A/N: I developed a liking for this couple and I still couldn't help adding SasuSaku. It can be one sided if you choose it that way.
I've been inspired by Mia to continue. This is my present to the SaiSaku FC. It may not be much; I'm still a rookie at this. I can't capture Sai as well as others have, I apologize. And if this plot is somewhat similar to another fic, it's purely coincidence. I've discussed it with a friend (Mia V., Mia V., Mia V.!) who had written somewhat a similar one-shot (in a different anime) as well. I've been planning for a long time to write something like this and it took me nearly two months to write so I hope you'll enjoy. Deds to Stella, happy birthday sweetie.
Summary: The maiden's lips drew back, stopping only to exhale softly between her lips and she breathed in—a sound he recalled with a shudder.
Disclaimer: Masashi Kishimoto owns Naruto, is swimming in loads of cash and torturing the major possible pairings. I fucking hate him right now.
Daylight
Sakura touched his hand, "Will you show me your designs when you're finished?"
"Of course," the corners of his lips lifted and with that, Sakura waved her hand goodbye and turned to leave the building.
One summer afternoon, Sai drew and swayed away the beads of sweat with a moist palm. He sketched for hours, which was all he did, scribbling and erasing, kneading his forehead as his drawing took on a life of its own. Sometimes he took his muse from the little framed picture, but half the time she was out of the frame, plaguing, and had a firm place in his few memories.
Hours had gone by and finally, she was incarcerated inside a large scroll. Her eyes could not see, her hands could not feel and her brain could not think. She was colorless only set on graphite outline, topped with thick ink and smudges of charcoal that insulated her thick eyelashes, dilated pupils and her long kimono.
Indeed, if he could paint her eyes apple green, she could perhaps look downwards as he filled the rest of her body with color. She could be alive once more.
Alive. He liked the sound of it.
First he mixed white with red and painted her short hair. Then, he mixed white again with green and her startling eyes were dipped of the lightest shade of jade. Grabbing another clean paintbrush, he quickly mixed a bit of orange with white and created a porcelain color for her skin. He etched her lips into a smile that spoke in volumes, as if telling you that she loved you. A smile which secreted others from her feelings, tears and the guilt that pinpricked in your gut that was tenfold in hers. A smile that granted others with reassurance while a selected few saw right through her masquerade. Her lips, he planned, were cotton candy pink because he preferred her sweet, soft voice rather than her insomniac banshee shriek she had applied towards him. The voice she had whenever she wept.
Black with red; he feverishly blended together into rusty crimson to get the perfect hue for her kimono. He added the usual gold trimmings and also made a mix of black and green for the obi tied around rose haired maiden's waist. Like falling confetti, with petite white cherry blossoms and orange peonies he dotted the ends of her sleeves and the bottom of the kimono that veiled her dainty feet.
Not a moment spent to remark on his masterpiece, he applied the final detail.
Coiled in her delicate right hand was a red and white fan.
Indeed, even in a simple painting, her heart yearned for Sasuke.
A peculiar feeling washed over him as he took a step back, the smeared palette in one hand and a messy paintbrush on the other.
Surely, he couldn't waste a perfect painting considering the amount of ink, tempura and acrylic paints and chakra used. Even if it was a life-sized portrait of Ugly, he couldn't waste it. If he reeled in the large scroll, the paints would bleed and blend in, destroying the picture. If he left it on the floor, it would collect dust bunnies and have the sun fade the dark colors of her kimono. And wither the playful tint of her hair.
The time of building a large picture frame wasn't in his luxury either, despite being an elite ANBU Root member like Danzo had reminded. Missions came and gone on a daily basis. Plus, he was languid and not enthralled into wood craft like most men. Well, he was unlike most men.
Despite the large magnitude of artwork he had done in the past, this one had taken its toll. Who knew Ugly was so goddamn hard to paint? Sai stilled in his joints, his hand clutching on the paintbrush lightly.
Part of him itched to touch the girl he had created.
Part of him wanted to see how far his jutsu was willing to bring his colorful painting into life. An exact duplicate of Haruno Sakura. Perhaps he would experience Sakura's gentler side and spare him from researching into more books about women—which he couldn't fathom to a greater extent than he already knew. This could spare him from another vicious pounding courtesy of the painted maiden.
Part of him wanted to feel the possible happiness this girl could grant him once more. ...That was it.
