lemon juice | by kay wiz
People say I'm strange.
This has less to do with my eccentric looks, less to do with my sense of style, less to do with the fact that nothing ever interests me, not even sex and booze and smoke and all the other shit that follows me like a cloud. It doesn't even have anything to do with the Polaroids. No, it probably has more to do with that habit of mine, that addiction I just can't kick.
My constant need to pretend is just so painfully obvious.
(Pretending is for kids, Ino tells me, as though she doesn't pretend every single day that it's normal to be fucking your teacher, that it's normal to want to strangle that pretty wife of his every time he forgets to flip that framed photo of her upside down. Ino, the pretender.)
But pretending is convenient. It's therapy. Me, for example, I've been pretending for so long, I don't know why I do it anymore. Underwater castles, circus acts, lionesses roaming the plains of Africa… It's just so goddamn easy.
My imagination takes me where I want to go. It also takes me where I never want to be. But it doesn't matter anyway, because the point is that I end up somewhere, anywhere, nowhere, everywhere that matters and all the places that don't. Point A and Point B are two totally different places, and I honestly just want to get to Point Z by the time I wake up from this fucked up dream – not a nightmare, but a dream. Just…floating.
People say I'm strange. But maybe I'm not strange at all. Maybe they just don't understand. I don't expect them to; I don't want them to. This is my place, and it's no one's fucking business what goes on in my world. You can put any face behind a mask, they say.
But I guess I'm full of myself, thinking I'm anything special for doing what I do, for thinking what I think. I should be careful.
After all, someone else might be pretending.
SAKURA the polaroid princess.
The house in front of them is not actually a house.
With cascading white walls and a porch the size of her bedroom, Sakura decides it is more of an estate, if anything. She's never been to such a nice Western-styled home in her life, even though she lives in one herself. After all, her house doesn't have three attics or a giant marble fountain out front, and it most certainly doesn't have a garage the size of an ice rink either.
Even though it's dark outside, aside from the twinkle lights decorating the fountain behind them, she looks through white sunglasses at the Uchiha's picturesque lawn, and as her dad rings the doorbell, she tries counting all the second-story windows in one go, no blinking allowed.
When she gets to fourteen, her dad interrupts by reaching over to snatch the glasses off her nose, tossing them hurriedly into her large thrift-store purse. "Sakura," he says warningly, "you know better than that. Now how do I look?"
"Like a rock star, daddy."
"Well," he deadpans, "if you're going to be sarcastic, don't even bother answering."
She ignores him and shrugs, unfazed. Moving her gaze to the sides of the walls, she admires the crawling vines, thick and green like beanstalks, and it makes her imagine that an ogre or a giant is living here instead of a simple family of four.
But the man who opens the door is not a giant, to her disappointment, although he may as well be one. He looks strict and serious, and his gaze is hard when he catches the way Sakura holds their eye contact unflinchingly. She realizes he probably doesn't approve of her messy pink hair, but then again, this is the CEO of Sharingan Corp., and she doubts someone with his reputation could warm up to someone who clashes with every color but black.
"Ah, Kizashi-san," the man says gruffly, "you're just in time. Glad you could make it."
"Not at all," her dad smiles professionally, and he bows to his new business partner as though he isn't wearing a brand new designer suit that can crease very easily. His usually large hair, naturally tinged a light pink, is gelled back expertly for the occasion, and Sakura quietly hopes for one of his signature spikes to spring loose, just because the look on the Uchiha's face would be a real sight to see. "Thank you for inviting us. I trust you're well?"
Uchiha Fugaku grunts in response, and although Sakura knows her dad is acting as friendly as possible without appearing informal, that he is trying to lighten the mood, she also notices how Fugaku still looks just as intimidating as ever. She tilts her head slightly and studies the lines on this man's face, trying to pinpoint every feature that makes him look as angry as he does:
The creases under his mouth show just how often he frowns. His eyebrows are thin and shaped downward towards his nose, which makes him look as though he is always glaring. And then there are the tiny indents under his eyes, which reminds her of people who wear glasses long enough for them to make marks. Without even realizing it, Sakura's eyes fly across every wrinkle, every sharp corner of his bone structure, every hard bob his throat makes when he swallows.
She is too busy noting the hardness of his jaw to hear her dad introducing her to his partner, so when Fugaku sharply turns to her, catching her in the act, she can only blink up at him with her simple green gaze. He frowns even deeper and, if only to be polite, nods at her wordlessly. She looks down, but not with embarrassment – the heel of one of her black ankle boots is snagged in the cobblestones, and she just wants to make sure it doesn't get scuffed.
The good news is they're fine. The bad news is, the man is now inviting them inside.
"Be polite, Sakura," her dad mutters as they stride through the unnecessarily-large entryway, "and keep those glasses in your bag or else."
She smiles back at him with an agreeable, carefree expression, but inwardly she wishes she is anywhere else but here. Dinner parties are for rich people and businessmen, after all, and although Haruno Kizashi is both, Sakura believes there is nothing duller than listening to old men discussing big numbers and the stock market and how their steak is just a tad too tender for their tastes.
She follows her dad into the grand foyer, and while he compliments their host on the elegant décor of the place, Sakura knows just as well as anyone that it is all just a formality. Nevertheless, Uchiha Mikoto, who has just popped up in front of them to say hello to her husband's new partner, eats it all up and gushes about just how exciting it is to finally meet Haruno Kizashi, and how worried she was that the new satin curtains wouldn't arrive in time, and oh my, your daughter Sakura is just so pretty.
Sakura smiles brightly, but she doesn't buy it. Her dad has been begging her for weeks to wear one of the nice chic dresses he brought back from Paris, but in the end, she chose one of her old gray bubble dresses, one with pale white horses printed on the cheap cotton. She likes her outfit well enough, but it is far from elegant, especially compared to the evening gowns and silky black dresses and fancy kimonos all the other women are wearing. Granted, Kizashi wouldn't have allowed her out of the house in this outfit, but knowing this ahead of time, she had made sure to meet him at the car when they were already later than was appropriate, and he had no choice but to simply frown and grumble to himself.
She sticks out like a sore thumb, but with the shade of her hair, she doesn't expect anything different anyway. It is something she has gotten used to by now.
