she would probably deny it, but triumph and a clear satisfaction about the outcome of the fight was written clearly across her open features. Of course -- though she would deny that, too -- she would have tolerated no other outcome than her unquestionable victory.

There was a certain air about her, Ari thought as he inched closer to see if Sasuke was well enough to make him breakfast, that reminded him of that blonde lady whom he had met on one of his secret forays into the village. Very imposing, in a feisty sort of way that gave him the urge to duck his head as he passed her.

But then, as if someone had flicked a switched, Sakura slumped. An expression like horror flitted across her face, quickly replaced by a more appropriate, and rather docile concern. She moved to grab Sasuke's hand. With a gentle pull -- Ari thought that if she wanted to, she might have been able to lift Sasuke off his feet -- she helped Sasuke to get up, and asked: "Are you hurt?"

Ari thought the question superfluous, but leaped to find his usual place on Sasuke's shoulder. His tail brushed like a taunt across his chin, sweeping away some of the snow he was covered in. He looked up at the hawk, sitting smugly on his branch, and gaggled, belatedly remembering he had sworn to himself to protect Sasuke from any harm. Well, but that didn't count, did it?

"Can I have, uhm, what's it called? Pancakes?", he inquired. Since they had arrived in the village, and Ari had started his lonely wanderings, he had snatched up much of the human food lying around in dumpsters and on the street and on plates of some heedless villager or other: He had found, to his delight, that sugar was a delicacy he, as a fox, had been denied far too long. One that was delicious. And he especially liked it in combination with white flour, and while meat was still his number one favorite food in the world, pancakes had taken a close second (he had first eaten them in an alleyway next to a restaurant advertising the idea of selling breakfast the whole day, from a guy that smelled worse like dog than the old guy with the mask did, which was in itself almost impressive, if it weren't so disgusting.)

"Pancakes?", Sakura asked, astonished. She brushed some snow out of her hair and uselessly tried to comb her fingers through the wet strands in a futile attempt to tame what had become a mess of a hairstyle. She had gotten so sick of her hair lately; she had let it grow out again, but now she was determined to cut it off once more -- it was much more practicable not to have to worry about all that hair, getting in her way all the time. "Well, whatever we do, let's get inside now. We need dry clothes or we'll all catch a cold." Ari scoffed, and she amended: "Kitsune of the snow not included."

 

[Graverobber141]

The only thing severely hurt and damaged on Uchiha Sasuke was his ego. Even still, rising to his feet with the help of Sakura, he couldn't help but give her an amused smile. Humming one of his trademarked hms, a verbal confirmation that he was more than all right, he began brushing off the worse of the snow, cleaning off his cloak, shaking his head to free his now disheveled hair, brushing back a few strands that were plastered to his face.

"Pancakes," he repeated, put-on disbelief layered in his voice. "After you abandoned me on the battlefield?" With the scratch he gave Ari behind the ears, it was evident that Sasuke was planning on making the fox whatever he wanted, and the smile lighting his features disarmed his hardly serious comments. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

Placing his palm gently against Sakura's back, he lead her inside the mansion; even with his affinity for fire, the cold was beginning to seep into his bones, which meant she was probably freezing as well. Dry clothes, hot tea, and pancakes for breakfast sounded like heaven to him. Once they were inside the genkan, Sasuke shrugged off his coat, slid off his shoes, and directed Ari to "dry off", before gesturing for Sakura to follow him into the room he had been staying in.

It was neat, the bedroom: a habit instilled in him by his father that had stayed with him throughout the years. The bed was made, the floor kept clean, his traveling gear isolated to the corner, and the only evidence of disturbance was the desk. A few books were stacked on the corner, mostly tomes on ice jutsu theory, while one on the art form of kintsugi laid open beside a few scattered brochures of vacant apartments and houses for sell. The only scrolls piled neatly were the ones relative to the selling of the compound; any set backs on the progress he had made there, and Sasuke would start pulling out his hair.

Another thing he should have considered before starting the snowball war: the fact that their clothes were now drenched, and she needed something to wear. He went through the dresser he had packed his clothes into, took a look at her thoughtfully, before pulling his brows together. He doubted any of his pants would fit her, but--"I have a yukata that you can borrow while I dry your clothes." He retrieved the said piece of black fabric, embodied with his clan's symbol, holding it out in offering. "You're welcome to anything else, but this will probably fit the best."

