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cherrynojutsu · 2 years ago

Text

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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nekoannie-chan · 2 years ago

Text

Too good

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 1095 words.

Summary: You and Steve have been childhood friends, but it seemed like Steve wasn't going to be able to keep a promise.

Warnings: There’s a misunderstood between the characters.

A/N: This is my entry to @randomfandomimagine’s 10K Writing Challenge with the Trope prompt #1: Childhood friends to lovers and dialogue prompt #2:

“You’re too good for the world.”

Thanks to my beta reader @saiyanprincessswanie, I love you, Missy.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighss @Marvelatthisone @hallecarey1 @caplanbuckybarnes

1945

The memories were too many and now also painful as you looked at the last photograph that was taken of you and Steve. Shortly after the serum was injected into him you took a breath and closed your eyes tightly to prevent the tears from coming out.

"You promised me. You promised me that we would always be together,” you whispered in a broken voice.

When you got home you took out the photo album, there were many memories there, most of them were photos of you and Steve. Bucky was also in several of them given his friendship with Steve. Although Steve and you knew each other practically since you were born given your moms were close friends.

You were supposed to be happy but then that brunette female came along. Thankfully you couldn’t remember her name. Could he have been unfaithful? Something wasn't right, even though you didn't know what to think or who to trust.

Steve had told you; that you were getting married after the war. That you would have a family and would be very happy. But now it seemed like an empty promise, he didn’t come back and you felt that a part of you had gone with him.

1933

Bucky, Steve, and you walked back from school to your house. You always ate there and did homework together. Some girls called Bucky and he left with them. You grimaced in discomfort, Steve lowered his gaze, during all that time maybe he had misunderstood what was going on.

"Are you okay?" "Steve asked you.

"Yes...

"Y/N, don't lie, I know you.

"Remember my stained dress from last month when we were going to the exhibition?" you answered.

"I remember it,” Steve then understood why you were so upset. Those girls Bucky hung around had ruined your dress. “Did they do it?” he asked and you nodded; but you stopped him, you didn't want him to get into trouble as usual.

"You’re too good for the world," you said, as he looked at you. “Steve, I'm fine, if we just go somewhere else.”

1928

You were walking back with the ingredients your mother had asked you to buy, "something" in one of the alleys caught your attention, you recognized it immediately, it was Steve, and you approached right away.

"Steve, are you okay?" you asked at the same time that you crouched down to see it better, everything indicated that he fought... again.

"Yes, I’m okay.”

"Don't lie, you fought again," you helped him get up. “Let's go to my house, I have to help you with those wounds.”

You did your best to make your mother not realize that Steve was involved in another fight, although surely, she knew he was in the house.

You started to heal his wounds, you didn't ask any questions, in the end, he always told you what had happened, this time was no exception, you smiled while listening to him, for some reason whenever that happened, you smiled every time you healed his wounds, although it seemed that you knew the reason and that was that you were in love with Steve, but you didn't dare to tell him.

"You’re too good for the world," Steve told you. You laughed softly and enjoyed those moments alone with him.

1934

Bucky had taken them on another date, the girls ignored Steve as always and all the attention was grabbed by Bucky... as always; your date also ignored you. He seemed more interested in one of the other girls, you sighed and turned to see Steve when you realized it.

"I'm sure if we don't go, no one will notice," you whispered in his ear.

"But...”

"Come on, Steve, we don't need them to have fun.”

Steve took your hand and discreetly retreated, when you were already a few streets away, you stopped to laugh, you took his face in your hands and kissed him on the lips.

"What?" Y/N, what...?” Steve was confused when you separated, he just didn't expect it.

"I like you, Steve," you declared.

"Who? Me? I thought that you liked Bucky.”

"No, not Bucky, it’s always been you, Steve.”

Now he kissed you; Steve had always been in love with you too, but for a long time he thought you had feelings for Bucky and decided not to get in the way.

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" He whispered shyly, the answer was clear when you kissed him again.

3 weeks later

"I have a plan for us to have a triple appointment.

"We have plans for the weekend," you and Steve replied in unison.

"What?" But if I got quotes from each of you.

"Steve and I are in a relationship," you finally said.

Bucky was speechless and without words showing you were holding hands, you did not intend to answer his questions.

1943

"But Steve...”

"I have to do it, I tell you that as soon as the war is over, I will return and we will marry as we have always dreamed," Steve interrupted you.

"Please...,” you begged by pouting, you were afraid of what might happen if he went, there was nothing to assure you that you would see him again.

The day he left, you felt that a part of you too. You didn't like what you were feeling, it seemed like it was the last time you were going to see him, although it wasn't something you liked to think about, in the end, you were hopeful that you would meet again soon and fulfill the promise you made.

1945

You were sitting in the park again, your eyes filled with tears, in your hand you held the last letter that Steve had sent you. You always knew that he shouldn’t join the army, that despite everything it was a big mistake; you were so self-absorbed that you didn’t realize that someone was approaching you until suddenly everything became dark and you did not know anymore.

2010

You opened your eyes, you didn't understand what had happened apart from the fact that you began to feel that your eyes weighed, the last thing you remembered was feeling a very strong blow and that everything had become dark and nothing more, you saw the calendar that was hanging on the wall, you didn't understand what was happening, but you closed your eyes again, you had never forgotten Steve's voice, not counting the phrase he always told you.

"You’re too good for the world"

#10K Follower Writing Challenge #steve rogers x reader

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 3 years ago

Text

7th Dimension (Chapter 3)

7TH DIMENSION SYNOPSIS/MASTERLIST

PREVIOUSLY ON CHAPTER 2.1

WATTPAD LINK FOR 7TH DIMENSION

Characters: Gojo Satoru x Small!Naive!Fem!Foreign!Reader | THIS IS A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC. THIS IS AN X READER FANFIC WHO HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO THE DIMENSION OF JUJUTSU KAISEN | (Trust me, you'll live. I hope?)

Summary: It has been three days that you were unconscious and on bedrest. Gojo Satoru was restless due to the fact of the relics you own---the manga panels you had on hand while surviving a car-crash in the middle of the Hanami incident. He was impatient for information and Satoru was not one to keep himself out of the subject matter especially that these artifacts you acquired had memories of the one and only bestfriend he had and also sketches of a future that left him clueless for whatever lays ahead for him.

Warnings: THE FOURTH WALL IS VERY STRONG ON THIS ONE, GUYS. Descriptive writing. Reader is a simp upon seeing Gojo Satoru. (I mean, it's in her subconsciousness despite of having an intense amount of amnesia, so that explains it) Manga panels picture included. Picture included in between the chapter are the torn Manga panels that Gojo acquired from you when you were on an accident. MANGA PANELS SPOILER. Slight soulmate AU vibes? Maybe because reader only gets to understand Satoru here and not the others. Reader does not understand Japanese. For the sake of this fanfic---if you somehow understand and know how to converse in Nihongo, let's just imagine that you don't and you have your own native language and know how to speak in English. Tiktok is mentioned. Wattpad and Tumblr too. When I said you've been teleported from earth and to Jujutsu Kaisen's world, I meant it. Megumi's already in this chapter by the way. Reader is utterly naive or in the state of being in-denial. Anxious reader is high on this one. Mention of Cyclops and Sea Urchin. Hehehe. I kind of changed the setting of their dormitory, let's imagine that Megumi and Itadori's dormitory had numbers of floors. Y/N means the insertion of your name and also Y/L/N means your last name. This will only be used in this particular chapter because everyone will have their own nickname for you in the next chapters. No worries.

Tell me if you want to be tagged whenever I publish chapters for 7th Dimension! Send an ask or message me!

A/N: Your author is one crazy bish. If I say you'll live without owning any powers or abilities from how Jujutsu Kaisen works, you'll live. (I hope) Trust me. (But, I also don't trust my own words sometimes---LMAO JKJK) Y'all know Satoru's gonna keep you because there's Suguru Geto in the torn manga panels. Hehehe. You got no escape now, people. LMAO. I APOLOGIZE FOR THE ERRORS, I ONLY HAD TO READ THIS ONE TIME AND THEN DECIDED THAT I WANTED TO UPDATE THIS RIGHT NOW.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE SUPER-DUPER HIGHLY APPRECIATED! IT GIVES ME SUCH MOTIVATION AND INSPO!

Words: 6.9k+ (Sorry, It's kinda long. Heehee.)

Disclaimer: PNG's or pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. I only own the plot of this whole fanfic. But, not Jujutsu Kaisen's storyline. Credits go entirely to Gege Akutami for JJK. I apologize for the typos or grammatical errors by the way! English isn't my first language so I'm so sorry in advance! Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be. This has no connection towards the anime or manga as this is a FANFIC.

YOUR PALATES WERE REPUGNANT AND REVOLTING AS IT SHOULD BE, relishing in the piquancy of the foreshore and ichor mixed together. The idea wasn't entirely pleasant especially when your head felt heavy before your eyes, throbbing as you came to your senses. Peppery, minty scent came wafting through your nose, It smelled of Timber drifting through the air. There was also another that was worth the rivet, a masculine scent of perfume which smelled like Musk and Sandalwood. Captivating for your perspective and likes. The amount of fragrance grew closer as if it was a stone's throw away from your reach. You were shifting against the mattress, lately realizing that there was someone gently poking your cheeks, a finger that was somehow calloused on the end.

"Oi, It's been days," this man began mumbling to himself, his voice sounded clear, light and pleasant. Silvery as some can describe, but also smoky and modulated that it had your fingers twitch in a slight tremble, presumably earning an anomalous, skipping beat of your heart. It sounded familiar, yet somehow it didn't.

Thoroughly enigmatic to begin with.

Hence, it also sounded arresting but the other person didn't need to know that especially when you knew nothing of what was happening as of the moment.

"Are you seriously not waking up yet? I know Shoko advised me that you'll be taking at least an estimated number of seven days. But, I'm too impatient for that." He continued to wonder, too engrossed in his own mumbling. You shifted for the third time, the number of days that you were unconscious made your limbs shake like a leaf as you lifted to your elbows upon the mattress, drowsily blinking to stay clear of your blurry sight.

You were utterly languid as you turned your head to the other living person who was breathing in the same room with you, finally and completely setting on the sight of a blindfolded guy who was strangely sitting on a chair, backwards. His elbows flat on the head of the seat as he was evident that this guy was trying to perceive how you started to act.

Can he actually see you? was your initial thought upon seeing this bizarre guy.

Gojo Satoru took a deep breath, listlessly crossing his arms over the head of the chair where he seated which was just right in front of you, retrieving his fingers away from your face as he cocked his head to the side, the side of his lip lifted in a smile which felt smug in your point of view.

You knew you were at loss for words because this man looked above the average---scratch that, probably not if you were being doubtful because of how he tried to conceal what lies behind those eyes of his. Howbeit, you just knew that he held vitality and assertiveness from how his stance was---how he brought himself in between the conversation he was having with you.

This man was oozing with self-reliance. Ten to one, it was probably more than just confidence as haughtiness came with it, he was poising as if he knew himself that he was irresistible. Attractive. Charismatic. Those kind of adjectives that can make any woman keel over. A man that could get women nutty as a fruitcake when he has those blindfolds off in an instance.

He wasn't even showing you his whole face yet and this was how you were already describing him.

It left you wanting to know more about this man and you didn't even know him yet. What was wrong with you?

"Good Morning." Satoru dragged, smooth as butter.

Your heart was jumping hurdles. It was an imperceptible race that you didn't knew existed. Who was he? that voice inside your head thought as you took note of how his smile grew larger. His nose was cuspidated, quintessential as a painter could see fit. Lips waterlogged as if he was never dehydrated nor had the chance to do so because he held no blemishes---were there not? or were you just too preoccupied to his taintless charm that you hadn't notice his utopian flaws?

You've felt as if he was featherbedded. Jaw precise and honed downright superlative like he was brushed off an artisan's skillful hands designed with the softest, chalky white hair that was kept upward as if gravity didn't existed. It was madcap but also alluring. He probably noticed how you were keeping your mouth shut and knew that he was radiating off such influence which had you shutting your mouth in the middle of trying to reason out, leaving you in a stuttering mess.

"What---" you forcefully closed your mouth before your inner voice began to talk for you, it was better to be safe than to be filled with shame in the end, "a definitely nice morning---I mean---" Your lips were shut tight, looking utterly obvious to the latter that you were trying not to say anything that would make you regret in the end. His presence was certainly crucial to your standards in men because he, alone was making your brain hurt and it seemed like it could also be because of the pulsating pain surrounding your head.

As you lifted your head to give a rush scan of the room and never actually noticing how it looked like at first, you foolhardy began embarrassing yourself as if you were in Big Brother's House and someone was watching you through some form of CCTV cameras, expecting that this was a prank that a friend might put you up in.

"Is this a blind date---this girl reads too many online fanfic stories---ANGIE!"

At the sudden, ear-splitting holler of your voice kept the Jujutsu Sorcerer watching you from his position. It was quite a feast to be honest, how you were actually having an attack of the wobblies before him was giving Satoru such amusement that he had to shut his mouth before asking you the real deal.

"---I DIDN'T NEED A BLIND DATE, ANGIE! ALSO, I'VE EXPECTED MORE FROM YOU THAN TO PAIR ME UP WITH A BLIND MAN! I DIDN'T EXPECT YOU TO TAKE IT LITERALLY!"

Gojo couldn't help but began to rubberneck, emitting an airy, astonished 'Eh?' that left his pretty mouth. You didn't actually believe the idea that he was blind, did you?

Unless, you actually don't know him at all?

However, the illustration you have of him says otherwise. He had hard attestations that you actually know him a lot.

Shoko probably hadn't mentioned that you were bound to wake up with an hysterical episode. Maybe, he should've asked her to heal that part where you had the tendency to be away with the fairies.

"I'm not blind, I can assure you that." He declared as a matter of fact, watching you like a hawk as you tried to scramble onto your feet, cocking his head to the side as he left you untouched, wanting and waiting to see how much of a fool you can make out of yourself.

"---Oi, oi, careful. You've got serious brain injury to the point that you might not remember who you are," you were having an intense experience of vertigo from the sudden rush of action, making your ass fall flat on the bed again. The Jujutsu Sorcerer carried on with his divulgence of information over what was currently happening to your sudden enfeebling---your own body telling you that something was not right from waking up to a room you barely recognize with a man you hardly knew of, giving you a meaning that everything was actually real and you're not just daydreaming.

Were you? Actually not just Reality Shifting? Was the Tiktok trend actually real?

Gojo disregarded your disorientation with a gesture of his hand, setting forth that everything was tickety-boo as he was known to his unceremonious manners in moments like this.

"But, I guess you're fully healed!" he exclaimed, tone too gaiety for your serious injuries, going on with another revelation that got your mouth entirely dry, "---Yet, with an intense amount of amnesia!"

Amnesia. Were you seriously having amnesia or were you just talking to a crazed man who was acting blind?

It was probably the second option. Yeah. The latter choice.

That other part of you, your consciousness was silently praying for your co-worker named Angie to just interrupt both of your conversation by crashing in the room. Any minute now, you mindfully prayed to the heavens as the man beside seemed to be enjoying how he was trying to propagandize your confusion into thinking that you were in an accident and that you happen to forget everything.

Yet, you seriously had no idea who he was nor did you know where you were.

"I...definitely have no idea who you are," you were honest, mumbling your next question as you avoided his covered eyes.

How'd you know? Well, you just knew his attention was on you because he seemed to be looking.

"Where am I?"

"Tokyo Jujutsu High." he immediately answered with no restrictions.

What the heck, it sounded like it's from an anime. You blinked twice and probably thrice as you made a face, staring at your fingers that rested on your lap.

Angie was probably giving you a tough prank. If so, you were trying hard to remember what wrongdoing you've done that it had to end this way.

Or was this a gift because she knew how you were keen on people who does cosplay?

"We roleplayin' or something?" you guilelessly asked another, heedless of Gojo's hesitation upon answering a question that was out of the box, "---Ah. You're a cosplayer then."

You believed he was. No, you were praying that your accusations over the whole event was just a part of Angie's game plans because she knew you needed to be dated by a man. Badly needed for her way of lifestyle, yet to you---it wasn't. You were in no need for a man who would certainly bore you in the end.

The men you met back then were in all respects, lackluster. Nobody sparked your interest for years because the opposite sex were either bland in terms of their personalities and attitudes. Or better yet, these men you meet were either a hapless choice or fate that it ended up sundering before even turning intimate.

They just didn't fascinated you to the point that they were worth the stupor.

Or maybe it was a past with men that was left you expecting for more despite of knowing how unrealistic you could get.

Dissatisfaction was certainly a complete foe in the world of people who gourmandized over what they believed they truly deserved which kept the society heaving for a battle of sky-high specifications that created people's impractical choices and fantasies, leaving them crestfallen from expecting others to achieve their customized normalcy.

"Cosplayer?" your anomalous, abrupt inquiry caught Gojo off-guard, bewildered for the recurring questions that were off-center from what the Jujutsu Sorcerer is used to having. Gojo lifted a finger, beaming back at you as he decided to open his loquacious mouth but was immediately cut off by your unrepressed, anxious mutterings, "---I'm late for work, where's Angie? ANGIE! I SWEAR TO GOD---!" Ceaseless worries came crashing down your cognizance over the whole interrogation, refusing to believe every word that the charismatic blindfolded man was trying to elucidate.

Charismatic? You shouldn't be thinking that way when your life was at stake. However, it felt like in that part of your brain seemed like it was trying to talk you through things that everything was fine, thinking that this unidentified male was attractive as heck, utmost equitable.

Maybe, he had you drugged up into thinking about him that way. Yeah, that was probably it.

"An-gie? Eh?" Gojo emphasized and repeated, sounding the same way as you pronounced your friend's name but adding at least a Japanese accent to it in which you've overlooked, due to your frets.

"Don't act stupid. You don't seem like a kidnapper to me or some sort. Are you one of her friends?"

How he tried his best not to breathe a word was outstanding considering his nature of personality. Satoru watched you like a hawk as you were too overwrought to listen to his dialogues. He scrutinized how you were responding, each twist and turn around the room as you were giving a run down on what Megumi's room look like.

You've noticed a painting of Hina Dolls hung upon the back of the door with a scribbling of something foreign, keeping your eyes squinted as you tried to recognize what was written on the painting.

There was no one you knew in your life who could thoroughly understand Japanese letters this deep. Unless they transitioned and actually studied Japanese. You dwelled on the thought but quickly came to a realization that you really didn't know anyone, no matter how hard you try to reminisce.

"Wait---those are Japanese letters---" Gojo immediately interrupted before you could even ask him another set of rumbled questions, deciding that you were taking too long of his time. Howbeit, deep inside---he didn't mind at all when your reactions were all amusing to him.

"Hiragana, Katakana and Kanji mixed together." he frankly admitted, "---You know how to read them?"

As a matter of fact, you didn't understand nor know how to read them.

Or was it probably just this man's supremacy which can get you barking and trapped inside a void of vacant notions?

From the moment you were popped out of your mother's womb, you knew it yourself that there was no man who could hold himself so high and poised to the point that he believed himself that he had some kind of authority over your own jurisdictions. The likelihood of your own perceptions which could actually limit your sanities. He was unfazed by the immediate pause of your breath. In all likelihood, he was aware of how you've given him a once over as he shifted to turn around his seat before coming back down.

Gojo Satoru sat on the wooden chair, prodigious as you may describe as he seated crossed leg with a slight lean of his head like he was twinkling back. Your mind gone all topsy-turvy. His impressive stature complimenting a uniform you scarcely recognize, apparent to be like an attire straight out of cosplay.

He continued to grin, patiently keeping you under his watch as you heard him chuckle beneath his breath.

Oh, this man was convinced that he knew what you were thinking which made it difficult for you to keep yourself in check.

"N-No." your voice got the best of you, earning a humiliating crack that made you curse yourself inside your mind. What the actual hell.

You could feel your entire face heating up from the shame.

"Oh?" he ignored your shame, doubtless that he was aware of it as he continued to add and be puzzled over the whole conversation, "---we've been speaking the same language since the moment you woke up,"

You avoided your eyes at that and shook your head, momentarily looking away to stare at the door.

Gojo had an eagle eye for detail---scratch that, he even had the six-eyes for goodness sake. The Jujutsu Sorcerer understood what ran inside your mind right now and for how jittery you were becoming for every second, was it from his sole, predominant presence or the apprehension that you were transported to their world without bearing snippets of the accident gave him the concept that you were planning to escape through it all.

You had no idea if it was just a hallucination of your throbbing brain, but you've certainly heard the reiteration of the door lock fastening. It only took less than a second that you knew that the man confidently seated behind you was controlling everything that surrounded you both.

The latter took heed of the unconscious twitch of your fingers that was ready to just grab onto the doorknob and jolt out of the blue, he'd taken that you were staring back at him with wide eyes open. He would've let you and make a fool out of yourself as Gojo would have found it hilarious to be honest, yet he tried to reason out everything to you first and probably let you get the gist of why you were being cross-examined by him.

"Alright, alright, Let's cut the chase," he began with a drawl, patting his pockets as he does so as if he was planning to show you something, "---care to explain these?"

Without leaving his seat, he lifted up torn pieces of paper which had a black and white illustration---like a piece of official manga that has been recklessly ripped apart, mixed with claret liquid. You assumed it was droplets of blood---was the gore from you?

You couldn't even see it from where you stood that you had to take a couple of steps closer in which Gojo didn't mind.

"Though, no doubt. I look handsome in these drawings of yours," He'd taken a pause, sighing with a grin as you've heard him gave a good gloat about saying that the person on the manga panel was him. He earned a tight furrow of your brow, eyeballing his incredulity because the man illustrated by the artist was definitely not him if you were one to judge. "You have it kept in your bloody hand the whole time you've been transported back in the Tree incident,"

He was probably crazy after all. This man before you locked the doors without even batting an eyelid---not that you could actually see his eyes---nor lift a finger.

Are you seriously being interrogated by a die-hard manga fan who takes his cosplay earnestly?

"It's...just sketches of a man who seems to be like he's talking to his friend. The others seem like he's caught off-guard or---remembering something? A past, I guess. I don't know, though." Moving your face closer to see what was drawn on the paper, you've given it a shrug of your shoulder, brushing it off like it was nothing serious. "----It's probably just a manga panel of attractive 2D fictional men?"

Gojo Satoru couldn't help but grin from ear to ear, he's not gonna lie that you got him on the first half of your sentence that his smile instantly fell the second he heard the word fictional. "That, I know---Wait, fictional? Eh? Excuse me?"

By all means, he certainly wasn't fictional when he was breathing all well that you had the power to touch, see and smell him all together.

(Let's imagine he's holding torn manga panels here and not DVD's)

He turned a deaf ear to your balderdash and pressed on about the main reason why he was keeping you locked inside the four corners of his student's room, "The question here is...what is this? why do you have this?" he brought the question again to the fore, moving the manga panel closer to your face which made you slightly lean back.

"I don't even know the context of this because it was ripped apart. They're all torn apart." you gave out tremulous sigh, continuously restless in his presence that you could feel your toes be on pins and needles. He might have a gun near him and you didn't know what kind of answer he wanted, "---also the text bubbles are completely blank," a breathless pause. "---It seems like it's an unfinished manga. Can't you just figure it out on Google?"

Gojo Satoru fell silent for the first time in forever. After all the times he was found annoying by everyone, this was the split second that he found at least just an ounce of vexation for a topic that was going nowhere.

It's like the both of you weren't connecting the dots. You were definitely not cooperating.

That, or you just have the best and intense amount of amnesia that needed time, trust and effort.

Could he bet the odds on that? A possibility that was rather risky for the life of a non-sorcerer to be involving you in this?

Keeping himself coolheaded and remaining unruffled by the turn of events, the smirk never left his face as he was engrossed in what you had to say, heating up your self-consciousness more to the point that it was probably boiling already, making you clear your throat to sound committed as possible, "If you're interested in the manga, I'm sorry. I don't remember the name of this. Maybe, it's in the pile of manga I have at home. I can check it out if you want to."

Another pause of your breath. Howbeit, this time felt like you were actually holding it for so long because this unknown guy was trying his hardest not to slam dunk your throbbing head on any furniture, perceiving how his smile seemed to be turning baleful---or maybe that's just what you wanted to comprehend to disregard the intense attraction you were feeling for him, "---Now, can I go home? I still have to open the cafe and it's like...10 am already. I'll try and give you a bunch of mine, if you want to borrow?"

It was definitely not a good time to experience Stockholm syndrome which only happens in those kind of stories that you read in Wattpad or Tumblr.

"Hold on, Hold on---but can't you see how handsome I am in this---this is me---" he egotistically proclaimed, uncrossing his solid, lengthy legs, stretching them out in front that it had you noticing that he was rather a tall guy.

You couldn't help but feel how heavy your head started to thump, making you scratch your forehead that you lately realized there were no bandages. It was like you were already healed in an instant, making everything feel as if there was something bizarre happening around. Was he serious when you heard him say that you were out unconscious for days? Then, why did you have no bandages nor are you in a hospital?

"You're cosplaying him then because I know for a fact that's certainly not you."

Gojo began to think of ways, proper ways to make you believe that the drawing you had was actually him. He lifted the torn down manga panels next to his face, exemplifying the exact comparison for you to give credence to, "It is! See?"

You've crossed your arms in front of your chest, feeling another vertigo happening that made you slightly stumble. Though, it felt like somebody had ceased you to it and you were sure it wasn't the man before you because he was just sitting still and waiting for your judgement over his exciting cosplay of the man on the paper, "You're blindfolded. He's not." you pointed on both faces, his included as well as you emphasized with a slight tremble in your voice, presumably for the days you weren't talking or to this man's noteworthy existence, "---He wears black sun glasses and you're not. Again, SUN GLASSES."

"I have this sunglasses. I swear---I do!"

Satoru began patting himself again, searching for something he wanted you to see. He wanted to scoff from how you were difficult to persuade that he should've came prepared. The Jujutsu Sorcerer didn't expect you to wake up in about three days. Shoko advised that you'd come around with an estimated number of seven days or better yet, ten.

Gojo didn't expect you to wake up when he had begun poking your cheeks and probably talked to you while you slept.

He stood from his seat, entirely towering or lofty to the point that you could be engulfed by his mere height. You stood approximately below his chest, positively teensy-weensy compared to him but not entirely to the point of a child's height, you guessed?

Or maybe a child was taller than you, though nobody needed to know that.

"You're tall as hell, like a man straight out of a magazine," That still small voice whispered in the back of your head, mouth agape as you peered right back at him, feeling utterly undersized as if you could've been compliant if he wanted or demanded to.

This man before you was slender and also as fit as a fiddle like a model that came out of the magazines.

The latter lifted a hand on his hip, the one that held onto the paper and leaned his back a little like he was chewing over what he wanted to say and how he wanted you to take on board, raising a palm over his face as he reasoned out.

"Uh, How do I explain this..."

He began to blunder, coaxing you into believing that the man on the picture is in fact, him. Gojo was verily thinking if had brought his specs, though he was aware that it was in his room. Back at the estate. Should he warp for a second to pick it up then? No. You were giving him the impression that you were nailed on running off the hills if he does so, seeing how you knew nothing about his abilities, but knew a part of his past which left him a lot to muse on because of the peculiarity of it.

"I-It's because you're probably cosplaying him then!"

Concerned? No. Overstrung was the right term for what you were feeling in the present time. This sky-scraping man was giving you the jitters with every step he took. Being guided by your intuitions had you taking a step back whenever he took a step forward as Satoru went on with his persuasion, completely oblivious that you were actually heading for the aperture.

"Y-You know what, show me your eyes!"

Out of the blue, you demanded like it was a normal thing to ask. It was, right? Getting to know the eyes of a murderer that was about to strangle you alive because he could not get whatever answer he wanted from you? But, believe it or not, the other part of you---the one that went bonkers just wanted to see his actual appearance.

Gojo considered the idea. However, he was quick to contemplate when he felt that one of his students were about to interrupt the discussion he was having with you. Maybe, some other time. He mindlessly thought to himself and brought down his hands that were almost---close enough to lift his blindfolds off for you to see.

With your back against the door and definitely not following on this unforeseen events, you were unaware on how the hatch was pulled opened by someone you could barely recognize, bumping on another person's body from behind. You've felt your back hit against his chest accidentally, the unanticipated intrusion catching you off guard as you stumbled.

You've heard the intruder grumble an incomprehensible huff of protest.

Cyclops had rapid reflexes that he was gracefully, standing straight and never appeared like he was hovering before you, trying to torment your apprehension and quick beating of your heart prior to the intervention that you both had within around the four corners of a classic, Japanese styled room.

"Ah, Megumi!" He bubbly greeted the guy you bumped with.

"It's been three days." Fushiguro Megumi, Descendant of the Zenin family and also a first year student in Tokyo Jujutsu High, deadpanned, his expressions lackadaisical and so was his tone of voice like he was done with everything. "---When can I get my room back?"

"When she decides to cooperate." His sensei pointed to you who clearly had a mouth ajar because of being absolutely disoriented.

This Megumi guy was speaking a language you definitely did not understand.

The guy wore the same uniform just as the man you first woke up to, it wasn't exactly the same but you knew it had the same vibes like they knew each other and probably worked with each other. With spiky black hair that appeared to be tough gel or it was just that gravity did not effect his mane just as how blissful cyclops had.

Who were they?

"Don't you have your own around the school other than your estate?" Megumi implored with gritted teeth, finding the whole process of getting his own things here and there in a room that was considered his from the start entirely troublesome. "---There are lots of other rooms available. Why mine?" he passively glared, complaining for the 10th time in three days, "---I've been kicked out despite of trying to recover,"

Satoru laughed at his initial response and grumbles, treating his retorts with contempt, "Is my precious student being a big-baby now?"

Megumi couldn't help but grumble another beneath his breath, disgruntlement apparent as he didn't hide it from him, his brows tightly furrowed whenever he tried talking it out with his own teacher who was always poking fun whenever he wanted to, "Also, I'm not risking mine to a woman who probably knows the past or the future," Gojo grinned, placing a palm over his chest as he casually explained, "---Besides, yours seem more comforting."

"It really isn't. You just wanted to antagonize me." he immediately answered apathetically and with no remorse, giving him an indelible glout whilst they basically ignored your presence who stood in between them, not that you were being an utter hindrance because you weren't tall enough to do so, "---Can't you have another room customized or get all your things out of your old one and make it hers? You customize everything even our uniforms."

"I was busy?" the latter gave out a chaff, rattling his student's feather further as he was enjoying how Megumi was responding.

"You don't seem like it."

Satoru gave him an awkward tee-hee, brushing off his comment with a question and probably a sudden change of topic because the first year student was starting to sound like he was trying to murder him tons of times inside his head, "How's the others doing?"

"Kugisaki's getting impatient because you're starting to stall too long,"

He brought a hand to give Fushiguro a pat to his shoulder, noticing and knowing you were going to run off the hills in about a minute or two as you thought they were caught off-guard and focused on their conversation that was unfathomable for you, "There, there. Your 'Great-o Teacher Gojo' would take only---"

You actually just didn't rush headlong into shunning beneath Gojo's raised arm and running away with such a stagnant speed?

It was hysterically funny to be frank.

Gojo Satoru, being all smiles and beguiled by your sheer folly and Megumi being shoved away by your ignorance, not even earning a stumble from his student but only an intense amount of displeasure for your unheeding nudge when he did nothing to you.

Both men were actually feeling the opposites in the midst of your hasty retreat. Satoru was entertained and Megumi was...well.

"Move away, Sea Urchin!" You shrieked and ran through the wooden corridors, seeming like there were also other rooms as well. In detail and familiarizing your way out the door, the interior design of the place was fully built in traditional woven bamboo, assembled wooden columns on top of flat foundations made of packed earth or stones. The ambience felt entirely like you were in Japan. Getting a sniff--- besides your nose being bombarded by the blindfolded man's masculine perfume---welcomed your cognizance that you were in a province. The outskirts to be precise. You've passed by rooms per rooms, thinking that probably they were keeping other people as hostages as you panicked and tried to think straight, yet it was no use because you hardly know the way out, nor could you think straight upon where the stairs were.

"Eh," Gojo murmured to himself, raising a finger to gesture as he curiously watch you take a leaden run for it, "---Another less than 5 minutes. Or probably lesser than 3,"

Well, the figure confirms that you were a slow-runner. Impossibly laggy that you were unfit for any type of sports or they were just...built different from you.

Now was the time for Fushiguro to also be confusticated over what he heard, something foreign that he somehow learned from his previous school but actually did not master at all. It sounded Eigo or English to be more specific.

"What did she say?"

Megumi's eyebrows stayed furrowed as he kept track upon how you foolishly stopped running in the middle of the hallway to freak out as to where the stairs went around Tokyo Jujutsu High. It was just around the corner and you were too agitated to realize. How bovine. Megumi thought to himself. "She called you a Sea Urchin. Hehehe." Gojo merrily informed him with the biggest grin he can ever commit, much to his student's chagrin.