Mikoto, clad in a formal kimono that makes her look absolutely gorgeous, offers Sakura an unconvincing smile, her bright grin fading the more she observes the girl's casual attire. Luckily, she turns away right before Sakura's mustard yellow, over-sized cardigan carelessly slips off her now-bare shoulder, but her dad notices quickly and gives her a look until she tugs it up. When he looks away to reply to Fugaku, however, she sticks out her tongue and pulls it right back down.
The Uchiha pair finally lead them to the next room, which is large, brightly lit, and filled with businessmen and their wives, all of whom are making small talk and sipping at fancy glasses of expensive champagne, if there ever was such a thing. Sakura looks around the room for someone who isn't at least twice her age, but before she can see anyone promising, Mikoto turns to her again.
"Haruno-chan," she says as politely as she dares, "your necklaces are very cute. Did your father buy them for you?"
"Oh," Sakura blinks before looking down at the thin black and silver chains hanging around her neck, "no, I found them in this little place downtown for only a few hundred yen." Mikoto looks unimpressed and slightly uncomfortable at the cheapness of it all, so Sakura makes a show of looking around the room with a huge grin on her face. "Your house is really beautiful," she praises, her voice almost too friendly to be convincing. "I've never seen anything like it!"
The Uchiha matriarch doesn't seem to notice Sakura's fake enthusiasm, but she at least looks like she is back in her comfort zone. She immediately relaxes and proceeds to chatter about how much she loves this place and how she hand-picked the chandelier herself just a few months ago. The pink-haired girl can only nod and smile prettily at every dramatization about plush carpets and proper vase shapes, but whenever Mikoto looks away, Sakura slyly moves her gaze to the large, dimly lit bar in the corner of the room.
"—and these banisters are just gorgeous, aren't they? It took so long to pick a nice shade for the walnut – I just couldn't decide between russet and sepia, and of course it had to match the furniture in the upstairs hallway perfectly—"
"That's terrible," Sakura improvises. "Really, I couldn't imagine having to make a choice so quickly. It looks absolutely amazing, though, Uchiha-san. I think you made the right choice."
Mikoto beams and opens her mouth to continue, but Fugaku suddenly places a hand on her arm and steps in gruffly. "Mikoto, someone's at the door. Could you get that while I entertain Kizashi-san here?"
Sakura turns to her dad and smirks at the Uchiha's obvious attempt to get out of the task of greeting his guests. Now that his business partner has arrived, he has little interest in whoever else is fashionably late. Kizashi catches Sakura's amused gaze and looks at her disapprovingly, but says nothing otherwise.
"Oh," Mikoto sighs, "but I was having such an engaging conversation with Haruno-chan—"
Sakura doesn't let her polite grin slip whatsoever, but seeing her chance, she bats her mascara-covered lashes and excuses herself. "Actually, do you mind if I have a look around? I'm dying to see the rest of the place, now that you've described it."
"Sakura…" her dad says warningly, knowing very well what she is up to, but the naïve Mikoto interrupts him quickly, aware that she still has guests to greet at the door.
"Oh, not at all, Haruno-chan! Here, I'll have our son show give you a tour. Oh, where is that boy?"
"No, really," Sakura insists, "I'll be fine. I'm sure he's having a great time, and I wouldn't want to interrupt his fun just for my sake."
"Aww, what a good girl!" she coos, and Sakura wonders why rich people often speak to her as though she's an innocent little puppy. "Well then, run on ahead, and I'll tell my Itachi to keep an eye out for you—"
"Better find Sasuke, actually," Fugaku says seriously. "Itachi still has people to meet."
"Oh, alright then. Well, Haruno-chan, you go along now. We'll make an announcement when dinner's starting."
Sakura beams with fake enthusiasm, and she is suddenly very grateful that, despite her infamous temper, she is actually very patient when it comes to situations like this. "Thank you very much, Uchiha-san," she chirps. She bows to a disgruntled-looking Fugaku before peeking at her father innocently, but he just looks back at her as though unconvinced she will stay out of trouble, although he also seems slightly relieved to have one less thing to worry about. He knows better than anyone just how impossible it is to control his spitfire daughter while focusing on other matters at the same time. "I'll see you later, 'Tou-san!"
And before anyone else can say another word, she turns on her heel and ventures into the crowd, heading directly for the corner in the far back of the giant room.
Getting there is an adventure in itself, because there are masses of black-clad people and plates of hors d'oeuvres floating around, and with a steady pace and wide eyes, she pretends she is stuck in a labyrinth with no way to get out.
But then she remembers the handful of animal stickers she stole from the dentist's office last week, still sitting in her bag and waiting to be played with. With the too-long sleeves of her cardigan flopping over her fingers, she first pulls out a sticker in the shape of a flamingo, shutting an eye and holding it up against the crowd of lavish guests.
It really is a zoo in here, she thinks amusedly.
She lowers the bird and walks deeper into the crowd, twirling every so often to get more familiar with her surroundings but not really focusing on anything in particular. Finding an owl sticker in her hands as she does this, she closes her eye again and "perches" it on top of the messy hair of a waiter.
This party's really for the birds.
She giggles at her sad attempt a pun, but likes this new game and can't find it in herself to stop. Playing with perspectives is just as fun as retreating to her imagination, after all, and she is always prepared to try something new.
The image of a stallion is held up in front of a fat man kissing his wife.
So hungry he could eat a whole horse.
A squirrel is blurred against a loud woman with large hair.
Bright-eyed and bushy tailed.
And an elephant stands in the middle of a hoard of people, all of whom are staring unpleasantly at Sakura with her pink hair and horse dress and collection of 500-yen stickers as she plays her little game.
I don't mean to bring up the elephant in the room, but…
She spins to a stop and lets her carefree grin falter a little. She lowers her hand, meets the many pairs of eyes that judge her both silently and not, and abruptly comes back to reality. The bitter, cruel, harsh reality.
…Something tells me I don't quite belong here.
She figures she should have just stuck with the illusion of a labyrinth instead. Pretending doesn't always take her where she wants to go, and this is territory she isn't sure she's quite comfortable with. Slightly dejected but refusing to admit it, she comforts herself by thinking that a maze wouldn't have worked anyway, because unlike a maze, there is a way out of this crowd of unpleasant people. After many twists and turns and even some backtracking, she even escapes in the end, and there, just a few paces away, is the bar in the corner, with its dim blue lights and crystal shot glasses gleaming like a safe haven.