 

[arbus]

When she had taken the yukata from him with a light thanks and inquired where the bathroom was, she never once thought about the significance of the gesture. Instead, she had asked him for a pair of socks for her freezing feet and a towel. Now she was standing in front of the mirror in the adjoining bathroom, dried and wrapped in the black cloth, which was significantly too big around the shoulders, and long enough to cover a good portion of her legs. The sleeves where so long and big she could bury her hands in them, which was a blessing for her inflexible, cool joints. She turned on the spot, eying the red and white fan with intense scrutiny.

Oh kami.

She was no Ino, eager to display all her bodily advantages to the world. On the contrary: How should she be comfortable with displaying anything when there was nothing. No hour-glass figure, with a chest flat like a boy's, her legs two toned but rather unappealing sticks like the drawing of a child. And she was so small, wasn't she. And her hair was still a mess, wasn't it. And she was pale, because she was tired, and her proneness to develop dark circles under her eyes after she exhausted herself didn't help, either.

But here she was, standing in Sasuke's bathroom and wearing Sasuke's yukata, emblazoned with his family crest. Being her inadequate, large-foreheaded, overly-nervous, over-thinking self.

She dropped her head, giving up the vain attempts to make her hair look anything like the glossy, well-groomed ideal from her fashion magazines. Her eyes darted towards the window, and for a wild moment, she contemplated flight. The idea forming in her head was instant and distinct, like the best plans that came to her during stressful moments on difficult missions: She would slide the window open, hop out into the snow, and run. She could almost feel the wetness soaking her newly acquired wool socks and see the tail-ends of the yukata trailing after her dramatically.

She sighed.

In the romantic movies she watched, the girls standing in their boyfriends' sweaters never seemed to panic like that. They always seemed so innocent, unthinkingly accepting of such an intimate kindness, with a light blush on their cheeks and a giggle on their lips when the boyfriends complimented them by throwing them over their broad shoulders to commence an entirely out-of-the-blue pillow fight (she felt like this was a euphemism for something). And how did those girls always manage to look so picture-perfect, no matter that they had hair-stylists and make-up-artists in the background to groom them whenever the director shouted cut --

A fierce blush spread across Sakura's face. She hadn't just thought the word boyfriend, now, had she?

If anxious panic and frenetic attempts to sooth telling blushes had a smell, or ridiculous thought-spirals a noise, all eyes would have probably locked onto the bathroom door in wonder. But as it was, and luckily for Sakura, nobody was any the wiser when she finally convinced herself to step out of the bathroom and walked on light feet through the extensive hallways, following the scent of butter and Ari's unremitting chattering. She looked around curiously, because she had never been in one of Kakashi-sensei's private spaces before, but it didn't look like anyone was living here, at all. She stopped at the entrance of the kitchen, self-consciously tugging at the seam of the yukata to cover more of her legs. She had wrapped herself so tightly into the cloth that the crest on its back was distorted by layers of fabric.

Ari was sitting on the large kitchen table, his fur standing fluffed to all sides. He was talking about the merits of using more sugar rather than less, Sasuke, please, while licking his paw and driving it over his ears in what looked like an elaborate cleaning routine.

Sakura couldn't help a smile at the sight before her. It came to her that Sasuke must have taken care of Ari ever since they returned to Konoha. The thought warmed her heart. Something inside her stomach twisted in pleasure. "Can I help you with something?", she asked into the room.

 

[Graverobber141]

More sugar.

Sasuke looked at Ari, down at the extra amount he had just added into the batter, back at Ari, and raised his brows incredulously. They were going to ruin the recipe, and this was certainly not the type of healthy meal one should start the morning with, but at the sight of the kitsune and his huge, begging eyes, how adorable of a little fluff ball he was, Sasuke was relenting with an exhalation of air that might as well have been a sigh. He had started frying the batter--making shapes, because he was feeling creative (and wanted to impress Ari), but apparently not creative enough, because the only thing that came to mind for him to attempt to create were kunai and shuriken, and only a few were even recognizable--when he heard Sakura, and turned his head away from the pancakes faintly resembling weaponry to take her in.

That feeling again: light, soft, and so very pure like the untainted snow outside the window he stood before. He felt warm, melting the remnants of the chill that dry clothes hadn't been able to chase off, and this thought that lingered in his mind, as his eyes traced over her, one of home, made a smile grace his lips; images of mornings exactly like this one that laid before them, what had only been a dream weeks before yet now was within reach, a reality, drifted around in his consciousness.