The paintbrush dropped to the floor in a soft patter, red paint staining the wooden floors.
His pale hands reached up to his chest and formed a set of hand signs. Chakra focused—his closed his eyes.
Sumi Bunshin.
Silent, he waited for the smoke to clear. He had not anticipated much.
Stoic black eyes watched carefully as delicate feet took refined steps from the scroll. Her breathing was calm and even, eyes closed with thick, heavy lashes glistening. She was crying: he made a mental note of that.
Devoid of emotion, Sai listened to his own rhythmic breathing closely. It shouldn't have come to a surprise that she was there. Yet, it slightly did with her concrete apparition. Always watching, always haunting. She had come to life as the ink he infused with chakra surged her veins.
Thin, delicate hands flexed and bony fingers tightened their grip on the Uchiha.
Sai just continued to watch, appreciating the view and felt something akin to peace and familiar warmth that occasionally rose up to his chest whenever his eyes were fixated on her. When she reached her spot, she stopped smoothly and her closed eyes parted.
A gust of wind nearby pushed her short bubblegum pink hair…there, she stood in her blood red kimono before him. Green irises absorbed the atmosphere behind Sai, memorizing every fine detail like a camera lens.
Soft icy mint eyes narrowed in recognition, "Sai…" She couldn't help smiling and gave chase with a burst of speed of her own. Soon clothed arms were draped around his bare torso and a soft cheek buried in his chest. "You're here!" her voice was melodic as he had designed.
Gloved fingers slowly ran through her silk like hair, admiring the shine it let off in the light. Eyeing the ink maiden through critical eyes—a beauty without a name, a title. "Good to see you," he murmured, rather impressed of his artwork.
That was all she was. His lovely nameless piece of art.
Her chin shot upward, Sakura beamed with her teeth flashing and her eyes crinkled into the most cheerful expression, "Do you want to go somewhere with me? I am dressed up after all." Uncomfortable, she yanked onto her long kimono with one hand and clung onto Sai with the other.
Sai was silent, his gloved hand feeling up and down the skin on her cheek. She had correction-fluid white skin and was papery in his touch. "No," his voice rumbled and settled on an empty yet convincingly happy grin to suit their moment. "We should stay inside," he slyly registered.
"But it's hot!" she feigned innocence, just as Sakura would.
He pinned her with a pointed glare. "Take your kimono off," a smirk formed in his lips while emerald eyes narrowed darkly. Amazing, he had even captured her sour attitude as well.
"I'm not having a strip tease. Especially not in front of you"
"Who said I was interested in seeing you naked, Ugly."
"Well, my breasts have come in nicely," she sounded proud. He drew them.
"…Kindly keep them covered for your sake."
"I feel so insulted that you don't like my body," she studied him thoughtfully, "Why is that? Am I too manly for you?"
He gave another listless look and muttered a 'no', after images of her merciless hand smashing against his skull flashed before his eyes.
Her pale hands reached up to draw him closer, holding against his chest wearily. "Do I look womanly to you? Naruto said I was still…be honest with me. I don't want him to see me like the way I was, Sai."
Sai had used to be nauseous all the time. Impossible to eat, sleep, impossible, even, to think. Why couldn't he feel, he didn't know. It frustrated him. He often caught Sakura staring at him from the corner of her vision. If he noticed, she'd begin a frown that she didn't have the strength to finish and look away. She had her reasons to feel the same, and, that being so, she did.
"Sasuke-kun, correct?"
He was right. Both of them knew. "He's out there and I can't bring him back. I feel so useless."
At that exact moment, his mind held a brief and simple thought. Sakura could die tomorrow and that bastard would never know what happened.
She and Naruto had become Sai's only friends. The last ones left conscious who could possibly understand. Even more, she was the only one who could know how much he really did love his brother. Because she knew this, Sai believed that she could have known anything without him telling her.
Sai closed his eyes, tumbling out a sigh. "I know."
Sakura hid her shock under a pale sheet of confusion that covered her skin. She raised her head.
Sai's eyes were present again. He was looking at his artwork, not noticeably blinking. She was still, feelings muted, screaming innocence. A perfect sculpture of beauty on a pedestal, lacking consciousness and heart and he couldn't give her anymore.
"You still love him," his low voice drawled. "It doesn't affect me."
"That…That isn't true," green eyes, weary and still careful, locked with his. "It does."