When she gets closer, her face lights up again as she stops directly in front of it. The counter isn't made out of wood or neon lights after all, but is actually a gigantic, glowing fish tank, filled with brightly-colored clownfish and blue tangs, like the fish in that animated movie she always used to watch. In a last attempt to recover from the self-conscious spell that overtook her for some unknown reason, she takes the thin backing off the turtle sticker in her hands and leans against the counter. In no time at all, she sticks it soundly onto the glass below her, and now the turtle has a home with the rest of its fellow sea creatures.
And for once in that sticker's life, it doesn't even stand out.
"You like fish, do you?"
Sakura's eyes flicker up to the man who spoke, although she can't really be sure if he has said anything at all, because his mouth is covered with a weird white mask. She doesn't answer him right away, but instead stares at his haphazard silver hair, the huge scar on his left eye, and, most importantly, how he looks so casual in this high-class setting without standing out, like she does. He has removed his suit jacket and laid it on the stool next to him, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled to his elbows. She admires the way his black vest squares his torso and makes him look younger than he probably is, but that is as far as the attraction goes. After all, Ino is the one who likes older men, not Sakura.
"Not in particular," she says finally. "I don't really like ugly things."
He raises an eyebrow at her, and she swears he's judging her silently, but what does she care anyway – he's just a stranger. "Well," he starts slowly, "if there were no ugly things in the world, how would we be able to judge what's beautiful?"
This conversation is a bit too philosophical for a high-class party, Sakura thinks, and besides, she hates the word "beautiful" – it's too subjective, too cheesy, and really, who even says that in casual conversation anyway? So instead she focuses on that eye of his, and she wonders how he got that scar. Maybe he got into a scuffle with the yakuza, or maybe he came into contact with a wild cat or a boar or an ex-girlfriend or something. In any case…
"I thought beauty was in the eye of the beholder?" she smiles widely, though her eyes are dull with indifference.
The man smiles in the exact same way she does. Or, at least, she assumes that's what he's doing, but she can't really tell with his mouth covered like that. "Well then, in that case, what do you think is beautiful?"
"Not fish."
"No, of course not fish."
Sakura looks away from his searching eyes, instead running her gaze all around the bar and the floor-to-ceiling shelves of booze and the counter filled with mostly-full bottles of hard liquor. She wonders why they are even offering such strong drinks at a party like this, when it is oh-so-obvious that everyone is only going to drink fancy things like champagne and wine to seem as classy as possible. But it's all the same to her anyway. After all: if no one is drinking it, it won't be missed.
"Worn-out books," she says without looking at the man beside her. "The dusty kind, where you can't see the titles anymore and it's a surprise when you open it. Also…tiny pink roses, and only pink, because any other color is just trying too hard." She can feel the stranger's dark eyes watching her as she rattles things off, but he isn't making a single sound, and she finds she can appreciate that in him. He is paying attention, trying to understand her.
"What else?" he asks when she stays silent for too long.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and she suddenly remembers that she is at a crowded party, that she and this man are not as alone as they seem, and she can tell because she is inhaling all the sweet perfumes that all these matronly women are drowning themselves in.
Drowning, drowning…just like those fish.
"Weird blends of tea. When the moon is out in the daytime. Typewriters with missing keys." She pauses, opening her eyes and grinning at nothing. "And mango tarts. Definitely mango tarts. Mango tarts drizzled in honey."
The man chuckles. "You must have quite the sweet tooth, if you prefer Western desserts over traditional ones."
"Not really," Sakura shrugs. "I actually don't really like mangos. But you asked me what I thought was beautiful, and mango tarts with honey are really nice to look at, aren't they?"
He stops and stares at her for longer than he has before. There is this glint in his eyes that she can't really understand, but she isn't sure she wants to anyway. In the end, after all, she still doesn't know this person. It doesn't really matter what he thinks of her, because after she gets what she wants out of this conversation, she is probably never going to speak to this man again. But there is something about the way he looks at her, this calculating gaze that seems a lot more curious than what she's used to. It's like he is studying her, and if she wasn't also studying him in return—
"I guess you're right," he grins finally. "I never thought of that before. I don't really like sweets much, so I don't give them much thought."
Still standing beside the bar counter, Sakura crosses her ankles and pulls at her sleeve distractingly. With a tilt of her lips and a flirtatious glimmer in her eye, she asks, "Well, if you don't think mango tarts are pretty, what is?"
"Hmm? Oh, I suppose…open water, sunsets, landscapes, things like that." He winks teasingly, and for once she feels somewhat amused at his predictable answer. "That dress of yours is pretty cute too."
She realizes this is the opening she's been waiting for, and with a haughty smirk and a chuckle of her own, she puts her hands on her hips and makes a face at him. "Ahh, jii-chan, what kind of pervert are you, hitting on a little girl like me? The least you could do is buy me a drink first."
He leans back in his stool and crosses his arms, unfazed. "A drink? And just how old are you anyway, sixteen? Seventeen?"
"Don't be stupid," she says teasingly. "I know I look young for my age, but I'm really twenty." Or she pretends to be, anyway, but he doesn't really need to know that. She shifts a little and feels the weight of her purse on her shoulder, and even though she isn't looking at it, she knows she had a fake ID or two lying around in there, rubbing against tubes of make-up and packaged condoms and the giant box that is her most prized possession. She only carries the essentials with her, after all. "I'll take a gin and tonic, then, if you don't mind."
He watches her with those weird eyes of his, but finally turns from her and flags down one of the two bartenders on duty. One of them is currently dealing with an angry foreigner, who is causing a fuss over his drink in a loud accent. The other, on the other hand, comes rushing towards them in an attempt to stay uninvolved in his friend's troubles. Sakura's stranger doesn't seem to care about this, but instead mutters a quiet "I can't believe I'm doing this" and orders her that drink anyway. The bartender asks no questions.
"A water bottle too, please," she adds on sweetly with her signature fake grin, "one from the back of the cooler. I want to make sure it's nice and cold."
The bartender takes his time to fulfill her request, and while he's digging in the back of the mini-fridge and the other bartender gets scolded for putting too many ice cubes in the foreigner's scotch, Sakura snickers inwardly because honestly, this is a high-class establishment, and this is all just too easy.