Megumi's mouth frowned even further, feeling his temples twitch.

"Really, tch."

Gojo decided it was best to just take a brisk walk as you were dwelling upon where their stairs were. He was not one to use his abilities every now and then unless needed. The man actually could, endlessly and it won't even tire him out. Yet, it felt wide of the mark with your frenzied state.

Did he need to make you go sleepy-bye-bye now just so you could calm down? Satoru reflected on the idea, taking it into consideration as he began to take several steps closer to you, his olive colored home slippers sliding through the wooden floors.

"Oi, oi, oiiii, Tiny-chan." he called out, adding a bit of razzing to it just how everyone expected of him to do, "---You take a right turn, see?"

Gojo pointed out on a short distance, showing you that there was a way down the place and also a third floor as well. The mortification of your imprudent actions got the best of you. Utterly just a spur-of-the-moment which earned a piping, hot flush to your face.

You didn't even realized he was already there behind you and it has only been a second, "Weren't you just---you're fast---"

"You were panicking and you're also just slow." he truthfully announced with a smile, pointing a finger at you in a bang.

"That...guy over there," you nodded to where the Sea Urchin stood as if he was surrounded with thunder and clouds, thoroughly unimpressed by the whole situation. The scowl never scraping off his face as he stared back like he was ready to strangle you alive.

Or maybe it was just his personality? The complete opposite of who stood in front of you.

"Ah. My student? You know Megumi?"

"Your student?"

Your eyebrows were scrunched in a tight twist, finding the concept rather unusual. Hence, you began raising another query, scratching the nape of your neck. Your mouth never ceasing to babble the theories with no pauses, "I don't understand a single thing he said---" you immediately pointed at who he claimed his student and went on relentlessly, "---when I can understand you completely. It's like...yours is translated already for me as if you're an exemption to this---to this---everything! I don't live in Japan! Why am I here? unless you're a Yakuza and I've been kidnapped by the mafia!"

His consistent merriness was beginning to give you aggravation. He was beaming---always have been like everything was delightful.

"Gojo Satoru," he lightheartedly introduced himself, his name vibrating inside your ears and seeming to pass towards your brain that turned into a mush when he decided to finally present himself, that tonality---his alluring timbre that made your heart go pit-a-pat. Latterly being aware that the way he said his name had an intonation of a Japanese name, "There's an accent to it, oh----God,"

The way your fingers trembled, palms in a cold-sweat, you refused to raise your chin and glance up at Gojo who now had his hands inside his pockets. From top to bottom, you were apprehensive of the fact that something terrible actually happened to you which made you travel from your country and to Japan. You were trying your hardest to deliberate on what happened back in Chomp for Sweets, taking a trip down the memory lane, there was nothing but the concept that you were sitting on your favorite spot in the cafe as Angie was enthusiastically serving a bunch of teenagers who happened to be customers. After that, it was all a vacuum of obliterated evocations.

What exactly happened back in your country?

"My...name's Y/N, Y/L/N." It was a mere courtesy to introduce yourself. In spite of that, you were still sounding reluctant, be of the opinion that you were just building castles in the air for an odd fantasy.

You've gotten to the point of tightly closing your eyes and holding your breath just so you could wake from your peculiar dreams. Nevertheless, Satoru's staggering response took you back, making your breath hitch from how proud he sounded like he had imaginary hands patting his back for knowing who you are beforehand.

"Ah, Yep! No need to introduce yourself. I know."

Your mouth went ajar, tongue-tied for his candor, "You even got to the point of---Alright! Alright! Time-out, time-out." you gestured with your hands, creating a letter 'T', looking right through the closed windows, they were wooden frames and covered with tough, translucent white paper. The average traditional windows you could see in Japan.

This man named Gojo Satoru retrieved his hands out of his own pockets, mimicking your gestures out of curiosity, his head cocked to the side to express his perplexes.

"Yes, time-out." you turned to see him imitating the motions of your nervous hands. He was candid as he does so, his back hunched to stoop down into your level of sight in which you found satirizing. "Time-out-o?"

Was he oblivious of how his face was nearly inches close to yours? Did he not know the word personal space especially when his perfume was bombarding your senses which was catching you in a spellbind?

You had to stumble back from the sudden lack of proximity, feeling yourself shift from one weight to another and constantly glancing at the closed windows, "Cut it out! Stop being in character for whatever anime you're trying to act in, we're not in a convention center for God's sake!" you beseeched, completely in-denial of the whole weird situation going on, "---How do I pull this---I'm already late for work!"

Gojo couldn't help but sigh, bringing himself back to his towering height as he crossed his arms. He leaned against the closed windows, scrutinizing the twitch of your fingers every now and then as you tried to pry the windows open.

You had no idea that you were incompetent to do so while you were having the collywobbles. No normal person would quickly accept the fact that you were transported from your country to another and having no memories of what happened before that, you expected to remember at least the image of travelling from an airplane to another, but waking up to a blindfolded guy who downright seemed to be like a psycho by how he was handling your agitated self as cool as a cucumber, intuitively, this man was basically screwy when he could see everything despite of concealing his eyes.

"You're lying. You're lying. Please tell me we're not actually in Japan and that student you got there was just an actor,"

Satoru tugged the windows open with no trouble, making you stumble forward with your heart jumping out of your chest. He ceased you from undergoing another accident with a touch to your head, igniting a squeak of your voice as you felt yourself go forward, catching you off-guard with his unexpected touch. This guy had ample palms and lingering fingers that were balmy enough to be worth to habituate.

The unconsciousness versus your entire sanity. What welcomed you was an eye-opener. Your incomprehensible feelings merged together leaving you in a disturbance for what stood up front. Such capacity that made the evergreen miniature for the reason that the same building you were standing in also had replicas on the other side, leaving a wide amount of an open area. Cherry Blossoms and Maple Trees delineated the surroundings as a form to beautify the place.

You definitely weren't in your country.

What also stood on the bottom was a woman who wore the same color of uniform that Gojo and Megumi had, portraying to also be displeased by something as she had her arms crossed against her voluptuous chest and a frown to her face. It wasn't only her around as there was another man who was clothed the same as the Sea Urchin, the differences that they had was the hood of his own jacket, it was crimson colored with a personality that was amiable enough for people to instantly warm-up to him, the guy with the rose colored hair waved a big one towards Gojo, hearing a loud 'Sensei!' in which you clearly understood because you were fond of anime and manga back in the life you had in your country.

Sensei meant teacher. You knew that for sure.

Hearing a mocking chuckle came from the teacher that these people recognize and call him in, you couldn't help the bucket of ice fall on top of your head at the concerning idea that you were now transported in a place in Japan that you hardly discern nor heard of, "Welcome to Tokyo Jujutsu High, Tiny-Chan!"

It was probably the end of the world because no matter how much you were trying, you didn't seem to wake up from this dream you highly believe of.

Did I just finish another new chapter today? Yes. Was it long? Yes, again. Welcome to 7th Dimension, everyone! Buckle your seatbelts because I tend to give y'all smiles and laughter but in the end I tend to input angst from time to time. Heeheehee!

Tiny-Chan? Tiny Chan. *heart eyes*

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andreafmn · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Not Afraid - Chapter 2

Word Count: 4,585

Characters: Female Reader Argent Character, Original Male Argent Character, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Chris Argent, Jackson Whittemore

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Teen Wolf, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and MTV Network. The only thing I own is Argent Reader insert, her immediate family, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ storyline.

Chapter: 2/?

A/N: SOFT DEREK, SOFT DEREK!!!!! If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 2

5:00 am my phone read.

It was usual for my brain to be awake at this hour. Since before I can remember it was part of the schedule I followed, everywhere I went. It was a small thing, but the sense of normalcy was a comforting friend. It made sense to follow a routine I could have anywhere. I was out of bed and into workout clothes, ready for a quick jog around the woods.

I started off with a slow and comfortable trot before speeding up once I reached the tree-filled terrain. The smell of wet soil, the sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling, the crunching of leaves under my feet was oddly comforting. There was a strange pull that came from the heart of Beacon Hills. I had lived in many places in my short lifetime but this place was different, the atmosphere was different, the people were different. One of those people was Derek Hale, the mysterious, broody, sarcastic man that had bumped his way in.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Why are you stopping?" He asked, a small chuckle escaping his mouth.

"How did you get here? Where the hell did you come from?"

"You're not the only person who jogs in this town and this happens to be the trail I take. You know, you should work out on a trail that is closer to your house. Makes it easier to actually go back."

I looked around. Once again, I had trailed off and didn't know where I was. "Lucky for you, I have a great memory. We can finish off running and I'll instruct you back to your house."

"You know you sound like a stalker." We started to jog once again.

"How so?"

"Well, you've only been there like two or three times and you already know the way back. Creepy!"

"Oh, come on, it means that I have a very sharp memory. Unlike you who can't seem to remember what house you live in."

"Touché."

The con and occasionally laughing at something. It felt good talking to him, almost natural. There was a supernatural attraction that I felt when I was near him, an unusual need for his closeness. Our relationship came easy, as the cliché would have it, it felt like I had known him all my life.

We ran for about an hour and a half before we turned back. "I think it's time we went back. You have school in an hour."

"Whoa, take the stalking down a notch."

"Oh, come on, I went to that school before you, I think I know the schedule."

"Alright, grandpa. Let's head back. It's time for your breakfast smoothie and then some bingo."

"Very funny." He ruffled my hair whilst fake laughing.

"I try." We ran and ran until I came into view of the curb that led to the house. "Well, this is my exit. Would it be too much to ask for you to take me to school?"

"Not a problem. Meet you back here at 7:45?"

"That would be perfect." He kissed my cheek and left to run to where I believe was his house. My face turned red, and I ducked inside.

"Mom? Dad?" I entered the kitchen and noticed a note over a covered plate. "Left for work early. Eat your food and go to school." I read out loud.

I took my time getting ready for school. My bag was already packed, as was my lunch. A long shower and a slow breakfast were in store as I awaited Derek's black Camaro to roll into my driveway.

"Thanks so much for the lift. I packed you some breakfast."

"No problem and thank you." He smiled. "You know, maybe after school, I can finally give you a tour around town. So you can familiarize yourself."

"That would be wonderful." I checked my schedule. "Actually, you can pick me up an hour before school ends. I have study hall at that hour, and no one would care if I left."

"I think I can make that arrangement." He looked at me showing a perfect set of white teeth and a smile that would make anyone melt. "But wouldn't your parents know that you left school? I mean, you won't be there when they go pick you up."

"I'll just tell them Allison gave me a ride or walked home," I said thinking of more excuses I could tell my parents. Distracted by my thoughts, my hand started reaching out to the powered-off radio and I didn't notice that so did Derek's. A sharp current went up my arm as our hands make contact. We both quickly pulled away and I could feel the blood rushing to my face turning it a deep shade of red.

"Sorry, I shouldn't impose. It's your car." I spoke up, quick to start picking at the skin around my fingernails to busy my hands. Derek perceived the nervous nature of my actions and stopped my fussing by putting one of his hands over mine.

"Don't worry it's fine. Just put the radio on whatever station you like." He smiled reassuringly and I reached to the radio and just turned it on, leaving it in the last station it had been on.

"Ugh, I absolutely dread going to school. Most of it I'm gonna forget either way."

"I'd tell you to ditch but that would be shame on me, so I won't. But think about it, this day you'll only get 7 hours of school and then you can hang out with me. Best present ever."

"Yeah, don't think so highly of yourself. Maybe I'll just wander around town until I find my way home."

"Very funny." He stopped at the drop-off zone. "This is your stop."

"Thanks again for the ride, awfully kind actions from such a sour wolf" I laughed at his scowl. "I'll see you in the afternoon."

"Looking forward to it." I exited the car and he waited till I was on the sidewalk to speed off.

"Was that Derek Hale that just dropped you off?" I turned around and was met face-to-face with Scott.

"Yeah. What's the problem?" Not that it will matter.

"You shouldn't trust him, he's bad news."

"Honestly, Scott, I understand your good intentions, but I'll sort out the wrong kind on my own terms." He looked taken aback at my response, probably thinking I would not talk back.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, but he is not a person that anyone should be with." With that, he left with worry evident on his face.

I understood that he was looking out for my "well-being”, but he didn't know me and I'm pretty sure he didn't know Derek either. Maybe that's what Derek meant when I met him. Everyone thinks he is a bad person, but he hasn't done anything wrong in my eyes.

I walked over to my locker and started exchanging my books. Closely next to me I could hear Scott talking to Allison about me and Derek, and my name should be out of his mouth. Once I finished with my locker, I slammed the door and they both stopped talking, noting my close presence. I walked past them feeling their worried stares burning my back. This was going to be a hell of a year. The only thing that could get me through it was the acquaintance relationship I have with Isaac. I did text him a bit last night but mostly helping him with homework. Lord knows he needs all the help he can get.

We all stood around in gym class as Stiles and Erica climbed the rock wall. Everyone else had gone including Scott who mastered a great fall. Stiles appeared to have fun, but Erica would let out sounds of discomfort and shortness of breath as she climbed. At a point, she stopped.

"Erica, are you dizzy?" Coach said. "Is it vertigo?"

"Vertigo is the dysfunction of the vesicular system of the inner ear" Lydia stated in a mocking tone. "She's just freaking out."

"Erica!" Coach screamed.

"coach, maybe it’s not safe. you know she's epileptic." Allison stated. How does no one care?

"Wh-why does no one tell me this?!" Coach Finstock questioned annoyed. "Erica, just fall back, there's a mat that will catch you."

She slowly let go of the wall and made her descent. No one seemed to care that the poor girl was shaken to the core; they all laughed.

When class was over everyone headed to their respective locker rooms to change. Something inside me kept pulling me back to the gym, so I walked back as I put on my shirt. As I opened the doors, I saw Erica fall from the wall and luckily into Scott's arms. He slowly put her on the floor as the class ran in behind us.

"Put her on her side," I stated.

"How did you know?" Allison whispered to Scott.

"I just felt it." He whispered back.

After Erica had calmed, the coach called an ambulance to take her to be checked at the hospital and the day went by normally. I was currently in my "last" period. Tapping my nails in a rhythmic pattern waiting for the stupid bell to ring. Only 5 more minutes and I would be out of here. This was the first time I had done something like this. I always stick by the rules and make sure to follow all of them. My heart was racing, and my palms were sweating. In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Cue the bell. I grabbed all my things and stuffed them in my bag. I used to my advantage the fact that everyone was piled in the hallway and headed outside. Waiting for me was Derek in his black Camaro. Suddenly my heart steadied its pace and I felt relaxed.

"Hey there, rebel." He smirked at me as I entered the car and buckled my seatbelt.

"Don't make small talk. Just go." I said whilst trying to hide by burrowing in the seat. If I could I would have jumped into the trunk to avoid any hidden stares from authority figures.

"Don't tell me you've never done this before." I shook my head no and felt my face growing warmer by the second. "Aw, you're so innocent. For a big mouth that is." I slapped his arm as hard as I could.

"Don't be rude." I crossed my arms, slouched down, and pouted. He looked over at me and laughed. That made me slouch farther down.

"Oh, come on. Don't get mad." He ruffled my hair and laughed once again when I swatted his hand away. "Yeesh, feisty."

"So, where's our first pit stop?" I asked whilst looking out the window not wanting to look at his face.

"A small diner I know. Wouldn't want you to starve." He smirked. "Might make you angrier."

"I am not angry, just annoyed."

"Got some feelings hurt?" He said laughing.

"Derek, don't be rude. You will regret it."

"Oh, what could you do?"

"Is that a challenge?" He didn't answer, just laughed. I rolled down the window and stuck my head out. "HELP!! This man is kidnapping me!! HELP!! Bloody he...!"

My sentence was cut short by Derek's hand pulling me down by my jacket and onto the seat again.

"Why did you do that?" I asked innocently. I had caused the faces of a few people on the street to look at the car in horror.

"You know why! That was totally uncalled for."

"I told you that being rude was something you would regret. I'm not one to say this a lot but, I told you so."

He tried his best to keep a tight scowl on his face but in a matter of seconds, we were laughing at my past actions.

"Whatever, we're here." He turned off the car and went to the passenger side to open the door for me.

"Why thank you," I said and took his extended hand to pull my weight up.

"No problem." I smiled at his goofy courtesy but as we walked inside the establishment I could feel my heart beating faster by the second. "Table for two." Derek pointed at a booth made for two people exactly. Once we had sat down a lady maybe in her late thirties approached us to take our order.

"What do you want to order today, darlings?" She gave us a warm smile as she waited for our response.

"I'll have the bacon cheeseburger with some onion rings, a stack of pancakes, and some chicken fillets, a Diet Coke, and afterward some pie, please."

"Would you like the kitchen sink with that?" I said in shock. "I think I'll just get the, ummmm, bacon cheeseburger also with some onion rings and an iced tea. Maybe add some pie afterward too."

The lady laughed a bit, nodded, and smiled at us as she turned to the kitchen to put out our order.

"So, someone's a bit hungry. Huh, sour wolf?" I chuckled.

"Why do you call me that?" He said somewhat annoyed.

"I don't know. It just fits you."

"How?"

"Cause you're very sour and you kind of look like a wolf. Hairy face and crazy hair. I don't know how to explain it. It's just a nickname, though. If it makes you mad I can just call you something else."

"I'm not mad. Just wondering." He slouched on the seat looking less tense. "How is it that I'm usually so bad with meeting people yet with you, I just clicked?"

"I don't know. I'm just special that way."

"Very funny."

"I know! I could take up a career in comedy." He chuckled as he threw a sugar packet at me. "So, since we are getting to know each other we should know basic things about one another. Let me start. What's your favorite color?"

"Maybe black or blue. What about you?"

"Totally red and black." The waitress came with our drinks. I took a sip of my iced tea and continued with the questions. "Favorite place to be?"

"That house in the woods where we met." I gave him a weird look.

"Why there? It barely stands with a foundation. What could possibly be there?"

"It's the house I used to live in before it burnt down. My family was in there." I choked on my drink when he said this.

"Oh my gosh, Derek. I'm so sorry I brought it up. We can drop the topic."

"Don't worry about it. It happened such a long time ago it's sometimes relieving talking about it." After there was an awkward silence, so Derek cleared his throat and asked a question. "Um, and what's your favorite place to be?"

"I'm not sure. Usually, I like places more because of the people I'm with. But if I had to choose probably the woods, it's the calmest place I know. The only place where you can actually be free."

"Wow, Ms. Argent. So poetic. It touched me." He pointed at his heart. "Right here."

"Very funny, now, favorite sport?" And the game went on even when our food served. Whilst eating we kept asking each other questions and getting to know each other profoundly. This has been the first time I had ever opened up to someone. It felt strange. Letting someone know small details about yourself. Making yourself vulnerable to them. Showing them how they could break you. But this was different. I felt like I was just becoming closer to him.

"We should do that someday. I mean the thought of just leaving for a whole day, not knowing where you are going, just finding an adventure."

"Definitely. You decide when the first time." I smiled at him.

"That's a deal." He looked down at his watch. "I think it's time I take you home. Don't want your parents to worry."

"Alright. Let's go." I grabbed my bag and was about to pay my part of the check, but he wouldn't let me. He grabbed the money I left and paid completely. "I don't understand the need of being such a gentleman if this wasn't a date. Just two people hanging out."

"So, this wasn't a date?"

"You thought it was?" I thought about it. "What do you classify a date per se?"

"An outing in which two people go out and get to know each other a little bit more." What he said made sense. It had never dawned on me that this could have been anything other than just a casual outing, but not being too well versed in normal social encounters, let alone dating encounters.

"Alright, you win. I have officially gone on my first date."

"No way. This could not have been your first date." When he saw the serious look on my face, he stopped chuckling. "I'm so sorry you had to have given you such a crappy first date. I promise I'll make up for it one day."

"Deal." We even shook on it. "Now let's get going before my parents know I'm late."

During the drive back, he pointed out different key places I should know when going around Beacon Hills as well as easier routes to these places. Although I was heavily grateful for all the useful tips, my brain could hardly remember the first route he showed me.

When we got to my house, I noticed that my father's car was not in there. I guess they haven't arrived yet. I said goodbye to Derek and entered the house, thanking him for a lovely afternoon. I changed into workout attire and, deciding to stay home, went to the basement and started working out. After half an hour of running and half an hour of physical training, I decided it was enough and went to take a shower. I noticed that my parents weren't home yet.

"I wonder what's holding them back?" After my shower, I continued my current read of Pride and Prejudice. But something was bothering me, a thought that wouldn't leave my head.

I'm leaving once the year is over. Getting close to Derek will fuck me up once I leave. I've never had to say goodbye to anyone. I can't start now. I'll need to start avoiding him. Don't know how, but I must try.

I went downstairs to get a glass of water when I heard a knock on the door. It was Uncle Chris.

"Hey, Uncle Chris. What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for your father. Is he here?"

"No, I haven't seen him. I got here and neither mom nor dad was here. Is something wrong?"

"No. Just couldn't reach his cell. I'm sure he's fine. Have a good night, sweetheart." He kissed my forehead and left. I started to worry. What if something had happened?

So, I decided to call him. Fortunately, he picked up.

"Dad, where are you?"

"Oh, honey, I forgot to tell you. Your mom and I will be out for the rest of the week. We left some money on the first drawer of the right side of the kitchen island and if you want you can stay with your uncle."

"But Uncle Chris came by and he didn't know where you were. Does he know you left?"

"Oh, I forgot to call him. I'll do that right now. Goodnight, munchkin, go to sleep."

"Goodnight, dad. Love you."

"Love you too." I hung up the phone and went upstairs completely forgetting about the glass of water I went to drink.

My phone buzzed and I looked at the caller ID signaling that Isaac was calling.

"Hey, Isaac."

"Hey, (Y/N). Um, do you think you can pick me up?" Isaac said in between short pants.

"Sure, where are you?" I asked. He told me where he was, and I took the keys to my mother's car to look for Isaac. He looked scared and frantic when I neared the spot, he told me about. His physique also looked different. Usually, he would walk cowering but now he stood tall and seemed a bit more buff. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just, um, do you think I could stay with you tonight?"

"I guess." I started driving to my house. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, totally. Just tired." I took the hint. He didn't want to talk, and I wasn't going to press on.

At my house, I arranged the guest room and got him spare clothes to change into. He thanked me and left for the bathroom. Something was wrong. But what?

***

Three days had passed.

Three days that I had stayed in my house for my daily workout.

Three days that my phone had been buzzing with messages from Derek asking where I was.

Because three nights before I had decided to avoid Derek at all costs.

The only way to leave it all behind is if you don't associate yourself with anyone. That way you won't feel any remorse or pain once you disappear. One time when I left was when I was approximately six or seven years old, and I had to say goodbye to Allison since we were sharing a room at that time. The second time was when I had to leave Josie. After that, I started familiarizing myself with the feeling of loneliness. It wasn't that bad once you remembered the fact that you would always see your parents when you got home, and everything would be better. Although, these days I had housed Isaac in my house, rare was the occasion that we interacted other than doing homework. Isaac would come home late in the night and quickly went to sleep. But, he stayed in my spare room for two nights and told me he had found a place to stay. He left thanking me for my hospitality.

When I finished my workout, I ran upstairs and took a shower. I changed from my stinky workout clothes to a plain white shirt and black jeans, obviously paired with my leather jacket. Once dressed I went downstairs and grabbed some cash to buy myself a muffin and a big coffee. Finally, I found the keys to my beautiful matte black Harley Fat Bob. My father had gotten me this motorcycle about two years back when he noticed I just kept crashing cars. The only thing I never crashed was his motorcycle and because he was worried I would, he bought me my own. I tend to wreck a lot of stuff. It's not intentional, I'm just clumsy at times.

I opened the door to the garage and noticed it sitting in a corner covered by a blanket. Once I took it off, I smiled. I passed my hand over the beautiful color, the smooth surface, the cold metal. It all felt familiar. A part of me. I grabbed my helmet and got on it. Once I sat my body felt relaxed, at ease. A spark of adrenaline was shot through my body when the engine came to life.

I backed up from the garage and went to the local café store. While waiting to pick up my order I noticed Derek walking in with his jogging clothes on. He still hasn't noticed me, too busy looking at the menu. When my name was called, he looked at me and called my name, but I ran out of the café with my order ignoring him.

When I got to the school everyone was staring at me. The new chick was now badass. I walked in with my backpack slung over my shoulder easing towards my locker.

"Hey there, gorgeous." I closed the locker door to see Jackson standing next to me. I rolled my eyes.

"Hi, Jackson. What do you want?"

"I was just wondering when you were free."

"Oh, well from tomorrow to never gonna happen. Get down from the cloud, buddy."

"Oh, come on, we both know you want some of this." He motioned over his body.

"Get over yourself." I scoffed.

"Babe, it doesn't hurt to try."

"I believe she's not interested, Jackson." A strawberry blonde girl appeared. Her confidence struck me like lightning, a very apparent aura of dominance radiating from within her.

"Why don't you mind your own business, Lydia. I'm talking to her, not you. You've already ruined everything else."

"Well, I think she has no business with you so why don't you scram?" With a huff and a puff, Jackson finally gave in and I turned to greet my hero, who was surprisingly accompanied by Allison.

"Thank you, so much. He wouldn't take no for an answer."

"No problem. I'm Lydia, but you knew that."

"(Y/N). Argent." She motioned between Allison and me. "Cousins."

"Pleasure." Then the bell rang. "Guess I have a new best friend, (Y/N)." You guessed wrong.

I entered Mr. Harris' classroom and sat down next to Isaac and as usual Mr. Chatty Pants tried to hold a conversation from the table behind us. Seriously, how much can someone talk? I took out my notebook and started writing down everything the teacher was saying is the homework on the board. Stiles had finally gotten the hint and didn't talk to me the whole class. That was a relief. Maybe it was due to the fact he was too focused on the strawberry blonde who had saved my ass from Jackson.

The day went on quite smoothly except at lunch. It wasn't the same Erica that had fallen from the rock-climbing wall. She completely changed; a more confident walk, she was wearing makeup and tight-fitted clothing, and her hair was perfectly styled. She left the lunchroom after taking a bite off an apple seductively and Scott and Stiles followed, as did I. Curiosity had taken the best of me as to this overnight transformation.

She opened the front doors to the school and there he was. Derek Hale in his black Camaro with the biggest smirk on his face staring at Scott. When he directed his sight to me his smirk kind of fell but was brought up quickly. During that Erica had gotten inside the car and they left, together. I don't know why I was jealous because he meant nothing to me, but it broke my heart. I got nervous. I think Scott noticed because he looked at me worried.

"Are you okay, (Y/N)?" I nodded rapidly and out of breath. I had no idea what was happening.

"I think you're having a panic attack." Stiles pointed out handing me an inhaler.

"I used to have panic attacks, too." I inhaled a pump and my breathing seemed to normalize. "You okay now?"

"Yeah. Thanks." I handed him the inhaler.

"No, keep it. I don't need it anymore." I said a low thanks and walked back to school to head to my next class.

I felt extremely weird the rest of the day. Why did I feel that way when I saw Erica and Derek together? It wasn't like anything was going on between us. Also, he's far too old for me. Or maybe I'm too young. I don't know. But I couldn't shake off that sour taste of jealousy that the image of them left.

I knew I wanted to stay as far away as I could from hin but at this moment there was nothing more that I wanted than to be close to him.

Tag: @lokisgoddesofpower

<- Previous

A/N: Please check out my last post about the fandoms I’ll be writing for.

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doctorbunny · 3 years ago

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MILGRAM theory time: Haruka!

This isn't going to go super in depth (famous last words) but there's a few heavily debated parts of Haruka's MV I want to share my findings/thoughts on because I think this is my new special interest and during my quest to get best boy's song to 1 million views I have been looking over his first MV with a fine tooth comb so to speak.

Disclaimer: As the Jackalope said in the "This is the MILGRAM" trailer, we don't necessarily know everyone's crime from just the first video, its possible that a lot of things will be re-contextualized in the second MV, however I am not psychic or bilingual and thus will only be working with content released before August 20th 2021 and translated into English (which could cause some language/cultural details to be lost on me as translation is not a 1 to 1 process).

TW for discussions of ableism, child abuse, murder and animal death. Also this is really long so sorry to all the people that follow me for non-MILGRAM stuff

Firstly, I want to start on the topic of Haruka as a person. He is disabled. He does not have 'the mind of a child' (although he is 17, making him legally a minor in both North America and Japan). He is not just 'child-like'. And he is not mentally ill (well he might be, in the sense that many disabilities like Haruka's have strong comorbidities [where a person has two or more conditions but neither directly causes the other] with anxiety, depression and PTSD, but usually when I see people talk about him 'struggling with mental illness' they go on to refer to aspects of his disability). Sometimes on tumblr, people like myself, will see canonical traits written into a character and identify them as being traits associated with our disabilities/mental illness and headcanon them as such. Sometimes this even involves saying things like "It's basically canon!" Although we understand that these characters were probably not the result of a writer intending to write a disabled person. When I say that Haruka is being written as a person with a neurodevelopmental disability, I mean the writer intended to write a disabled character and wrote them in a way that they wanted the audience to pick up on. As an autistic person (which is one of many neurodevelopmental disorders and also something I probably didn't have to specify because who else would be writing an essay about a series they got into a few days ago at 11 o'clock at night) I really like how Haruka has been written so far. There's definitely some parts of him that have been exaggerated so abled normies can pick up on his disability (namely how his MV 's main motif is really child-like drawings) but the writers also included a lot of smaller details I appreciate like how it is noted he avoids eye contact when talking to other people and is depicted as nervously pulling at his sleeves in official artwork, or how he says he finds his prison uniform (which has tight straps) 'relaxing' and when he gets nervous/tense, he will dig his fingernails into the palm of his hands. (These last two potential being examples of 'self stimulation' [aka stimming] where a person seeks out specific sensory stimuli in order to help regulate their nervous system/emotions, in this case the tight uniform creates a comforting, secure feeling [you may have heard about some people preferring to sleep under weighted blankets for this reason] and digging nails into his palms sounds uncomfortable/painful but is done in an attempt to deal with a greater sensory discomfort caused by the situation/environment) I also appreciate the depth he is written with, he struggles to communicate verbally but in his MV and interactions with other inmates is shown to have insecurities, opinions and a consistent thought process (this is all basic character stuff but unfortunately not always present in disabled characters)

Also I want to add that (in terms of what we've been shown so far) Haruka did not kill anyone because of his disability/mental illness. Disabled people are not inherently more innocent than abled people. But there is no disability/mental illness where a symptom is that you kill people and real people have to live with the stigma when you speak carelessly and suggest things like "Haruka is the kind of mentally ill person who kills people as a cry for help" 🧂 (or at the very least real people have to read BS like that and cringe). TL;DR Haruka is less child-like and more onion-like (as in, he has layers) 🧅🧅🧅

Now is the actual theory stuff, oops:

Every prisoner in MILGRAM is supposed to have committed murder in some way, obviously considering Yuno just had an abortion (which i personally do not consider an act of murder) whilst Mu literally stabbed someone to death, this definition is stretched a bit. But it is not agreed upon yet who Haruka killed/how many people he killed or why he killed.

In his MV he is shown to have chased after his dog into a forest, seen something off-screen, then beaten something into a messy pulp with a rock. Some people think the dog is a red herring and that Haruka actually killed his mother/the girl from the fireworks show/his brother. I do not agree.

First: I believe Haruka when he says he doesn't have a brother. The MV literally starts by Haruka looking in the mirror and then switching between the him now

and a really similar looking younger child who just so happened to be a key feature of his memories (I don't have the vocabulary to explain it but its like cinematic parallels that establish this is the same person at different points of their life)

Its not impossible that this is Haruka's secret younger brother, but i think its unlikely. I saw someone saying they had to be different people because Haruka looks less happy than the child but like, most 17 year olds are less visibly happy than when they were 7 (or however old the child is meant to be). Life happens.

So when Haruka is shown pushing the child around and eventually strangling him, this isn't meant to be literal (homicide or suicide), but a representation of how conflicted Haruka feels about his younger self, who may have committed the murder (if you've ever been kept awake cringing at memories of something you said in the past and wishing you could go slap some sense into your former self, this is like that but 10 times more self loathing). The lyric "I am always repeating yesterday," implies he might think about this specific past event a lot.

Moving on, its pretty well accepted that Haruka's parents were abusive in some way and Haruka internalised a lot of it: he constantly apologises, he says in his interrogation questions that his one wish come true is that "[he] want[s] to be loved" and describes in his MV how when he couldn't find the words he was looking for ("you're unfair") one of his parents "would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless.”". He seems to know its unfair but also still says he 'loves' his family, possibly mistakenly believing it is his fault, but also showing an awareness of his situation (and how his parents might behave).