Sai frowned, eyes glaring into hers intensely.
Her shoulders shook, "Don't look at me like that! I know it does because I…" She wanted to scream, cry harder just to see all in vain. "…I like you!"
His head lowered, empty eyes averting her gaze. Something had gone wrong. She would never…
"I wasn't going to tell you," Sakura said, her lips formed a tight, rueful line. But, she would never…
Sai was doubtful. "…what?"
"So don't let me fucking repeat it…please. Don't leave, tell me…" Her voice distorted, drowning in her suppressed sob. Her head dropped. Was she like this confessing to…
Never mind. Sai was rendered speechless anyway.
But, what did this painting see in him?
Because of his desire to feel, watching Sakura had become difficult for Sai. She smiled kunais then frowned with timid honesty, whispering she hated this. Something in her was half dead; lying face up in an open grave, patiently waiting for the cool earth to fall soft as rain and as light then it would lie heavy, pressing harder until those bloodshot irises would finally lure her out, smiling.
And she had silently waited for that day to come.
Black gloves were thrown to the ground as he moved in closer. Sai cupped both of his hands around one of hers and studied the contrast. His was like ash and untouched, the first blanket of powdered snow. Hers was porcelain and oil paint in his fingertips. She was almost real. Almost, he blinked.
Silence had begun to throb in his ears and her breathing had calmed. Outside, the evening had come late and turned the sky to ashes so rich even stars could not find their way through. It became a bruised lavender black color, unsettlingly beautiful with a violent wind that moved Sakura's hair in such a way— she appeared scarcely real, all the more still.
She was so different, gray was the color of her skin beneath the unblinking moon opposed to what Sai knew best as peaches and cream. But her eyes were the same; she looked at him the same as Sakura would when worse came to worst.
"Have you simply given up on him? Are you letting him die?"
"I've lost all hope." Was this really Sakura? No, how could he forget. She was an ink copy; the same hair, eyes, face and voice but she was supposed to be strong. Because she and Naruto only had it left in them to comfort each other and, with Sasuke gone, Sakura could afford to lose nothing else of importance.
"I tried. I really did. I promised him happiness had he stayed that night."
She often said that her happiness was Naruto, his (Sasuke's) and hers. It was, in ways that Sai never before considered. He hadn't once seen her genuine smile since it all began, which he grew to understand. But this was Sakura; intelligent, passionate, and hell he'd even call her beautiful.
With Naruto oblivious and Sasuke almost permanently gone in their lives, Sakura wasn't even trying.
"It's my fault, Sai! I couldn't convince him to…t-to stay…I couldn't…that night…" Water fell from her cheek, chin…then another. Then more and they became too much to handle, like falling rain. She brought her hands to her face, fingers pressing onto her eyelids. Surprised and oddly intrigued, Sai watched her silently. He was seeing another poignant piece of a girl he'd only known for a few months. The girl whom he thought was inept of change. Incapable to move on with life without her past love—her unstoppable drive. Her strength, he had anticipated, shouldn't be affected by niggling tears.
Although Sai wasn't for certain.
The young woman in front of him was a mere ink clone and he wanted more than anything to shatter her pain. She may be a far cry from the burning abyss that Sakura seared his nonexistent heart, but she could cry. She could have compassion. She could fill in Sakura's place: the beautiful cherry blossom of Konoha, prized for her medical intellect and inhuman strength inherited from a legendary sannin.
Among the many books that lined the shelves in the library, he remembered there had once been an old medical dictionary that Sakura had scooped up and read. She was a sadist, as he could vividly recall, leafing through the pages with her haughty grin while imagining Sai as a victim of innumerable diseases. At the front of the book was a series of transparencies: a torso of the human body with overlays of the skeletal structure, muscles and the vital organs. Arrogant and so matter-of-fact, she would point at the bones she had broken and healed in her medic years. She would laugh for hours on end until his face cracked into a wild and genuine grin. Outside the thick library walls, he grew to realize, she was another person, donned in her steel armor and trapped in her distant island.
Days afterward Sai saw the world in an altered perspective—awakening suddenly to the inwardness in things. You gently tapped the surface but beneath the fragile shell lay the obscure labyrinth. You hung about the doorway but past the threshold lurked a wealth of unsuspected rooms and winding halls and passageways. He had felt that way about Sakura. Beneath the surface, some mystery moved through the guarded threshold with the same intricate maze wound down to her heart.