"Thirsty, are you?" the handsome, older man beside her questions.
She smiles with a toss of her brightly-colored hair. "Parched, actually, you have no idea."
And right as she says it, she turns from him and calmly snatches an almost completely-filled bottle of vodka from the top of the bar. It isn't her fault that these two idiot bartenders are irresponsible enough to look away from their post, and besides, she came prepared with her giant purse and quick reflexes. She knows her companion is blatantly staring at her every move, but she is also aware that he isn't about to say anything; he is much to lazy for that, she can tell. So when she dumps the bottle unceremoniously into her bag, making sure not to crush the white sunglasses she is planning on wearing the rest of the night, she doesn't spare him another glance, but only plasters that smile back on her face in time for their waiter to hand her a cold bottled water.
"Thanks a lot," she tilts her head at him, "and I'm sorry for all the trouble."
"Not at all," he smiles unknowingly before looking at Sakura's companion. "A gin and tonic, you said?"
The stranger nods, but is otherwise unable to speak. Sakura leans on her hand and stares at him, curious as to what he might do, but more importantly, she is becoming both amused and frustrated with his expression, which she can no longer read. The amusement wins in the end, though, and the corner of her mouth slowly turns upwards when he avoids eye contact and focuses instead on the bartender's movements.
"Sorry," she smiles, interrupting him from his musings, "but what did you say your name was again?"
"Hatake Kakashi," he answers, but before he can say much else, the bartender presents him with that gin and tonic, all nice and pretty, before quickly moving on to another woman who has walked up to the bar only to ask where the toilets are. The man, this Kakashi person, pays quietly with a hefty 1000-yen tip and pushes the drink toward her, if only a little reluctantly. After what he just witnessed, Sakura doesn't expect anything less. "Here you are. Now, care to tell me your name?"
With a spacey look in her eyes, Sakura starts pretending again. She pretends she is the type to like older men, and she pretends she is the type to attract older men in the first place. Unfortunately, this is not the case, and this older man is only playing with her because he knows she isn't like the other girls, and he wants to know just what she's up to, dressed in a cheap horse-patterned outfit at a black tie affair, floating around the Uchiha estate like she belongs here. She also pretends this Hatake Kakashi is a scoundrel, a man with ill intentions who utilizes his bad-boy attitude to the fullest. But this is all in her imagination too, because from this brief encounter, she has decided that Kakashi is a genuine person who is genuinely curious about her strange self. In fact, she feels he is the type of man who could be a mentor of some sort to her.
Which is too bad, really, because she's only using him to get a free drink.
"Sorry, I can't," she says, gesturing at the drink in front of her and ignoring his actual question. "I know I look old for my age, but I'm only seventeen, y'know."
And with a final exaggerated smile, she picks up her bottled water, clutches her now-heavy purse to her side, and stalks off into the crowd of shimmering gowns and fancy suits.
And believing herself to never see that Hatake Kakashi again, she doesn't even take his picture.
Too much comfort isn't much of a comfort at all, she thinks.
With delicious food and relatively-pleasant company, and with a color palette that brightens the room so elegantly that Uchiha Mikoto obviously had a say in the decorating, Sakura feels this estate is the perfect place for a dinner party. But the dining room chairs are too plush, the carpet too soft, the room too warm, and the men too attractive.
Fortunately for her, though, the two Uchiha boys across the table from her are also total bores.
She understands why they sometimes stare at her, when not socializing with all the business friends of their father. She also understands why they have nothing to say to her at all, because this is not an environment she belongs in, and besides, casual conversations are impossible at such a formal dinner table. She even understands why they drawl when they talk – if she was forced to talk business, her voice would be rather flat too.
What she does not understand, however, is why their faces never move.
She has been watching them for over an hour now, studying their faces through the servings of soup and salad and entrée after entrée, and with the main course already half-devoured, she finds that after all this time, there still hasn't been a single change of expression on either of these boys' faces. Not once have they smiled at anyone, glared at anyone, or even physically shown that they have been listening to anyone (although they obviously have been, because their responses have actually been pretty impressive so far). She can't even tell if they are annoyed with the one-sided staring contest she has been having with them all night.
She briefly wonders if the Uchiha men are all just statues or mannequins or weird robots out of a bad science fiction flick, because if they are, she supposes she should be prepared. If they start shooting laser beams from their eyes, she needs to have an emergency exit and a weapon more threatening than a butter knife.
"Itai!" she hisses suddenly, because her dad has just elbowed her in the gut and it fucking hurts. An elderly man next to her jumps at the sudden movement, but she notices that the guys across from her – Itachi and Sasuke, she thinks their names are – still haven't moved. "What?"
"Cut it out," he mutters under his breath, and she realizes she is being scolded for the third time in the past half hour. Kizashi does not approve of her analyzing the boys so obviously, especially since both the Haruno and Uchiha families are sitting at the head of the table, in clear view of all the other guests.
(This is a dog-eat-dog world, Sakura, so mind your own business and be polite.)
She says nothing in response, but instead turns back to her plate and pushes her food around. This whole company dinner is a drag, and there is nothing for her to do, no one for her to talk to, because "how old are you, Sakura-san?" and "are you studying business too, Haruno-chan?" does not count as conversation. She doesn't know how Itachi and Sasuke put up with this sort of thing all the time, because Sharingan Corps. is such a huge company that they've probably been surrounded by this stuff since forever. Sucks for them, really.
She shifts in her seat, her legs brushing against her purse on the floor. She figures this is the perfect opportunity to get away, since the conversation around the table is getting a lot more heated and serious and business-like, so no one will miss her, probably. And besides, she's getting tired of trying to figure out just what makes the Uchiha heirs tick. As far as she's concerned, they run on batteries.
"'Tou-san," she turns to her dad, and he pauses mid-sentence to look at her. Fugaku looks displeased at the rather rude interruption, but then again, he always looks displeased. "I have to pee."
Kizashi blanches at her blunt comment, which she supposes is reasonable, since she doesn't even lower her voice when she says it. Then again, she is only just telling him what's going on, and he's definitely overreacting. "Sakura!"
"The toilets are right down the hall, Haruno-chan," Mikoto chimes in, saving Kizashi from further embarrassment. "If you go out this door and turn left… Well, here, Itachi will show you the way—"
"No, that's okay, Uchiha-san," Sakura grins politely. "I think I can find it on my own. I'm pretty sure I saw it on my way in, actually."