Now, the MV is stylised in a way that makes certain details unclear, but there is one clear detail showing that Haruka's dog was killed

This is the first close up of Haruka and the dog. Haruka's mother is just out of frame supervising, but they look pretty happy. Notice how the puppy has a silvery chain for a collar. Somehow, this dog gets out of the house but only Haruka is shown chasing after it (whether his mother was searching elsewhere or didn't bother following her disabled son into the forest is unclear). Either way, young Haruka is now in the forest, unsupervised.

By the time he finds the dog, there is already blood, suggesting it was initally attacked by something else.

is this a sigh of relief from a boy whose finally found his beloved pet or a jealous weakling glad that nature took its course and he is finally free of that meddling mutt stealing all his mummy's attention? /j

I think this shock at the discovery that 'there is blood on his hands' could imply that rather than literally getting the blood from his dog, Haruka has seen his already injured dog and realises that if the dog got out because of him (he is previously shown to be aware his parents seem to blame him for everything) then he is the reason his dog is injured/dying and will be blamed for it. (this scene plays over the lyrics "It’s fine, though it’s really not It’s really fine, though I don’t really think so When I tried to understand it, You’ll make that disappointed face again" suggesting he is trying to avoid making his parents disappointed and letting the family pet escape into danger is something that could make them very disappointed)

now we get into rock murder (this is present-day Haruka implying that this is either: not how the scene really played out; the writers really wanting the audience to know that this was Haruka's doing and not someone else's; or this turns into a separate incident that happened much later [although note that the red sky and blue moon is the same as when young Haruka first appears at the start])

b the corpse is beyond mangled now, but its clearly the dog because the silver chain collar is still there, to the right of the body. (circled in red for your convenience :3)

My hypothesis is: Haruka didn't set out to kill his dog, but upon finding it injured (we don't know the severity aside from bleeding and also it not being able to run away from Haruka kneeling down above it w/ a big rock so it could range from treatable with a lot of vet help to already on death's door, TBH I don't think Haruka would know the difference) He knew he'd be blamed for this; made into a villain who let the poor puppy come to harm. He panicked and killed the dog out of some idea that it would make him the victim here (since he'd be found crying over a dog corpse, which might make a parent go comfort him rather than getting angry about what could've happened to the dog). This is over the lyrics: "I cried, I screamed I wanted to be a pitied and loved weakling I was in denial, I was in denial I just had to make sure I’ve become a victim, I’ve become a victim" (there's another theory that he was also jealous of the dog, which could work here too, since this is not some calculated plot; rather its a rash decision) This ties in with his Japanese song title (translated as Weakness) which is a play on a phrase sort of like "The strong eat, the weak do not" to become "The weak are eaten by society" or "The weak eat each other to survive" [once again I am reminding everyone this is based on second hand information from the youtube comments section (from users mitchki and Alphaistic) because I do not speak Japanese] This second meaning (The weak eat each other to survive) makes sense under the reading that Haruka killed his dog in order to 'survive' making his parents disappointed for the dog escaping.

Miscellaneous points:

We don't know where Haruka's necklace came from yet, it must be a gift since the most expensive thing he's ever bought was cotton candy. The younger child in the video isn't wearing it and neither is his mother or the girl in the purple dress.

Haruka's home seems quite big, at the start we can see a large flower garden outside the window and there's a forest in walking distance. This might suggest his family is quite wealthy

Haruka probably did go to school at some point as homeschooling is not a legally accepted as an alternative to public schools in Japan. (However it is estimated that up to 5000 families homeschool, this is uncommon) A lot (about 62%) of Japanese schools apparently have a 'special needs' classes and there are about 505 schools focused on educating intellectually disabled students (although I do not know which sort Haruka would've needed as whilst intellectual and development disabilities can be comorbid they aren't the same). Now, if children aged 7-14 don't go to school, their parents receive a fine, but its possible that if Haruka's parents are wealthy, they just paid it to avoid sending him to school. (This might imply they wanted to hide him or were generally ashamed of him in some way) However high school education (for students over 14) is not legally required and its likely that even if Haruka went to elementary/middle school, he hasn't been around people his own age in at least 3 years. As he seems quite lonely and glad that the other prisoners give him attention.

I don't think Haruka's parents are divorced and if they are, its not his father who left. Haruka mentions in the 30 questions that he thinks he disappointed his father. But still includes him as part of his family ("My father and mother and me"). A theory I've seen is that his father was disappointed by his son being disabled and left. but developmental disabilities (especially in non verbal and semi verbal children like Haruka) can be diagnosed before the age of 3, so I feel it is unlikely that Haruka would bring up his father if he left that early in Haruka's life

All MILGRAM prisoners have covered one of DECO*27's older vocaloid songs (DECO*27 is a well known producer who composes the music for MILGRAM) Haruka covered 'Two Breaths Walking' (https://youtu.be/puXLfVWrz2Q) which is about a boy's first relationship and how his mother's jealousy set him up for failure as the relationship becomes toxic (specifically it has some very funny out of context lines like "Whose breasts are you sucking on now?") so yeah, mommy issues: the song (Also: some people say in the song, the boy kills the girl at the end, but this isn't literal, TBW is the first of a trilogy of songs about the same relationship, it is followed by Android girl then Two Breaths Walking: Reloaded and the story resolves with the couple reuniting as adults and getting in the relationship again, although its not necessarily as abusive as before, its still implied to be codependant ending on the line 'We should live like oxygen tanks, sucking breathe from the words each of us exhale, until our last breathe')

In all seriousness, the scene where younger Haruka is walking through the city with his mother but it keeps repeating until older Haruka pulls the younger one away might indicate an attempt to focus the happier memories of his parents (since this is also over the lyrics "Why is it breaking? Tell me why? Please don’t change If I tried and couldn’t say it, You would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless.”" which depict a worse scene) I think both his parents are still physically present but have become far more emotionally distant, not giving him as much attention, which exacerbates his loneliness from not having any friends his own age to talk to

And if one of his parents did leave? I think its likely his mother since she is shown disappearing out of his reach after the dog-incident (inferring she got angry/disappointed in Haruka anyway) This could also be where he got his necklace from: Its something his mother used to wear (although this is 100% a guess) and that's why its shown to be important to him

This one is just me, but i didn't realise until a rewatch that when Haruka is watching the younger him and the girl running together, the background has fireworks. Haruka mentions fireworks being a key memory to him so I wonder if this was one of the first/last times he got to make a friend...

On three separate occasions in the interrogation, Haruka mentions not liking animals. Despite this, he is depicted as sleeping with a rabbit plush and on his birthday art (I'd include that too but tumblr only allows 10 pictures per post, so here's a link) he is standing next to a giant blueberry and strawberry cake with two bunny themed biscuits at the side. Through my experiences of seeing Japanese fandom art on pixiv, sometimes rabbits are used to insinuate a character is cute and timid in fanart.

Meaningless details: Haruka sleeps with his necklace on; he sleeps on a bed and not a futon; at first I thought he woke up holding his plush's hand but his hand is merely next to the toy; and considering the state of the pillow and blanket, I wonder if he moves a lot in his sleep or if the is just because in this case he seems to be waking up from a nightmare about the dog incident...

Final note: I've spent so many hours writing this I don't remember if i was building up to any big finale or not but I hope you enjoyed reading this! Feel free to add on in the comments/reblogs.

#haruka sakurai #milgram #milgram theory #001 #text post #essay #long post

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gingeralepdf · 4 years ago

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Walk On By - Part 1

shoutout to @harrylefleur for this^ amazing edit!! thanks again for letting me use it, it’s perfect!!

A/N: hello!! i’ve been slowly cooking up this 70s dealer!harry au (also known as shroomrry) fic ever since the first italy pics surfaced. i had a lot of fun writing this, so i hope you have fun reading it! another massive thank you to brailey @daydreamsofh for yelling about shroomrry with me since the very first rough draft. your encouragement and support means so much to me!! ily <3

****DISCLAIMER/WARNING: This fic includes scenes in which characters purchase and consume recreational drugs (psilocybin mushrooms) as well as purchase and consume alcohol. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, please do not feel pressured to read or interact with this fic. And do not consume if you are underage.****

You’re simply buying magic mushrooms from Harry. However, if you keep running into each other, is it going to stay that simple?

word count: ~5k

🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄🌈

**August 30th, 1977, Inglewood, California**

The evening sun beats down on you as soon as you step off the bus. You walk away from the door before reaching for the sunglasses hanging from the collar of your shirt and slip them onto your face before wiping the small beads of sweat from your brow.

“Stuffiest bus ride of my life.” Your roommate and partner in crime, Jenny, walks over to your side. She leans her head back and groans toward the sky, as if to broadcast her misery to anyone that will listen.

“Really? I thought it was a five star experience,” you reply flatly.

Jenny scoffs and looks at you in disgust before shoving your shoulder. “What bus were you on then?”

Your laughs quickly turn into blissful sighs of relief when a breeze picks up. A brief intermission from the heat and residual stickiness on your skin from the crowded bus ride.

“You’ve still got the tickets and the money, right?” Jenny asks.

“Yep.” You pat your purse. “You’ve still got that guy’s license plate number, right?”

Jenny reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, “Yep.”

**********************************

The sign outside of the Forum looms over your heads as you enter the parking lot. The large black letters on the sign simply read ‘FLEETWOOD MAC. NIGHT TWO. SOLD OUT’. Even more gigantic is the Forum itself. You’ve been to a couple of shows at this venue before today, but you still can’t get over just how massive it is. It makes you feel so small even when you’re standing one hundred feet away from it.

Your mind begins to buzz with excitement and anticipation knowing that you’ll soon be inside seeing possibly one of the most in-demand shows of the year. It’s incredibly lucky that you were able to score these tickets anyway. Having a job at a radio station definitely has its perks.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Jenny’s nudging elbow. She holds the paper that has the numbers and letters of a license plate number scrawled on it in front of both of you.

“He drives a blue Pontiac Tempest. He said he was gonna try to park in the third row,” she says.

Both of you look at the paper for a minute, trying to commit the number to memory before setting out to comb the parking lot in search of this mystery man.

With all the other people milling around and gathering in the line outside of the venue, you wonder how many of these people are on a similar mission as you and your friend.

You turn to Jenny, “Do you know what this Harry guy looks like?”

“Uh,” Jenny draws out before pulling her gaze from the line of cars beside her. “My cousin Kathryn said he’s white,” she begins listing things off on her fingers, “has brown hair, has a lot of tattoos, and he’s British,” she looks at you and wiggles her eyebrows.

Jenny laughs when you roll your eyes, “Oh my god I know he’s British. You’ve been going on and on about how he sounded on the phone.” You walk a few more paces before asking, “How does she know him again?”

“They work together at the record store. You probably would have already met him if you weren’t so pretentious about where you buy your records.”

You switch from scanning over license plates to squinting at Jenny, “I’m not pretentious, the owner of that place is just an asshole.”

“You say that about nearly every record store owner.”

“Only the ones that are fifty year old men who constantly degrade female customers’ music tastes.”

Jenny sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. Most of them are assholes.”

“Hey, maybe with your business degree you can be the first record store owner that’s not an asshole.”

She smiles at you and taps her temple with her index finger. “That’s not a bad idea.” Her eyes flit over your shoulder. She stops abruptly and grabs your arm, “Oh-- hey, I think that’s him right there.”

You turn to follow her gaze. Immediately you spot the blue car. You both take another look at the note in Jenny’s hand. Sure enough, the license plate on the car in front of you is a perfect match.

So this is Harry. He has his head down and his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration just beneath the frames of his yellow sunglasses. There’s a pencil behind his right ear and his left elbow is resting on the door frame, sticking out of his rolled down window, while his fingers are mindlessly fiddling with his neat mustache. On that same arm, you see scattered tattoos that begin at his wrist and run all the way up into the sleeve of his green and white striped t-shirt. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting of this man, but you can’t help but be struck by how handsome he is. The low hanging sun is casting golden light through his back window, shining through the ends of his brown tousled hair.

The pressure of a hand on your back pushing you forward causes you to whip around.

“Could you go talk to him?” Jenny asks softly.

You give her a ‘what are you talking about?’ look, “You’ve already spoken to him on the phone, Jen, he doesn’t know me.”

“I mentioned you,” she pleads. “Ugh I know I talked to him on the phone but now that I see him in person I’m too nervous.”

You take another look at Harry and look back to Jenny. “Okay, come on.”

As you get closer to his car with Jenny trailing behind you, you begin to hear the music blasting from his radio. Hearing the chorus of “Dancing Queen” somehow makes this situation a touch less intimidating.

You take your sunglasses off your face and hang them from the collar of your shirt. You clear your throat once you feel like you’re close enough, hoping this would catch his attention. When he doesn’t move, you open your mouth only to realize that you have no idea what you want to say.

“Um,” you hesitantly mumble to yourself as you reach up and knock on the top frame of his window.

He slightly jumps and pulls his arm into the car in response. He mutters a ‘fucks sake’ before quickly turning his head to you, his eyebrows now creased in aggravation.

You jerk your hand back to your side. You’re not sure if it’s the pressure of having to do the talking or his intense stare, but you suddenly can't seem to string a full sentence together.

“Hi. Sorry. I, er--, we... um. We were supposed to--”

Harry looks past you to glance at Jenny and his face softens. He reaches over to turn the radio down before pointing his finger between the two of you, “Kathryn’s friends?”

“Yes,” you sigh in relief.

He nods, brushes a few stray hairs from his forehead and tilts his head toward the passenger seat. “Yeah, come on in.”

Hearing his soft British accent is a lot more endearing than Jenny’s annoying impressions of what he sounded like on the phone.

Jenny follows you around to the passenger side door and you pull on the handle.

When it doesn’t open, you reach through the window for the lock. You freeze when Harry’s hand meets yours. You lower your head slightly to look through the window and see him leaned over, still staring at your hands that are both grabbing the lever. He looks up at you and slightly shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he pulls his hand away and reaches to lean the passenger seat forward.

You open the door and gesture for Jenny to climb in first. After you get in and close the door behind you, you plop down in the back seat next to Jenny, who’s sitting behind Harry. You do your best to hold back a hiss when the heat from the light blue leather seats burns through your trousers and the back of your thin t-shirt.

The car smells fresh and is very tidy aside from a few crushed gum packages on the floorboard. Two little tree air fresheners hang from his rearview mirror, swaying in the slight breeze. You peep down to his dashboard and smile.

“I like your stickers,” you blurt out, pointing to the smiley face sticker and the strawberry sticker above the volume and tuning dials on his radio. Mostly, you’re trying to make amends for startling him a second ago, but you’re also trying to dispel some of your nerves that are still fluttering around in your stomach. The mental image of him peeling stickers from a sheet and putting them on there himself seems to be helping a little bit.

“Thanks.” He cracks a smile over his shoulder. You catch a glimpse of a dimple indenting his cheek. You visibly relax your shoulders upon seeing a change in his demeanor. “Would you mind reminding me of your names?” He asks, taking a glance at his rearview mirror.

You both introduce yourselves.

“So it was you that I spoke with on the phone last week?” he asks, turning in his seat and looking at Jenny.

“Yeah, that was me,” she grins.

“Right,” he huffs. “So I know what you’re both really here for but,” he trails off as he reaches into his lap and holds up a folded newspaper, displaying the daily crossword puzzle. “Are either of you any good at these?” He shakes his head, “I’ve got like... three left and it’s driving me crazy.”

Jenny hums as she takes the paper from Harry’s hand and holds it up between you. Coincidentally, Jenny happens to be very good at these puzzles, often taking this same section out of the paper every day.

She puts her finger up to the page and begins counting the boxes in one of the columns. “Fourteen down is ‘questionnaire’.”

As you skim over the page, you catch an error that could be hanging him up. “And seven across is misspelled. ‘Memento’ should start with M- E- instead of M- O-.”

Both of you look back up at Harry and Jenny hands the paper back.

In the same motion he takes the paper from Jenny and takes the pencil from behind his ear. He sets the paper on his center console and brings his bottom lip between his teeth as he erases and fills in the boxes on the puzzle.

You and Jenny exchange a private laugh. If anyone had asked the both of you to predict how this interaction was going to go, this would not be part of it.

“Well. Thanks. It probably would have taken me forever to get those.” He tosses the paper and pencil on the floorboard in front of the passenger seat and uses his finger to push his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Now, do you have cash with you?”

The shift in his tone catches you off guard, the friendly lilt in his voice being replaced by one more quiet and flat.

Jenny looks over at you.

“Oh yeah, sorry.” You pull four ten dollar bills from your purse and hand them to Harry.

He fans them out before folding them twice and putting them in his pocket. He opens his console. There’s some shuffling before he closes it again and carefully passes you two small envelopes. “Should be one gram in each of those.”

You lean forward in an attempt to shield your actions from people who may be passing by. Carefully, you break the tape seals across the front of the envelopes with your thumb and take a peek inside. Satisfied with the amount of shriveled mushrooms you see, you reseal the envelopes and stuff them into your purse.

“You’ve both taken these before, right?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, a few times before this,” Jenny says.

“Nice. So you know they usually take about half an hour to start working and you’re probably in for about four to six hours of effects and all that?”

“Yeah,” you and Jenny say in unison.

“Okay, I just-- I always want to make sure, you know?” Harry scratches his chin and looks to the side in thought. “Did you drive here?”

You shake your head. “No, we took the bus. And Alice, our friend, is gonna pick us up after the concert.”

He nods, “Okay, good.” He lowers his voice. “The last thing I’ll say is I’ve seen quite a few cops around so… if I were you I’d duck into a bathroom or something to take those.” He slightly raises his hands, “But obviously all of that’s up to the both of you so…” he trails off and shrugs. “Ultimately I hope you both have fun.” He looks at you with a sincerity that puts you at ease. It makes you feel a lot better that he seems to genuinely care about both of you being safe and having an enjoyable experience. You can’t say the same for other dealers you’ve come in contact with.

“We’ll just see what happens I guess,” you shrug back.

“I think we should head in now.” Jenny says, craning her head past Harry to look at the line of people. She pats the back of his seat. “Thanks so much, we really appreciate it.”

“Sure, was great to meet you both.”

“Was good to meet you. Are you going to the show as well?” you ask while reaching forward for the door handle.

He instantly perks up. “I am. Managed to get a ticket. It’s in the nosebleeds but…”

“I had nosebleeds when Queen was here a few months ago and it was still a fantastic show,” you reassure him. You climb out and hold the door for Jenny. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time. Take care!”

You close the door and wave goodbye.

You and Jenny link arms as you’re walking toward the venue, and extra spring in your steps after jumping that hurdle.

She whispers, “I told you he was British.”

“Jen.” You roll your eyes and elbow her side.

You look over at your friend who’s now covering her mouth with her hand, poorly concealing her laughter. You steal a glance over your shoulder. The last thing you see before you turn back around is Harry staring directly back at you.

**********************************

Jenny walks in front of you, weaving through the groups of people as you both search for a water fountain to wash the earthy taste of the mushrooms from your mouths.

You both join the line behind the fountain closest to the main entrance. When Jenny leans down to take a drink, you spot a familiar green and white striped shirt amongst the crowd of people streaming in. Harry is strolling by, heading toward the arena entrance.

He glances in your direction and does a double take. He instantly grins and raises his eyebrows at you, giving you a thumbs up before mouthing ‘have fun’ and disappearing around the corner.

Your cheeks warm and your stomach flutters.

After you’ve had a drink from the fountain, you and Jenny make your way into the expansive arena and join the crowd of people in general admission.

About half way through the opening act, just as you’re about to ask Jenny if she feels anything happening yet, you see her looking at you fervently and everything around you starts to feel dream-like. The spotlights on the stage begin to look like halos, making it impossible for you to turn away. You start to feel as if the music you’re hearing is coming from your own body. The drum beat bursting through your chest and every note from the guitars coming from the tips of your fingers and the ends of your hair.

The euphoria of being surrounded by love and joy takes over you, making you laugh and dance and sing until the music comes to an end.

**********************************

You’re sitting on the sidewalk outside of the Forum, legs crossed in front of you with your elbows resting on your knees and your head resting in your hands. The concrete has finally cooled off after the heat of the day. You’re hunched over, currently transfixed by a trail of ants marching along the smooth surface in front of you.

“It’s like you can hear all their little footsteps,” you say, your eyes open wide in awe.

Jenny, who’s sitting across from you in a similar position, giggles in response to your observation before gasping. “I hear them too.”

Both of you snort and break out into unrestrained laughter. It’s never felt so good to have the sound of laughter ringing through your ears.

After a moment, you start to hear the sound of something else. It sounds like your name is being called, but it’s not coming from Jenny. You hear your name again, closer now. It sounds as if it’s echoing from the enormous wall of the Forum right next to you. Your eyebrows pull together in confusion and curiosity as you slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder.

You’re immediately filled with excitement upon seeing the friendly face walking toward you.

“Harry!” you exclaim, waving wildly.

A smile spreads across his face and you swear little sparkles appear next to his dimples.

You can’t take your eyes off of him as he makes his way over to stand next to you and Jenny. You have to crane your head back to see his face from your position on the ground.

“Hey, you alright?” he eyes both of you curiously.

You simply nod in response.

“What are you guys still doing here?”

Jenny sighs as if this is the twentieth time he’s asked, “We’re waiting for Alice.”

“Well,” he trails off while scratching the back of his head, “you probably don’t know this, but the concert ended about two hours ago.”

For whatever reason, this sends you and Jenny into a fit of howling laughter.

Jenny suddenly stops and looks at you wide eyed. “Hey, lets just take the bus home.”

You gasp and grab Jenny’s shoulder, marveling at her great idea. “The bus! Let's take the bus!”

You rise up to your knees with a newfound surge of energy and Jenny follows.

“No no no no no,” Harry surges forward and presses one of his hands on your shoulder and the other on Jenny’s, urging both of you to sit down.

He sinks to the ground along with you, propping himself on one knee. “Do you have Alice’s number with you? I can try giving her a call?”

It takes you a minute to realize that he’s speaking to you. “Yeah I have my address book in my purse--,” you look down to your side and freeze at the sight of the zipper on your bag. Your stomach drops. You definitely do not want to put your hands anywhere near the jagged edges of the zipper that are suddenly taking on the shape of menacing teeth.

You barely hear Harry let out a breathy laugh. You look up to him and he points to your bag. “Need some help?”

“I….. uh…..” You’re not completely sure what to focus on or how to put your thoughts into words.

Before you can ask for help, he slowly reaches out and takes your bag between his fingers, bringing it away from its resting place on your hip. “S’ this alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.”

He slowly unzips the bag and you grimace at the unsettling noise. Once it’s been opened all the way, he slightly tilts it toward you and asks, “Can I look inside? Or do you wanna do it?”

You flinch away and shake your head profusely, raising your hand up as a barrier between you and the bag. “No, you do it.”

He looks down, reaches his hand into your purse and starts carefully poking through it.

Your shoulders relax as you turn your focus to his hair. It seems to be much curlier and fluffier than before. It looks… inviting, like a soft blanket that you want to curl up into. It seems to have its own gravitational pull. You lean forward, bury your nose in it and take a deep breath in. The smell of apples and some cologne you don’t recognize and the scent of his sweat swirl together in an exhilarating way.

Harry slowly lifts his head up and eyes you suspiciously over the frames of his sunglasses that have slid down the bridge of his nose. Now that you’re sitting here eye to eye with him, you notice every single detail of his face that you hadn’t been privy to before. Every eyelash, the crease between his eyebrows and the way one of them is slightly raised. The deep set dimple in his cheek due to the smirk pulling up on one side of his mouth. The thin green irises of his eyes.

The more you look into them, the bigger they get, and the more you’re able to see your own reflection in his pupils. You tilt your head and smile as they keep growing in size. Just as they're getting to a comical level, making him look more like a cartoon character, you notice a blush creep onto his cheeks.

He folds his lips into his mouth, blinks rapidly, and shakes his head before returning to his search through your purse.

Harry finally pulls out your yellow leather address book. The white daisies printed on the cover seem to dance and twirl in place when he holds the book up and opens it.

Your purse is returned to its previous position on your hip before he looks at you again. He points his thumb over his shoulder at the payphone a few feet from you. “I’m gonna go call Alice. You guys just stay right here, alright?”

When he starts to get up to his feet, you blurt out, “I have dimes you can use.”

The corners of his mouth turn up and he waves you off, “That’s alright, I’ve got some.”

You watch as he walks over to the payphone. You watch as he digs into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a handful of coins in his palm. He inserts a dime into the coin slot and cradles the phone between his shoulder and ear. You watch his every move until the stripes on his shirt begin to ripple as if they’re made of water. This plus the flickering light above the phone becomes too much for you to handle.

You lay on your back with your hands folded across your stomach and begin to take in the stars in the sky, which are somehow less overwhelming than a simple striped t-shirt.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this. You feel like you’re so close to the stars in the night sky that you could reach out to touch one, or maybe even cradle one in your hands to feel its warmth. The sound of Jenny sitting next to you humming some tune you don’t quite recognize only adds to the peacefulness you’re feeling.

A bright light suddenly overwhelms your vision and you look over to your left to see a pair of headlights coming toward you. You hoist yourself up from the ground and bring your arm up to shield your eyes from the blinding light.

The car screeches to a halt at the curb. The first thing you see after the driver’s side door opens is a head of curly hair that can only belong to your friend Alice.

“Holy shit you guys. I’m so so so sorry.” She rushes over to where you and Jenny are sitting. Only half of the words she’s saying are even registering in your mind. “I ended up falling asleep and then there was a car wreck on the freeway and traffic was backed up for miles and-” She stops in her tracks once she’s standing in front of you and snorts out a laugh. “Oh my god you guys are so fucking high.”

Her laughter is interrupted by Harry. “Are you Alice?”

“Yeah, who are you?” she replies with a slight edge to her voice.

“Sorry. I-- I’m Harry. I... uh… I gave them the…”

“Oh you’re Harry. Well. Thanks so much for sticking around with them but I can take it from here.” She shakes hands with Harry before extending a hand to Jenny, helping her stand up and walking her to the car.

Meanwhile, you slowly make your way to your feet and walk over to Harry. He grunts when you clumsily wrap your arms around him in a hug.

“Thank you Harry. You’re a very nice person,” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re… You’re welcome.” The vibration of his chest when he chuckles travels all the way down to your toes. You also pick up the thrumming of his heart beating wildly against your ear. His hand lightly rubs your back.

You soon hear Alice’s voice behind you saying your name. The feeling of her lightly tugging on your t-shirt coaxes you away from Harry and into her arms.

Before you know it, you’re settled into the backseat of Alice’s car next to Jenny and Alice is shifting to drive.

As you slowly pull away from the curb, you steal a glance over your shoulder to see Harry standing on the curb. He has one hand on his hip and the other is scratching his jaw as he watches your car move away. His figure is getting smaller and smaller as you leave the venue. Just before you turn the corner, you see him step over to the payphone again.

**September 1st, 1977, Los Angeles, California**

You take a long sip of your coffee as you carefully place the needle on your record player. After a few seconds of rustling and popping, the first kickdrums of The Five Stairsteps’ “O-o-h Child” fill your living room, followed by a chorus of trumpets.

Jenny left for work early in the morning and you have a day off, so you’re relishing in the freedom of having the house to yourself.

You walk through the doorway into the kitchen where your fried egg is sizzling on the stove. With your free hand, you take a plate from the cabinet and set it on the counter before grabbing a spatula, turning the burner off, and carefully lifting the egg out of the pan onto your plate. You pluck the piece of toast from your toaster and turn to set your plate on the table along with your coffee mug. The only thing missing is the newspaper, which is most likely still sitting at the end of your driveway from the morning delivery.

You pad through the hallway to the front door, turn the lock, and swing it open. As soon as the early fall air hits you, however, you come to a halt and let out a shocked gasp.

An equally startled Harry is standing on your front doorstep with one hand behind his back and the other hovering over your doorbell. All of your systems stall for a moment, as if you’re trying to connect whatever dots you can to make this scene make sense in your brain. You can feel heat quickly spreading all over your face each second you both stand there in silence, which you both break at the same time.

“What are you--?”

“Sorry I--”

You press your lips together and wait for him to continue.

“I’m sorry. I, um,” he clears his throat before dropping his hand by his side, “I should have called ahead of time.”

“What-- uh,” you stop to rephrase your question since What are you doing here? sounds a little more blunt than you’re wanting to be. “What brings you here?”

“I just thought I would stop by on my way to work.” He pulls his hand from behind his back, revealing the yellow and white cover of your address book in his hand. “Wanted to return this to you.”

He must have picked up on your confusion as you take the book from his hand and run your thumb over the cover.

“I’m sorry. I accidentally left it on top of the payphone after the concert. Didn’t realize until you had already driven off. But your address and everything is written in the front so… thankfully it wasn’t hard to figure out how to get it back to you.” He gestures to the book before jamming his hands in his pockets.

“Oh,” you draw out as the realization dawns on you. In the process of debriefing your trip with Jenny and Alice, you thought that Harry had given your address book back to you, concluding that it must have been somewhere in your house. You figured it would turn up someplace unexpected, and technically you turned out to be right. You laugh to yourself, “I thought I lost it somewhere in my house or something. I-- Thank you.”

You spare a glance at him for long enough to catch the tight grin on his face, causing his dimples to indent on his cheeks.

As you’re taking in his loose fitting white shirt and ripped jeans, you’re quickly becoming aware of the fact that you’re only dressed in cotton shorts and your old UCLA t-shirt you had slept in. If this whole interaction had been timed better you at least could have run to your bedroom to throw on pants or a sweater before answering the door. You reflexively cross your arms in front of you.

“So you had a good time, I hope?” Harry’s question interrupts your thoughts.

“Oh, yeah. Alice just brought me and Jenny back here and we sat around listening to music and talking. Then we pretty much spent all day yesterday sleeping so.” You shrug.

“Did your bag give you any more trouble?” he squints, pausing around the word ‘bag’ and giving you a sly smirk.

You scoff and shift your weight to lean against the doorframe. “No, it did not,” you mutter defensively toward the ground.

He breathes a laugh through his nose and you urge yourself to steer the subject of conversation slightly away from the specifics of your high state the other night.

“Also, thanks so much for staying there with us. I mean, who knows what we could have gotten into.”

“Oh, it was no problem. I’ve done some pretty stupid stuff while on shrooms, even when I’m supervised so…” he trails off into a chuckle.

You smile at his confession, somehow you can’t imagine this level-headed man doing anything stupid.

He continues. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” After a brief pause he adds, “You and Jenny.”

Your eyes snap up after he corrects himself.

He looks down at your doormat, scratching his chin. His cheeks tinge a light shade of pink.

“Well thank you. And thank you for coming to return this,” you say through a deep sigh, raising the book in your hand.

“Of course.” He looks over his shoulder at his car parked on the curb before turning back to you. “Well, I better get going. Was good to see you.” He nods before turning toward the street.

“Yeah, see you around.”

“Take care!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing a peace sign in the air.

Once he’s walked away, you retreat into your hallway and close the door. Your house is now quiet since the record you were playing has reached its end. There’s nothing to mask the sound of your heart beating out of your chest. You stare at the door for a moment, replaying the conversation in your head.

“See you around?” you mock yourself. “Where are you going to see him around?” You rest your forehead against the door and let out a deep sigh that gradually turns into a groan.

Harry’s car rumbles to a start outside. You don’t want to release the tension in your shoulders until you’re certain he’s driven away.

A thump on the other side of the door makes you jolt back. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion when you look through the peephole and see Harry climbing into his car and shutting the door.

You reach down to the door knob and open the door halfway, barely poking your head out. You can’t seem to find the source of the noise until you look down and see the newspaper rolled up in a rubber band sitting on your welcome mat.

You glance back at Harry just in time for him to flash a smile, give you a wave, and take off down the street.

*************************************************

thank you so much for reading!!

if you enjoyed part 1, please remember that reblogs and/or nice messages mean the world to fic writers. <3

you can find my masterlist here and my inbox here

-> PART TWO <-

#my writing #drugs tw #shroomrry #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles reader insert

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sorryimananti-romantic · 3 years ago

Text

Mist | Choi San | Chapter 4

Pairing: Choi San x OC (Seohyun)

Genre: supernatural (ghost), romance, high school

Trigger Warnings: paranormal, death mentions, violence

Words: 6.6k

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except my original character and the story. I do not own any gifs or pictures used.

Full story on Wattpad (don’t spoil here if you read there too)

chapter directory

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

Seohyun was waiting for Jiwoo for quite a while now, sitting on the desk in her room, doodling in her notebook. She sighed as she shut it, a bit frustrated. It was not like Jiwoo to leave her hanging.