Sai looked down for the umpteenth time, his form cool and unruffled yet burning with twinge and fixation. "This isn't your fault. Sasuke abandoned Konoha to pursue Itachi. He believed it was necessary to sever the bonds. I'm here to save them."
"For whom, exactly? Naruto? Of course, no one really pays attention to my piece of the puzzle." Her small frame shook with throbbing ache and anger.
He did not find the heart to object.
"Haruno Sakura," her voice hollow, "is useless and endlessly dreams of a mere apparition of what he and Team Seven used to be."
"I'm doing this for you and Naruto. I may not understand completely but, I know that Sasuke had meant a lot to you."
She raised her eyes, bright green with summer heat. Her hands shook as she gripped his shoulders, tears streaming down her youthful face in abundance. Her nails ran down his bare skin, the sound of his heartbeat echoing in her ears. His arm instinctively moved around her tiny waist, half-possessive.
Sakura sat up on her graceful toes and brought their faces together, close enough for a kiss. The way her large doe-like sea foam eyes stared up at him sent chills throughout his veins, his lips suppressing a tiny smile. Pink lips twitched in expectation, her eyelids fluttered to a close. His breath hitched. Sai fought the urge as his other arm pulled her into an embrace.
"Paint me something, Sai." She murmured; eyes glistened with allure as a small hand traced the length of his arm.
"What…" Sai replied in a whisper, "…A flower? You?"
The ink maiden frowned as her arms moved upward to his shoulders, her hair a pink curtain over one shoulder. Even his heart slowed to listen. "No… Paint me a heart," she whispered, chartreuse irises tapering in grim forthright.
"I want you to paint me an unbroken, endless heart… One that can retrace its pieces back…"
He shivered, averting his gaze to the side as her lips brushed against his cheek, trailing charily to his earlobe. "You can't do this." His voice was lower than a whisper, almost a thought. He exhaled; his resistance. Sakura noticed. She could hear each shift, each breath; saw onyx wandering away from green.
His back smashed against the table with a loud thud as a blank canvas hit the ground. Red paint toppled over as a sleeved arm brushed them aside and her hand touched his chin. Sakura was looking into the similar eyes in all the ways she did years ago, when she said she loved him and he broke her heart. But they were all twelve in those days. The things that meant the world to their (Naruto and Sakura's) academy-genin lives were irrelevant now, she had often insist.
You are the worst liar in the world. A growl erupted in his throat. "Sakura. Get off me."
"Why are you so angry? You shouldn't have a heart to care." Sai could only gape.
"Do you love Naruto?" He'd asked it so many times. He'd told her so many times, the answer said boy never wanted.
"No," she said, momentarily flicking another milky page of her book—her eyes flashing him a cast away look. "You're being funny again, aren't you?"
He turned and looked at her. She pretended to read and found fragments of the actual story. Her eyes were down, but he could see them. Bright green, un-wild. She wasn't avoiding him because she was afraid, or because she was timid. She was avoiding him because she hated answering the things he asked while it was against her nature to lie.
"I already knew," he murmured into her soft neck. "She deserves to be loved and I can't love her."
"You can and do love her," the woman reminded him. "I do too."
"What…"
Through parted lips, her voice became raspy and breathless in his ears. "Please forget her. I love you."
Sai looked down at the shrunken girl, darksome eyes widening slightly in bewilderment.
She sensed his gaze and opened her own eyes. "Sakura, I can undo it." Erase the fake truth. Erase the goddamned feeling that caused his riotous pain.
Staring into his eyes, she let his hidden implication register and slipped her cheek against his chest. His heart raced from her presence, his face dark and shadowed. She was perfect. She was all he could ever want but why was he refusing now? "Even if you could, it's better to realize that it did happen."
"Why?" he tensed.
She strained a cheerful smile. "It gave you happiness. Isn't that what you wanted?" Butterfly kisses began to roam down his long neck, exploring every patch of his skin.
"You can't replace my happiness." He stated tonelessly under his breath. On his back, he stayed unmoving and gazed at the quietest violet sky, impervious of her antics.
Her voice dropped into a crooked whisper, "Yes. I know. It won't be the same." Then Sai felt her body shudder against his, almost making him flinch at the warmth she radiated from her skin. "I can never survive the way she does. I can never be strong as she."