Itachi, as expected, looks just as indifferent as ever, even though he is the one being offered up as an escort. The Uchiha matriarch, on the other hand, hesitates a bit, probably because this mansion is so large and confusing that she doubts Sakura can figure things out by herself. In any case, she nods and smiles nervously. "Well, alright then, I suppose—"
"Great!" she jumps up happily, not waiting for anyone to say much else, and she picks up her bag and flounces away from the intimidating table. "I'll be right back, then!"
"Don't take too long," Kizashi warns her as she quickly walks to the exit, but Sakura doesn't respond because he knows just as well as she does that she's up to no good, but no one else in the room needs to know about that.
With a flick of her hand, she half-waves him off and skips out the dining room. The second she escapes and slides the doors shut, she lets out a heavy sigh; that dinner table was suffocating her more than she realized, but now the rest of the estate is up for grabs, all hers, and that place is the least of her worries.
Mikoto is right, she soon discovers, and the hallway with the bathroom is straight ahead. Sakura takes two steps toward it before looking to the side – and there is the grand foyer again, with the glimmering chandelier and waxed marble floors. With a toss of her wavy, choppy hair, she forgets about the toilets and walks past the hallway, past the grand staircase, and stands in the middle of the giant circular entrance.
And suddenly the foyer looks so much more than that, and it is twice the size as it was earlier, since no one else is around clogging the space. In fact, it is more like a ballroom now, and if Sakura pretends for a while, she is no longer at a fancy business dinner party, but somewhere else entirely.
The lights from the chandelier seem to glow brighter than before as Sakura begins to twirl in circles. The skirt of her horse dress floats upward, and her arms are spread out like a bird as the imaginary waltz plays around her. Suddenly the chandelier is dancing too, swaying to the music, but that's probably because she is spinning faster and faster, getting dizzier and dizzier the more she twirls. The heels of her ankle boots are slipping a little, but it just makes her slide around more smoothly, and if Sakura closes her eyes for a while, she can practically see the flouncy ice-cream dresses of the other dancers floating around the room too, can almost hear the sound of the waltz getting louder and louder, reaching an incredible crescendo—
And then she realizes it isn't part of her imagination at all.
She opens her eyes and spins to a stop, stumbling a little as she refocuses her vision. She is no longer at a ball like she'd like to be, but back to reality, back in the Uchiha estate in a giant room by herself with a bottle of vodka in her purse. But if she is indeed in the Uchiha household, and if she is indeed at an extremely formal event with rich, stuffy, old men, then what is a music box doing next to the grand staircase?
Sakura takes a few hesitant steps closer to it, studying it with her large eyes as she watches the little figurine of a ballet dancer moving in circles. A classical song is tinkling softly, a song she has never heard before, and something about it is completely and utterly captivating…until the music stops abruptly and the ballerina slows to a standstill.
With a furrow of her brow, she wonders what a girly thing like this is doing in a house with two grown sons, and so blatantly out in the open, but she doesn't linger on the thought for too long because something else has caught her eye, something else that shouldn't be here whatsoever.
Next to the music box, also sitting on top of the tiny table beside the staircase, is a vase. It is beautiful, probably hand-picked by Uchiha Mikoto like everything else, but that isn't why Sakura cares. She barely notices it herself, but she spots the corner of a see-through plastic bag, a tiny one, one that is almost successfully hidden in the stems of the flower decoration. But it's there, alright, and she can barely believe it herself.
After all, what would a bag of weed be doing in the Uchiha estate, of all places?
Interesting, she decides, but she doesn't know what to make of it. She wonders if it belongs to Sasuke or Itachi, but somehow neither of them seem like the types to be smoking illegal substances, let alone hiding them in the ikebana. Drugs aren't common in Japan, after all, and although the Uchiha family can probably afford such a rarity, she doubts they're the type to join the small percentage of Japanese who gives a shit about them. Then again, if Naruto was telling the truth last week, and he really is an old friend of Uchiha Sasuke's, then Sakura supposes this is no accident after all. Anyone who's a friend of Naruto's is a friend of one substance or another, these days.
So very, very interesting.
After smirking at the little bag for quite a bit, she turns away with a secret smile and looks up at the stairway in front of her. The weed isn't any of her business for now, and there are more important things for her to worry about than the Uchihas' secret inventory. In any case, there's probably a bathroom upstairs too, and the farther away from the dinner table she can get, the better. So she shrugs, forgets about what she's just seen, and ascends the stairs as quietly as she can in three-inch heeled boots.
When she reaches the top, she immediately finds herself lost. Although it's probably not a good idea, Sakura walks around and explores, walking through one twisting hall after another until she realizes this mansion is like a fun house, with everything looking like everything else. If it wasn't for the fact that the bathroom door at the end of the hall is left ajar, she figures she probably would've just opened the vodka right there on the carpet.
But she does get into the bathroom, and she does sit on top of the porcelain sink, and she does lean against the spotless mirror, and she does open her bottle of 42 Below (trust the Uchihas to serve only imported drinks at their bar) without even a hint of hesitation. The burn of the alcohol is familiar and somewhat pleasant, until she wishes she nicked something a little less cliché than vodka. But oh well, there's no use crying over spilled booze, she supposes.
Taking her time with the bottle, she holds it in her lap and swings her feet back and forth. She remembers to close the door shut, but although she tries to lock it with her toes, she soon gives up and decides it doesn't matter either way. No one is going to come up here to look for her, and even if they do, she can deal with it later. Besides, there's nothing wrong with living a little, is there?
And so she drinks. And drinks. And drinks.
One gulp, and she wonders what it would be like to take a bath in the giant tub in the corner.
Two sips, and she uses the tweezers on the counter to separate her eyelashes wherever her mascara clumps.
Three hefty swigs, and she counts all the soap and bubble bath containers in the room – 23 different kinds – and debates whether or not she should look to see if there's a cherry blossom-scented one, just to be ironic.
And around the same time that she realizes the bottle is nearly empty, she finds herself turning towards the door lazily, because suddenly she is no longer alone.
Uchiha Sasuke is standing right there in front of her, hand on the doorknob, staring at her with that blank, robotic expression of his. Well, not completely robotic. Judging by the tiny lift of his eyebrows, he is a bit taken aback too.