Seohyun considered going out; it was highly likely that Jiwoo was at their usual spot- the park near the school, her home, or the accident site. It was about 10 pm. Wasn't that late, was it? She got up, but stopped.

Maybe Jiwoo needed space.

It was probably this, but Seohyun couldn't help fearing that she had just moved on. If she'd gotten her memories back, that could mean that she was a whole different person now. She might not be the Jiwoo she knew anymore.

Seohyun fell on her bed, staring at the wall, and suddenly felt goosebumps.

"Took you long enough," Seohyun said, not bothering to look at Jiwoo, who had just entered the room.

"Don't tell me you were waiting for me," Jiwoo smirked.

"Oh, why would I?" Seohyun smirked back, and made space for Jiwoo, who sat on the bed with her. "So?"

"So, my dear friend," Jiwoo began, clearly excited to tell her her life story.

And she did. She was Ahn Jiwoo, daughter to two loving parents and a sister to a 16 year old brother. She'd had a pretty normal life; her father was a finance manager and her mother a housewife, and she had a lot of friends during her school years too. The rumours about her father being some sort of criminal were wrong; she had to face those rumours in her life too. They had her confused with another Jiwoo in her class.

"So we were a group of four friends; 2 boys and 2 girls. I was kind of a rebel in my last few months of life, because I just found life boring. I wanted an adventure. Something new. I wanted to travel too. So I was suggesting to my friends that we should do something. They were all busy in their own ways, and I didn't understand. I kept bugging them. So when we were in that restaurant, we had an argument. I knew it was my fault. I stormed off, and I was just about to go back when I got hit by a car."

"Oh... so then you went to the hospital, and they found out you lost your memories?"

"Right," she said, "But I was already in a critical condition. Brain damage led me to death."

"Ah..." Seohyun stared at her. Jiwoo's eyes were sad as she told her this, but she looked content. "So the reason you stayed..."

"The reason I stayed was not one, but two. I wanted to make sure my friends didn't blame themselves and my parents had moved on. And I spent the whole day making sure that was the case."

"And the other reason?"

"I want an adventure," she said and smiled brightly.

"Ugh, you ghosts! You stay for the most stupid reasons!" Seohyun mocked and dramatically threw her head in her hands, which made Jiwoo hit her with a pillow until she was laughing.

"That's my last wish, Seohyun. You think you could do that for me? Go on an adventure with me?"

"Haven't you had enough of adventure though? I mean, living with me is an adventure in itself-"

"I already talked to San," Jiwoo said, catching her attention. "He actually thought it was a nice idea. So we're going on an adventure this week. He said he'll make it a surprise for me."

"Hey, hey, that's not fair? You didn't even ask me!"

"I didn't have to," Jiwoo flipped her red hair.

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

"I don't know why I ever agreed to this," Seohyun sighed, handing her bag to Wooyoung who put it with the other few bags.

"Stop being a boomer and get in," Wooyoung said, and Seohyun did, muttering how she should have never suggested this.

"Should've thought before you planned all of it," Jongho snickered and Seohyun shot a glare.

"Everybody's in?" Hongjoong asked and they looked at each other, shouting a yes. Hongjoong gave a thumbs up and took the front seat of the van after shutting the door.

Everyone, including Jiwoo, who couldn't stop smiling, were seated. Seohyun had asked her mom to lend her a van that could fit 10 people, and though her mom had raised her brows in question, she had agreed when Seohyun said it was a trip with friends. She had just been surprised she had friends that were not ghosts, so without further questions (quite conveniently) she agreed, on the condition that the driver would be someone from the company.

She did raise a question when she found out that she was the only girl in the whole group, and there were only 9 people. Seohyun finally told her she was doing a favour for a ghost who had saved her life, and her mother made her promise she'd tell her the story someday.

They were going to Muchangpo Beach. They decided they'd see the sunset there. It was close to Seoul and the only place they could afford to travel and have an 'adventure'. They'd have a fun time, the boys promised, saying everything was fun when they were together.

Jiwoo was sitting between San and Wooyoung, and the three of them were chatting. Seohyun smiled when she saw that San was her voice; he'd say whatever she had to say.

She herself was in the middle row with Seonghwa and Yeosang by her sides. The two of them were also half bent backwards, listening to whatever the three of them were talking about. Seohyun had plugged her earphones in but she wasn't playing any music yet. She just listened to them talk.

"Tell us something about Seohyun," Wooyoung asked, giggling. Seohyun smiled inwardly.

"Well, Seohyun," Jiwoo thought, "she's quite rude, isn't she?"

"She's quite rude, isn't she?" San did his job, and the five of them laughed.

"She's not that rude,~" Seonghwa casted a glance at her, sighing in relief when he thought she couldn't hear him. Seohyun bit her cheek from the inside to stop smiling.

"She's scared of crows, of all thing," Jiwoo revealed, and the boys laughed a little. "She'll never show it, but when more than three crows are around, she runs for her life."

"Ah, I haven't ever noticed," Yeosang said, rubbing his chin, "she can hide it really well."

"Tell us some ghost story," Wooyoung asked. He was clearly enjoying this.

"I have a good one!" Jiwoo exclaimed and everyone seemed to scoot closer. "There was once a boy about her age who had the most stupid reason to not move on."

San almost stopped as he narrowed his eyes at Jiwoo and she assured him it was not Joon Hyuk. So San told the boys, and asked them to guess.

"He wanted an adventure too?" Yeosang laughed.

Jiwoo pouted, but said it could fall in that category, but it was a different sort of adventure. She told them to let their imagination run wild.

As San told the boys, Seohyun decided this was her cue to interrupt. "We are NOT going to talk about that!"

Wooyoung screamed a little in surprise. "Weren't you listening to music?!"

Jiwoo was just laughing and Seohyun bared her teeth at her, making everyone laugh and wonder just what sort of adventure did the boy want. After a hundred pleads from the boys, Seohyun finally told them that it didn't actually happen; she just threatened the ghost in unimaginable ways, making him move on without his desire.

"I think I have an idea of what happened," Yeosang thought, amusement in his eyes, "But I am too afraid to voice it out."

"I think you got it then," Seohyun nodded in approval and Yeosang gaped at her.

"You got it tough, friend," he said, patting her shoulder to comfort her. San and Wooyoung were pouting very loudly, and Seonghwa just stared at Yeosang and Seohyun as understanding passed between them.

"You both are so weird," Seonghwa finally said.

"If I tell you, Seonghwa, you'll drown in shame. Better protect your ears and your pure mind," Seohyun grinned.

San and Wooyoung exchanged glances, frowning, but they shook their head. It couldn't be that bad. Could it?

Seohyun plugged her earphones again, deciding she'd take a nap and actually played music this time.

-----------

"We're here!"

Seonghwa shook her awake, and Seohyun slowly opened her eyes, her hand going in front of her eyes as she blocked the sunlight. She took off her earphones and the sound of waves hit her, making her smile. She adjusted her green dress that reached below her knees, and put her hat on.

She saw that Jiwoo was already out, running along the beach, and San was watching her with a smile on his face. He turned back, meeting eyes with Seohyun, who suddenly felt out of breath.

San was handsome- painfully handsome. And the plain white shirt he wore didn't help. His hair was flying due to the breeze and he ran a hand through them, cocking his head to the side as he watched her.

The sun making his skin glow didn't help either.

Seohyun cleared her throat and joined him, and they both watched Jiwoo, in her jeans and green T shirt that she had died in- her permanent outfit, running as freely as she could, her red hair flowing behind her, her laugh ringing in the air.

"I didn't know she'd be that happy to see the beach. Hasn't she been here before?" Seohyun asked.

"I think she has. She knew the way. And I'm almost suspicious she's doing this just to annoy you," San answered.

As if on cue, Jiwoo stopped, doing a weird dance, then started twerking-

"And that's our cue to look away," Seohyun grabbed San, now laughing, by his arm and went to join the others. "They didn't have to come. They can't see her."

"We figured out a way to enjoy with her even if we can't see her," San smirked.

And that was how, a few moments later, they all were assembled in a circle playing cards.

"Why do I think San and Seohyun are cheating on us with Jiwoo?" Yunho looked at them suspiciously.

"How do you think the cards are in the air?" Seohyun asked, and Yunho grinned. She had a point. To anyone who could not see Jiwoo, it would look like a bunch of cards were in the air.

"I WON!" Jiwoo smacked the final card and jumped in the air. Seohyun gaped at her.

"You cheated!" She shouted.

"I was sitting with you the whole time, don't give me that shit," Jiwoo smirked.

San told them that she had, indeed, won without cheating and everybody groaned. Mingi dragged the food basket and him and Jongho started spreading the food.

"Can she really not eat?" Jongho asked.

"I'm afraid not," Seohyun answered.

"Isn't it rude to eat in front of a ghost?" Jiwoo put her hands on her hip and Seohyun popped a cherry in her mouth, saying, "It is."

San scoffed. Jiwoo kicked Seohyun's leg lightly and said she was going to walk. The rest of them started to eat.

"I heard the sunset here is very pretty," Seonghwa said.

"I've been here before," Mingi took a bite of his sandwich, "It really is the prettiest."

After eating a little, Seohyun looked in the distance where Jiwoo was standing near the shore, the waves flowing near her. Jiwoo looked back and started walking towards them, then stopped halfway and gestured at them to come.

"She's calling us," San said, and they all got up, joining Jiwoo.

"I want to play in the water," Jiwoo said.

"What's stopping you?" Seohyun asked.

"With you all, you dumbass," Jiwoo laughed and took her hand, leading her to the shore.

"Hey, hey, easy there," Seohyun laughed and let out a little yelp as the waves hit her bare feet. "The water is so cold!"

Jiwoo bent down and sprayed the water on Seohyun, smirking.

"Oh no, you did not!" Seohyun bent down and sprayed back before she could run. And so started a battle of getting each other wet. They all forgot all their worries for a while, running around in the waves, laughing as loudly as they could, laughing even louder when one of them got Jiwoo. By the time it got darker, they were all quite wet.

Yunho and Yeosang ran back to get towels for everyone, throwing them one each, and wondering if Jiwoo should have a towel. Seohyun said there was no need, but Jiwoo snatched hers once she was done.

"The sunset's here, guys," Yeosang said.

They all stood silently, side by side, watching the sky change to brilliant shades of candy, the sun reflecting on the sea. It was breathtakingly beautiful. At some point, Jiwoo crossed her hand with Seohyun's, and she turned to look at her face. Her red hair shone brightly and her eyes were wet.

"I want it to be the last thing that I see before I go," Jiwoo almost whispered. Seohyun's heart sank in her knees. It was really happening.

Jiwoo looked at San and smiled widely, San smiled back and waved at her. Jiwoo asked him to tell everyone that she was thanking them for doing so much for her. They all assured her it was nothing, and said they were gonna miss her.

San looked at Seohyun, nodding and urged the others to come with him. Only Jiwoo and Seohyun remained now, facing the sunset.

"It's really happening," Jiwoo finally said. A cry of pain escaped Seohyun's mouth. She couldn't take it anymore. Jiwoo rubbed her hand comfortingly, making her face herself. "You've given me an adventure. The time I spent with you, that was enough. Today was for you, Seohyun."

"Are you serious?" Seohyun asked.

Jiwoo nodded. "I told everyone it was for me, but no. It was for you. A gift for helping me out so much. For being a friend. A little sister that I always wanted."

Seohyun smiled sadly, "I'm gonna miss you so, so much. I got used to you, I shouldn't have."

"I know," Jiwoo smiled, kissing her forehead and wrapping her in a hug. Seohyun closed her eyes and inhaled. "Don't cry on me right now, Seohyun."

Seohyun laughed a little. "I'm trying not to, you're making it harder by reminding me!" She opened her eyes and saw the boys, watching them from a distance.

"I hope you'll open your heart more, Seohyun. That's my last wish. You had a tough life, but you have so many people, dead and alive, who love you. I hope you remember that, always."

"Unnie..." A tear escaped Seohyun.

Jiwoo watched the sunset, Seohyun in her arms, and it was perfect.

She closed her eyes.

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

Seohyun felt it, felt her presence fade away. She was no longer hugging Jiwoo. She stood for a few seconds before finally collapsing on the sand and she shuddered as tears began to flow. She put her face in her hands and cried her heart out.

The boys approached her, sitting around her, rubbing her back, telling her that it was okay. She just cried and cried, and she knew she was letting go of Joon Hyuk along with Jiwoo too. The proper goodbye that she had so badly wanted, she finally got it.

San put her arms around her and brought her closer, caressing her hair. After a few minutes, she was out of tears. She let her hair cover her face as she rested her head on San's shoulder, trying to normalize her breath.

Jongho handed her a water bottle. She managed a smile and took a few sips, rubbing her eyes. The boys looked at each other. They weren't sure what they should do next.

"God damn me if I ever befriend a ghost again," Seohyun said and finally laughed, making everyone else laugh along.

"Are you okay?" Hongjoong asked.

"Yes, I am, actually," she said, wiping her eyes again. "I'm done crying for a while now." Her eyes went to San, who understood and smiled.

"Alright, let's get some dinner."

-----------

The driver had dropped Seohyun home now, and was on the way to drop the rest of them. As Seohyun entered her home, it felt strange. She felt utterly alone now that she knew Jiwoo wasn't gonna be back ever.

She tried to recall the time, only a few months ago, when she hadn't met Jiwoo yet. What did she even do in her spare time? She could not remember.

Seohyun went in her room and changed into her PJs first. After she combed her hair and scrolled a bit, she got up to turn off the light and saw something lying on her desk.

It was a painting. Of Jiwoo and her, cheek to cheek, smiling, the black cat in their arms. Seohyun gasped a little and examined it. It was really well drawn. Who made it?

She turned the page and saw something written on the back of it:

Seohyun,

I remember now that I loved painting. Since we don't have any photos, I captured us in this painting. Now you have a photo!

Love always, Jiwoo unnie ^^

Seohyun laughed a little as she read how she had addressed herself. "I guess you really liked being called unnie," she thought out loud.

She set the painting on her bookshelf. After being content with its position, she turned off the light, and slept surprisingly peacefully throughout the night.

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

"I swear to god if you don't make fun of me when I do something stupid, I'm never gonna talk to you all again."

"Well, that's new," Yeosang commented, "You're begging for it now."

"Better that then you all being like this!" Seohyun let out a frustrated sigh.

The boys were being ridiculously sensitive with Seohyun, and she was feeling absolutely uncomfortable. She hadn't noticed it the first two days, but then she noticed in the little things; how they'd always offer her food before eating themselves, how they'd always accompany her, etc. She had enough of the special treatment.

"You're acting like someone died," Seohyun said.

"Back at it with the dead jokes are you?" San shook his head.

"Technically, Jiwoo was dead," Jongho remarked.

"So did she die twice then?" Mingi wondered.

"Oh please," Seohyun sighed again, "I just want you all to act like we used to. No more special treatment. Please, this makes it worse. I'm already at terms with Jiwoo going. It was bound to happen."

"Alright, alright," Seonghwa said and shushed her. "We didn't know what else we could do. Back to normal, okay?"

"Thank you," Seohyun truly meant it. "Also, I think I'm ready to share my drums." The boys hooted except one.

"Are you angry?" Mingi asked. Seohyun immediately turned to San, who was suddenly interested in Wooyoung's fingernails.

"Now I am," Seohyun muttered, and San smiled without meeting her eyes. The teacher came and interrupted their session, so they went back to studying.

After school was over, the boys decided to go to their warehouse, while Seohyun asked if anyone would help her bring the drums. San volunteered and they walked to her home, the black cat in San's hand.

As they walked, talking about how it looked like the cat missed Jiwoo, San stopped in his tracks. "I think you have a guest."

Seohyun looked ahead and saw a middle aged man dressed like a doctor. He was a ghost. Seohyun shared a look with San and went ahead.

"How can I help you?" Seohyun asked. The ghost got startled when he saw that San could see him too.

Jiwoo had once explained that to ghosts, Seohyun shined a little brighter than the rest of the humans, which was how they knew. Seohyun had just thought she was crazy but now she realized, now that she was with San, that it must be true.

Or maybe Jiwoo hadn't been joking that one time when she said there was a banner on top of her head and every ghost could see it, only Seohyun couldn't.

"I was told you'd help me," the doctor said. Seohyun nodded and he continued. "I made a mistake. I operated on a patient and it went wrong. It was my fault. The patient lost his vision. They were going to sue me, but when I tried to settle it, we had an argument. They gave up on suing me, saying I wasn't even worth the trouble.

"It was a few days later. I went into a slump and started drinking a lot. I was on the roof of the hospital and it wasn't my intention, but I slipped. That's how I died."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Seohyun said, "How can I help you move on then?"

"I want to let the patient know that I truly am sorry, and I want to let my family, just my family know that it wasn't a suicide. I wouldn't leave them behind on purpose."

"But... isn't it easier for your family this way? Than knowing that you are now a ghost? That it wasn't an accident?"

"I think," San began, "that he's right. It's more easier for them if they know he didn't commit suicide. They'd feel really bad if they think he left them on purpose. No one wants that from the people they love."

The doctor smiled thankfully at San. "I'll take you to the patient first," he said and asked if he should teleport the two of them.

"Do you want to come? You don't have to," Seohyun said.

San stroked the cat's head. "I want to."

"I don't know if it's safe for San to teleport. So we'll take the mundane route. Lead the way, sir."

"It's quite a distance. I hope you have money for taxi," the doctor said.

On the way to the patient's house, they had a nice chat with the doctor. He told them about his life, back when he was famous for being a good surgeon. He had never made a mistake and he had always held pride in that. But with this particular patient, he took a risk he knew he shouldn't have.

He told them he had a 10 year old daughter and he wanted her to become a doctor too. He wanted her to know that it was good to save people, and she shouldn't be afraid to take risks but also be careful at the same time and know her limits.

Seohyun was actually touched by the whole thing. It was good to have ghosts like these once in a while; nice, well-mannered ghosts.

They reached the patient's house. It was in a posh area; the patient himself must be rich. The house looked more like a mansion from the outside. Upon ringing the doorbell, a woman appeared, who the doctor told them was his wife. She seemed to be past 50s.

"We're relatives of Dr. Lee, the one who operated on your husband. We're here to discuss things about the case."

The woman passed them a skeptical look, "The doctor passed away, didn't he? We gave up on the case altogether. What do you want now?"

"We just want to talk to Mr. Cho. It's important. Please."

The woman let them in, guided them to the chairs in the garden and said she'd bring her husband. San and her sat down, admiring the lush gardens. The doctor paced worriedly.

"It will be alright. I have a way with words," Seohyun assured the doctor.

The husband and wife arrived; San and Seohyun got up and greeted them respectfully. "I am Seohyun, Dr. Lee's distant relative. This is San, my cousin."

"Have a seat," he said and they all settled down, including the wife. Seohyun sighed and decided she'd get to the point.

"Dr. Lee made a mistake. You must know that," Seohyun said. The wife looked at her husband worriedly.

"So he says," Mr. Cho said, staring in the distance.

"He wants to apologize, sincerely. I'll get to the point. He's here right now. I can see ghosts, the dead who have not moved on. He had unfinished business here, because he wanted to sincerely apologize. He won't be able to move on until he hears your forgiveness."

"Is this a prank?" Mrs. Cho asked, but Mr. Cho shushed her.

"I hope you can prove he's here," Mr. Cho said.

"Dr. Lee told you about some ginseng plant right before you went under anesthesia. No one was there when he told you, right?"

"That's true," Mr. Cho smiled. His wife began to complain but he raised a hand. "That's interesting. My father had a friend. He could see ghosts too. Are you the Mediator?"

San and Seohyun looked at each other in surprise. "That's what they call me, yes."

Mr. Cho laughed a little. "I used to not believe my father and that friend of his for the longest time, until I saw something and couldn't believe my eyes. That's why I believe you too, girl. You're doing a good job."

"Thank you," Seohyun said.

"So Dr. Lee is here? I can speak directly to him?"

"Yes sir."

"Alright. Dr. Lee, it was your fault, I know. But I truly forgive you. There are things we cannot avoid. We call it fate or destiny. What's bound to happen, fortune or misfortune, happens and you cannot avoid it. That's what I believe. I want you to move on, without the burden of my accident holding you back. You didn't do it on purpose, and that is enough for me."

Tears escaped Mrs. Cho's eyes and she wiped them. Seohyun muttered to San, 'wise man', and they watched Dr. Lee's eyes shine with tears to as he said his apology and thanks. Seohyun conveyed the message.

They were offered tea, but Seohyun told them they had to get home. The man offered to help Seohyun out if she ever had trouble with this Mediator job. She accepted, saying she would pay a visit someday.

The three of them left the house, standing in the street and reflecting on what had happened.

"That went rather smoothly," Seohyun commented.

"I know!" San widened his eyes at her.

"Thank you, Seohyun. It really does feel like a burden off my shoulder."

"No problem, we should move now. What's the next job?"

"I don't think I can see them like this," the doctor said. "I love my daughter and my wife very much. Seeing them would want me to stay. Do you think I can write a letter to my wife? You can give it to her tomorrow."

"Will your wife believe that it was really written by you?"

"We had a secret code between us; we created it. If I mention it in the letter, she'll have to believe it. And she'll recognize my handwriting too."

San and Seohyun decided that was convenient, and Seohyun handed the doctor a pen and paper. He wrote a short one, muttering something about how the less he wrote the better it would be. Then he folded it and handed it to Seohyun.

"I trust you. You'll give the letter tomorrow, right? I wrote the address on the other page."

"I will deliver it personally."

"Thank you," the doctor smiled. "Do you think I'll be able to watch over my daughter?"

"Maybe you will," Seohyun said.

"Guardian angel," San added, making the doctor smile as he disappeared. He had moved on.

"Well," Seohyun said, "That was quick. I love it when ghosts are wise enough to actually know how to handle their mess."

San scoffed. "Let's go."

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

Grabbing some coffee from a café they passed by, they took a taxi to Seohyun's home. Seohyun insisted that they should eat before they packed the drums and go to the warehouse. San helped her set the table. She had made pasta last night, which she reheated, and had some chocolates for dessert.

"Does your mom ever come home?" San asked as he nibbled on the chocolate.

Seohyun yawned. San reflected. They both were tired and sleepy now. "She has an apartment near her office so she only comes once a week here."

San yawned again and Seohyun laughed. "Should I let you nap?"

San smiled lazily. "Let's just pack the drums while you're still angry. I don't want you to change your mind."

Seohyun threw the wrapper at him and he caught it before it hit his face, throwing it right back. She dodged it. "Come on, let's dismantle it."

It took them ten minutes to dismantle and pack the drums. But it was already night time, and the boys had locked the warehouse and gone home when San asked them.

"Well, I'll call them here tomorrow. They should take it if they want it so much."

"Good idea." San said, yawning again.

"I think if I let you go home now, you're gonna fall asleep in the middle of the road. Take a power nap, San."

"Oh no, I shouldn't. I'll just go," he said and walked past her, only to be grabbed by the arms and led to a room despite him insisting he was not THAT sleepy.

San entered the room and immediately knew it was Seohyun's. The potted plants, the books, the mess. And the painting.

"So that's the painting, eh," he said, walking towards it and looking at the detail, absolutely wowed by it.

"How do you know? I don't think I mentioned," Seohyun narrowed her eyes.

"Jiwoo told me she left a gift for you," he smiled. Seohyun went to stand with him, looking at the painting with him.

"She's really good," she said.

San looked down at her. She felt so small; he was about a head taller than her. He turned towards her, his hand going to play with her hair. "You're really okay, right?"

"I am, San," Seohyun assured him. "I do feel lonely when I'm home, but you guys make up for it everyday."

San nodded. He was still playing with her hair. Seohyun suddenly flushed; they were standing quite close to each other. San noticed her looking at him, her light brown eyes shining.

He seemed to be searching her eyes for something. And Seohyun wasn't sure what it was, but she felt her heart pumping louder every second. She was, oh god, she was so attracted to him. He made her feel so many things just by looking at her.

"What are you looking at?" Seohyun asked- almost whispered.

"You," San said, bringing his hand to cup her face, surprised when she leaned in to his touch and closed her eyes. It made him melt. He brought her in for a hug and she gladly wrapped her arms around his waist, his small waist. She could hear his heart beat just as loudly. San rested his face on her head, rocking them back and forth. He didn't want to let go, he wanted to stay like this as long as he could.

Seohyun sighed. All she could think about was how he felt. Her mind was truly blank.

San finally broke apart a little, Seohyun's arms still around his waist. He was staring at her, his hands cupping her face, putting stray hair behind her ears. Seohyun wanted to do the same to him, but at the same time she didn't want to let go of him.

"Seohyun, Seohyun," he whispered, loving the sound of her name on his lips. She bit her lip. It seemed like they just stared at each other for the longest time, afraid to say anything, until Seohyun smiled at the situation.

San kissed her forehead first, a light peck. When she didn't move away, he tilted her face a bit upwards to kiss her cheekbone, then her cheek, leaving butterfly kisses, making her tremble all over. She clenched his shirt tighter, out of breath already. Their noses brushed and she loved the feeling of it, his breath warm on her. And when their lips brushed, San finally kissed her properly.

And Seohyun's mind went blank.

San's hand went behind her neck and Seohyun finally left his waist, only to cup his face herself as she guided him along. They tasted chocolate on each other. Seohyun was deepening the kiss, she just couldn't get enough. San mirrored her movements, following along, making her bend backwards until her back hit the desk and her hand went to rest on it for support.

San broke apart to catch his breath. His eyes were glazed, and so were Seohyun's. He put his hand on Seohyun's, the one that was on the desk, and with a sultry look and half a smile, he kissed her again, so passionately that it made Seohyun curve back and back until San was half on top of her.

When they broke apart, finally short of breath, Seohyun smirked. "I thought you were sleepy."

"I still am," he said, resting her forehead against her and smiling, eyes shut.

Seohyun lead him to her bed, making him sit. She bit her lip and smirked as she positioned herself on San's lap. San held her by her waist and let her kiss him; on his cheeks, like he had done, a peck on his nose which made him laugh, and finally a kiss to the lips.

"God, the way you make me feel, Choi San!" She sighed dramatically.

"And how do I make you feel?" He questioned. Seohyun shook her head. "I'll tell you later. Now we sleep."

San set his alarm for a power nap and with Seohyun in her arms, they both slept peacefully. When the alarm did go off, Seohyun didn't budge. With a kiss on her forehead, he left the house.

----------

"There's something wrong with Seohyun," Yeosang announced and everyone turned to look at him.

"There's more?" Wooyoung asked sarcastically and Seohyun glared at him, turning to look at Yeosang, asking him what he meant by that.

"I don't know," Yeosang threw his hands in the air, clearly frustrated, "She keeps smiling to herself. It's creepy."

Seohyun and San shared a look and San, despite his struggle not to, burst out laughing. Seohyun pursed her lips, trying not to smile but failed.

"See?" Yeosang pointed at her, "Has she ever smiled like this?"

Wooyoung was looking at San and Seohyun. "You both.... Is there a secret I don't know about!?"

"I don't have secrets anymore..." Seohyun lied shamelessly, shrugging. San put his hands in the air and said, "I only laughed because of what Yeosang said."

"No, you're looking at each other with the most disgusting look in your eyes," Yeosang observed, "Don't tell me you two..."

"Ah, no, that cannot have happened!" Hongjoong waved him off as Seonghwa gasped.

"How could you even suggest such a thing?" Seonghwa shook his head, clearly disappointed in Yeosang.

"No, I didn't even say anything yet..." Yeosang looked at Seohyun to apologize but she smirked at him, making his eyes go wide.

"I am RIGHT! Something happened between these two, she smirked at me!"

Seohyun immediately put her poker face and looked at Mingi and Jongho, who were right in front of her, with the most innocent look in her eyes. "Did you see me smirk?"

Mingi and Jongho shook their heads. Yeosang shot Seohyun a glare. "I know I'm right. If this turns out to be true..."

"Stop being so dramatic," San said, shushing Yeosang, and got up to drink water.

They were all in the warehouse, having just left school, and were currently relaxing and drinking juice, chatting with each other. Yeosang had noticed Seohyun smiling more than usual, which made him think something happened. It didn't help that San and Seohyun couldn't stop exchanging glances.

Seohyun had brought the drum set with Yunho before coming to the warehouse. Seohyun motioned to Mingi and they got up, leaving the rest behind.

"Have you ever played drums before? Like, actual drums?"

"Yeah," Mingi answered, "A friend of mine had them."

"Alright, you should learn how to arrange them."

So Seohyun taught Mingi all about the components of a drum set, their various uses and how to dismantle them and put them back. Mingi listened carefully, and Seohyun smiled inwardly at how happy he looked. It made her feel guilty that she delayed it so much.

When they were done, they stood back to have a look.

"A much needed upgrade," Mingi smiled, ruffling Seohyun's hair, "Thanks."

"This drum set is my baby, okay? Use it well."

"Yes ma'am," Mingi saluted and Seohyun pointed at the drums. "Have a go."

Mingi sat on the stool, testing the weight of the drum sticks in his hand. He tested the sounds then, and played a little, freestyling, laughing as he did. The others had come to watch him, cheering and hyping him up.

"Not bad," Seohyun said when he finished, "Just go with your heart. Don't think."

"Your turn," Mingi handed her the drum sticks and she almost panicked.

"I think I'm good," she hesitated but someone pushed her forward. It was Yunho.

"I didn't go through all that trouble of coming to your house and carrying the drums to not see you play," he shook his head.

"Alright. Just a second," Seohyun said, tying her hair in a ponytail. "There you go."

Everyone hooted, clearly excited. This was the first time she was going to actually play in front of them, save for the time she had played the violin for San. San smiled at her as if he was thinking the same thing. Seohyun inhaled, testing the drums, and began.

She realized she really did enjoy playing the drums; there was just something about drums where you could express freely, and loudly, as if you wanted everyone to hear it. And it made her smile like crazy, put her brain on pause for a while and play with her heart.

She played like crazy, and when she was done, everyone was in awe.

"You're actually very good!" Hongjoong said, finally clapping. Seohyun bowed her head and got up. "I didn't expect this."

"It's like she was a different person," Jongho was looking at her with wonder.

"Teacher! you're my teacher from today," Mingi declared, and Seohyun scoffed at him.

"You don't need a teacher, teach yourself. I know you can."

"Nooo~" he wailed, "I would love you as a teacher!"

Seohyun just waved him off, going to San and smiling embarrassingly at him. He pinched her cheeks and she pouted, the two of them forgetting for a moment that everyone was still watching her.

"You two... there is something different!" Jongho laughed in disbelief. San and Seohyun started laughing. Yeosang just shook hands with Jongho, thanking him for finally noticing.

"They're not even bothering to deny it, guys," Yunho grinned.

"San is mine!" Wooyoung shouted dramatically, coming to hug San, sticking his tongue out at Seohyun. Seohyun glared at him, baring her teeth at him, and snatched San from him. Wooyoung gasped, and suddenly the two of them were in a battle, both pulling at San by his arms, who was laughing painfully, shouting for help.

"He's not even choosing!" Seohyun laughed, and winked at Wooyoung as she said, "Let's ditch him."

Wooyoung pushed San away, rather forcefully, who fell in Yeosang's arms. He put his arm in Seohyun and she flipped her hair as they walked away from him.

"No one loves me," San buried his nose in Yeosang's neck, pouting. Yeosang sighed, patting his head.

"You're right," Yeosang said, "Absolutely right."

"Hey..." San moaned like a little kid.

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tamhrayis · 4 years ago

Text

I brought a theory from Reddit.

Disclaimer:

I am here to not disrespect the author by any means. I simply have questions as a person who is reading it and pointed out which parts are confusing. It’s up to you to believe this theory or not.

What’s more, reborn Ymir will be in the same position as 2000 years ago – the Founding Titan's shifter. BUT, this time she's free. Therefore, once she pops out and gets her abilities back, she can do whatever she wants with them. She no longer needs to be commanded by royals, which gives her the ideal opportunity to conclude everything. [How does Eren know that an infant can assist him in such an endeavour?]

Well...Ymir was definitely not free, but Ymir wasn’t born with her abilities. She got them because of hallucigenia attached to her back when she fell into that water in the tree. She wasn’t born special.

Another point. How Ymir being born with titan powers will stop the cycle of hatred?

Zeke’s death was a necessary distraction, deliberately included by Isayama to divert our attention. It tricked us into thinking that the baby inheriting Zeke’s titan is relevant as it would help Eren resume the Rumbling. But that’s not the case. The child will indeed inherit the Beast but what’s important here is the baby inheriting the Founder (what Isayama tried to hide behind Zeke’s death). Also, his death served the purpose of stopping the Rumbling as it is not needed anymore. Most of the world's population is already massacred. [What was the point of Zeke dying? Will the baby inherit the Beast Titan?]