Sakura exhaled longingly, "I'm not jealous, but then…" She was, simply the way Sai had planned her to be. "I learned something." She glanced up to him. Sakura's jade eyes darkened almost uncharacteristically, enough to frighten him a little. "I love you and it would take up so many white lies to feel anything else."
Sakura inched closer and his heart leapt, pleasantly nervous, as her weight shifted the table with his. Her eyes were instantly bright with stars, an ethereal bottle green watermarked with tears.
"Do you love Sasuke-kun?"
She tumbled a sigh and stopped whatever she'd been reading. She had no reason to lie, she was thinking. She had nothing to be ashamed of—for shame was another word like vengeance and loneliness.
"Yes," she said.
He had often thought that if what she had for Naruto was love. The love that she would never grow tired with, the love that she will share with Naruto. And now he asked her the same question, and changed the name, she said yes. It was so simple. She could love. Sakura was not immune. She was not cold or in denial. Sakura had always known how she felt, and when she assured him her honesty, he found it complicated to believe. But all he'd ever had to do was ask the right question, and she would finally say yes. Just yes. But not the yes Naruto wanted. Not the yes Sai wanted.
"No you don't—" before his mind could register, Sakura pushed forward and crushed her lips to his. It was hard and sudden, not desperate but determined. Terribly unlike her. He had a chance to see her eyes, daintily closed, before his own became blinded by silk like cherry tresses. A vague taste of his ink brushed his tongue as he remained still. His logic, which stored more of itself in his body than water or oxygen, avoided weakening to reality.
"Forever and always," Those very words she'd engraved in her heart with a knife. Her lips twitched upward into a toothy grin, "I can't give him up. I have to be strong for everyone, especially for Sasuke-kun… because if he were here, he would've appreciated it."
"Why do you have a great deal of faith in him?"
She raised half of her smile, as close as she would come to a grin. "Because I love him and it would take up so many white lies to cover it up, like kissing the lipless." She settled back onto the chair, strawberry hair pulled back with a blue ribbon, cordial and composed.
"Like listening to a song with deafened ears? Or loving with a non-existent heart? Don't you think loving and having a human heart are two different things, Sakura-san?"
There was jest to his tone, but Sakura could feel his distant traces of worry. Before he could have added to or changed the subject, he got a wistful smile out of Sakura, "No, because loving someone and having a human heart both have blood keeping them alive. You have a heart, Sai. It takes time to realize or experience love and once you have, it is hard to set it free or it's too late. Shinobi often choose not to love. It's painful for them to end up sacrificing it in the end."
She clasped her hand over her heart, which was a usual gesture.
"You can't love without blood running through you. Blood keep all ties of life intact."
Was I too late? He felt sick and dizzy, the white ceiling spinning over them as warm fingers wrapped between and around his hand. She was a lost waif and his heart went out to her. Never could she become Sakura.
His fingertips felt the cold touch of metal beneath them and gripped the hilt as well as he could. "No. I can't." He lifted his weight off the table, taking Sakura with him as one arm was draped around her waist. "Sakura…"
She twisted away, gripped her hands on his shoulders. In an attempt at eye-contact, Sakura looking at him made it worse. Circles of jade, green apples, in the verge of tears that she was too stubborn to free. Her jaw tightened as she swallowed another sob down her throat. "Am I not enough!?"
Sai gaped to her in what would be a pitying expression. "I'm sorry." With one hand, he swept the hair from her face and kissed her. Initially, he wanted her for himself. He wanted to hear her soft melodic voice, to feel her unblemished skin with his bare fingertips. She was as pure as her namesake; a rare beauty without hatred.
His left arm simultaneously lifted over their heads…
But it would never be the same.
He needed Sakura.
Instantly things happened in quick succession. The sense of succession was a matter of memory, at the time; they all seemed to happen at once. Faster than she could gasp for breath, she felt the small katana tear through the fabric of her kimono and slice beneath her left shoulder. It was virtually painless for Sakura was too shocked to scream.
There was a brief interlude of bloodlessness, as if the body held its breath.
The maiden's lips drew back, stopping only to exhale softly between her lips and she breathed in—a sound he recalled with a shudder. She seemed so much like the inspiration of his painting that it made him forget who they were, what he had done moments ago. And then, on the same whim, reminded him that he loved her and knew her so much that it hurt.