"What are you doing up here?" he says sharply.
"Oh, hi Sasuke-kun," Sakura blinks at him calmly, "can I help you with something?"
He seems to be at a loss for words, or at least that's what she assumes, because his face still hasn't moved much. While he figures that out, she puts her mouth to the bottle again, not drinking anything, just tasting the opening with the tip of her tongue.
"Dessert," he starts, his voice rough and a bit angry.
"What?"
"They've already served dessert. You've been gone for ages, so they sent me to check up on you. I didn't think you'd be snooping around my house and getting drunk in the master bathroom."
She smiles at him, one of her fake smiles, but there is a hint of something real in there because honestly, he looks a bit cute when he's pissed. But he doesn't need to know that – in all honesty, he probably already does – so instead she just gestures to the drink in her hands, ignoring his furrowed brows and deep set frown. "Want some? It's good."
"No," he stresses, and his mask slips just a little more.
And when this happens, Sakura realizes that maybe he isn't quite as statuesque as he seemed at dinner, which is great news, because that Sasuke is so completely boring, and no teenager should have to be that dull, especially when he's absolutely beautiful. She smiles again, which she can tell annoys him, and comes to the conclusion that he isn't actually as emotionless as he tries to be for the general public. She thinks he is a lot like a present, a gift box, all wrapped up in whatever pretty paper his parents decide to dress him in, and it is her job to rip that mask off and reveal the real Sasuke, the one with the emotions and the personality and the motherfucking humanity, for fuck's sake.
Then again, maybe that isn't her job at all, and maybe she just really wants to open some presents, whether they're hers to unwrap or not.
"Come on," she sighs happily, "you look like you need a break or something."
"I'm not interested in getting plastered at my father's business party," he glares accusingly, looking like he has a sour taste in his mouth just at the thought of it.
With a roll of her eyes, she silently laughs at him and turns away from his hard gaze. This is all fun and games, really, and the alcohol is loosening her up, so this attitude of his doesn't faze her as much as it would normally. Which is fine, really, because it is never a good first impression when her temper kicks in and she acts like a total bitch. "So don't drink, then. Just sit down, at least."
"We have to go back downstairs now—"
"Right, because it's a total blast down there, isn't it?" she laughs. "C'mon, you can't honestly say that you're having a good time with all those rich-bitch elitists, can you?"
"Chichue-ue's the CEO. Your dad's his new partner. We can't ruin this for them, the reputation of the entire company's at stake—"
She laughs in his face, stopping only to take a quick drink, but he still looks unimpressed. She understands where he's coming from, of course, and she knows she is being selfish and irresponsible and just plain immature about it all. Even so, she simply can't bring herself to care. The party is a whole other world away, and it has nothing to do with her anymore, at least not for now. And who is this boy anyway, telling her what to do?
"Please," she snorts, "you really think anyone down there even remotely misses us right now?"
She means it light-heartedly, because she has long come to terms with the fact that her dad doesn't much care about what she does, as long as she doesn't embarrass him or do something drastic like last time. And besides, there are dozens of people downstairs, people who are actually involved with Sharingan Corps., people who aren't just teenagers being dragged along for the ride.
But when Sasuke doesn't so much as respond, she looks at his face again, and there is an emotion written there that she can't quite explain. He stares ahead with a strange glint in his eyes, and his face has hardened even more than before, but it isn't directed at her this time. Come to think of it, it's as though he's looking straight through her.
And for a reason she can't quite understand, it breaks her heart.
"Come on, then," she says with a lot less edge to her voice, the strange gravity of the moment dawning on her as her eyes flick back and forth between his. "I won't tell if you don't."
"Hn," he grunts after a while, and he steps fully into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it this time. Without so much as a glance at her, he comes closer until he can sit on the lid of the closed toilet seat. Sakura lifts the bottle in her lap a little and looks at him, a silent offer that he refuses again with a stern shake of his head, before he goes back to staring holes into the floor.
It is silent for a minute or two as Sakura checks her phone for messages and Sasuke broods in the corner, but eventually she loses interest in that and lays the vodka in her lap soundly. There has been a long enough pause for the mood to lift again, and whatever weird rut Sasuke is in no longer weighs down on her.
And sure, Sasuke isn't exactly friendly or talkative or particularly welcoming, but he is still sitting here beside her, and that has to count for something.
She smiles at the thought, more pleased with her persuasive skills than anything else, and in the silence, she traces the numbers on the 42 Below bottle for long enough that she remembers she's tipsy. She loses herself in the architecture of the thing, admiring the sleek, thin shape of the bottle, the glass that looks almost white, the way it makes her just want to be on a ski lift somewhere, wrestling with polar bears or living in an igloo or something like that.
Then she drunkenly imagines Sasuke in a furry coat and earmuffs, ice-fishing with a bottle of 42 Below beside him and that serious, serious look on his face, and she suddenly bursts into laugher at the picture in her head.
One glance at the Uchiha himself, and she can tell he is not amused.
Tilting her head back against the cabinet mirror, she swings her feet back and forth like before, waiting until the spontaneous laughter dies down and he decides to ignore her again. The twitch of his eyebrow is barely noticeable, but she sees it, revels in it, congratulates herself for making it happen, and with a ridiculous grin on her drunken face, she speaks to him.
"So, Sasuke-kun—"
"Don't call me that."
"Just Sasuke, then," she says, her lips tilting upwards a bit at the way he pouts, "is it true you're friends with Naruto?"
His ears seem to perk up a bit, and she's pleased to note that he's finally looking at her again, although his expression is still a bit too dull and bothersome for her tastes. "How do you know the dobe?" he drawls, but she just giggles softly at his nickname for her loudmouth friend, because the booze is just making her feel like she's floating, floating, floating, and it makes her do silly things like giggle.
"School," she says finally. "We're pretty close, actually. Well, when he's not being a complete idiot, which is all the time, really."
He furrows his eyebrows, and she is thankful for this, because somehow she's incredibly, unhealthily captivated with the way she can make his facial expression change, even if it's only a little, and even if it's for reasons she can't understand. "What are you doing in a public school?" he asks, and if she wasn't so tipsy right about now, she'd probably be offended at the way he says it.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your dad's the co-CEO of Sharingan. He can afford to send you wherever you want."