Hm...Yeah, Zeke’s death indeed helped to stop the rumbling, because Eren could reach the Paths because of him and killing him stopped the whole process, but why would Isayama make such a distraction at the last third chapter of the whole manga? Shouldn’t he kill Zeke before, so Eren and Historia’s plan would work and it had more screen time?

“In a vision, Eren saw that Ymir will be reborn after his death. He told Historia that he has to figure out which random child will inherit the Founder”. [“What would you think… about me having a child?”]

Which vision? Ch.1 or after kissing Historia’s hand? Ch.1 vision was Eren and Mikasa’s shared dream and we still don’t know what exactly Eren saw while kissing Historia’s hand.

Of course it’s safe to say that it was his future memories, but it yet has to be revealed.

Random child. How Eren can predict that the baby will be Historia’s? Does he know how many pregnant women are there on Paradise? Okay, let’s say that it’s FT and Paths magic, but can he control which child will be born with Founder’s powers?

It would also explain why Historia didn't appear in Ch. 138 – if Isayama showed the baby coming out seconds after Mikasa decapitated Eren then it would’ve been obvious what’s going on.[“What would you think… about me having a child?”]

Chapters are 45 pages long. Why Isayama didn’t cut out some panels and didn’t put it here? Why not to show it right after the kiss page? Distraction?

Moreover, Ymir is smiling at Eren and Mikasa not simply because she saw affection. Yes, she does care about bonds but another thing could be that Eren's plan downed on her – she connected the dots and figured out that it's now her turn to contribute and complete the mission Eren wordlessly gave her. I believe next chapter will start with her disappearing from inside the Founder's mouth and switch to her being born. [“What would you think… about me having a child?”]

Okay! I agree with the part that Ymir smiled at Mikasa and Eren because of the affection they showed to each other and the part that she will contribute to the “mission”.

They showed affection to each other. Why would Eren show affection to Mikasa if he is having a child with the woman he loves?

What about the hallucigenia? Will it still stay there or disappear with her?

Immediately after she cries for the first time, all Eldians will perhaps be summoned in Paths, where Eren will be waiting. To their surprise, he will announce the end of the Titan Age. Then, Ymir will make the command and Paths will begin collapsing. Eren will hold her in his arms as all traces of titans disappear. "You're free." will collectively be directed to Ymir and all of her Subjects. [What will happen after she is reborn?]

Hold on. Can the power of Founder be shared between two people? Is it like One for All? If Ymir was born with FT, doesn’t that mean that Eren no longer has FT, AT and WHT? How Ymir can summon them? She is an infant. She doesn’t have a proper consciousness to purposely summon everyone into Paths. Where AT and WHT will go? To random Eldian children or Ymir?

It has always been suspicious as to why Eren teased Zeke about them not reaching "the part where he eats their old man". It's strange that Grisha gave Eren the power of the titans when beforehand he begged Zeke to stop him. The only logical thing would be that Eren showed him what I described above: the resolution. [What did Eren show Grisha?]

Wait. Why would Grisha be this heartbroken and scared if Eren showed him the resolution? He doesn’t look like crying from happiness. Sure, he was crying because he killed children and others, but why would he look at Zeke like that? He was in literal pain.

What used to be nonsensical before is now super logical. Grisha and Kruger were not helping the Alliance because Armin’s TnJ (talk no jutsu) worked. They aided them because beforehand Eren revealed the truth of what is to come and that they will NEED to kill him in order for Historia’s baby to inherit the Founder. Basically, they didn't feel sympathy for Marley all of a sudden – instead, they were helping Eren in liberating Eldians from titans. [Why did Grisha and Kruger help the Alliance? Why did Ymir revive them if they were going to go against Eren?]

Well...Besides Grisha and Kruger, Marcel, Ymir, Mr. Xavier, Porco and Bertholdt were there. Did they want to help Eren too?

As it has been confirmed by Isayama's notes on Ch. 138, it’s not an AU. So we should probably forget about time loops. It's a dream. Eren entered it (through Paths, duh) as he wanted to convince Mikasa to behead him as fast as possible as they have no time left. Him joining her is why Aaron Yogurt dream Eren got shifter marks on his face and why in Ch. 1, he saw this particular moment. [What’s up with Mikasa’s hallucinations?]

Oh! “A long dream” topic again. I went to the link author put and this is what I see (see below).

Okay, let’s say that he entered it via Paths, but why not to straightforwardly say that? Why to create a dream where they live happily? Why to show this hug, “I want to live with you for the rest of my 4 years”?

I don’t really like the time loop concept myself, because I don’t like time travel stuff, but why then he saw the exact same dream in ch.1? Something is not clicking.

The former will likely return to being humans. There’s no reason for them to disappear as they’re material beings that exist in the physical world – what will be removed is just titanization. Plus, with this, Eren will keep his promise of his friends living long lives. Though, this is something I cannot predict properly and just speculation. The latter will be free from the Curse of Ymir (good luck, Reiner, no dying for you). [What will happen to the titanized Eldians and titan shifters?]

Fully agree! No debate.

There's no question really. I feel like it should be self-explanatory after everything discussed so far. The farmer being Ymir's father would be a more shocking twist than Eren being the dad. [Is it sure that Eren is the father?]

Why wouldn’t Isayama add a plot twist into his story? It’s not hard to do. But Isayama’s plot twists work because he visually foreshadows it or uses characters’ dialogues. He already has showed us farmer. Why he is here? For cover up? Why would Isayama put these words if farmer is unnecessary? Why not to add more information?

To stop the cycle of violence and hate once and for all. If Eren removed titan powers without the Rumbling, most people (especially Marleyans) would’ve still despised Eldians and they would've just been defenseless. So Eren wanted to prevent that. [Why did the Rumbling have to occur?]

I agree with this. Rumbling was a cause for people to work and stop fighting each other as I said here. Rumbling plan was very risky, but it was unavoidable, because Marley is way more advanced and Paradise would terribly lose. Good point!

But why would Historia, who has decided to live for herself agree with Eren’s plan? How would she benefit from it? Okay, she and Historia are in love, but why would she want the person she loves to become a mass murderer? Why she couldn’t stop him? Why she was crying when he told his plan? She is a royal blood after all too! They could come up with another plan which wouldn’t involving Zeke.

I assume it would just die/disappear/go back to the tree it emerged from. [What about hallucigenia?]

Where’s that tree? How it will get there?

In conclusion, the theory isn’t bad, but it would work if Historia and Eren had more set up, the importance of Zeke would be explored a little more here and ch.138 didn’t have clear symbolism between Eren and Mikasa. There’re some holes, but the author gave some good points, which is truly appreciated!

#it’s theory time #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #eremika #zeke jaeger #snk 138 #snk spoilers

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scripttorture · 4 years ago

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Hi! A minor antagonist of mine survived the genocide/torture of his species (sci-fi setting) as a child. He's now a young adult and suffers from nightmares, memory problems, anxiety, etc. My worry comes from him being an antagonist who is in a position of power now and who ignores/implicitly encourages the extensive abuse/torture of someone beneath him because their people are the ones that perpetrated the genocide. Is this skirting too close to the 'torture survivors are evil' trope?

Honestly I think the best answer to this one is: how many survivor characters do you have in the story?

Purely from a writing perspective I think that you need multiple survivors in any story focused on genocide. Because if you only have one survivor then you’ll struggle to really communicate the scale of what happened.

I had an ask a while back about competing communities (I can’t seem to find it-) where I talked at length about how torture and genocide imply communities of abusers and communities of survivors. Because we’re talking about a scale of tens or hundreds of thousands of victims.

So if the genocide is a big part of the background to this story then it should effect more then two characters. Because we’re not just talking about a single ‘abuser’ and a single victim here.

Think about where you can have other effected characters and how those characters were effected.

Are there people who got away just in time, missing the worst of it? Do they have survivors guilt? How many members of their extended families did they lose?

Are there people with tales similar to this antagonist? How did they survive? Did they do things they regret? Conversely do they feel justified in doing what they had to in order to survive? Perhaps they don’t feel like they took any active role in their own survival. Did their families make it? Their friends? How big are the gaps in their lives?

Were there ex-patriot or diaspora communities away from the areas the genocide took place? How has the genocide effected their politics? How many friends and relatives did they lose? Has it made their community feel stronger, more involved in each other’s growth and safety? Has it led them to open their doors to refugees and survivors of their own species? Has it led them to do the same for other vulnerable groups?

I was reading the work of a Holocaust survivor a few weeks ago and I was struck by her observation that for survivors this was not something that ended. Yes she was freed from the death camps, yes she lived and yes she emigrated to the USA. But the experience moved with her and (from what I can remember of her words) ‘continued on the streets of Boston.’

She spoke about how she was the last person left in her father’s line. That entire side of the family had been murdered.

And that, that is what genocide is for survivors: the holes in their lives where other people used to be. People they loved and cherished. People they passed on the street. Strangers that they connected to however briefly.

Holes.

You communicate that to your readers by showing the people who are left and having them show what they lost in simple every day terms.

When I was a child there was a section of the souk which was full of jewellers. Most of them were Yemeni. And I liked shiny things as much as the next mammal but I never paid the Yemenis much mind. They tended to sell a lot of big, gold pieces, well out of a child’s price range and I didn’t find the style particularly pretty.

So I’d say my salaams and walk on past to the stalls that sold antiques or Afghani pieces to look at semi-precious stones I could afford.

They were young men, the Yemenis. They were probably only a decade older then me, if that. They were probably married. They may have had young children. A lot of immigrants in Saudi come over when young and have families (whether those families are with them or ‘back home’), this holds true of my family as well.

One day the government decided it didn’t want them any more, they changed the visa laws. It did not quite happen overnight but the Yemenis left.

There’s been a famine in Yemen since 2016. And I wonder how many of those men who smiled and said salaam as I passed are still alive. I wonder how many of them got typhoid when the infrastructure collapsed completely. I wonder how many of their children died and how many of them will be crippled for the rest of their lived because of hunger.

I could tell you about their neat clothes and carefully slicked back hair. I could tell you how much effort they put into their winning smiles and how they’d try to persuade my mother to stop and look even though she wore horribly unfashionable abayas. (The rich white women all wore terrible abayas as far as I can remember.)

And that’s genocide. Seen from a remove.

Survivors are not saints. The urge to put survivors of global atrocities up on a pedestal as if everything they do and say contains exceptional moral insight is… flawed. Surviving something awful doesn’t make people morally worse and it also doesn’t make people morally better. Acting ethically is something everyone chooses to do or not.

I don’t think there’s anything necessarily ‘wrong’ with having a survivor be one of the bad guys in your story. They’re people and they can make bad decisions like anyone else. As long as they’re not the only survivor in the story. Because you only get that implication when you’ve got one point of representation.

So include the community. Think about where you can work in other survivors. Think about the diversity of experience there. Think about how to communicate the scale you need to justify the term ‘genocide’.

There are a lot of books and survivor accounts of the genocides that have occurred since the 1900s. They’re difficult reading but I think picking up a few could really help you understand the kind of scale and diversity of experience you’re aiming for.

Mao’s Great Famine is a good one for scale but it doesn’t really focus on survivor accounts. I found that made it slightly easier reading. I still haven’t read all of We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families but it does contain interviews with people who were directly effected and people in the diaspora community. That may be helpful.

I think Amnesty International would also be a good source here. There are currently ongoing genocides in China and Burma which you should be able to find a decent amount of information on. The effected groups are the Uighurs and the Rohingya. There are diaspora communities for both groups and interviews with multiple survivors available online.

There are other genocides happening at the moment, but I think you’ll find the most free, English information and interviews looking at these two.

Overall, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with this scenario so long as you take steps to make sure this villain isn’t the only survivor we see. The message that abused people go on to abuse others only comes across if you have a single survivor. And I really think that your story will be deeper and richer in a lot of ways by including others.

Survivors are people. Most of the time I say that to encourage people to remember their positive capacities: their passions and relationships. But it goes both ways.

Survivors are people; which means we shouldn’t paint them all as saints and we shouldn’t paint them all as devils.

I hope that helps :)

Edit: Typos, whoops. Thank you for catching that.

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #tw genocide #writing survivors #writing responsibly #writing genocide #sci fi ask #Yemen #guilt in survivors #attitudes towards torture survivors #writing villains #that became a little personal

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cherrynojutsu · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Like Gold

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

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

Trigger Warning: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

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Chapter 5/?: Housewarming

Sasuke spars with Naruto for the better portion of the afternoon into evening, until they are both sufficiently exhausted and slightly sunburned, on the condition that he will eat anywhere but Ichiraku’s and anything but ramen for the dinner his friend is trying to goad him into after. Naruto agrees all too quickly, grinning too much for his liking, and saying a little duplicitously, “That so? Happens that I know a place!”

The blond refuses to tell him where he’s leading him after their fight finally concludes in a draw, weaving tiredly through village streets around six at night with bruised ribs. Sasuke begins to suspect it’s an elaborate ruse to lure him to his house to eat. Sure enough, eventually they turn a corner and marigold, cobalt, and fuchsia invade his line of vision.

“You’re so stupid. I’m not eating anything you’ve put your hands on.”

Naruto laughs, evidently not the slightest bit offended. “Don’t worry, Hinata-chan made me a bunch of food for the next few days! There’s more than enough to share, and I haven’t touched any of it.”

Sasuke grumbles, but his friend assures him that at least some of it’s not ramen, so he acquiesces cautiously and follows him through the threshold of his home.

It is pretty nice, as Sakura said, though he’s sure that’s because of the dobe’s wife and not him, and what he’s comparing it to - Naruto’s old apartment, littered with trash and expired food items in the fridge - doesn’t set a very high bar in the first place. The house has wood floors, and a spacious kitchen with plenty of storage, at least from what he discerns when he first walks in. He assumes he’s going to be forced on the tour shortly to view the rest of it.

There is an absolute mountain of pre-prepared food in clear containers when his friend opens the fridge. Sasuke will admit pretty much everything looks good, though he’s not sure what specifically the dobe plans on them eating. He’s not sure Naruto knows, either; he stares at the contents of the fridge for a long minute, squinting as if making a life-changing decision.

“...Does she think you can’t feed yourself or something?” Sasuke deadpans.

Naruto laughs nervously, in a way that gives Sasuke the impression that Hinata Uzumaki might not be as quiet and reserved as most people assume, at least behind closed doors. His friend almost sounds fearful, as if there may be consequences for him if he doesn’t eat what his wife has prepared for him in her absence in its entirety.

“...Or she just knows you’d eat instant ramen the whole time she was gone, otherwise.” This time it’s not a question.

Naruto has the grace to at least feign embarrassment. “Well, uh, you know what they say… Quickest way to a man’s heart is through his food, or whatever!” Sasuke wonders for a short few seconds what kind of repercussion Hinata could possibly be holding over him, but then remembers Kakashi’s warning earlier in the day, and decides abruptly that he doesn’t care to further pursue that train of thought.

Eventually they decide on vegetable and shrimp tempura with plain onigiri, all premade. Sasuke is hungry, and tempura has a high caloric intake. Naruto dumps the tempura in a mysterious device called an air fryer to warm, and while they wait, the blond shows him around.

It’s commodious, with extra bedrooms as Sakura said. Most of the furniture is rich dark wood, accented with slightly vibrant colors, inclusive of the walls, that are perhaps a little intense for his own preferences. It is obvious that Naruto helped pick the paint colors, but he assumes Hinata must like them, too. The Hyuga are an old clan, deeply rooted in tradition as the Uchiha had been; Sasuke imagines that many of the interiors at the Hyuga residences are varying shades of white, gray, or brown, also with darker wood, as many of the Uchiha households had been; a more colorful interior would have been a change for her. He supposes a proclivity for brightness makes sense, given that she’d married Naruto. Their house overall smells vaguely like jasmine blossom and nectarine, though not overbearingly so. Naruto’s apartment had never smelled like that, so it must be Hinata’s doing. Sasuke spies a candle the color of honey that might be the source, perched on a corner table.

It sits next to a framed copy of their original Team Seven group portrait. Sasuke eyes it as they pass through the living room again to the back door.

It opens up to a sizable backyard situated on the north side of the house, framed with a fence for privacy and a number of lush trees, dangling greenery swaying in the breeze. A small garden sits in the far back left corner, the area with the least tree cover; it’s been recently tilled and sowed, small sprouts beginning to poke through the soil.

“We get lots of fireflies back here in the summer. Hinata-chan loves them, so we sit back here all the time! She’s thinking of getting a birdbath, too,” Naruto mentions fondly, a bit more hushed than his usual timbre; he must have some good memories back here already.

“It’s nice.” Sasuke remarks at the end when they go back inside, because it is, and his friend grins from ear to ear, stupidly proud. Then the timer dings from the other room, and they eat.

Hinata’s cooking is good. Sasuke sorts out all of the sweet potato chunks to shove onto Naruto’s plate, but eats the rest: squash, bell peppers, eggplant, broccoli, and shrimp, coated in spiced breading that tastes slightly of rosemary, along with the onigiri, more simple but also filling.

Naruto prattles throughout as always, but chews his food before launching into each new topic; it really must be a habit by now. Sasuke doesn’t hold the scroll over his head just yet; he figures Saturday night will be enough opportunity for that. Instead, he solidifies plans for another spar, this time late Saturday morning, because through the nearly endless chatter he has learned that Naruto’s schedule includes normal weekend days off, unless assigned a mission.

The dobe asks him to go drinking with him afterwards; he declines, but thanks him for dinner. Eventually, he departs, after his best friend reminds him for the fourth time today to meet up at Ichiraku’s on Saturday night at six.

As he walks home, lone hand in his pocket, Sasuke finds himself pondering once again what Sakura’s living space will be like. She doesn’t strike him as someone who would like darker wood, for some reason. It’s an apartment, so it will be smaller than Naruto’s house for sure. He assumes it’s probably one bedroom, like his own.

The cadence of crickets creeps in again as he leaves the more lively area of town, buoyed into something quieter by the swishing of leaves through the trees. It’s a sound he craved on his travels often. There are similar sounds elsewhere - insects and trees are not uncommon - but something about Konoha’s particular lilt sticks out in his memories. A clement wind from the north carries an aroma tinged with flowers and loam. When he turns the corner, the breeze blows just right to shift his hair away from his left eye, and his neck heats as he thinks of Sakura’s words from this morning, not for the first time today.

Once he gets back to his apartment, he strips, then tosses his clothing directly into the washing machine, before enjoying a long, near-boiling shower; after the workout he’s had, he needs it. He thinks as he scrubs that this way he won’t need another one until after he gets back from seeing Sakura tomorrow. He contemplates whether they will eat somewhere, since he’s meeting her at the hospital at four. He’d liked the tea shop; she probably knows of other places worth trying.

He is so exhausted that he saves washing his dishes for tomorrow and falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. His last thoughts are of gentle jade eyes and kind words murmured in an exam room.

Sasuke is thankful that he doesn’t have another nightmare, but his brain decides to fill the time in other demiurgic ways involving soft fingertips, and when morning comes, he does need another shower, after all; this time, a cold one.

He pinches his nose guiltily as frigid water engulfs him, until his teeth are near chattering. Once that’s done, he throws on a black shirt and pants before grabbing a book. He huddles up under his comforter to chase away the chill, drowning his thoughts in icy history ripe with distraction rather than lasciviousness.

He finishes it eventually, convinced towards the end that he needs to acquire a small lamp; he doesn't like overhead lighting in general, but he especially doesn’t like it for reading. His teeth have stopped clacking together, so he gets out of bed and spends the first portion of the day washing dishes, sharpening his chokuto, and then making lunch, seared beef with green tea noodles and miso dressing. It’s simple, but good, and filling. His throat hurts less than yesterday, but he has another cough drop after, because it helps.

He washes and dries the dishes from today, putting them away before he leaves his apartment to pick up a few more groceries to fill the time. The market he visits is sold out of loose leaf sencha tea; the one he’d visited the first day in his apartment hadn’t had any, either. He settles for a small box of single-serve packets for the time being, and has a cup upon his return to his apartment. It’s not bad, but it doesn’t taste quite as fresh. He reads more of his other book for a bit, until it’s time to leave to meet Sakura at the hospital.

He leaves a little early again, because he’s eager to see her.

Sakura greets him cheerily, lovely with a tote bag on her shoulder that is starting to become familiar. She tells him that she dropped off his paperwork earlier today, and that his bloodwork has all come back normal. He thanks her, and they spend a nice late afternoon together, roaming around while she points out areas of interest, most of it new development on the more southern part of the village. Wandering with her is much preferable to solivagant ambling on his own, he is coming to find.

He learns that Sunday and Monday are indeed her days off, unless there is an emergency; she mentions that she has a standing date with Ino every Monday morning for training and lunch, but other than that, she keeps her free time pretty open.

“Would you… like to do something on Sunday, then?” He asks carefully, hand twitching a little in his pocket and stomach churning a little in nervousness, though she has given him no reason to be. He hopes he’s not being avaricious by asking for too much of her time. She might prefer to spend some time alone on her days off.

Glittering green eyes beam up at him in response. “Of course,” she answers, and the storm brewing in his belly settles while the vines reach upwards into his chest cavity, because she says it with an inflection that implies there’s nothing she would rather do.

“I think it’s supposed to rain,” Sakura tells him as they walk further southwest; they’re nearing the edge of the village now. “So we probably don’t want to walk around too much. I usually…” Her eyes flick to him, and then away, as if self-conscious. “I usually curl up inside with a book on rainy days. Or... watch documentaries. Sometimes I play go or chess.”

A ghost of a smile overtakes him, because reading on a rainy day is very characteristic of her, but so are the other two things, which he hadn’t known.

Then she’s asking, somewhat shyly, “What do you like to do, on a rainy day?”

It’s a good question; he hasn’t been home for a rainy day in a long time. When he was traveling, he would find shelter - an inn, or the inside of a tree or a cave - and do various tasks that needed doing, like sharpening weapons or writing a letter to her. On those days, he would also often read her old correspondence to him, too, but he’d be embarrassed to admit that to her.

When he was younger, though, he would complete any neglected chores in the morning, and then spend the rest of the day reading, though he did it mainly for productivity to the point of distraction. Sasuke did not like being cooped up in his house for long periods of time, for obvious reasons. Occasionally he would venture to a training ground anyway, if the rain was more light drizzle than downpour, but most of the time he opted not to, because getting sick would delay his progress more than sitting out a day; he could advance in other ways, look into new techniques and practice taijutsu forms inside, if he really focused.

If it rained heavily for more than a day or two consecutively, though, trapping him in the house, he tended to struggle more with it. Sometimes he would stare at a kunai or shuriken left behind in Itachi’s room for too long, and end up sticking his wrist out a back window to watch the water cleanse the wound he’d carved into his skin until it coagulated. It wasn't something he did often, because he knew it was stupid and weak despite the small semblance of control it afforded. It also wasn’t something he only did when it was raining, but being entombed in that house due to inclement weather poured salt into his baser self-destructive tendencies, irritation burning until it was too much and it had to escape his skin to go somewhere. When it rained, it felt like it was an opportunity to rinse it out of him, a tiny increment of relief, rivulets reaching down to turn him over in the grave of dark wood and dull paint colors it felt like he was suffocating in.

Sasuke would go get groceries most of the time, before it got to that point, even if he didn't need them, just to get out of the house for a bit and away from the temptation. He’d come back soaked, tracking water everywhere before curling up in his bed to try to chase away the chill with more distraction, books or scrolls or trying to watch something. Eventually he’d warm up on the outside, but his insides still felt icy for a long time, most days.

He's in an apartment now, though, a long way from what used to be the Uchiha District. He takes a grounding breath that he hopes is subtle, trying to emerge from the glaucous recollection and subsequent smothering feeling lining his lungs. “...I do any chores that need doing, and then I like to read, too,” he finally answers. It's the truth, now. Keen but soft eyes hold his for a moment, and he worries maybe he didn’t fully succeed at the subtlety, but she doesn’t press. He’s thankful for it; he doesn’t want to think about that when he’s with her.

They make plans to have lunch and spend the afternoon reading their respective books at her apartment. He might finish his other book by Sunday’s end; maybe she would go to the library with him again Monday afternoon, if she’s not too busy. He wouldn’t mind playing go or chess, either, if she asks him. It would be a challenge; he hasn’t played either in years. He’ll save it for Sunday, though.

“I can cook,” she offers, looking very pleased, which makes his heart flutter in his chest. “Maybe soup and something to go with it, if it’s chillier? I have a slow cooker I can start it in, the morning of.”

He agrees immediately; he likes soup, and it’s been a while since he’s had a good bowl. Most of the soup he made on the road was limited to whatever ingredients were readily available, with simple water as stock. The result was usually something bland, warming but not hearty by even the barest standards; soup made in a kitchen is much better. He’ll eat any kind, really, especially if it’s cold out. He wonders what Sakura’s cooking is like; she excels at most everything she does, so he imagines it must be good.

By just after five, they’ve ended up at a fairly new and distinctive quadrant of training grounds a little beyond the southwest edge of the village, sharp quartz rock jutting up from uneven ground in several spots and a small creek running down its center. Parts of it sit at a raised elevation, offering a unique vantage point of Konoha. Sasuke realizes as he eyes the surroundings that he would like to train here sometime; the craggy terrain could prove an interesting element to contend with, an exercise of both the mind and body. He’s glad she showed him; he wouldn’t have ventured to this side of town for a long time, on his own.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, thinking he could buy her dinner if she knows any places nearby. It’ll be busier now that it’s dinner time, once they get back into the village, but he doesn’t mind.

Sakura doesn’t answer at first, and instead starts to fiddle inside her bag. His brows knit in confusion, but then she pulls out two bottles of water, two bento boxes, and two pairs of chopsticks.

They’re in reusable containers, not takeout ones, which means she must have made them herself. Sasuke stares at the one she gives him, dumbfounded; it’s filled to the brim with cooked rice topped with black sesame seeds, tonkatsu with sauce, shredded cabbage, green beans goma-ae, and a large number of tomato wedges. Her own has less tomato; a few grapes round it out instead. He also notices the tonkatsu sauce is already poured over hers, but his is in a small sealed container, so he can eat the pork plain if he decides he doesn’t care for the tangy but also slightly sweet dressing.

“I thought we could eat these here... if you want. We could avoid the dinner rush that way. I made the sauce a little less sweet than usual, but I still wasn’t sure, so I thought I’d let you decide,” Sakura offers, soft and kind. He’s too stunned to say anything right away, so she adds somewhat sheepishly, “If... you’d rather get something else, though, that’d be fine, too.”

He thanks her very quietly, then, a little dazed and throat closing up, because he would not rather get something else; he hasn’t had a bento in a long time, let alone one that was prepared specifically for him. The training ground is empty, so they hop up one of the small cliffs and eat it there as she suggests, in view of Hokage Rock framed by trees. It is very good, clearly made with fresh ingredients; the pork is juicy on the inside and texturally crunchy on the outside. The sauce is good, too; not too sweet. He makes sure to eat all of it, as well as to tell her he enjoyed it at the end. She flushes at the compliment; she is very pretty, pink hair and pink cheeks to match.

"How long do you think it'll be before Naruto's up there?" She asks him after they’ve been sitting there for the better part of an hour, food long finished and eerily echoing his thoughts from a few nights ago.

Sasuke regards the mountain, empty space next to Kakashi's likeness. He recalls dinner yesterday at his friend’s home, Naruto sharing food with him made by his wife, and Ichiraku’s the day before that, how he no longer talks with his mouth full, and how he has not pressured him to share about Sakura. Sasuke is sure his rare tact won't last forever, and that he'll be hounded about his relationship with her eventually, but he has appreciated the space gifted to him. For all of their teammate’s fatuousness, he really has grown. If he can get an increment better at deciphering scrolls...

"Not long," he responds eventually. "Five years. Maybe six, with the sculpting."

Sakura nods in agreement, an evocative smile playing at her lips; she must suppose the same.

He speculates, then, tearing his gaze away from her mouth, who else they will see on the mountain in their lifetimes, in the empty space extending to the right. He thinks Naruto is the type to live to be pretty old, especially if Hinata is coercing him into eating balanced nutritional meals now; he might make it to a point where he actually retires from being Hokage, like Tsunade, or Kakashi, eventually.

The next Hokage could be in the village already, maybe in the Academy still, or a Genin. Sasuke remembers a scrawny kid with atrocious camouflage techniques who used to follow Naruto around and challenge him to battles over the position; it may have been the Third's grandson. He hadn’t seemed particularly talented at the time, but then again, neither was Naruto at that age. It’s possible that the kid has progressed since then. It’s also possible, though, that the next Hokage has not even been born yet.

Sasuke walks Sakura home a couple of hours later, dark violet light of dusk cast on her through diamonds on her doorstep. Her expression is the same as the other night, eyes sparking with gold affection, so he kisses her again, hesitantly hoping it’s okay, because he really wants to. Apparently it is, because she rests her hands on his shoulders and kisses him back without an ounce of uncertainty. His hand is free this time, so he rests it on her waist carefully, and enjoys a sweet breath of spring.

XXX

Sasuke arrives at Ichiraku’s at six on the dot to find both of his teammates already there, with an empty seat left between them and three glasses of water on familiar currant red counters. He is unsurprised to see that Kakashi’s not here yet. There’s an empty seat to Naruto’s left that is clearly being saved for their old sensei using one of Naruto’s sandals, off his foot; it’s pretty busy, being a Saturday night. He also notes Sakura’s tote bag situated beneath the counter, underneath the stool she’s sitting on; perhaps her afternoon with Ino went longer than anticipated, and she hasn’t had time to go home yet.

Both of them turn their heads as he approaches, brightening and greeting him in unison beneath fluorescent lighting.

“Teme!”

“Hey, Sasuke-kun.”

It is terribly nostalgic. He takes the place between them, responding, “Sakura. Dobe.” The streets themselves are busy, but within the actual enclosure of Ichiraku’s, it’s not as loud.

“We haven’t ordered yet,” Sakura tells him good-naturedly, smiling and pushing him a menu. His gaze lingers on her for a second before looking down at it. She’s pretty beneath fluorescent lighting, too.

“We’re not fucking waiting for Kakashi-sensei, though. I’m hungry , and who knows when he’ll turn up? He’s probably reading one of his stupid books and lost track of time again,” Naruto grumbles, peckish, from his other side. His friend’s stomach growls, as if on cue.

Sakura laughs, then sighs from his right. “He’s probably lost in a pile of paperwork. At least this time it might be true.”

“...He might be trying to finish breaking the cipher on that scroll you can’t seem to solve,” Sasuke quips smugly towards his left, eyeing the menu, though he doesn’t really need to; he knows his order already.

He is way too satisfied by Naruto’s huff. “Ugh, I’m fucking sick of staring at that thing. It makes me feel like my brain is melting. I wish he’d just give me a mission. I want to fight something.”

“I’m sure you’ll both get one eventually,” Sakura remarks with confidence. “Try to enjoy the peacetime a little. It’s a good thing. Besides, if you really want to, you can just go battle it out at the training grounds...” She eyes them both with a critical and calculating scrutiny now, a single pink brow arched and something in her tone shifting. “...Though by the bruising, I’m sure that’s already happened.”

There is a fist shaped smear of violet he knows is on his forearm, clearly visible from her vantage point. At least his ribs are hidden; there are nasty bruises on three of them from the first spar, and another two developing from this morning. Naruto looks a little scared, when he glances over at him; despite the fact that the blond is laughing nervously, his hand is held awkwardly, obviously trying to shield the bruise he has on his chin, turning purplish-blue by now.

It was another draw. Sasuke expects he’ll be able to beat him, next time. He’s found he’s a bit rusty, not having too many excuses to use his more advanced techniques in a long while.

Sakura rolls her eyes after a tense moment, and the spell is broken. “If either of you break anything, just don’t be stupid; come to the hospital or my place so I can fix it.”

“Sure, sure, anything you say, Sakura-chan!” The dobe responds next to him, hesitant laughter still tinged a little with fear. Sasuke nods, then thinks for about the fifth time today that he’s going to see her apartment tonight.

Once Sasuke slides the menu back, Naruto catches Teuchi’s attention; the blond orders garlic tonkotsu, Sasuke orders hakata tonkotsu, and Sakura orders shoyu ramen. It’s the same as what they used to get when they were kids.

It’s a nice evening for this, he thinks.

“So what’s new at the hospital, Sakura-chan?” Naruto asks conversationally. “Anything exciting?”

Sasuke shifts his gaze to his right, where Sakura looks as if she’s giving it a lot of thought, lips shifted to the side; he forces his eyes upward. “Eh, nothing too exciting, yet. Just appointments and research, for the most part. I’ve got some long-term projects I’m working on, but I’m just kind of waiting to see how the data pans out at this point while I monitor. It’ll be another month or so yet for anything concrete there, I think.” She cocks her head to the side a little. “I’ve got a transplant patient we’re waiting on an organ for, so we’ve been trying to prep her so she’s ready; different medicinal cocktails, testing, and such.” She pauses. “Tsunade-shishou sent over some things that arrived this morning, though, and one of them was a sample of a new poison found in a few Shinobi in Wind. I guess that’s… interesting. She’s going to work on it, too, so hopefully we get an antidote quickly, but I started some tests on it today.”