And the blood flowed.
And how it flowed. The terror of the instant was encased in silence like a thing in glass. It was this moment of silence he will remember most clearly as though this was what centered the memory in his mind.
Sakura reached for the nearest thing at hand— Sai. She curled her fingers and made a fist in his hair. "It hurts," she cried unsteadily, her body clamoring and jerking in pain and shock. "Why?" she inquired nimbly.
His thumb caught the single tear from her cheeks. Sai closed his eyes in a long blink, considering. "Blood carries on with all unbroken ties."
"I love you so much…" More tears pooled her hollow green eyes.
"Because I made you to feel that way, Sakura," Sai's lips flickered into a blank smile, obsidian eyes glittering in the darkness. "You were meant to be perfect for my eyes. Though I had realized that Sakura wouldn't say those words to me, neither should you."
Her pastel-rose crown of hair rustled under his chin; she settled her forehead onto his shoulder. "That is not true!"
"It'll be alright, Sakura. Don't cry." Sai wondered if he really felt it would be. Probably not. He wouldn't have tried to stop her bleeding with his hand if he had. His voice wouldn't have been shaking the way it was.
Great pulsing waves of pain pushed against his hand where her wound throbbed. He released his hand from the gash. The kimono had been soaked with blood; the sight of it really undid him in the dim night. Clammy and warm to his touch, his stomach pitched and icy chill raced through his spine.
Unmoving, he situated himself calmly, feeling the press of her bosom against his ribs and listening to her ragged breathing. Sai watched the walls of the room pulse to the pain he held in his palm and reverberate in his temple.
Grabbing the darkened hilt with one hand, he pulled the katana free. With a concluding clink of the katana hitting the table, his fingers began stroking her head. There were only a few more hours until all the chakra in her body would be drained out of her system and it was irreversible; he knew this. The katana had punctured cleanly through her chakra source that he had bestowed.
Clutching her swollen form, he considered words he should say to his dying masterpiece. In a few hours, she would take her leave as noiselessly as she entered this world with unfaltering grace and beauty. Like daylight.
He wondered what he could've done to Sakura while she slumped naked and bathed in her blood in her bath tub. He could've begged her to cling tighter onto her consciousness… He could've maintained a normal conversation with her, have a long discussion of books they had read, stories marked as their favorite and how the happy ending would remain in her irises… He would've done everything in his power to hang onto her, to witness her genuine smile…
To still be in love with what he'd never attain—
To simply have his daylight shining down on him again.
He wanted to feel. He wanted to have an emotion to give and call his own.
When Sakura left, the emotion followed suit.
"If I could die, and then come back…" she drawled, bending the corners of the pages of the anatomy textbook, "I'd probably write about it."
"If you could die," he said, knowing an empty smile was fit for their moment, "and come back well enough to write, it would be more than just essay material. If you came back, looking ugly as the day you were alive, I would make you a hundred portraits." The brief thought of her death washed over him and left him stone pale.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Sai," Sakura exhaled a laugh and closed the book with a muted thud. She put her smooth palm firmly on the hard cover. End of the discussion. Confusion stayed written on his face.
"Don't worry," she calmly grinned, his dread must have been obvious. Soft full lips brushed against his cheek and to his burning ear. "I'm not planning it."
'Ink,' his thumb traced circles in the murky, sticky substance covering her back. 'I should have known.'
He opened his eyes, staring back at the shell of memories he loved, standing still like a child lost in the streets; a wounded soul in the world he hated.
"Sakura," he said, his voice raspy and flat that contradicted the light look he held in his eyes. "Thank you."
She looked up to where it had come from, and froze. Eyes wide and unblinking, she gaped at his form silhouetted by the moonlight. She couldn't see the expression in his eyes as it stayed hidden in the shadows. Sakura had recognized his voice. Those words. Sai sensed what was going through her at that moment.
Sasuke.
Don't make promises you can't keep, Sakura.
Sai choked on his breath and lowered his head sharply at her. She was made of wobbly lines—his very first sketch of her. His eyes were drowning and his eyelids grew heavy.
"Sa-Sai don't leave me!" Sakura's ink-stained palm pushed on one of his shoulders in her futile attempt to wake him. The motion had caused him to fall limply on his back. Groaning in ache, Sakura fell onto her knees and strained to reach his body.
