Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any visual, audio, merchandising, or other assets associated with the Naruto brand.

A/N: This fic is not meant to be historically accurate. Liberties have been taken to make the cultural and historic aspects of this story better fit the plot.

I've also wondered why I haven't seen more Naruto fics set in historical Japan. So I'm writing one.

This is not betaed.

Sakura always acted this way after meeting him at night, making love under a darkened sky, her back pressing against the cold surface of a stone wall. The secrecy of their joining made her feel dirty, no matter how wanted her lover made her feel. So she turned her back to him while getting dressed, covering the ivory skin he had glimpsed in the pale moonlight so many times. Even after being exposed to him in the most intimate way, she shrank from his gaze. She pretended never to have uttered soft moans of pleasure and affection in his ear. Sex with Kakashi was a lustful sin to her after it was over.

It drove the silver-haired man to the point of insanity knowing that she wouldn't let him caress her softly in the afterglow of their actions. He wanted to hold her, be close to her. Anything just to drink in a few more moments of that wonderful blossom that was Sakura.

But instead, as her back was turned, her crimson yukata sliding back over her shoulders, Kakashi always acted guilty. He silently told her he was sorry that they had to meet like this. When she finished replacing her clothes, he would touch one hand to her shoulder and gently turn her around. His one eye would meet hers in a half-hearted way as he tried to conceal the sadness and longing burning in the depths of its grey-flecked iris.

For a moment it seemed as if they both regretted their actions that night, but he knew the instant he slipped out of the garden and into the night he would miss her touch just as she would miss his. He knew that the next night they would meet again in a tangle of hands and lips and passion.

With one lingering kiss to Sakura's forehead, an unspoken goodnight, Kakashi slipped off through the trimmed branches of the trees in the garden and back into his uncertain world.

"Father, I would like to request your permission to enter town and buy some new hair-things. The ones I have are starting to dull," Sakura asked.

"Well, my child, you know full well that Nagasaki is not a place for polite women of society to be all alone," her father condoned her, blabbering on about the same boring rules of respectable society. "But I suppose that a woman cannot have a joy more dear to her heart than buying new, pretty things. Unless she happens to be wed."

"Of course, father," Sakura bowed. "And I would never venture out of the house alone, so what worries do you have?"

"Yes, of course. I've hired a new personal assistant for you; I've told him how much you like to get into trouble, but we'll both see that that behavior is not an issue. I hope you find the pretty things you are looking for. Maybe something in teal to bring out your hair."

"A new retainer?" Sakura's impassive expression almost slipped into one of disgust. "I look forward to meeting them."

"I believe that you will get along quite well. He's quite the spitfire. Enough of one to put you into your place, anyway," Sakura's father chuckled to himself. "You may leave now. I've got more important business to attend to."

Sakura bowed and left the room, letting her pleasant façade drop. She absolutely detested shopping, yet that didn't stop her from using it for an excuse to leave the house. Her father, Shiro, was always impressing upon her how important it was to look nice and attract a fine, young suitor, so shopping was the only reason she was allowed to go into town.

But going into town meant being accompanied by a personal retainer, which was really more of a babysitter hired to make sure she behaved better than a dignitary going on a peace-keeping mission. Even if she wanted to walk in the private gardens surrounding their home she was required to be accompanied by a companion. She figured it had something to do with being a "fine woman of polite society" as her father always said. He repeated over and over to Sakura how the daughters of the Shogun's Bakufu were to look pretty and serve their courtiers with a timid kindness and undying loyalty if they were ever to find a good husband. As head of the group that traded with the Dutch East Inida Company, one of the few foreign companies allowed to trade goods to isolationist Japan, Shiro demanded that Sakura fit the mold of "woman."

So in the wake of this fatherly pressure, Sakura would kill two birds with one stone. On the one hand she could sate her father, if in a bit of an underhanded way, by buying more meaningless jewelry and on the other hand, she could see Kakashi.

Kakashi. That name that she thought so often in her mind, but could never say aloud. Even in the crowded streets of Nagasaki she could not utter his beautiful name. She couldn't risk being caught talking to someone like him: a peasant at best and a beggar at worst. He was, according to all cultural norms, someone too low on the social ladder to deserve her attention, not to speak of the fact that he was fourteen years her senior.

But even so, the lovely daughter of a wealthy Bakufu member couldn't stay away from this man. Her headstrong ways would never let her father have the last word, so she snuck out into the streets of the city if only to glimpse his silver hair. Most days it was all she saw of him, but it was enough.

If they were lucky, they may be able to exchange a knowing glance at a vendor's stall. If they were unlucky, they wouldn't see each other at all. Even using clever lies and distracting her retainers with promises of food or a flirty smile, Sakura couldn't always manage to be in the same place as her lover. She knew he waited for her every day, looking stoic and uncaring to those he passed in the streets, but brimming with the anticipation of seeing her just underneath the surface.

Most days when he couldn't find her, he would sneak into the garden at night and tap on her rice-paper window. She would follow him outside in her nightclothes, and they would kiss and then touch and then make love without saying a single word. When her passion quelled Sakura would blush a shade to match her hair and turn away, embarrassed and ashamed at having to hide with her love in the darkness. Getting dressed she always felt tears sting at her eyes, but never let them fall. How could she keep asking this man to risk his life for her sake?

And Kakashi would stand there, resuming the blank stare he loved to carry on his face, and kiss her before escaping into the same indefinable depths from which he came. Sakura never called his name out into the night. She knew her heart longed for him to come back and stay with her just a little longer, but she was afraid that if she said his name he would disappear like the mist hanging over the garden. She was afraid that if she said his name he would no longer be real, but an illusion of her own mind.