Sasuke’s lips turn downwards. That doesn’t sound good.

“Ehhh, between you and Granny Tsunade, I’m sure you’ll find an antidote soon!” Naruto chirps positively from his left. Then he quiets, in a manner that suggests he’s cogitative. “How bad?”

“Well, it’s slow enough progression-wise that they’ll live if we find an antidote in time; they’ve got at least a month, we think. Maybe more, if Tsunade-shishou keeps siphoning it out via the Delicate Illness Extraction Technique. It’s not... pleasant for the patient, obviously, but it works. She’s already run most of the preliminary tests; calcium chloride, pyridoxine, sodium bicarbonate, so we at least have some stuff ruled out.,, There might be others eventually, though, so it would be best to nip it in the bud and have an antidote readily available, really.”

“...What do you know about it so far?” Sasuke asks. “In terms of the type of toxin.” Having been dosed numerous times with poisons to build up resistance, he knows he is essentially immune to many of them, but a new one popping up is never something one should disregard in their line of work.

Jade shifts to him. “We suspect it might be a mixture of several venoms, plus a heavy neurotoxin. Epinephrine doesn’t work at all, though; that’s why we’re leaning towards it being a combo. Something has to be continuing the effects while that cycles through the system.”

Neurotoxins are troublesome; a mixture with it is nothing to scoff at. “It causes paralysis?” He questions.

Sakura inclines her head in a nod. “Immediately after Tsunade-shishou uses the Extraction Technique, though, they gain some movement back, so if we can find an antidote, it won’t be permanent.”

There is a contemplative silence.

“So what you’re saying is, you’re gonna kill a lot of rats,” Naruto finally jokes from his left, gauche as ever and clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“They’re mice, not rats,” Sakura responds, rolling her eyes. “But yes. We probably will. Necessary sacrifice, I suppose.”

There is a substantial length of time that feels heavy, even with the distant background noise of people going about their evening.

Sakura is the one to break it. “What about you, Naruto? Anything new? Hinata’s on a mission, I heard. What have you been doing to fill the time?”

Sasuke glances back to his left, where Naruto is grinning suspiciously.

“You mean other than kicking the shit out of teme?”

Sasuke narrows his eyes. “As I recall, both spars were draws, dead last .”

Naruto laughs, unbothered and waving his hand jokingly. “Eh, really I dunno. Mostly just helping Kakashi-sensei at the office. He’s torturing me with homework , since Hinata-chan’s gone.”

Suddenly their food is being placed in front of them. His smells good, charred pork belly swimming in spring onion, nori, mushrooms, noodles, and ginger. Sakura says thank you to Teuchi, and then he hears her break her chopsticks. She doesn’t miss a beat. “Hypothetical mission assemblages again?”

Naruto groans as he snaps his own chopsticks. “Yeah, it’s a nightmare. I know most of the people our age fine enough, but you basically have to memorize everyone’s abilities, strengths, and weaknesses, or you spend hours doing it because you have to refer to The Binder.” The way the dobe articulates The Binder makes it sound ominous.

“Huh. Now that I know it’s a nightmare, I’ll make sure to give you even more of it,” a familiar voice lilts behind them.

The three of them turn, and Kakashi is behind them, clad in simple Jonin dress instead of Hokage robes, for all appearances completely unbothered by the fact that he’s nearly twenty minutes late.

All three of them give him a withering look, slightly tinged with nostalgia, and say nothing.

“Sorry. Got lost in a pile of paperwork.”

Their old sensei removes Naruto’s shoe from his saved seat, and places it directly on the blond’s head. It promptly falls off and nearly lands in the idiot’s bowl of ramen as he splutters to catch it. Kakashi orders hakata tonkotsu without even glancing at the menu, same as Sasuke.

“So. Isn’t this nice,” The Hokage drawls. “How are we all? Enjoying the springtime?”

“It’s good! Hinata-chan planted a garden! We’re gonna have broccoli, and sweet potatoes, and maybe even pumpkin!” Naruto responds as he shoves his shoe unceremoniously back onto his foot before reaching for his chopsticks again.

“The weather has been nice," Sakura pipes up from behind him, though her tone of voice makes it sound as though more than that has been nice. Something in him twists pleasantly.

“...It’s good,” Sasuke comments last, before taking another bite of his food. It’s an understatement.

Kakashi looks content, head nodding in agreement. “Everything’s really greening up. I think it’s going to be a good year. No wars on the horizon, either, at least that I know of; that’s always preferable. Gets one into a reflective headspace.”

“About what, having time to read porn in your office?” Naruto quips sarcastically in between inhaling bites of bean sprouts and noodles, though Kakashi doesn’t seem at all fazed. Sasuke hasn’t seen any orange books in the times he’s visited the Hokage’s office so far, but he’d been sure they were stowed somewhere within easy access.

“Can’t a Hokage take a break to enjoy fine literature once in a while?” Their old sensei asks good-naturedly, but Naruto rolls his eyes as Sasuke, and he assumes Sakura, continue to eat their food at a normal pace.

“Fine literature? As if ! You forget I’ve read all those books. They’re full of good ideas, sure, but they’re still fucking porn ! And anyways, no, you can’t take a break. Not when you’re piling homework on me like I’m in the Academy still. I know , by the way.”

Now Kakashi’s smile turns a little nervous. To most people, the change would be imperceptible, but it’s there for those that know him well. “Know what, exactly?”

The blond’s eyes narrow accusingly. “That you’re actually using my homework to put together squads for real fucking missions! I shouldn’t have to find out from Shikamaru. In the Academy, they expel kids for that shit.”

Judging by the caught expression on Kakashi’s face, there is at least some element of truth to this, which means Naruto must be doing an okay job, at the very least. Interesting .

“So a sensei isn’t allowed to appreciate and value the advice of a cherished student?”

“Whatever. Just keep giving me days off when Hinata-chan’s home and maybe I won’t tattle to the other kages.”

Kakashi smiles. “I can do that.”

There is a beat where everyone besides their sensei is quiet, taking a few bites of their food. Sasuke’s is good; he’s hungry. Going near all out against Naruto has given him a little more of an appetite, the past few days. He’s been trying to eat more, as Sakura suggested.

“Sakura, I received an interesting letter from Tsunade today.” their old sensei drawls after a bit. Sasuke shifts slightly. She’s swallowing a bite, and looking curious.

“About the poison?”

Sasuke glances back to his left in time to see Kakashi nod. “The poison, and also other worthwhile projects. Let me know if you need any funding for such things, and I’ll find a way to take care of it.”

Sasuke wonders what kinds of projects, but assumes it might be rather confidential when Sakura blinks, then nods, answering simply, “Thank you, Kakashi-sensei; it’s greatly appreciated.” Perhaps it has to do with her research.

Naruto finishes off his first bowl, and orders another. Now that he’s not inhaling food, he begins chattering again.

“So anyways, when are you gonna send us all on a mission together again?! I feel like I’ve been trapped in that office with you like an old croney for eighty-four years.”

Suddenly Kakashi appears very tired, eyes narrowing in exhaustion. “If you feel trapped now, I’d hate to see how you feel in five years or so.” He pauses, as Naruto narrows his eyes at him and crosses his arms. “I have a lost cat mission you could complete, I suppose. Or would you rather clean up the river? It’s good weather for it. Water’s warming up.”

Naruto looks at him indignantly. “As if. I want a real mission!! One that suits our strengths.”

The way Kakashi considers Naruto then is fond. Sasuke vaguely recollects a time where Naruto begged the Third for a ‘real’ mission a long time ago; that must be what he’s remembering.

“Well, the problem with that is that Sakura formally outranks you,” he finally retorts. His food shows up a second after he finishes talking.

Naruto groans. “This shit again?” Sasuke assumes this must be a running thing Kakashi likes to hold over his friend’s head. Technically it’s correct; Sakura had told him she’d made Jonin at the exams in Earth Country a while back, in one of her earlier letters. He’s sure she could have made Jonin sooner, but she’d been occupied with things at the hospital, he thinks. Naruto and himself, meanwhile, had never taken the exams, though it hadn’t affected their ability to take A and S-rank missions, given their role in ending the war; they held honorary Jonin positioning in all but the actual title itself, and weren’t held back from missions because of it in any way, but still, Sakura is the only one of their team that has taken them officially and passed. Naruto had told him that Tsunade didn’t want to promote Sakura like that, despite her contribution in ending the war, too; he’d assumed it was because the Fifth didn’t care for Sakura’s promotion to be in any way weighed down by assumptions of nepotism, especially with her taking over the hospital. Kakashi hadn't, either; he'd assumed for the same reason. Naruto and Sasuke getting special treatment regarding what missions they can accept is fine, because currently they hold no official titles, but with Sakura heading the hospital, it’s a different matter.

“How many times are you gonna hold that over my head?! Quit fucking around already. It’s not my fault Granny Tsunade wanted to show Sakura-chan off to all five nations, and besides, I was literally there, so it’s not like I don’t know.”

Sasuke blinks in sudden interest, as Kakashi quips, “If you were there, why didn’t you take the exams yourself? I seem to remember someone getting banned from the Kage’s seating area. That looks great for a future Hokage candidate, by the way, and was fun to try to de-escalate with the elders of Earth Country. Maybe you could have set a better example if you had also been taking the exams… Though I suppose it would have been embarrassing for you when Sakura beat you in three seconds flat.”

Sakura laughs a little to his right as if she is amused as Naruto complains some more, while Sasuke considers that he has never been given a detailed account of her performance at those exams, though he’s sure it was excellent. He’ll have to ask her or Naruto about it.

Naruto’s still whining. “Come ooooon. Just ONE teensy little mission. No bullshit. We’re all back; you basically have to, it’d be illegal NOT to. It can even be a B-rank.”

Kakashi doesn’t miss a beat. “I have a nice C-rank you two could probably handle.” Sasuke twitches a little, because he knows that’s directed at him, too, now. “Simple escort to Sand. Don’t want to take a prestigious Jonin away from her important work at the hospital, though, for such a measly thing.”

Sakura’s laugh twinkles. “Send Shikamaru. I’m sure he’d love to go.”

Kakashi grins, as if he is in on a joke. “Yes, Naruto, Sasuke, and Shikamaru. That would be an interesting team, to say the least, though perhaps a little overpowered. I’ll think it over… If nothing comes up that we desperately need Shikamaru for, that is.”

Naruto grumbles and turns to finish emptying his second bowl of ramen as Sasuke surmises inwardly, finishing off his own, that it would be an interesting team, even if it was just an escort. From what he knows, Nara is a capable leader and excellent strategist. He’s sure Shikamaru doesn’t like him very much, which is more than fair, but watching Naruto annoy someone else for a change would make the heated trek to Sand bearable. He wonders what Sakura’s comment was about, though. Maybe it was sarcasm, regarding most peoples’ general disdain for the sweltering weather there.

Sasuke notices, as he pushes his bowl forward, now empty, that Kakashi still hasn’t touched his food. He makes a mental note to keep an eye on that. When he glances to his right, he sees that Sakura has finished hers, too.

The restaurant is starting to clear out a little, it being closer to seven now. Naruto finally stops mumbling insults towards Kakashi, and instead peers at him as if he’s waiting for something. Maybe he wants to go home; his friend might have plans after this, though he’s not sure what they would be, given his wife is away.

“...Sorry to disappoint you, Sasuke, but we’ve been less than honest about dinner tonight,” Kakashi begins after meeting Naruto’s gaze. Sasuke’s brow furrows in puzzlement, and the dobe starts grinning smugly. When he glances the other way towards Sakura, she smiles, too, and looks a little guilty.

“It is also… a housewarming party.” The Hokage grins. “Though we thought we’d just have it here, and you could take your gifts home with you tonight.”

Sasuke frowns. “You didn’t need to-”

Naruto butts in, indignant and cutting him off accusingly with a pointed finger, “And don’t even TRY to say no, because I got you the best gift.” Sasuke has a brief premonition of his sparse kitchen cabinets suddenly filled with a month’s supply of instant ramen, and it takes everything in him not to roll his eyes. The dobe motions to Teuchi, gesturing towards the inner portion of the ramen stand, just below the counter. Sasuke then recalls the bag beneath Sakura’s chair, and frowns deeper, turning to her; though he’s sure the shoe box was free, she’s already given him the drying rack, which he’s sure was not. She didn’t need to get him anything else.

She just grins at him, eyes flashing with mirth as if she finds this amusing. He’s about to say something - he’s not sure what - when Naruto taps him on the shoulder. He turns, and the most poorly wrapped gift he has ever seen in his life comes into focus, a long thin mess of too much tape and intensely colorful paper, scrunched together haphazardly as if put together by a child with little motor control, and shoved directly into his face.

“...Why did you wrap it?”

His best friend rolls his eyes. “Because it’s a PRESENT, jackass. Besides, you guys wrapped yours too, right?!”

When Naruto looks from their old sensei to their teammate, Kakashi wears a jovial smile that tells him he didn’t, and Sakura doesn’t say anything behind him, but Naruto narrows his eyes, and that’s enough to tell him that she didn’t, either. “What the fuck, you guys are the worst! This is supposed to be a party!!”

Naruto sets the gift down on the counter in front of him, and Sasuke frowns at it stubbornly for a short while. The three of them are staring at him expectantly, though, so he sighs and reluctantly starts to peel the shoddy wrapping job away, curious as to where the idiot got instant ramen that comes in a long skinny box. He’s careful as he peels, so the paper doesn’t fly away in little chunks and litter the restaurant or the ground around them.

His brow creases as he peels away the final bit of paper and tape, because it’s not ramen, after all. Naruto’s gift is a paring board of a unique design, new from the store in an unopened box. The picture shows a maple wood finish, but with small skewers jutting vertically from it on the bottom center, on which one can spear vegetables or fruit to help hold it in place while slicing. It also has a corner guard on the upper left with an edge sealer to help keep other things one wants to slice, like bread or sushi, secure. In addition, it says it has silicone feet, so it doesn’t move around when you use it.

He didn’t know anything like this even existed. It is a surprisingly thoughtful and helpful gift, one that he’s sure comes from a deep understanding of the challenges that come with living with one arm, though Naruto has had the prosthetic, now, for a while.

Sasuke studies it for a long moment, genuinely touched. “...It’s nice. Thank you.” Truth be told, it’s more than nice, and will be incredibly useful. He won’t have to summon a clone anymore to cut things.

Naruto laughs and slaps him on the back, prompting Sasuke to glare at him. “Beat that, losers!” Kakashi smiles and casts his eye towards Sakura behind him, so Sasuke turns, brows furrowed again. She’s pulling a white container out of her bag, now in her lap, and then sliding it on the countertop next to Naruto’s gift.

He can see now that it’s a first aid kit. He looks back to her, meeting green eyes and slightly tinged cheeks. “I thought there might be some things you didn’t have, after traveling for so long.”

This is odd, because all ninja travel with a rudimentary first aid kit at the bare minimum, and Sakura of all people knows this; it’s an occupational hazard and frankly foolish not to. He stares at it as if it is a riddle, trying to figure out what could possibly be inside. Perhaps medicine or painkillers? Even those come in standard first aid kits for ninja, though. A hefty stock of food pills? He supposes he could take those on missions with him, if needed.

He’s sure both Kakashi and Naruto are thinking the same thing, but they don’t comment on it.

Finally, he responds, meeting her eyes, “Thank you.” He’ll open it later, when he’s alone, to see what’s actually in it. She really didn’t need to get him anything.

Her smile grows wider, and her eyes catch the light, gilded fervor that he thinks he could drown in. “You’re welcome.” After a beat, she glances at Kakashi, so Sasuke tears his irises away from flashing jade iridescent with metallic lambency and turns, too. When he does, he sees that Kakashi’s bowl is now empty. He tries to resist an annoyed twitch; he doesn’t know how he keeps pulling this off, after so many years.

Then his old sensei reaches into his vest and pulls out what appears to be a frame; it must have been tucked there this whole time, for safekeeping, out of sight.

When he reaches past Naruto to gift it to him, Sasuke realizes it’s their original Team Seven picture, in the frame he saw sitting on Kakashi’s desk the other day.

His eyes sting as it’s pressed into his hand, thoughts of mask hypervigilance forgotten in an instant in favor of an overwhelming sense of plenary peace and belonging. There is a small inner voice emanating from a house lined with dark wood and darker penchants, gnawing and protesting that he is deeply undeserving, but he extinguishes it for now, just for tonight; the world is not going to end because Kakashi gave him a picture rife with memories. Fighting to remain detached is what got him into trouble in the first place.

Sasuke blinks a few times, and a paper-thin layer of sediment peels away, messy and getting everywhere, like the wrapping paper he tried to collect earlier to avoid a similar problem. Then he utters, “Thank you,” quietly, but loud enough for all three of them to hear.

“No problem. I can get another copy developed from the village archives for my desk,” Kakashi replies, smiling. “It’s good to have you back.”

Time passes somehow both quickly and slowly. The four of them sit there for well over another hour, visiting casually about topics that aren’t as heavy as perplexing poisons. Sasuke moreso listens than genuinely communicates, but he comments every now and then.

Naruto chatters about an elaborate date he’s going to take Hinata on when she gets back to the village, involving feeding ducks at her favorite pond. Sakura mentions that he should bring cinnamon rolls, because that is Hinata’s favorite treat, and Naruto exclaims that he knows, but he also asks Teuchi for a pen to write a reminder on his hand, so he doesn’t forget to pick them up the day after tomorrow when she’s supposed to get back.

Kakashi mentions how he’s supposed to be getting some new mission requests in on Monday morning, so he might have something for Sasuke by then; the dobe is indignant when it doesn’t also include him, and launches into another five minute whining session.

Sakura tells a story about Sai and a misunderstanding involving an order of art supplies that she heard from Ino that morning; apparently, Ino works at the hospital on occasion, both to do some part-time medic duties and to help Sakura, which Sasuke was unaware of. Naruto shudders when Sakura brings up Sai, Ino, and art supplies; Sasuke gets the distinct impression that there is a story there, but doesn’t ask.

It is a little after eight when Kakashi mentions quite astutely that everyone is probably tired and should get going. Naruto laughs mischievously, then, meeting Sasuke’s eyes.

“Teme, what do ya say to all of us going out for a drink or two after this? There’s a fun place just down the road from here.”

Sasuke blinks, because that sounds objectively terrible on any night, let alone a Saturday, and it is not the first time since his return to the village that Naruto has mentioned going to drink; he really wants to get him drunk for some reason. Even though Kakashi has just said they should wrap it up, he looks at Sasuke as if waiting for a response anyways, as though he would actually go with them if they all chose to.

“Can’t. I have plans.”

Naruto huffs and grumbles under his breath about the plans probably involving training or reading or watching his laundry air dry. “Alright, alright. But you can’t escape it forever. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to accept.”

Sasuke smirks, then. “If you can beat me in a spar, I’ll go. Dobe.”

A fire has been lit in blue eyes. “You’re ON.”

Kakashi then sets enough money on the counter for all four of them, at which point they all begin to stand. Sasuke and Sakura both say thank you, but Naruto begins protesting that if he knew he was buying, he would have eaten more. Kakashi smiles cryptically. “Which is why I didn’t tell you. The Hokage position pays lucratively, but I know from experience you’ll eat me out of house and home.”

Naruto and Kakashi wave goodbye and set out to the west, in the general direction of their respective residences. Sasuke and Sakura both watch them go with something like amusement; he can hear Naruto complaining until he’s halfway down the street, which is a feat, because this area of town is still quite busy.

He turns to the gifts and stacks them carefully in preparation to leave, finally; they are all flat, so they’ll be easy enough to carry. They really didn’t need to get him anything... but he is appreciative, gaze lingering on them for a little longer than an instant.

Sakura is smiling at him when he turns to her, weight shifted to the side casually. “Do you want to drop those off first, or bring them with you?”

Sasuke thinks of the time; he still doesn’t know when she usually goes to sleep. “...I can bring them with.”

Her lips quirk upwards more, and she nods. They start walking east, him gripping the gifts carefully.

The moon has risen a bit higher in the sky by now; the streets appear much like a desaturated dreamscape, cloaking everything in a layer of alleviation. They pass under street lights casting flaxen ambiance, as well as other smaller hints of glow from various lit-up signage, tinctorial flashes washing over them both occasionally, only to be rinsed clean as they pass into astronomical dusk again. Sakura’s hair is surprisingly reflectant, brief notes of neons catching atop pale pink: electric blue, candy red, apple green.

“Naruto’s going to hold you to that bet, you know,” Sakura pipes up to his right once they’ve made it a block away, tilting her head upwards, expression soaked with mirth.

“Tch. Don’t remind me.” She laughs a little in response. It’s a lovely sound, dulcet in his ears.

They’re coming up on a bar that appears to be pretty crowded, people spilling out onto the street outside. Wordlessly, they both change course to cross to the other side of the street, avoiding the gathering of people, for which he is appreciative; he’s still not much one for crowds. They’re almost to the main stretch of road where they’ll turn south to go to Sakura’s; just two more blocks and the people should disperse a bit.

As they cross, Sakura informs him, “I’m pretty sure that’s the one he was talking about, by the way.”

“...Great,” He murmurs, frowning. He really doesn’t drink often. A place like that wouldn’t do much to encourage him to.

“It’s not so bad, if you go on a weeknight. Less people.”

He considers, then questions, “...Have you gone drinking with him?”

She averts her eyes, as if she’s a little embarrassed. “A few times... Usually it’s for celebrations, though, not just us. Birthdays, that sort of thing. I’ve gone with Ino more.” She ponders for a bit longer, as if shuffling through memories. “I guess I’ve gone with him and Kakashi-sensei a couple of times, though we don’t always go to that one. Once we went with Tsunade-shishou to that casino.”

Sasuke is pretty sure he knows the answer to his next question, but he asks it anyway. “...Is he any good at gambling?”

A short but rich giggle blooms from her throat that makes his lip twitch upwards. “No. His betting history is just as bad as shishou. He’s worse at baccarat than she is, actually, which is quite an accomplishment. She hadn’t won in a long time, before she beat him.”

It stands to reason that Naruto would be bad at table games, but the fact that he’s bad at arguably one of the easiest ones to learn amuses him more than it should. “...Will probably be awhile before I get dragged with him, then.”

“Probably,” Sakura agrees.

They turn south towards her apartment, and sure enough, the people milling about in the streets begin to thin. Being a Saturday night, there are more lights on than usual around this time, but they’ve arrived into an area of town that doesn’t really cater to a night crowd like bars do; the lit windows here are mostly residential.

Plants are continuing to unfurl everywhere in Konoha, though the rain tomorrow will probably be good for them. It stands to reason that it will get even more lush, after; perennials are starting to bud back to life, soon to join the annuals already adorning most buildings’ exteriors and windowsills. There’s a breeze picking up tonight, too, slightly shuffling leaves and the fabric of awnings attached to the buildings they walk past, a quiescent whispering that seemingly drowns out the usual sound of crickets. It might be cold enough for soup tomorrow; he’s looking forward to it.

Sakura notices, too. “Kakashi was right; everything is greening up. The rain will do some good tomorrow; we haven’t had some in a bit.”

“...Probably,” he echoes her words from earlier. Her hair is fluttering a little in the wind, too, eye-catching and gossamery. Sasuke wonders if it’s still soft like silk. He had accidentally felt it several times, on various missions when they were younger.

They reach her building, and she noiselessly opens the glass door for him. Sasuke steps aside so she can pass after she shuts it behind them. Then he’s following her up the stairway, something like anticipation unfurling in him, much like the greenery he noticed on the way here.

Sakura unlocks her door, glancing back at him for a moment with her hand lingering on the doorknob. Then she turns to push it open, and he trails behind her carefully.

He follows her into a small enclosed area - a dedicated entryway - with a threshold straight ahead leading into the rest of the space. It is dim until Sakura flips on the light of a compact but surprisingly luminous lamp to their right, and he sees that the entryway area itself is painted the color of pale cream. The floor beneath them is aged wood, light in color, that appears to extend into the rest of the dwelling. A single wall-mounted shelf floats to the left that holds several multifarious storage containers: one woven, one white, one that looks like an antiquated rice basket. Out of the top of the last one peeks the well-worn handle of a spade; it must be gardening supplies. Beneath the shelf are hooks studded to the wall; Sakura is stepping towards them to shrug off her bag and hang it from one of them, next to a green jacket and a red and pink coat with fur trim.

There is a console table made of aged wood that near matches the shelf - white oak, he thinks, because it’s not as richly colored as normal oak - to the right. It might be an antique; it is close in color and stain to the flooring, though not an exact match. Her fiction book from the other day sits atop it, a bookmark protruding from around halfway through its pages; he assumes she must keep any non-work-related library books there, when she’s not reading them. Beneath the table is a patterned rug in neutral tones, on which rest a small collection of sandals that are not entirely lined up straight, as well as a pair of green rainboots. It is the only part of the entryway that does not appear overly organized.

Sasuke begins to toe off his sandals as Sakura does, too. She crosses over to the table and opens up one of the drawers, placing her lanyard of keys inside. “You can set your gifts here, if you’d like,” she offers helpfully, gesturing to the table and sounding almost shy, so he does. He turns to grab his sandals and sets them neatly on the rug beneath the table.

She reaches beyond the enclosing wall to the other side, flipping what must be a lightswitch; the rest of the overhead lights in the next area of space flood on. She angles her head back towards him, shifting her weight to the side a little. “I’m afraid it won’t be as long of a tour as Naruto’s.”

It’s small, but cozy. They step into an open space with a wall trailing to the right and openness extending to the left, which houses her living room. The ceilings are high for an apartment this size; it makes it feel bigger. Two towering bookshelves line the west and south walls, and a small dining table sits in front of the window on the north end, over which hangs a simple but worn pendant light, sap green in color; it is reminiscent of the kinds one usually sees at indoor markets. Between the two spaces lies a comfortable-looking sage green couch, classic but also well-worn, placed in front of a small entertainment center. He notices that the furniture pieces are all of slightly different construction, not a matching set, though the colors of everything are very similar to the flooring. On top of the surfaces are various decorative knick knacks: little glass jars in varied colors with dried flowers, another lamp, a candle. The entire open area is painted a pale, pale desaturated viridian; Sasuke likes the color. From what he can see of the room past the expanse of wall to their right, it is painted a different color - linen white.

“Sai and Ino helped me with the paint colors when I moved in.” She pauses. “Well, Sai helped. Ino mostly just helped narrow down color selection. It needed painting anyways; my landlady said I could do pretty much anything as long as it wasn’t black or something.” She walks over to the lamp on the end table by the sofa, and switches it on. Then she wanders over to switch the pendant light over the table on, too.

Sasuke nods, still absorbing. There is an expanse of framed photos to his right, on the space leading up to what must be the kitchen. There are many, leading all the way down the wall, arranged in more of a collage fashion than straight across. He scans them quickly, and is surprised to see that their original Team Seven photo isn't among them. He knows it must be elsewhere in her apartment; she is too sentimental to not have it displayed somewhere. It makes him consider where he’s going to put the one Kakashi has given him.

“The layout is kind of unique,” Sakura continues, walking back towards him through the living room area. “There’s not really room for a dining table in the kitchen, so that table over there-” She motions towards where she just was, in front of the north window, “-is used for that. It’s kind of nice, that way; you can look out the window when you eat.” Sasuke notes upon further inspection that there are a few small plants sitting in the window there, similar coloring to the ones on her doorstep. A thriving jasmine plant is hung higher up, against the glass, fronds twisting downwards. He finds he can picture Sakura eating there easily.

Sakura crosses over into what he assumes is the kitchen; he follows, and notes as he does so that there is a faint aroma of tea, though it is a challenge to place the flavor. It’s simple, but with nice floor to ceiling white cabinetry, aside from a single area in the corner where there is open shelving of the same wood finish, as well as a window on the east wall, over the sink. This one appears to be lined with a small herb garden, more mismatched terracotta pots perched in the windowsill. The countertops here are also wood, in a similar colorway as the rest of the wood he’s seen so far. Most of what’s stored on the open shelving appears to be general dry goods, flour and sugar and oatmeal in clear containers. There is also a fern-colored teapot, decorated with a white floral design, sitting on the end of the shelf for easiest access; she must make tea often. There is a knife set on the counter, as well as a few ceramic containers holding various utensils such as whisks and wooden spoons. Nothing appears out of place, and there are no dishes in the sink; she must keep it pretty tidy. In the only empty corner, there is what he assumes is a pantry door, as well as a small wooden stool. He realizes then that she must not be tall enough to reach the top of the cupboards.

“Sai said keeping it a lighter color would make it look bigger. I think it helps. It’s pretty nice, otherwise.” She glances at him, then away, slightly flushed as if she’s nervous. He realizes, reciprocally, that he is kind of nervous, too, being in her space with her alone.

“Not much left but the hallway,” she adds after a moment, leading him out of the kitchen and further, to a hallway leading east. There are three doors towards the end of it; one to the left, one in the middle, and one to the right. Two of the three are sitting open; the small room straight ahead holds a stacked washer and dryer, as well as cabinets that match the ones in the kitchen. Once he follows her a few more steps, he sees a hamper, as well. The walls appear to be painted a lilac color in the laundry room, slightly darker in hue than the rest of her space thus far. The flooring is different, too, in the laundry room; a white tile, inlaid with a touch of black sparingly in a symmetrical pattern. The style of it is very in tune with the age of the building, reminiscent of an older time.

“Left door is the bedroom.” She gestures towards the closed door, then points to the next one. “Middle is the laundry room; that’s also where I keep any cleaning stuff, like the broom or mop.” She nods then towards the bathroom, so he steps closer to peer inside; it is painted a light sand color, with the same white tile accented with black, only here it also goes halfway up the wall. “And that’s the bathroom.” The same white cabinets appear here, too. It has a tub/shower combination, and a plain white shower curtain. It appears spotlessly clean. A window lies above the sink on the east wall, with another hanging plant dangling in front of it, towards the corner so it’s not in full light all of the time; it looks like a satin pothos. There is also a small wicker stool, on which are folded powder-white towels, and a small glass tabletop lamp, an interesting statement in a bathroom.

He remembers that there are three lamps she’s turned on already. She must not like hard lighting. He tries to resist the urge to smile, because neither does he.

“It’s nice,” he compliments as they make their way back to the living room area. It’s more than nice; he really likes it. Everything about it is as her as he expected it to be, more of a home than an apartment, eclectic combinations painting a picture very indicative of the life she lives here. Sasuke muses that it is especially characteristic of her that she would like different colors throughout the rooms, and that the colors fit their respective spaces well. He finds himself wondering what color she selected for her room, what color she deemed the most calming, though obviously he would never ask.

A deep blush inks it way onto her skin, and she smiles, seeming very pleased. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.” Her gaze flits away, then back again. “Would you want to maybe watch something? I could make some tea, decaf, if you’d like.”

He nods.

“Okay; I can show you what I have.”

They go back into the kitchen. She opens one of the cabinets, the one nearest the teapot; the entire bottom shelf is filled with packaged tea, labeled jars of loose leaf, sugar, and a container of honey. The shelf above it contains teacups that match the teapot, and more jars of loose leaf, though these ones are labeled caffeine free. There are a few small boxes of packaged tea there, too; she must sort them separately based on caffeine content. The third shelf contains a few miscellaneous mugs and glasses. It’s quite a collection; he understands the mixed aromatics of different tea flavors he noticed earlier. It’s unique, enjoyable without being overwhelming, small hints of sweet spice and citrus drifting into the kitchen space more now that the cabinet door is ajar.

“Most of my packaged teas have more specific flavors, desserts and things like that,” Sakura mentions. “For loose leaf, I’ve got quite a few; caffeine-free ones are oolong, chamomile, lemon ginger, jasmine…” She shifts some of the jars to the side of the middle cabinet to reveal the ones behind it. “Silver needle, white coconut creme, Earl Grey, caramelized pear…”

“...Earl Grey sounds good,” Sasuke murmurs, moving slightly out of the way. She tips her head in acknowledgment before pulling that jar down, then reaching for the teapot.

“I’ll make some; I like Earl Grey at night. Do you want any cream or lemon or anything like that in yours? I have some in the fridge.” She moves to start the water boiling, removing the strainer from the teapot before she fills it. After it’s on the stove, she begins sifting loose leaf from the jar into the strainer so it’s ready.

“...Lemon would be good.” He likes adding lemon to Earl Grey; it makes it more tart. He feels like he should help, so he adds, “I’ll get it. Do you want cream in yours?”