A red flash went before his eyes and her face never appeared. His artwork became something else— a million black moths swarmed away from it, covering everything.
Their wings leaked onto things like paint, twisting all to blackness.
There wasn't even a chance to scream.
There was a millionth of a moment in time where he did not exist at all. Forever lost in the strings of time. The whirring noises of metal gears echoed as oblivion never did look picturesque. He saw no stars, merely pitch black patches and very thin air. He didn't think to breathe.
Two coal eyes slowly became visible as the artist surfaced from his slumber. The sun shone brightly through the open window, causing him to wince slightly as the bright light invaded his eyes, streaming his room.
Sai sat up, his blackened fingers running through his tousled hair as his eyes focused on his surroundings and blinked away the remains of sleep. He stretched a little, letting his stiff leg muscles loosen. The dream had been so achingly real; Sai looked about the room to assure himself she was not there. Lazily he checked himself for a missing kidney (his wishful thinking) and pulled his loose pants further up his waist, noticing the red paint that marked his skin where drops of crimson had trickled from the table. And more of the red paint marked his back like splattered ink.
He studied the floor—marveling at the blotches of paints—and there next to him were the remnants. They were the confirmation of everything.
The paints bled and smeared in a large puddle alongside him. Shades of whites, greens, peaches and pinks twisted together and blending to create an island-like sunset. A distant nebula engulfed by darkness as the black ink began to swirl into the colors.
'Sunset,' he closed his eyes and he could feel the endless walking, and the heat enfold him. He knew with a certainty past all doubt that the ink maiden had been in the room with him last night. And that what he had imagined he had heard, he had heard; that what he imagined he had seen, he had seen.
He turned to an empty canvas and grabbed some paint left and brushes and set to work. Under his brush the paint bled and smeared, forming the unmistakable sky.
"Ugly, you should smile more often."
"Why is that Sai?" she giggled, strawberry molasses wisps of hair hid her eyes.
"Because…" he whispered, so softly she could barely make out his words.
The rest became a blurry memory.
"Sai?" He was blinking, confused by the bright lights and the presence of his own mind. Wary, he slipped the heel of his hand over his forehead. Sweat. Sucking in deep breaths and his head pounding, everything else seemed fine.
"Sai."
Fingers ran through sunshine hair, his hand stopping as azure eyes narrowed irritably when he heard no reply. "You're acting weird since when—" he said when he heard no reply.
Sai interjected, "I can hear you Naruto."
"Oh good, you're awake," another voice drawled. The silver-haired jounin took his chin in his hand and turned Sai towards him. A lazy eye and a blood shot iris examined the artist's eyes. For a moment Kakashi blurred, and then appeared abstract. None of this made sense. Kakashi drew his eyebrows together. "The effects are almost gone."
Almost… Almost…
"What happened, Kakashi-sensei?"
"The ink had intoxicated Sai," the teacher knelt beside him. Sai tried to smile, but then gave in and settled on not frowning. Naruto walked closer, confident in his ability to stop trembling. "Sai's all right now," he stated with a traced grin beneath his cloth mask. A little hallucination wouldn't hurt anyone.
Sai was grateful to him for not lying and not telling the complete incident, but there was nothing remotely proper to say besides a soft, "Aa."
"Are you positive?" the blonde looked anxiously to Kakashi.
There was nothing in the jounin eyes. "Yes. It would be better for Sai to rest for a while."
A wave of relief washed over Naruto, "That's good."
"Rest?" Sai deadpanned. His voice was dull because he could manage nothing more, but his mind whirled in webs of burning anger. He looked at his own hands, miles away from his body, hands covered with splattered black ink and pristine sheets he could not remember clearly picking up. Was that real just now? What he had seen? What he had felt?
He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Was I asleep long?"
"Half a day or so," Naruto said.
The artist closed his eyes, hiding a sudden wave of nauseating dizziness. The memory, all pink and silk and orange peonies comforted him. He wanted to stay there.
Kakashi looked forward, not noticing the crumpled bed sheets. "It's your day-off."
"Why do you have so much paint out? No wonder you're suddenly ill. You and your house look like hell," the kyuubi contained boy went over and sat on the edge of the bed. A peachy hand barely rose, reaching at the distance between them then a finger pointed to the window behind its owner—at the painted canvas. He smiled softly, "I… saw your new painting over there. I like it. It's beautiful."