She was so very beautiful.

Then he realized he was staring, and his cheeks were turning red with another kind of warmth. Averting his gaze back onto the pan, he tilted his chin in an invitation for her to join him, explaining, "I thought I'd make shapes. I have a little batter left if you want to try one or two." He poured a bit more into the pan to demonstrate, spreading it out in what he intended to be a katana (why were the only things he could think of to try sharp, pointy objects?), yet ended up barely resembling a deformed 'T'. A small chuckle fell from his lips, one laced with both humor and mild disappointment, before he moved out of the way to allow her access to the pan, gently brushing his fingers against hers.

Then he was making a plate for Ari, piled with pancakes and the sausage he had also prepared, and putting it before the little fox, before he was setting the table with two other plates, bringing over the remaining pancakes once they were ready. Lastly, he retrieved the kettle of tea, poured the cups, and finally sat down, a faint inkling in the back of his head about how this was probably the most use the kitchen table had ever received while Kakashi was living here. On those coattails rode another thought, a consideration: it might be nice to have a reunion of the old team, a simple dinner, and he pocketed it for later.

 

[arbus]

Ari watched in something akin to wonder -- with the detached interest of a zoologist observing the mating ritual of his chimpanzees -- at the peculiar spectacle before him. It struck him as a very awkward, very clumsy dance: Sasuke, who seemed to have lost some of his cool (though Ari still thought Sasuke was the coolest shinobi ever, awkward behavior or not), blushing at Sakura's appearance; Sakura, who stuttered and flustered her way through a conversation, praising Sasuke's cooking skills in a uncharacteristically high-pitched tone. Then his attention was drawn to the plate before him, and he started to gobble down pancakes and sausages alike. His ear flicked when Sakura giggled at the very nice flower you made, Sasuke, thinking to himself that the pancakes, obviously, meant to resemble snowflakes. Well, not everybody shared his and Sasuke's artistic capabilities.

Sakura botched the rest of the batter into indistinct, half-black clumps. One almost had to admire her ability to turn every bit of food she touched into an inedible piece of coal. Almost like alchemy.

With a proud smile, Sakura made sure to scoop some of it on Sasuke's and Ari's plate (to his chagrin), before she busied herself with sitting down in the most complicated way possible, sitting at the rim of her chair with her legs clutched so tightly together that her muscles quivered. Ari was just about to inquire why she was wearing that strange dress, anyway, when --

A poof, and in a cloud appeared a pug, in the middle of their freshly set table, wearing a little blue jacket and a hitai-ate on his head. Ari was so surprised he almost toppled over. Skidding over the table to regain his balance (leaving deep marks as he dug his claws into the wood), he hissed, fur standing up. The pug shot him an unimpressed look, and said: "Yo."

"Pakkun!" Sakura coughed slightly, waving her hand to dispel the smoke. "What are you doing here?" It was, perhaps, an inappropriate question. This was Kakashi's house, after all, and --

"I could ask you the same", Pakkun replied. With his drooping eyelids and deep-set wrinkles he looked either constantly concerned or completely bored by his surroundings. His gaze drifted over her, almost scrutinizing, before it settled on Sasuke. "Boss wants to know what's for breakfast, and if you saved him any."

"Ah --" The words caught in Sakura's throat. She felt her cheeks heat up for the umpteenth time this morning, suddenly remembering the ANBU routinely stationed around the mansion. Of course Kakashi-sensei would find out she was here. Of course Kakashi-sensei would send someone to inquire. Of course, oh kami, Kakashi-sensei would think ... think ...

Ari tilted his head, looking at Sakura with concern in his eyes. Her head looked like, give or take another minute, it would start to smoke like a kettle being left on the stove for too long. He sniffed into the vague direction of the ugly pug named "Pakkun". Yes, definitely one of the scents he had picked up around the house. Bisuke-chan had spoken a lot about Pakkun (the way animals spoke so only Ari could understand) being their cool deputy pack leader and all, but Ari found himself wondering what was supposed to be so cool about the pug. He edged closer to his plate again, protectively curling his tail around the remaining food.