Jade eyes flick to his, and her cheeks color a little. “...Yes. It’s on the top shelf of the door. There’s…” She pauses, as if embarrassed. “There’s normal creamer there too, but I have a coconut milk sweet cream that I like with mine. Just a little bit. It’s… meant for coffee, but…” When he smiles knowingly back, she looks away, back towards the teapot.

He opens the fridge; it’s extremely well-stocked. He doesn’t hover too long before he reaches to grab a lemon and the creamer she mentioned from the door’s upper shelf, but he notes there is a large container of strawberry topping on the top shelf towards the front, as well as a clear container with what may be banana nut muffins. She really does have a sweet tooth, he thinks, amused.

He shuts the door, and she procures a small cutting board from another cupboard and a knife to slice the lemon into wedges. She’s also grabbed two teacups, the ones that match the teapot.

“Thank you.” She’s smiling as he sets down the lemon and the creamer. “I can finish making this, if you want to maybe pick what we watch?”

“...What would you like to watch?”

Sakura blinks. “I’m honestly fine with anything. I’ve got some movies in the cabinet of the entertainment center… Otherwise I have cable to flip through, too.”

She must not go to bed too early, since she mentioned movies. He decides to ask. “...When do you usually go to bed?”

Something in her eyes softens. “Usually ten or eleven. It’s my weekend now, though, so I can stay up late, if you pick something longer.”

He nods, and she turns to slice the lemon halves into quarters, so he pads back to her living room. When he opens the cabinet below the television, he finds it nearly filled to the brim with movies. He settles down to siphon through them, skimming through various synopses. He comes across five or six shoved to the corner of one side haphazardly; those must be the ‘bad’ movies she watches with Ino. The rest of them that he finds sound fairly interesting. He ultimately picks one called A Tale of Archery; the summary makes it sound like a period drama with a twist. As he sits there, he tries to remember the last time he watched a movie; it was probably after he returned to Konoha but before he left for his journey, a rather stupid one with Naruto in his old apartment.

This one should be better. He hopes, brows furrowed, that it’s one she likes; he assumes she must like most of them, given that she owns them.

Sasuke stands with it as Sakura comes out with the tea, cups placed on small plates with dainty teaspoons. “Oh, that’s a good one,” she mentions. His heart flutters, and he feels a little less nervous. He puts it into the player on the next shelf before standing as she sets her plate and cup on her coffee table.

“Thank you,” he says softly when she hands him his, two slices of lemon perched on the side.

She smiles at him, dimple appearing, before grabbing the remote and flicking on the television so it starts setting up. “Do you mind if I shut off the overhead lights? I’m... not much one for hard lighting.”

“Not at all.” The space will be well-lit without it, with the lamps.

He takes a seat on the sofa while she walks over near the entryway. Sasuke realizes now that the couch isn’t terribly big; probably just enough for one person to lie down on, if they wanted to. It’s comfortable, as he’d anticipated. He sets his plate and cup on her coffee table so he can squeeze the lemon wedge into it, grabbing the spoon to stir as the overhead lights go out.

With the lights off, it is very cozy.

Sakura takes a seat next to him, not too close, but not the furthest away she could be, either. She fast forwards through the opening portion of advertisements as he stirs.

By the time he brings the cup to his lips to take a sip, the opening credits are playing. She sets down the remote and stirs her own cup once more, before also taking a sip.

It’s good; flavorful but not too intense, with a hint of bergamot orange rind and maltiness. The lemon gives it a slightly more acidic twist. He’s not much one for creamer, unless he’s in a rare mood on a cold fall or winter day, but he can see how the coconut milk sweet cream would compliment the taste, if one liked sweet things.

“It’s good,” he murmurs, meeting her eyes for a moment.

She glows at the compliment; he can make out a blush in the dim lighting. He feels his own neck heat up.

The movie is pretty good. It tells the story of a bygone feudal era a long time ago, peasants and samurai and daimyos with estates sprawling across countrysides lined with rice paddies. An archer passes away, and his son follows in his footsteps and becomes respected competitively. The twist is that the father actually went into hiding, and returns at the end of the movie.

It’s close to eleven when it’s over. Their teacups sit on her coffee table, long emptied.

Sasuke feels very content, and a little loath to leave, if he’s being honest. She seems slightly tired when she meets his eyes, though, so he slowly stands and reaches for his plate and cup. She does the same, and he trails after her to the kitchen, following her lead; she empties the lemon rinds into the garbage, so he does too. She then rinses her cup clean in the sink, extending her hand for his after.

“...What time should I come over tomorrow?” He asks in a hushed tone, when she turns to him. He’s not sure if the walls are thin or not, and they’re in the kitchen, so it’s not against her neighbors’ unit or anything, but he still somehow feels he should speak quietly; it’s somewhat dark, dimly lit only by cast light from the lamp in the other room.

Her countenance changes to one of consideration. “I was thinking maybe around eleven? I should have lunch ready around then.” Her eyes flicker to his, and her lips curve upwards; he tries not to look at them too long. “If that’s okay.”

He nods. “I’ll be here, then.”

Her lips curve upwards more. “I’ll walk you to the door,” she offers softly. He turns, and she follows.

“Do you like avocado?” She asks him as they shuffle into her entryway, where he stoops to retrieve his shoes. “I was… thinking about making avocado grilled cheese, to go with the soup.”

He glances upwards. “...I do.” He’s never had a grilled cheese sandwich with avocado before, but it sounds like it would taste good. He wonders again what kind of soup she’ll make; she knows his food preferences well, and she hasn’t asked, so it must be something she knows he’ll like. It makes his heart flip behind his ribcage a little.

“Oh, good. I’ll make that, then.” Her eyes drop down to her feet for a second as he rises back to his full height, sandals situated; it’s hard to tell in the lack of light, just the one lamp turned on in here, but he’s pretty sure she’s blushing again.

Her next words are near a whisper. “Thank you for… hanging out.” Multi-faceted jade seeps into him again, seafoam ebbing around dark pupils. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it, after yearning for it for so long. “I had a nice time.”

He takes a quiet step closer to her, heart suddenly twisting in his chest as he tries to swallow his nerves, because she looks so happy, and it’s making his breath get stuck inside his lungs.

“...Me, too,” he whispers, barely audible before his lips brush hers gently.

It feels different, kissing her in the privacy of her apartment rather than on her doorstep. It’s like they can finally take their time, no real chance of interruption. His mind comes up with the word intimate, and his neck warms. Her mouth is all plush affection, bergamot and lemon and a subtle sweetness, stirred, that isn’t too much, accented by berry. It makes him want to try all of the varieties she has in her cabinet, even the sweet ones, just to see what they taste like on her lips in the hours that follow.

Delicate hands brush his shoulders, fingertips skimming the lower part of his neck, subtle beckoning but also gentle, respectful of boundaries, so he decides to corrode, give in and do something that he has wanted to do for a very long time. He cups her cheek with his hand, careful and barely there, gingerly sweeping a thumb over flushed skin, gliding atop a freckle that rests further back on her cheekbone. He’s had it memorized since they were kids.

The strands of pink he inadvertently touches are as soft as he remembers.

Her face is ablaze when they draw back from each other, tender smile and viridescent eyes laced with ardency just for him. Warmth pools in his belly as he studies her, decay long soothed and forgotten as he carefully strokes her cheek once more before he pulls away.

“...Good night, Sakura.”

The dimple makes one last appearance for the evening. “Good night, Sasuke-kun.”

XXX

Sasuke opens the first aid kit upon his return to his apartment, having been curious about what was in it all evening. Vines grasp his heartstrings as he discovers what’s inside.

There are two jars of loose leaf sencha tea that he’s sure came from the tea place they’d visited together a few days ago; one is labeled caffeinated, the other decaffeinated. Along with it is a basic tea infuser, new in its package. There are also three blue packages of cough drops, mentho-lyptus flavor, so they won’t be sweet.

Jade irises, he thinks, are also mollifying, for when the corrosion is done, an aether easily risen into, floating to the top.

Sasuke brews a mug of the jar labeled decaffeinated to enjoy before he goes to bed, a helpful succedaneum with which to conclude an evening well spent. It's not exactly the same shade of green, he thinks, before taking it to his living room so he can look out his window as he savors it, but it's close.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #longest chapter to date lmao #tw: self harm #tw: implied/referenced self-harm

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nekoannie-chan · 2 years ago

Text

Bring me to life part I

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Kathleen (OFC).

Word count: 1075 words.

Summary: Kathleen tried to arrange her marriage, but realized she was tired of the situation.

Warnings: Mean!Steve, break up.

A/N: This is my entry to @writercole‘s Millenial Mixtape Challenge with the song #65:

“Bring me to life by Evanescence.”

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

June 2022

Kathleen looked at the calendar; her birthday was in two days, and their fifth wedding anniversary was the following week; despite having the gift for Steve, she wasn't sure they'd celebrate. It had been many weeks since the last time Steve went to the house, since she saw him, in fact, not even at work they saw each other. She had tried several times to understand his attitudes, but she did not succeed. She also tried to talk to him and it was impossible. Steve simply seemed indifferent to what was happening in his marriage and with his wife.

She looked down at the gift she had bought to celebrate the event. She didn't even know why she had done it; he probably wouldn't arrive. They had only celebrated one anniversary, the first. The rest went unnoticed because of the Snap. Although that was not what hurt her, Steve's indifference. She felt so alone. Very rarely did he get home.

It seemed that the only thing she had now were memories. She saw the photo albums. They looked so happy and in love. What had happened to her husband? Of the last few years, there was no memory; however, Steve was not alone, and everyone continued to adore him, Kath only had Steve and Brock, although the reality was different, she wiped the tears that began to come out with the back of her hand. What happened was difficult for everyone; it ruined the lives of everyone.

2 days later

Kath woke up, and looked at the other side of the bed, empty like the previous weeks. Maybe he was waiting for her downstairs. She still had hopes that Steve had reflected and changed his mind. When she went down to the kitchen, there was no one there either; another day alone in that house; a few seconds later, the bell rang; it seemed odd, perhaps he had misplaced the keys.

"Steve!" she exclaimed with emotion, opening the door, but her face changed when she saw that it was not him. " Ah... It's you," she said, disappointed to see Brock.

"Am I sorry to disappoint you for not being your husband?" Brock replied with a slightly mocking tone as he raised his eyebrow.

"No, I'm sorry, it's just that... it doesn't matter. What are you doing here?" She asked, stepping aside to let it go.

"It's your birthday. I didn't want you to be alone, so it occurred to me to stop by and give you this." Brock knew something was wrong, even if she didn't tell him.

"We have to go to work. I'm not going to be alone."

"Advance gift. Come on, it has been a long time since we celebrated one of the birthdays."

"Yes... a long time," she said, her voice sounding nostalgic.

"Do I interrupt anything? " Brock asked when he saw the gift on the dining room table.

"No, that's something I bought for my wedding anniversary."

"Kitty, what's wrong? I know you and I know something isn't right."

She grimaced. She didn't know if she should tell her. However, he was right and she was already getting tired of the situation.

"I thought it was Steve instead of you because he hasn't come in a while," she began to say.

"What? I know he's not missing because I saw him yesterday in... "

I haven't even seen it at work. I guess he also forgot my birthday, but I mean that since the Snap came to the house, I've spent all this time alone," Kath confessed.

"Even if you told him about..."

"He's done that ever since," Kath said.

"We should go to the usual coffee shop to celebrate your birthday," Brock proposed.

"Brook, no..."

You can say it or not to Rogers, but if he does not care about your birthday, I do. Apart from that, we have to catch up. I know you have many things to tell me. "

About a week later

Kath had prepared everything to celebrate with Steve their anniversary. In the end, Brock was the one who gave her the idea when they went to the cafeteria. His friend was right, and she was starting to feel a little better after all that time. She went to the gym of the organization. She wanted to fix the situation. She had let a lot of time pass. Sure enough, as she assumed, her husband was there for training.

"I haven't seen you in a while," she said.

"I've been busy with some things," Steve replied while still hitting the box bag.

"The therapy group?" Kath came over and put her hand on his arm. She wanted to get his attention. Steve turned to see her. " Hey, Stevie, you get home early today, please. I want to be with you for a while like before."

"Okay," he blurted out, and she smiled. "I'll be there at eight o'clock, okay?" It's a promise, doll. "

Kath finished fixing her hair, put on the first necklace that Steve had given her, and put on the dress she knew she loved. Maybe they could make up for the lost time. It was a few minutes before eight. The only thing she needed to do was serve the food and wait for her husband to arrive. She had cooked his favourite dish.

Twenty minutes after eight o'clock and Steve still hadn't arrived, Kath nervously moved her feet. At nine o'clock, he started calling her cell phone. She was hungry, but unfortunately, the call did not come in. She sent a message to Brock asking if Steve had had any emergency missions or if something had happened to him.

Steve was always supposed to keep his promises.

She realized that he would not arrive after ten o'clock. She began to eat between sobs. She couldn't believe it. She still remembered those promises he had made to her. She left the gift on the little table in the hall. Maybe when he arrived, he would see it and apologize.

Her cell phone rang, maybe, maybe...

She didn't answer. Maybe so, he would think that everything had been a success and he wouldn't ask questions, although she didn't feel like talking to someone either.

Tomorrow would be another day. Maybe Steve would go and have a credible excuse. She would believe what he told her. All she wanted was her husband back.

Maybe...

#Millenial mixtape challenge #millenialmixtapechallenge #Steve Rogers x OFC

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mybg3notebook · 3 years ago

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Gale: Hypothesis and Analogies – Part 2

Here, I will compile several hypotheses that are pretty common to find around and I will express my opinion on them showing what EA has given us so far to justify them or not.

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

Disclaimer about interpretations of Real Life concepts: I’m not a fan of bringing real life issues into plain analogies/allegories in a game which intention in doing so was not made explicit, but the fandom seems to like this aspect and therefore I would like to share those opinions here as well since some seems reasonable despite not being of my taste. This topic may be sensitive for some people. Be aware of it.

Hypothesis: Gale is a gaslighter

Concept

Gaslighting is a form of psychological manipulation in which a person or a group covertly sows seeds of doubt in a targeted individual or group, making them question their own memory, perception, or judgement. It may evoke changes in them such as cognitive dissonance or low self-esteem, rendering the victim additionally dependent on the gaslighter for emotional support and validation. Using denial, misdirection, contradiction,and disinformation, gaslighting involves attempts to destabilise the victim and delegitimise the victim's beliefs.

A gasligther's ultimate goal is to make their victim second-guess their choices and to question their sanity, making them more dependent on the abuser. Fandom does an incredible misuse of this word (and similar ones), that over-magnifies situations which don't have those dimensions. For example, it’s pretty common to read in this fandom that Wyll “gaslights” Tav when he denies that his eye is a sending stone. Gaslighting and lying are not synonymous at all.

Then, what's the difference? A person usually lies by either withholding or concealing information, or falsifying information and presenting it as true.

Gaslighting is similar to lying, but a gaslighter will also be attempting to confuse the other person by flipping a situation and putting the blame onto them, making them doubt their perception of events and second guess themselves. Typically the gaslighter is either trying to avoid taking responsibility for something and they want someone else to take responsibility, or they are trying to gain control over someone because they have an agenda.

So basically, gaslighting is about flipping, attacking, confusing and blaming, gaining power over another, and trying to get someone else to take responsibility for their bad behaviour. But lying doesn’t involve flipping, attacking or blaming and the liar isn’t trying to get someone else to take responsibility for their behaviour, they are merely hiding information for personal reasons.

Inside the context of BG3

Honestly, nothing of this is happening with Gale, not even with Wyll and his denial about the sending stone. Gale and Wyll are hiding personal information, but without any interest to control Tav. In fact, the one holding power is Tav: the leader of the group that no companion questions. It's clear for any player that Tav has so much power over the group that they can kill any of the companions without consequences.

Unlike an average gaslighter, Gale is well aware that his dire situation is the product of his own mistakes; the folly of his young self who believed that Mystra's love would last forever. We also learnt in the Loss scene that he deeply regrets this situation and during the Revelation scene he makes it clear over and over again that the only one to blame is “the silly wizard who did not accept a no from a goddess”, while being quite oblivious of the power imbalance his young self was in (here is where the grooming interpretation comes. Read Part 1 for details). Gale never disrespected Tav's opinions, confusing them or dismissing them. Gale can agree or disagree with Tav, and be very clear about it, but like an expected scholar, his disagreements are done with sensible touch and respecting Tav's individuality. In the only moment where Gale is aggressive due to dissidence is during the conversation after the goblin party or in his final scene before leaving the party when he is very low approval. But it's more than understandable since Tav forced him to be part of evil acts he did not want to participate in (after all, he is a good-aligned character, as Sven said it in PAX).

Even Wyll, lying straight to Tav's face about his stone eye, is not even gaslighting. Gaslighting is about power, control, and submission of the other. I would really like the fandom to learn the context of the words they use.

Hypothesis: Gale is a narcissist

Concept

Another word that fandom can't grasp and misuses so lightly. The difference between a narcissist and a cocky person or a high self-esteem person is big.

A narcissist is not just someone who loves themselves in excess and has a big ego. A narcissist is a person that has very specific character traits, the three main are: having a sense of entitlement, being exploitative, and being empathy impaired, or having a complete lack of empathy for others.

Sense of entitlement: A narcissist views themselves as superior and special and better than everyone else, so they think they should be treated that way. They have delusions of grandeur and a sense of omnipotence and grandiosity that makes them feel entitled to have whatever they want.

They see their needs and desires as a priority and more important than anyone else’s; they are ruthless in getting them fulfilled. They crave admiration and adoration and will demand attention, but they will not give anything in return. They’ll punish others if they don’t get what they want. They don’t care about the consequences because they don’t believe consequences apply to them, since they think they are above reproach.

Being exploitative: Because of their sense of entitlement, the narcissist needs to exploit and use others to get what they want. Exploitative behaviour includes: intimidation, manipulation, control, plotting, conspiring, strategising, teasing, bullying, threats, being aggressive and passive-aggressive. They take advantage and treat people unfairly . They do only what is best for themselves in order to achieve their own goals. Due to their lack of conscience they will not feel any remorse or concern for the person they use and exploit. Instead they will just feel excitement and pleasure at having gained what they believe is rightfully theirs.

Lack of empathy: Empathy is the ability to put oneself in someone else’s shoes, and imagine what they are feeling, understanding those feelings. Narcissists lack this ability, so they do not concern themselves with other people's feelings, showing little compassion for others. This lack of empathy means they have no problem taking advantage of people or hurting them when they exploit or degrade them for their own means, and they have no conscience or awareness about the pain they cause in others. This is the reason why they can't offer comfort or reassurance. Another big sign that someone might be a narcissist is if they have trouble being told ‘No’. Narcissists lack boundaries and they don’t care about other people’s boundaries, so trying to set a boundary simply by saying no to them, may provoke a very strong reaction in them.

So, the difference between a narcissist and a cocky or high self-esteem person are clear:

A person with high self-esteem greatly respects themselves. Self-esteem is confidence in one’s ability to think, make choices, and act on those choices, as well as feeling deserving of happiness and benefiting from one’s hard work and accomplishments. Above all, it means valuing the facts of reality and reason to guide one’s life. A lapse in knowledge or a mistake won't threaten their self-esteem. In fact, they embrace facts, whether those facts come from themselves or someone else, because they know that knowledge will help them in their life.

People with high-self esteem rarely (if ever) evade facts or rational advice because they know reality is their survival tool and means of achieving and maintaining happiness. They may be cocky at times, but they have tact and empathy to understand their own mistakes and the effect that they may cause on others, accepting the blame.

Narcissism is the opposite of self-esteem. Narcissists act as if they know everything, and anything that contradicts what they believe is either evaded or rejected out of hand. They’re not interested in facts that contradict what they feel or want to be true. They feel they must be right all the time. Their charm and show-off is usually aimed to belittle people. They always want to remain blameless.

Inside the context of BG3

Gale is certainly confident in his knowledge and he is proud of what he does; he spent many years learning under many tutors; his skills are a product of hard effort and a privileged education (wizard education).

Gale: I'm a wizard of considerable acclaim, and scholar of exceptional accomplishment.

Lae'zel: You strike me as cleverer than most istiki, Gale. Multiple tutors I should guess. Gale: Many a wise man and woman, indeed. Waterdeep is the home of myriads of scholars.

Gale: Benefits of a wizard's education, you see. Of course my considerable talent didn't hurt either. Well... That depends on who you ask, I suppose. I may have summoned things rather more exotic than a winged cat.

This is not mere fake, because the scene of Ceremorphosis shows that Gale has a deep understanding of the process, compared to the knowledge that any githyanki has (Lae'zel or githyanki Tav). What Gale continues stating are facts:

Tav: And what makes you the expert? Gale: Study.

He is far from being the typical obnoxious scholar who enjoys making people feel small and inferior. Unlike the archetype, Gale doesn't enjoy mocking Tav's ignorance, on the contrary, the excess of explanation can be seen as a typical vice of a teacher (which is confirmed after the Weave: Gale has been a teacher for some students even though his patience was thin). But in the same way Gale states the fact that he knows a lot, he is also well aware of his limitations, and he doesn't hide that fact: during the scene of ceremorphosis, he acknowledges that his “knowledge fails him” when he tries to understand the anomalies they are experiencing.

During the Weave scene, he acknowledges the obvious:

Tav: You’re a good teacher. Gale: I Know.

Annoying? yes, but true. After all, the game allowed a non-wizard Tav to channel the Weave, a unique experience for non-magical users. They are casting the Weave for the first time thanks to Gale's good instructions (and some luck with the dice).

Another situation can be seen during the scene of the consumption of the artefacts.

Tav: Thanks don't get me that artefact back Gale: I myself am a much more powerful artefact in your arsenal. Rest assured of that.

His comment may be cocky, but it once more displays a fact: a functional wizard (with many spell slots) is more valuable than the power that those artefacts give to Tav (usually one spell alone). It’s also worth noting that none of his show-off comments tries to dismiss or belittle Tav.

Because of his habit of over-explaining, Gale tends to be considered a mansplainer. I would see it that way if his excessive explanations would only happen with female Tavs. But the truth is that he is explaining too much to anyone, even to fellow wizards that may know all that stuff already. After all, it makes sense: he has the [sage] tag; he read all his life, he knows a big amount of things, and he was a teacher: a terrible combination that justifies a character with a tendency to over-explaining.

But Gale is not even that cocky, in my opinion. Many of his scenes have a level of teasing that implies more a hidden joke than high self-esteem. This is a pattern that can be seen in several opportunities: Gale uses this fake cockiness to put some levity in the moment, showing his joking intentions by context or explicitly with words:

The scene of Ceremorphosis starts with him observing his own reflection. When Tav asks him what he is doing, Gale answers: “Indulging in a spot of vanity. Handsome devil, aren't I?”. He deflected the raw context of the answer with teasing. He was not indulging into vanity, what he was truly doing was to observe any change in his physiognomy, and he attempted to levity by teasing. This is explicit later, when the topic of the conversation focuses on the changes that ceremorphosis causes. Even the handsome devil comment has teasing implications: according to some idiom dictionaries, the expression handsome devil “it's usually used playfully or flirtatiously”. Again, a teasing.

During the Stew scene, Gale puts some levity before introducing the dramatic conversation about the artefacts he needs:

Gale: Curious time to be dieting. Especially with a chef like myself around.

When meeting the Myconid, Gale will talk with fascination about the ability of this species to raise the dead through spores.

Tav: Sorry, but I don't share your fascination for fungi. Gale: Nobody's perfect.

Tav can be a bit dismissive with his response, to which Gale will reply with one of his typical teasing/jokes, implying the ridiculous idea that a perfect person should always be interested in fungi. It’s a joke.

Another attempt to levity despite fearing to turn into mind flayers that night:

Gale: More blood. That's a pretty sight. Give it to me straight, how do I look? Tav: Like your handsome self, Gale. Gale: Thanks, that's what I thought.

During the Loss scene, in the romantic path of “more than friends”, we have this silly, teasing/cockiness which lacks belittling intentions. He is just playful. That can be seen because he doesn't let the situation last more than a moment, immediately calling himself “insufferable”. A narcissist, under no circumstance, would call himself as such.

Tav: When I said we could be more than friends, you answered “perhaps”. What does that really mean? Gale: If I recall correctly, the Waterdhavian Dictionary of the Common Tongue of Faerûn defines it as an adverb that conveys the meaning of “It may be that”, or “possibly”. Sorry, sometimes I just can't help being quite insufferable. In seriousness, I'm glad you asked that question. [...]

When the joke/teasing finishes, his words change immediately returning to the “serious” note of the conversation, doing it explicitly: “In seriousness”. Meaning he was joking a moment ago. He is painfully explicit.

The same exact teasing/joke happens during the scene of the consumption of artefacts:

Tav: Let's hope this was the last artefact I had to part with. Gale: Come, come, these are mere fabled objects of great to enormous value. My continued presence though – quite priceless! On a more serious note, I do not wish to give you false hope. We're only treating the symptoms, not the cause. [...]

After the teasing, Gale explicitly says “talking on a more serious note”, meaning, the previous moment was a joke. Again.

Another example of teasing/cocky joke:

Wyll: Between the orb and the bug you've got more than your fair share of unwelcome passengers. Gale: What can I say. Mother always taught me to be a gracious host.

Gale claims to be a gracious host, but the context surrounding this... just makes it into a joke. This is why I insist so much in the Context.

This happens during the “Revelation” scene too, when it's Tav who attempts to use this teasing to relax the tense situation with a joke:

Tav: When you put it like that – no one can say no to me. Gale: After all, even I am only human. (Gale Approves)

It's painfully obvious they tease one another. After all the conversation of Mystra and the orb, some Tavs may want to opt for this option to answer Gale, and he even would approve this attempt of levity, because it's the same exact, silly thing he does as a pattern. He also approves it because he likes confidence. Again, I will repeat myself, but it's clear that Gale is char with high self-esteem, and likes people with that same trait. We know this because during the party when Tav accepts his out-of-nowhere “thank you”. Gale immediately says: “There's that confidence I like”.

During the scene after the party, we have some extra silly, cocky moments that could be the result of wine in Gale's system, or the messiness of the scene itself, since it’s so unpolished:

Tav: I think that sounds delightful Gale: That's because I'm full of delights

Tav: You’re a good kisser. Gale: I’m of the opinion one should try to excel at everything.

Tav: Thank you for a wonderful night. Gale: Like I said; I try to excel at everything.

I would like to highlight this line because the way it's said shows a level of confidence that is not related to an excess of ego, but to a high self-esteem behaviour: he says “try”. Meaning, he knows he may fail. His past is proof that he can try to excel at things that he would never be able to manage, and unlike a narcissist, he acknowledges his limitations once more.

Another interesting exchange is after that night:

Gale: A night to remember. It was wonderful, wasn't it? Tav: Oh, I've had better. Gale: I had a goddess, but you don't hear me complaining. [After apology] Tav: We should do it again sometime. Gale: We absolutely should, after all I need to undone the misconception that you had better.

Tav can question Gale's performance, and after repaying that rudeness with his comment on the Goddess, (again, Gale is a character that will pay you with the same coin [18]) he accepts the criticism and promises—with a teasing—to do it better. Again, an impossible gesture in a narcissist.

But not only in these teasing/joking situations we see his high self-esteem: in bitter or aggressive reactions, we see he uses it to enrage his rude/violent interlocutor:

During the Weave scene:

Gale: What did I think about seeing my head on a spike? That I still looked as handsome as ever, that's what.

Gale is hurt of being depicted beheaded (we know he fears death, the scene with Nettie shows it). His answer is, of course, rude after such a gore image projected in his mind. But instead of resorting to plain aggression, he pretends that it did not have the effect that Tav wanted to cause. To do so, he shows off.

The scene of Mirkon displays both styles of teasing: Gale started using his teasing/cocky attitude with a clear intention of sharing something personal with Tav, who has just done an action that it's important for Gale (saving children/youngsters of their own mistakes [5, 12b], a concept that echoes in Gale's background).

Gale: Benefits of a wizard's education, you see. Of course my considerable talent didn't hurt either. Well... That depends on who you ask, I suppose.

Tav can ignore this silly cockiness and engage in what Gale wants to share, leaving the moment at that. But if Tav opts for a rude comment, Gale will answer with a degree of rudeness too, using a condescending tone (but it’s very light if we compare it with the level of aggressive condescending he displays with an evil Tav). We need to remember that Gale is a char who follows the philosophy of giving people their own medicine [18]. That's what he does:

Tav: Considerable talent. Are you always this full of yourself? Gale: Only when the occasion suits. That's mostly a synonym for 'yes', by the by. Anyway--

Gale is a very confident character, but his high self-esteem is not that broad. It is limited to his knowledge and appearance, but never to relationships. Exactly it's there where he becomes less confident and when his emotions and abandonment issues conflict with his good sense.

Don't get me wrong, Gale's ego is there, I'm not denying it. But like everything in this fandom, some groups tend to over-magnify what the game gives in EA. Gale has a very well founded self-esteem in academic and researching fields: he has been a prodigy of the Weave from a young age (probably very close to a Weavemaster, skill referred in the novel Dead Masks), and a remarkable scholar with artistic attitudes in poetry. He worked hard for years to amass all that knowledge (he has a [sage] tag for a reason) and then he became, briefly, a Chosen one (not a small feat) which catapulted him to an status of archwizard. He could be so immensely obnoxious, aggressive, and dismissive as Fane is in DOS2. Still, Gale remains in a low level of a playful ego that only surfaces when the situation requires a teasing/levity or when it is a bitter tool against an aggressive and rude Tav. Considering him a narcissist is to over-magnify this trait out of the chart. He is a lore-content character; that character that in many rpg games will accompany us while explaining the context of the fantasy world we are playing in; therefore it is natural and obvious that he will over explain like no other companion so far.

Of course, all this is EA and may change by the time the game is released. But so far we should analyse what has been given to us.

I personally don't like this trait of his, but I think it's part of his many flaws. After all, he is the embodiment and the concept "humans are fallible", and he is very aware of that every time he speaks in seriousness.

Hypothesis: Gale is a manipulator

Concept

I suggest reading the post about "Context, persuasion, and manipulation" for the definition and understanding of the concept.

Inside the context of BG3

On this aspect, I won't repeat myself, and I will recommend to read the series of posts I've done about "Gale: Manipulation, Lies, and Trust" which explains in detail the Stew Scene, the Loss Scene, the Party Scene and extra scenes (death protocol and dreams). This series focuses exactly on the degree of truth and lies that Gale shares with different Tavs (depending on their choices). As a broad conclusion I can say that Gale is not a manipulator as a main trait in his personality, and may (or not) withhold information if romanced (depending on Tav’s choices).

He is not even a liar, since he has always made clear his boundaries and never denied to have secrets. Earning his trust to open up takes its time and good actions, and only in a romantic path there is a more messy approach: the scene pretends to create a “great betrayal”, when there is little since all the information concerning the “orb” has been given in broad strokes previously. The information that Gale has been withholding was personal and private but said in a bad timing making it of poor taste. The whole scene is very unpolished, not reacting to the amount of information that Tav can have from previous scenes. It presents two apparent conflicts:

The “orb”, which danger has been stated since the first moment we met Gale, and it was reinforced in most scenes; so there is not a great revelation in it by the end of EA.

The other conflict is apparently Gale's past lover: Mystra. Which can be surprising for a Tav, but not so much for a player who knows the lore background. In any case, the scene offers poor options to react to all this: or it ignores all the information that Tav can know by that time (information given by Gale himself), or gives over-reactive options, pretending that Mystra and the Orb are informations that never were informed in the game.

So far in EA we see that Gale could withhold personal information not because he wants to have power over Tav, but as a consequence of his visceral fear for a second abandonment. Gale suffers from abandonment issues that make him prone to making bad decisions when confronted with that situation.

As I said before, for a real and detailed analysis read the post "Gale: Manipulation, Lies, and Trust", which is summary of the posts

'Stew' Scene (extensive)

Loss Scene ( extensive )

Party Scene ( extensive )

Extra Scenes: death protocol and comments on dreams

Hypothesis: Gale makes you "cheat" your LI

I won't repeat myself so I recommend to read the post Gale proposes you to 'cheat' "

Hypothesis: Gale still loves Mystra

I recommend reading the post Does Gale love Mystra?.

Hypothesis: Gale has no Tadpole

I recommend to read the post of "The Tadpole"

---

Sources for both parts:

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders ( 5V)

Some concepts were summarised from: https://melcrowecounsellor.com www.d2l.org/child-grooming-signs-behavior-awareness/

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

#bg3 meta #gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch15: That Tie Looks Real Expensive

Summary: On the run from SHIELD, Katie and Steve find Natasha at the hospital when they head back for the memory drive. Their search for the truth leads Steve on yet another trip down memory lane and, as more truths bubble to the surface, the three of them are left running for their lives and are forced to seek help…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Violence, and someone gets pushed off a roof but he’s Hydra so, meh.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: Not one but TWO edits from @angrybirdcr in this one!!