Sai sat upright slowly, not knowing whether to comment on it or not. It was better if he hadn't. Sakura was taboo reminder like Uchiha Sasuke—not that they had forgotten either one.
"You've been working on it recently," Kakashi stated it more of a fact than a question.
In that moment, Sai's mind drifted to the mild throb in his lips and bare back, he caught Kakashi staring at him. "Yes…" he kept his voice low, sleep and nausea still resting in his body. "It's for Sakura. An early gift for her just as I promised."
Voice softer than rain, Naruto blurted tiredly, "It's beautiful." He had a promise to hang on to as well. Silent, Kakashi nodded.
"Is she going to be alright?" Sai blinked away everything that was or could have been a secret thing in him.
"I… don't know." He saw the ground and it felt so far away. His face, closer to tears that it had ever been, was sullied and anxious. "But I know she's okay. Yes, Sakura-chan…"
…will survive. Sai understood better than to let reality and the doubtful look in his team mate's lifeless azure irises slip. Naruto didn't believe that she would live. Sakura. The girl Naruto would give his life ten times over to save and he did not believe that she would make it to the next sunrise.
But the words were impossible to say, yet in the same whim, Sai knew it was impossible to lie.
Regardless, Naruto gave his sweetest grin. "Sakura-chan is strong. She'll fight it. She will wake up. We'll see her smile again, Sai!" He pressed.
Unaware, Sai's hand had crept up to his cheek, where she had often punched him then kissed to rid of the pitching pain.
A hand woven inside the silver tousle of his hair, Kakashi reassured with weak chuckle, "Naruto is right. Sakura is a S-ranked fighter and will get through. It is a merely an obstacle."
"Aa," Sai muttered. It was impossible to tell if Kakashi had been lying as well. His expressions were either unreadable, or foreign to anyone else's logic beneath the dark mask. He was vague. Sai wondered if Sakura had thought the same about him; an emotionless shell, a bottomless pit. He thought if she truly had seen the boy who chided her when she fell but caught her nonetheless. The boy who she was happy with in her world of pink cherries and red and white paper fans… The boy whom she fell in love with—had she seen that boy in Sai?
Sai couldn't imagine himself to be so strong but he was keeping his promise…did it mean he was okay?
"Sai, be more careful next time. We can't lose you as well." Was Kakashi's final warning. Limp, Sai nodded half-certain.
"After Sakura-chan wakes up, I can't wait to see her face when she sees this painting!" Naruto wasn't looking at them anymore, instead he settled onto marveling Sai's latest masterpiece.
"Don't touch it, you dickless idiot."
Naruto glanced at Sai, suddenly bright-eyed and beaming. "I know, I know. What are you calling this painting? It needs a title!"
"Because what Sai?" Sakura giggled, rose tinting her cheeks at the scene of a confused artist.
"I… am considering of painting you a portrait as a peacekeeping offer. What do you say, Ugly?" his usual soft monotonic voice sounded unusual to his ears.
Sakura touched his hand, her lips twitching upward, "Show me your designs when you're finished?"
"Of course." With that, Sakura waved goodbye and turned to leave the building. He regretted of allowing her to leave his side.
"It's called…" he finally said, summoning his costume smile. Only idiots depended on hope although Sai wasn't a far cry from one. "Sunset," because it was another piece of Sakura she carried along with twilight. The Sakura whom Sasuke would acknowledge in a heartbeat— ethereal yet shattered. Innocent yet desperately seductive. Brokenhearted yet unconditionally loving towards the Uchiha.
The Sakura Sai knew was daylight…unattainable to touch or paint into a blank canvas, innocent, a keeper of the key to his heart.
The daylight who nearly disappeared like a flash before his eyes.
His daylight.
If I ever lose my faith in you there'd be nothing left for me to lose.
Owari.
A/N: This. Took. So. Fucking. Long. I'm emotionally drained. What happened to poor Sakura exactly? Naruto will tell you in my next (probably) one-shot. Sakura is NOT dead.
Sakura's name was italicized to differ the clone Sakura and the real Sakura. Parts of the story that were italicized are flashbacks. And Sai's thoughts are italicized as well. In case some readers were confused.
Sweet 16, baby! Enjoy your day Stella! Best wishes!
I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading and please review. My beta wasn't present so forgive me if there were any mistakes that I had missed.
EDITED and will be drawn into a SaiSaku doujinshi by me!