 

[Graverobber141]

Sasuke was the type of person to ask for forgiveness instead of permission, and he hardly ever had second thoughts on the matter. When he made up his mind to do something, for better or worse, he was going to do it, and he never felt--well, the way he felt now: like a child who had been caught doing something they weren't supposed to do by their parent, even though it was ridiculous, because him and Sakura were just enjoying a completely innocent breakfast together. Kami, but she was wearing his clothing, and they were both awkwardly flustered, and--shit.

Cool, collected, calm, and controlled Uchiha Sasuke became a shade paler, dark eyes staring at Pakkun like he had seen a ghost. In fact, he looked looked like death itself, and he felt like dying. Tipping over. Not having to face their sensei, who probably was sitting somewhere with a smug smirk behind his mask, knowing exactly what he was doing. For a split moment, his eyes narrowed at the thought, and at least, with that newly fueled determination sparking through him, battling the shade of red once again overtaking his features, he was able to find his voice.

"Pancakes and sausage," Sasuke declared, and it sounded a lot more steady than he looked. If his had his cape, he could just hide behind its collar, but the damn thing was still drying. "And we have plenty, if Kakashi would like some."

He reached for a clean plate, putting a few pieces of sausage ontop of it, adding a few pancakes, half of which had been the ones Sakura had prepared, partly because those were what were left over and then just because Sasuke felt like showing underhanded cheekiness--Sasuke himself had devoured the lumps of inedible coal Sakura had put on his plate with a smile that would have made Sai proud, from what he had heard about the fellow, eating every bite of the singed pancakes like they were the greatest delicacy in the world, even if his insides revolted violently--before pushing the loaded plate to the side in offering to the man who wasn't yet present.

And then, noting how Sakura was about to explode, he reached out to subtly take her hand, rubbing his thumb over hers in reassurance, and offering her an almost sheepish look in apology, one that made him look significantly younger, because this had been his idea, after all: to go with her back to the mansion, to start a snowball fight, which now was leading to this awkward situation; yet, even still, he didn't feel a bit of regret, and it showed in the small, genuine, if awkward, smile that twitched at the edge of his lips.

 

[arbus]

Sakura jumped so violently at Sasuke's touch that her knee knocked against the underside of the table. The dishes rattled and a pitcher of water swayed precariously, swapping some of its content onto the plate designated for Kakashi and turning the coal-black pancakes into an brownish mush beyond recognition. Stuttering an apology, her downcast gaze needed the best part of half a minute to find Sasuke's face and take in the expression on it. And suddenly, she giggled, half-mortified but at the same time soothed by the feeling of conspiracy brewing between them. She could not help but return this smile, to turn her hand so she could intertwine their fingers and give his a light squeeze.

Ari had yapped, panic-struck at the prospect of loosing his food. A second later, quicker than any of them had seen him move before, he had snatched up the rest of a sausage and a good portion of pancake and dragged all of it underneath the table. A scurrying motion later, and all that was left of him was a trail of grease on the kitchen floor, leading towards a large, wooden cabinet holding the dishes.

Pakkun, whose favorite past time was probably poker (or should be, with that impressive lack of emotion) looked steadily ahead, his lazy gaze -- reminiscent of his master in an eery way -- never once leaving Sasuke.
"He wouldn't want to intrude", the dog declared as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Sakura gnashed her teeth to bite back the hearty Bullshit that lay alluringly on the very tip of her tongue. It were times like these that reminded her how their sensei always had managed to infuriate her, and a genin-lifetime of inner rants about him bubbled to the surface of her memory.

"Tell him thank you for his hospitality", she replied instead, forcing a -- more or less convincing -- smile onto her face. "And that we would be happy if he'd join us for breakfast."

She hated the thought of Kakashi-sensei popping up, much like his ninken did (hopefully not on the table, though she wouldn't put it past the man) and forcing himself between them to satisfy his own curiosity. Oh kami. Please make some pipe explode in Hokage tower, have Naruto accidentally destroy another training field, or the actor of the latest movie adaption of Icha Icha Paradise walk by beneath his office window. Anything, really, that would hinder him to --

"Will do", Pakkun offered, before, in another puff of smoke, he was gone.

(What kind of godawful jutsu was that, anyway, making him appear and disappear at will?)

"Sasuke." If her voice edged dangerously close to a whine, she didn't care; the situation was too dire, and she turned to him with a pleading look on her face: What now? "You can't rinnegan him out of Fire Country or something, can you?"