Chapter 14

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

After a bit of a skirmish on the bridge out of the Triskellion involving a Quinjet and some nasty looking road blocks, they made it out relatively unscathed all things considered and headed to the boxing gym they trained at so Steve could change. Katie told him to leave his suit behind in the hope that the tracking systems would give whoever came looking for them a bit of a detour. At her suggestion, in an attempt to keep them as unnoticeable as possible, he also locked his shield in his locker, with the view they’d collect it when it was safe to do so.

They reached the hospital with no further issues. Katie was feeling the effects of the fight in the elevator and the leap of faith they’d taken out of it and was stiff and bruised but she did her best to keep pace with Steve as they strode down the corridor. When they reached the vending machine, Steve stopped and peered into it, frowning as he realised the row where he had hidden the stick was empty. Then someone appeared behind them, and he saw Natasha’s reflection in the machine, blowing bubbles from the gum she’d obviously bought to retrieve the stick.

Steve spun round, temper reaching boiling point as he grabbed her by the neck in a display of anger Katie had rarely seen from him, pushing her into a room opposite.

“What happened to you?” She looked at Katie’s face, her eyes taking in the bruising around her left cheekbone and the split in her lip.

“Rumlow.” Katie snapped back, unwilling to discuss any further. Her patience with this whole situation was running thin and she was sick of not knowing who she could trust. She had resigned from SHIELD for this precise reason, and here she was, getting dragged once more back into their shit.

“Where is it?” Steve demanded, looking at Nat as he reached up and threw down his hood.

“Safe.”

“Do better.” Katie suggested, glaring at the woman she thought was her friend, not sure anymore whether or not to trust the red-head.

“Where did you get it?” Natasha asked.

“Why would I tell you?” Steve countered.

“Fury gave it to you,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

“What’s on it?” Steve ask, ignoring her question.

“I don’t know,” Natasha answered.

Steve lightly slammed her against the wall his patience thinning quickly, anger blazing from every inch of his body. “Stop lying,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I only act like I know everything, Rogers.”

“I bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn’t you?” Katie said, looking at her.

“Well, it makes sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in…”

Katie let out a frustrated laugh before she spun around away from Natasha, groaning.

“I’m not gonna ask you again,” Steve threatened.

“I know who killed Fury.” Natasha spoke as Katie turned to face her again. “Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. The ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

“So he’s a ghost story.” Steve concluded releasing her and taking a step back.

“Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran and somebody shot out my tires near Odessa.” She said, looking him straight in the eyes “We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him, straight through me.”

Natasha pulled up her shirt, revealing a scar on her lower left abdomen.

“Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye bye, bikinis.”

“Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now.” Steve half joked.

“Going after him is a dead end. I know, I’ve tried.” Nat stated before she pulled out the thumb drive and held it out for all of them to see.

Steve eyed her before taking it and putting it in his pocket before he looked at Katie then back to Natasha.

“Let’s find out what the ghost wants.”

*****

“You know you could have picked something a little more subtle.” Nat hummed as she lounged in the backseat of the truck that they had taken from an industrial estate opposite the gym when they had stopped to pick up Steve’s shield and ditch Nat’s Corvette on their way out to New Jersey.

They had gotten what they needed from the Mall, including the location of where the AI that kept countering Natasha’s commands on the pen drive was coming from, which to Steve’s shock had been Camp Lehigh, the place he had trained and been selected for Operation Rebirth. After a close shave with the STRIKE team, in which Katie and Natasha’s stealth skills really had been put to the test, although Steve hadn’t objected to one part in particular where he’d had to kiss his girl on the escalator, they had bolted for Natasha’s car and made it out, unscathed and thankfully with a few new changes of clothes each.

“It’s a truck, lots of men drive trucks.” Steve replied, as he comfortably drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift, eyes focussed on the road.

“Because they think it looks cool when in fact it just makes them look like douchebags who are compensating for something.” Nat responded.

Despite himself, Steve couldn’t help but quip back playfully. “Maybe I am.” “Well I know that’s not true” Nat replied, her voice full of a smirk. “Katie told me.”

Steve felt his cheeks flush as Katie shifted in the seat beside him, whipping her head round to face the woman. “Jesus, Nat!”

“What were your exact words?” Natasha continued, a teasing expression on her face. “Oh yeah, if that thing wasn’t enhanced by the-“ “If you don’t shut up I’m gonna come back there and slap you into next week.” Katie hastily cut her off. She turned back round, glancing at Steve. His cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment but there was a faint trace of a smirk on his face, his eyes still focussed ahead. He could tell she was looking at him so he kept his eyes on the road, fully aware he blushing. But as far as discussing their sex life with her friend went, he supposed that there were far worse things she could be saying.

“So where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?” Natasha asked a few minutes later as Katie noticed that they were passing a sign welcoming them to New Jersey. All things considered they’d made pretty good time.

“Nazi Germany” Steve looked over his shoulder at her. “And we’re borrowing, take your feet off the seat.“

Natasha eyed him in the mirror, but did as she was told before she leant forward between the two front seats.

"Alright, I have a question for you both, which you do not have to answer. But I feel if you don’t answer it though, you’re kind of answering it, you know?”

“What?” Steve asked exasperatedly.

“So before in the Apple store… you guys were like engaged…” She began a hint of a smirk on her face. “Any chance of that happening for real?”

Katie moaned and, upon hearing her, Steve felt something in his stomach tighten.

"That bad an idea huh?” He asked stealing a glance over at her.

“I didn’t say that.” Katie sighed.

“No but it kinda sounded like that’s what you meant.” Steve continued.

“I not even gracing that with a response” Katie shot him a look.

“You gonna grace my other question with a response?”

“Which was?”

“Whether you’re gonna move in with me or not.” He stole another glance at her but before she could reply he felt Nat shift a little.

“You asked her?” She aised her eyebrows. “Will you fuck off?” Katie snapped. She’d had enough and well and truly reached her fill of Natasha’s sarcasm, of SHIELD, of everything.

“Take it easy Stark.” Nat drawled back, nonplussed. “You know, if you don’t want to answer a question straight you could try making something up.”

“What, like you?” Katie scoffed, looking at her over her shoulder

“You know the truth is a matter of circumstances, it’s not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”

"That’s a hard way to live,” Steve commented as he took in the red-heads words. Besides him Katie shifted, agitatedly and he knew she was pissed. Natasha was supposed to be her friend and all this had shaken her trust.

“It’s a good way not to die, though.” Natasha mused unconcerned.

“You know, it’s kind of hard to trust someone when you don’t know who that someone really is.” Katie shot the red head a pointed look and Steve held his breath for the sarcastic response he was expecting back. He really didn’t want to have to split up a fight between the two. But knowing his girl as he did, he had a horrible feeling it would go that way if Natasha bit back. Thankfully, she didn’t, her tone was soft, almost wistful when she answered

“Yeah.” Natasha replied, looking through the window. “Who do you want me to be?”

“How about a friend?” Steve jumped in.

“Well, there’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers.” Natasha smirked returning to her comfortable position in the backseat.

They sat in silence for a bit and Katie turned to look at Steve. If there was one person in all this she could trust, she knew it was him. She had no idea what they were going to find, what they were going to walk into but she trusted him with her life, and loved him with every inch of her being. And she wanted him to know, in case this all went wrong, just how much.

Steve shifted in his seat as he could feel her eyes on him for a while before she spoke finally.

“I’m not gonna move in with you.”

Steve’s head whipped round, his mouth dry at her refusal, before he returned his attention to the road, trying not to read too much into her rejection, as she continued to speak.

“Your flat is full of bullet holes, your bed is in the wrong place and frankly it’s too small for all my stuff. You’ll have to move in with me.”

Wait, what? That wasn’t a refusal.

He looked at her, aware a grin was spreading across his face. “Seriously?”

She nodded, returning her gaze to the front, and he did the same as her fingers tangled into his right hand where it was resting on the pillar between their seats, gently pulling it into her lap so she could trace shapes on his palm.

And, surprisingly, there was no sarcastic comment from the back seats.

*****

“It’s some kind of recording,” Natasha frowned as she tried to make sense of what was happening in front of them. They’d scoured the camp and after a long search, just as they were ready to give up, Steve had spotted that the munitions building was in the wrong place. Further investigations had led them into a huge, underground bunker and, after an hour or so more of searching, they had discovered a secret Elevator that led down to a huge room full of ancient computers…and a more modern USB terminal.

Natasha had plugged in the USB device into the port, which had activated the system and now, well, now Katie had no idea what the fuck they were looking at.

“I am not a recording, Fraulein. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945.”

Steve sighed heavily as the computer screen showed a black and white photo of a familiar odd looking man with round glasses. Zola.

“Who is that?” Katie asked as Steve glared at the photo on the computer screen.

“Do you know this thing?” Natasha questioned sceptically.

“Armin Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He’s been dead for years,” Steve explained shortly as he walked round the back of the screen, looking for anything that would explain how it was working.

“First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body. My mind, however, that was worth saving. Two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.” Zola explained.

“How did you get here?” Steve questioned, returning to the front of the television monitor.

“I was invited.”

“Operation Paperclip.” Natasha supplied as her and Katie exchanged a look.

“What?” Steve asked.

“After the War Shield recruited German scientists with strategic value.” Katie replied, her eyes still on the screen.

“They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own.” Zola continued.

“HYDRA died with the Red Skull,” Steve snapped.

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” Zola said confidently

“Prove it.” Steve challenged and Katie had to stifle a sigh as she was pretty sure they were going to regret that.

“Accessing archive.”

The computer screen began to screen old footage of the Red Skull and of the original SHIELD founders.

“HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize, was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, SHIELD was founded and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside SHIELD. For seventy years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed.”

Various photos flashed up as he spoke of events through the course of modern history. Besides him Katie gulped when they reached the assassination of JFK, and the photo zoomed in on a grainy image of the masked man with the metal arm in the distance, aiming his rifle, The Winter Soldier.

“That’s impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you,” Natasha said quickly countering the computer.

“Accidents will happen.” The computer screen then revealed a very familiar item, the newspaper reporting Howard and Maria Stark’s deaths. Steve felt his mouth go dry as he realised what Zola was telling him, whilst besides him, Katie took a deep breath as she looked at the screen, her Parent’s faces looking back at her in black and white print. And then the ringing started in her ears.

Her parents had been killed. By HYDRA.

When she spoke again, her voice was as desperate as she was. Desperate for this to be nonsense. “No, that’s not… they died in an accident… it was a car crash…”

“Things are not what they seem.” The screen drawled back

“You killed them?” Katie’s chest was heaving, the anger now evident in her voice as it coursed through her veins, her voice loud as she balled her fists “HYDRA killed my parents? Why?”

A photo of Director Fury flashed up.

“HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security.” Pictures of three helicarriers were shown next, and Steve feltl the angry heat spread up his neck, blistering and raw. “Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA’s new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your Life; a zero sum.”

Steve’s anger boiled over, and it appeared Katie’s had as well as the pair of them surged forward. Katie lashed out with her right foot kicking over a chair in anger and Steve brought his right hand crashing into the TV, smashing the screen. It only resulted in silencing the Swiss man for a moment, before he spoke cockily once again from a different monitor

“As I was saying…”

"What’s on this drive?” Natasha asked quickly stepping in front of both Katie and Steve to avoid the pair of them destroying anything else.

“Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.”

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” Katie demanded.

“The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.”

Suddenly, the doors they came through started to close. Steve threw his shield attempting to catch them before they shut completely but it missed and he caught it as it ricocheted back.

“Guys, we got a bogey, short-range ballistics. Thirty seconds tops.” Natasha announced looking at her phone, her voice earnest.

“Who fired it?” asked Steve, as he starting to look for an alternative escape route.

“SHIELD.” She looked at him, then to Katie.

“Admit it Captain, it’s better this way. We’re both of us, out of time.” Warned Zola.

Katie looked around for any sign of a way out, knowing it was pointless. She spotted a grate in the floor not too far from where we were and yelled at Steve. Catching on to what she was saying, he easily threw the top off as Natasha pulled the drive out of the port that was on the desk.

“Get in!” Steve yelled. Natasha hopped down into the space, then Katie followed, the two girls getting as close to one another as they could to make room for Steve in the small space. He jumped down and pulled them both in close before holding his shield over their heads.

The missile hit a split second later. Instantly, heat, smoke and pressure surrounded the three of them. Steve could feel the ash in his throat and he had to fight with all his strength to keep his shield above them, as the debris from the collapsing building above rained down into the space they were hiding in. Letting out a groan he braced himself and simply stayed as strong as he could, and eventually the noise subsided. He could hear Katie’s heavy breathing as she struggled to maintain her calm, coughing slightly as she spoke.

“Nat?”

No answer.

Steve grunted again as he pushed against his shield trying to clear away the debris on top of it just enough to get out. He let out a sigh of relief as, following a third huge heave, light flooded down into the chamber. With another almighty shove, he managed to clear a path for him to climb out. He scrambled up, checked around to make sure it was safe and the he glanced down at the two women.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am, but Nat’s passed out.” Katie blinked up at him, awkwardly shifting Natasha around carefully in order so Steve could lift her out. Carefully he set her down on the floor and then wrapped his hand around his girl’s wrist and pulled her out of the hole. Immediately she crouched next to Nat.

“Her pulse is strong. I think she just fainted, she doesn’t do well in tight spaces, like me.” Katie coughed harshly before she paused at the sound of a familiar hum growing steadily closer.

“Quinjets.” Her eyes grew wide.

“Let’s go.” Steve ordered quietly, scooping Natasha up in his arms. Ensuring Katie was in front of him at all times, they quickly began navigating their way out of the rubble as they headed back to the truck.

Katie climbed into the backseat and Steve laid Natasha down so that her head rested in Katie’s lap before he jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the car and taking off down the dirt road.

Neither of them spoke for a good five minutes. Katie was still trying to make sense of what Zola had said. HYDRA had killed her parents, for no other reason that she could think of bar the fact her dad had worked tirelessly against everything they stood for, as part of SHIELD. Her eyes misted over and she tried to blink back the tears, keeping her breathing even. She knew if she started crying, after everything that had happened, she wouldn’t stop.

In the front of the truck, Steve’s head was also reeling. All this time, HYDRA had grown within SHIELD, he’d gone into the ice for what? He wiped his hand over his face and glanced in the rear view mirror. Katie was looking down at Natasha, gently carding her hands through her friend’s hair, but he could see her eyes were wet. He felt another flash of anger. How could Fury have not noticed? How could Peggy have not noticed? So many goddamned questions.

“What…” Natasha’s voice was croaky and Steve glanced back again to see the red head’s eyes fluttering as she looked around.

“You passed out” Katie looked down at her. “We’re alright now, we got out ok.”

She sat upright and blinked again, “Thanks…”

Steve turned back to the windscreen as the car fell into silence.

“So, where to now?” Nat asked the question. No one answered which caused her to suggest “Tony?”

“No” Steve and Katie both said at the same time.

“For one thing he isn’t in the country.” Katie shook her head. “He’s in Aus working on some deal.”

“And they’ll be watching the Tower.” Steve continued, “It’s not safe”

“We need to get hold of Hill.” Katie licked her lips. “She’s the only one in any of this I trust now.”

Steve pondered, and then had to concede she was right. “Alright, but we need to lay low whilst we do. Any ideas?”

“Yeah.” Katie nodded. “And it’s a crazy one, but one that no one will ever suspect as no on in SHIELD knows the guy exists. Not yet anyway.” Steve shot her a questioning glance in the mirror, which turned into one of realisation as she finished. “Sam Wilson.”

“Honey we hardly know the guy.” Steve shook his head.

“Well trusting people we do know hasn’t exactly worked for us so far, has it?” Katie snapped back, a little tetchily. Steve opened his mouth to argue but Natasha cut him off.

“Nova’s right. Sometimes the person you have to trust is a stranger.” *********

Once they had tracked down Sam’s address, which was fairly easy to figure out when you had access to JARVIS via a StarkPhone, Sam let them in without so much as a question, the fact that the three of them were battered, bruised and filthy declaring everyone they knew was trying to kill them told him all he needed to know. He offered up his guestroom and Steve, being the gentleman that he was, let both Natasha and Katie go before him, giving Sam a brief overview of what had happened.

Katie and Natasha both showered quickly, and now they were currently sat quietly in the guestroom while Steve used the en-suite. He washed his face and looked in the mirror, letting out a sigh as he glanced back at his reflection, various bruises already covered his arms and upper body thanks to his accelerated healing but that wasn’t what bothered him. He was completely and utterly at a loss as to what to do next. Turning, he opened the door and saw Katie sitting behind Nat on the bed, drying the back of the woman’s red hair. He locked eyes with her, gave her a small smile and then looked at Natasha who was staring into space.

“You okay?"

"Yeah,” She replied quickly, too quickly.

Steve set down the towel he was drying his hands with and entered the room then sat on the chair across from the girls. He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at Natasha carefully. “What’s going on?”

“When I first joined SHIELD, I thought I was going straight. But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra,” Natasha confessed, looking down at her hands. “I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but I guess I can’t tell the difference anymore.”

“There’s a chance you might be in the wrong business.” Katie teased earning a small smile from the redhead.

“I owe you.” Natasha sighed quietly, “Both of you.”

“It’s okay,” Steve smiled.

“If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your lives – and be honest with me – would you trust me to do it?” She asked quietly, her green eyes locked onto Steve’s.

“I would now,” said Steve. “And I’m always honest.”

“Without question.” Katie added as Nat turned to her, a smile growing on her lips.

“Well,” She said as she looked back at Steve. “You seem pretty chipper for someone who just found out they died for nothing.”

“Well, guess I just like to know who I’m fighting,” Steve sighed in response, although she had hit a nerve.

“I made breakfast,” Sam’s voice came and the three looked to see him leaning up against the doorframe. “If you guys, eat that sort of thing.” He added as he left.

Steve inclined his head slightly, smiling as Natasha stood up and left the room, shouting after Sam to see if he had a hair dryer, earning her a sarcastic response about him not having had an afro since the late eighties. Katie made to follow her but Steve caught her arm gently as he too rose from his chair.

“Doll.” He started, wanting to talk to her about the discovery but she cut him off, shaking her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. It was too painful and the fear of what Tony would say was eating her up.

“You know, after mom and dad died, Tony lost it.” Katie sighed gently, voicing her fears. “When he finds out they were murdered it could push him over the edge again.”

“Don’t tell him then.” Steve found himself suggesting. He didn’t approve of lying, but sometimes if knowing the truth was detrimental then…

“And then if he does find out, and then realises I knew and didn’t tell him?” Katie swallowed, shaking her head “I don’t know what’s worse, Steve.”

She looked utterly lost and broken and Steve felt a lump catch in his throat as he pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head. He was desperately trying to think of something that would raise her mood, and then he found himself for some strange reason thinking back to the banter the three had shared in the truck and he knew just how to do it.

“Did you really tell Natasha I had a big…” He looked down at his girl as she gave a small chuckle, the sound music to his ears.

“No I said you were a big dick…she must have misheard me”

He rolled his eyes and a sarcastic “ha ha” fell from his mouth as she smiled, sliding her hands up his chest.

“What I actually said was that if that thing…”she glanced down at his crotch before looking back up. “wasn’t supersized at the same time you were, I have no idea how you managed to stand upright before the serum.”

Jesus she was incorrigible at times. But Steve loved her for that. And he was also secretly pleased she thought he was packing, so to speak. He smirked as his hands slid to her hips. “You’re a nightmare.”

“Yeah but you love me.” She grinned.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” His lips met hers in a soft kiss before the pair of them sighed, the moment of humour and good nature slipping away as they both remembered exactly where they were and why they were there.

“Come on.” Steve took her hand and together they headed down the hall into the kitchen area, the smell of food hitting his nostrils made his stomach grumble.

“You all look a hell of a lot better.” Sam commented as Katie grabbed a few things for her plate- a couple of pancakes, fruit and toast. Steve smiled a bit at the quasi-compliment before he sighed, biting into a piece of toast.

“Well, it’s been an eventful twenty-four hours.” He responded as he slipped into a chair.

“I aint got anywhere to be.” Sam shrugged as he looked at Steve “I know you gave me the overview but how about you give me the details?”

Katie sat down next to Steve at the table and looked at him, then to Natasha before they launched into a detailed explanation of what had happened as Sam listened intently asking questions and serving coffee out to them as they continued explaining over the next thirty minutes or so.

“So, the question is, who in SHIELD could launch a domestic missile strike?” Natasha asked from where she was stood, leaning comfortably back against Sam’s countertops.

“Alexander Pierce,” Katie confidently answered, finishing her coffee. It was amazing how much of the situation now was starting to slot into place following food and caffeine.

“Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world,” Natasha walked towards the table, standing behind Katie, almost snorting at the irony of the situation.

“He’s not working alone, Zola’s algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.” Steve continued.

“And you told me that Jasper Sitwell was too.” Katie added, as the three of them shared a glance. There was another piece of the puzzle.

“So, the real question is,” Steve looked at Katie then to Nat “How do the three most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?”

“The answer is, you don’t.” Sam dropped a file on to the table to the right of Katie.

“What’s this?” Steve asked, standing up as Natasha picked up the file.

“Call it a resume.”

Katie stood up as well so the three of them could look at the file.

“Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission-that was you?” Natasha asked and Sam nodded. She then turned to Steve. “You didn’t say he was a para rescue.”

“Riley?” Katie asked nodding to the photo of Sam and another man.

“Yeah.” Sam answered gently.

“I heard they couldn’t bring in the choppers because of the RPGs,” Natasha recalled. “What did you use, a stealth chute?”

“No. These.”

Sam handed Steve another file and he opened it, his eyes growing wide as they looked down at Sam soaring through the air using what could only describe as a pair of mechanical wings. He shared an impressed look with Katie before he glanced at Sam.

“I thought you said you’re a pilot?”

“I never said a pilot.” Sam countered with a little chuckle and a smirk.

“I can’t ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason.” Steve shook his head.

“Dude, Captain America needs my help. There’s no better reason to get back in.” Sam almost scoffed.

“Where can we get our hands on one of these things?” Katie asked, looking up.

“The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve inch steel wall.” Sam supplied, his tone a little dejected.

Steve looked to Natasha who nodded with a shrug. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” He almost smiled, looking at Sam with a smirk before he turned to Katie. “Reckon you can track down Sitwell?”

“Sam, you got a Laptop?” Katie looked to the man who nodded. “Then yeah, I can track him down.” She affirmed, dropping her StarkPhone onto the table.

********

The plan was as solid as they could make it. Steve and Nat were taking Sam’s car to Fort Meade to break out his kit whilst Sam and Katie stayed behind to track down Sitwell. It wasn’t ideal splitting up, but it was the best option they had. All four of them travelling would have attracted attention, plus this way if two of them did get caught, the other two still had a chance of getting the job done.

Steve drove the truck down the freeway, Nat lounging in the front seat as she looked at the plans of the base that they now had courtesy of some expert searching via Google Maps.

“If we go in from the East Side we should have the element of surprise.” She spoke and Steve nodded.

“Right, we get in, we get out, minimum casualties, minimum fuss.”

Natasha hummed her agreement as Steve stopped at a red light.

“So, you actually asked Stark to move in?” Nat grinned.

“Yeah.” “I’m impressed. Your forty’s programming has been well and truly broken.” Steve rolled his eyes “Well I figured I want to spend the rest of my life with her so what does it matter?” He realised what he’d said instantly and let out a groan as Natasha grinned.

“You wanna marry her…” She said in a sing-song voice.

“People don’t always get married now.” Steve tried to shrug it off and Nat snorted.

“Bullshit Rogers! Soon as you can get a ring on it we all know you’re gonna.”

“Who’s we?”

“Everyone.” Natasha added sagely. “You two are like ultimate couple goals. It’s cute.”

Steve took a deep breath, staring ahead as he drove before he took a deep breath. “You know I kinda already asked her.” He looked back at Natasha who turned to him, mouth open. He had no idea why he was telling her this, absolutely no idea, other than the fact it felt nice to talk about something positive. “Well, not properly, but when I asked her to move in she was teasing me about us not being married so I said we could get married if she wanted, and-” “Great proposal.” Nat cut him off with a snigger. “What did she say?” “Told me to ask again with a, and I quote, big, fuck off tiffany diamond.”

“Every girl deserves a bit of sparkle.” Nat mused. “Unlucky for you, you’ve chosen a Billionaire to date.” “She’s not like that.” Steve instantly jumped to his girl’s defence.

“I know.” Nat soothed with a smile. “I know.”

They fell into silence for the rest of the way and, upon arriving at the base, they crept round to the best point of entry, following the heat scanners on Nat’s phone. Steve easily dispatched three guards, Natasha another two before they reached the room they were looking at. Natasha easily hacked the security codes thanks to something on her phone, Steve didn’t ask what, and they met no one on their way out.

Frankly, it went far too smoothly for Steve’s liking but he wasn’t going to complain. He just hoped Katie had got on as well with locating Sitwell.

***** Once Steve and Nat had left, Sam fired up the laptop for Katie and she plugged the end of her StarkPhone into the USB port.

“So you know this guy we’re looking for?” Sam asked, placing a coffee down next to her as she waited for the programme to run its magic.

“Vaguely.” She sighed out, knowing it would be easier if she knew him better. “But I can work with what I have.”

“So using what you have, how do we find him?”

“Simple, I’m going to check his work calendar.” Katie nodded at the laptop

“And you can do that?” Sam asked

“Not on my own.” She grinned

“Good morning again Miss Stark.” JARVIS’ voice rang out from the laptop, causing Sam to slop coffee down his shirt in surprise.

“Hey JAR, I need a favour. Again. And it’s urgent.” “Of course.” “I need you to by-pass the SHIELD firewall and access someone’s calendar without them noticing.”

“Certainly, but permit me to ask,is everything ok Miss Stark?”

“Nope it is not…” she sighed “I’m in trouble J, but I’m hoping this is gonna help…”

“Should I alert Mr Stark? Maybe call him back from Australia?” “Absolutely not.” Katie shook her head. “There’s no time, in fact I forbid it…”

Once she had explained what she needed, JARVIS set to work, informing her he was going to scramble the IP address and set up a ghost server which would, in turn, allow him to access the information without being detected.

It didn’t take long. Fifteen or so minutes later Sitwell’s calendar flashed up and Katie gave a little yell of triumph.

“JARVIS, you are a genius, buddy!”

“Why thank you, Miss Stark. But I only have about sixty seconds before I will need to close down the connection.”

“Understood. Right let’s see where you’re at, you fucker.” Katie mused, as Sam peered over her shoulder.

“Look, briefing over lunch with Senator Stern at Occidental… 13:00 hours…” He read, pointing at the screen.

“Then he has another meeting at 14:30 back at the Triskellion… so Lunch is our window.” Katie looked up at Sam.

“Gives us an hour and a half.”

“Cutting it fine.” Katie mused. “Ok, thanks J, you can disconnect.” “Certainly Miss Stark. Good luck.”

Just as the AI had shut the link down her mobile rang.

“We got it.” Nat’s voice instantly spoke as she put the phone on speaker. “All ok your side?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” Katie replied

“Any luck finding Sitwell?” this time it was Steve

“Yeah, he’s having lunch at Occidental with Senator Stern at 1pm.”

“Oh, how nice, they have a Senator involved.” Nat snorted sarcastically.

“And that’s going to be our only window before he’s back at the Triskellion at two-thirty.”

“Doesn’t give us much time…” Steve mused.

“What’s your ETA?” Sam asked.

“About twenty five minutes.”

“Okay, so let’s do the brain storming whilst you’re on the phone.” Katie tapped at Sam’s laptop. “The restaurant they’re going to is in the Business District, so we need somewhere secure that’s close by to take him for a little chat.”

She brought up the Google Map images so Sam could see.

“There.” Sam tapped at the screen, “There’s a multi-storey parking lot a few blocks down. We can take him up high…”

“And kick him off the edge.” Katie nodded.

“Stark, I like your style.” Nat replied, and Katie could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Okay so we got the where, now we need the how.” Steve sighed. “We can’t just pick him up at lunch. If the Senator’s there security will be a nightmare.”

"So we wait until he’s finished.” Sam shrugged

”But how do you get him to get in the car?”

“Simple. We give him a choice.” Katie eyed her gun where it lay on the table. “Do it or die.”

***** It turns out fear of death is a very, very good motivator.

Their plan went off perfectly. Natasha spoofed a phone number which Sam used to call Sitwell once he emerged from the restaurant after lunch. As predicted, Sitwell had been his usual cocky little shit of a self, asking Sam why on Earth he would what he was being instructed to do.

And then Katie had aimed her gun sight at him from her hiding place, the red laser sight clear in the middle of Sitwell’s chest.

“Because that tie looks really expensive, and I’d hate to mess it up.” Sam smirked.

Sitwell, resigned to his face, followed Sam instructions and as he left the little plaza upon which the restaurant was situated, Katie stepped out from her hiding place behind the wall of the bar Sam was sat at and pressed the muzzle of her gun into Sitwell’s lower back.

“One move and this goes straight into your spine. And I’ll make sure it doesn’t kill you, just leaves you with no feeling from the neck down…” She informed him, her voice low. Sitwell instantly tensed. "Miss Stark.” He grumbled out, seemingly more annoyed than scared. “Of course you’re involved with this.”

She took in a breath and glanced around, making sure none of the security team with him had realized what had happened. Sam was a few paces behind them and he gave her a nod to say they were clear before she turned back to Sitwell.

“You made me a wanted fugitive.” She shrugged. “Didn’t have much choice.” She stopped walking. “Now, get in the car.” She ordered, sternly.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Get in the car.” She repeated. Sitwell stared at her, looked down at the gun before he swallowed and decided to do as he was told.

"We good?” Sam asked. Katie let out a breath and swiped a loose hair away from her face.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They drove two blocks away and pulled up outside the large Starbucks on the main road.

“You know I could have got a coffee at the Restaurant.” Sitwell sighed, sarcastically. But his cocky demeanour soon dropped when both the rear car doors opened and Steve slid in one side, Natasha in the other.

“Good afternoon Agent Sitwell…” Steve turned to him, aviator shades covering his eyes. Sitwell looked at Steve, then to Natasha before his shoulders slumped and he bowed his head.

“Shit.”

******

Sitwell really was an arrogant little bastard, Steve had to give him that. The soldier easily manhandled the Agent onto the top of the Car Park roof, demanding to know what the Algorithm was, backing him up right to the edge where Sitwell had almost laughed, stating that it wasn’t Steve’s style to throw people off the edge.

Well, he had a point.

“You’re right. It’s not.” Steve released Sitwell, smoothing out his suit, letting the man nearly sigh in relief. Katie exchanged a glance with Natasha behind Steve’s back, the corner of her mouth twitched up slightly as Nat looked back. They were both going to enjoy this.

“It’s theirs.” Steve finished, before standing aside as both Katie and Natasha aimed strong kicks to Sitwell’s chest, sending him tumbling over the edge.

“So you’re definitely moving in together, then huh?” Natasha asked, peering over the edge as Steve and Katie did the same, listening to Sitwell’s screams growing fainter.

“Yeah.” Steve smiled, looking down off the side of the room, hands in his pockets. “Although I’m not sure how I’m going to cope surrounded by mess.”

Katie rolled her eyes, as Sitwell’s screams started getting louder again and suddenly Sam flew over with him in his grasp and dropped him back onto the roof, before landing a few feet away. The three of them turned toward Sitwell and he stuck his hands up in surrender, telling them everything.

"Zola’s algorithm is a program, for choosing Insight’s targets!” He rushed out.

“What targets?” Steve demands.

“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City. Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who’s a threat to HYDRA! Now, or in the future,” Sitwell continued to rush out failing to catch his breath.

“The future? How could it know?” Steve asked in confusion. At this Sitwell laughed as he stumbled back to his feet, looking at Katie before he glanced at Steve.

“How could it not? The twenty-first century is a digital book. Zola taught HYDRA how to read it,” He said getting confused looks from the Soldier in return, “Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e‐mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores! Zola’s algorithm evaluates peoples’ past to predict their future.”

Steve swallowed. He’d heard and seen more unbelievable things.

“And what then?” He asked, already thinking he knew but didn’t want to know the answer. Sitwell shook his head in disbelief as Katie exchanged a glance with Sam who was stood behind Sitwell. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Oh, my god. Pierce is gonna kill me.” He mumbled to himself and he tried to back away from the advancing super-solider but Sam reached out, holding him in place with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“What then?” Steve demanded louder.

Sitwell sighed as he looked at Steve. “Then the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time.”

**** Chapter 16

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfic #captain america #chris evans #chris evans characters

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