She just shrugs it off like it's nothing. "Yeah, well, I want to go to Tanzaku, if it's all the same to you."
Judging by the way he pauses, she gets the feeling he's hesitating about something, that he's about to step out of his comfort zone. "Private school's not all it's cracked up to be anyway," he says finally, and even in her carefree state, she is actually a bit surprised that he's saying something like this. He may have nagged her a bit before, but she doesn't feel he's the type to complain much either. After all, Uchihas never complained. "Everyone's there for a reason. They watch you and make sure you don't screw up. There's a right way to do things and a wrong way to do things."
He stops for a second, reflects on it, doesn't even seem to realize he is saying all this to her because the whole time, he has just been staring at the hanging towels with the uchiwa fan embroidered on them. And then suddenly he moves his gaze back to Sakura, slowly studying her. He isn't checking her out, just simply scrutinizing her, taking in every detail of her strange outfit, of her pink hair, of her lax expression and lazy body language. And even though his face is familiarly blank as he does this, she knows he's judging her, just like everybody else.
"You wouldn't belong in a place like that," he says quietly, and without warning, without any reasoning for why, her temper comes back with a full force, drunkenness be damned.
"What the fuck do you know?" she bites back at him. "What are you saying, that I'm not good enough for your fancy-pants school? That just because I couldn't care less about the business world, I'm a waste of space? Well fuck you, Sasuke, you don't even fucking know me."
"That's not what I was saying at all," he drawls, and although his voice gives the impression that he is staying level-headed as Uchihas always do, she can still see the way his shoulders tense at her outburst. He turns away from her again, as though he can't even be bothered to look at her properly. It makes her blood boil.
"Well, then what?"
"I'm saying you're too…different for that place." This does not help calm her down at all, and she narrows her brows and purses her lips, preparing to pounce. The happy, giddy feeling from before has vanished into thin air, and she can't even remember what it felt like, even though it was just a second ago. Sasuke hardly seems to notice the bipolar attitude she's always been known for, that she's gotten into trouble for, but before she can even open her mouth to reprimand him again, he continues. "Nakano Academy…it would've stunted you, handicapped you. There's no room for originality there."
She blames it on the fact that she's under the influence, blames it on the fact that no one has ever implied she was original before (you're weird, strange, a goddamn fuck up, and no one's ever going to take a loser like you seriously), and something about the way he says it strikes a chord in her. She freezes from her position on top of the sink, stares at him, and can't find it in herself to react properly. But when he turns to face her again, turns to really look at her, something sparks in her chest and she can't look away.
And honestly, she isn't really sure she wants to.
"And no," he mutters, "maybe I don't know you, but I can tell there's a lot more to you than Nakano would allow. You'd be trapped there, turned into a puppet like everyone else—"
"Is that what it did to you?" she interrupts suddenly, and he stills.
"Don't get the wrong idea," he says, but doesn't elaborate. Sakura can feel his barrier slipping back into place, and she can tell she overstepped her boundaries. Something tells her that Sasuke doesn't speak up about things like this that often, let alone to a random girl he only just met, a girl he doesn't seem to have much in common with whatsoever.
A girl he complimented so fucking beautifully without even realizing it.
And a girl he's begun to tear apart without saying much of anything at all.
It's quiet again, not uncomfortably so, but enough that Sakura sighs, looks back at the bottle in her lap, and decides to forget about whatever serious mood has come over them out of nowhere. She's been pretending that she knows Sasuke well enough to talk to him about these sorts of things, but the moment is over now. She lets the alcohol in her system bring her back to the happy, carefree mood from before, and the fake smile easily melts back into place.
Those memories are best left forgotten, anyway.
"Is that why you hid the spliff downstairs?" she teases laughingly, letting the good feelings wash over her until she goes back to being the flirt she knows she is. She doesn't expect him to whip his head in her direction, doesn't expect his body to tense and his eyes to widen ever-so-slightly.
"What are you talking about?" he says, his voice deeper and a lot more defensive than before. She hardly notices just how stiff he suddenly becomes.
"The spliff," she says calmly. "Downstairs, in the ikebana by the staircase? I saw the stash, but don't worry, I didn't take any."
"It's not mine," Sasuke growls quickly, but she doesn't buy it.
"Don't worry, I totally get it, you get stressed out because of school so you light up to relax. You don't have to hide it, I do it too sometimes and there's nothing wrong with it, and I mean, Naruto always has so much of it—"
"I said it's not mine," he insists, and with a sudden rush of anger, he abruptly stands from the toilet seat and glares at her heatedly.
She doesn't know what to make of his reaction, but she shrugs and lets it go. It probably isn't the best idea to keep smiling at him the way she's currently doing, but she can't help it, she's been drinking throughout the conversation and it's catching up to her again. "Okay, fine, it's not yours. Calm down, already."
He doesn't move for a good ten seconds, but when he does, he turns on his heel and takes a step towards the bathroom door. "Forget this, I'm leaving."
"Hey, wait!"
Sakura doesn't know why she calls out to him, doesn't know why she suddenly feels the need to move and do something even though she knows nothing about this boy, doesn't know why she stumbles off the sink, bottle in hand, to stop him from leaving her alone. She imagines a scenario in which he is not a complete stranger, a scenario where he is actually her best friend, her boyfriend, her lover, and he is breaking her heart unceremoniously. What she doesn't expect is the sudden, unexplained pang in her gut at the daydream. For once the pretending doesn't make her feel better at all, doesn't do its job of distancing her from the world.
Instead it's just…emptiness.
And she can't for the life of her understand why.
Sasuke doesn't seem to hear her call, or at least doesn't seem to care, and proceeds to unlock the door and swing it open. She decides to ignore whatever sudden, drunken thoughts she'd just been having, in favor of preventing him from walking out on her like this.
"Hey, did you hear me? I said to wait!"
"They're probably wondering what happened to us—"
"Now hold on a second—"
She reaches out to him, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him back. Anything to keep him from leaving.
He tenses and freezes on the spot, and for some reason she doesn't like how uncomfortable he is at her touch, even though her plan has worked and he isn't running away anymore. Without even looking at her, he throws his cold voice over his shoulder, and despite it all, she marvels at how smooth and deep it sounds. Like…ice and melted chocolate.
"Don't touch me."
"Hey, just relax, okay? I'm not accusing you of anything, alright? Just…wait." Maybe it's the seriousness in her voice that does it, or maybe it's the desperation, but whatever it is, he actually stops and turns to her. "You know, I may not know anything about you, but I'm pretty damn sure that out of all those people downstairs, you can trust me the most."
He only stares at her more intensely, his mouth straightening into a harder line, just like his father. But his eyes shift just a little, and even though it's practically nothing, Sakura knows it means something.
"Don't be so sure about that," he says anyway, moving to pry himself from her grip. He escapes a little, but she refuses to go down so easily, a habit she always had and a stubbornness she is well-known for, so she pulls him back again.
"I mean, you can relax with me, okay? I'm not trying anything funny here. I'm just, you know…a friend…or something like that."
Sakura isn't sure what it is, but suddenly Sasuke's whole demeanor shifts. He tilts his head down to look at her more closely, and in her drunken state, Sakura can only focus on one aspect of him at a time. The softness of his hair, tidy in one way but untidy in another, especially with the way a few pieces hang in his face and fall towards hers. The paleness of his skin, healthy-looking even though it's the color of alabaster and whipped cream. The straightness of his nose, the hardness of his jaw, the smallness of his ears, the way he reminds her of some sort of statue in both looks and expression.
And in the dark, black pools of his eyes, the empty void that she knows has a hidden warmth in there somewhere, she suddenly imagines she is drowning, like really drowning, all cheesy metaphors be damned. She finds she has to catch her breath, with him staring at her the way he is. His eyes are searching, and she can't quite read what he's doing or why, but the way his gaze is so fixed on hers makes her brain temporarily shut down. She finds she can't even pretend anymore, not when he's looking at her like that.
She can't quite explain it, but something about him makes her wonder. She doesn't know a single thing about this boy, not really, but he's different. Interesting. Beautiful – and god, how she hates that word, but nothing else seems to fit him quite so perfectly. And even though he is looking straight at her, even though the key to his thoughts are quite literally staring her in the face, she can't for the life of her understand what's going on in his head.
But she's dying to find out.
She blinks then, and the spell is over. He breaks their eye contact and sighs softly, and while he does that, Sakura's vision tilts as she remembers she is still drunk and still smiling a little, and she isn't sure exactly when she had loosened her grip from Sasuke's arm, but now she has to hold onto the counter to steady her balance again. She wonders if this is what it's like on a pirate ship. All those old, bearded guys drunk on rum and seawater…when their world starts swaying, can they tell if it's because of the rocking ship or their drunkenness? Those really are the spins, if she has anything to say about it.
"Give me that," Sasuke says suddenly, breaking through her daydream and gesturing to the now-empty bottle in her hands. She's been holding it this whole time, and she completely forgot about it. She really is a bit of a pirate.
"What?"
"You're all done, right? I'll put it in my room so no one sees it."
She can do nothing but stare at him, for some reason not fully understanding what he's saying. She watches as his face grows a little more stern, but not out of frustration this time – is it just her, or is he looking a bit uncomfortable? Whatever it is, she can only smile a bit wider. She is making him show emotion again, even if it's barely anything worth mentioning. It thrills her either way.
"If anyone sees this," he continues before she can think any more about it, "they're going to assume I had something to do with it. I'm not about to make a fool of the Uchiha name right in front of the entire Board of Directors."
She almost laughs aloud at his uptight excuse, especially when paired with the monotonous way he speaks about it, but the slight narrowing of his eyebrows stops it in her throat. Smiling widely instead, she thrusts the bottle out in front of her and looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes.
She knows she could have just tossed the bottle back into her purse, no problem. In fact, that was her plan all along, because how was she to know that the youngest Uchiha boy was going to be following her to the upstairs bathroom at any point of the night? But Sasuke's twisted sense of chivalry is somewhat amusing to her anyway, and she smiles at the thought.
Her knight in shining armor, her prince charming, coming to rid the castle of any empty vodka bottles. Her hero.
For a second Sakura believes he can read her thoughts, because with that hilarious frown on his face, he looks rather un-amused. But then she realizes that he still doesn't really know her, so how would he know that she constantly throws herself in her imagination like this?
Be careful, Sakura. For all you know, someone else might be pretending.
He takes the bottle from her hands and stares at it grumpily, looking as though he is blaming it for causing all this trouble for him tonight, and Sakura can't stop the thought of him scolding it with a wagging finger.
She almost laughs again, but holds herself back. Whether it's because she's a bit tipsy, or whether it's just because she has an unusual taste for things – an unusual taste in beauty, if her earlier conversation with that Kakashi guy was any indication – Sakura thinks that annoyed expression on Sasuke's face is really very captivating. In fact, even though she doesn't know much about him at all, she thinks that image of him describes him somewhat perfectly.
With that thought in mind, she grabs her purse from the sink and reaches into it quickly, watching Sasuke from the corner of her eye. He continues to stand there, scowling at the empty bottle of 42 Below, his mouth turned downwards and his brow furrowed and his gaze both heated and bored at the same time, and he looks as though he's mentally destroying it, burning it with his stare and growling at it in annoyance—
There's a sudden click, followed by a loud hiss that echoes against the large, marble bathroom walls, and Sakura can't help but grin at the stunned Sasuke, jolted out of his thoughts.
"What—"
She doesn't stop to watch him turn toward her, doesn't stop to see his grip tighten on the bottle in his hands, doesn't stop to watch his body tense at being caught off guard. She only turns toward the box in her hand, her most-prized box that she scrounged from the bottom of her purse without him even realizing, and removes the square of celluloid that is ejected within seconds.
She holds it up, the ink still spreading and changing and developing all on its own, and shows Sasuke the Polaroid she has just snapped of him.
"Just a souvenir."
"Did you just take my picture—"
She giggles drunkenly, shrugging when her cardigan starts slipping off her shoulder again, and snaps her camera shut with a flourish. "Hey, don't worry about it. Maybe I'll explain it to you some other time."
She revels in the slightly stunned look in his eyes, the way he almost, almost shows the disbelief he is probably feeling right now. That's what they always do, after all, when she takes a new picture. No one ever knows just quite how to take it, never knows quite what she's on about, and that's just the way she likes it.
His shoulders square and his posture straightens, and she watches as he tried to regain his composure. With a short toss of his head and a hand in his pocket, he avoids her eyes and leans against the doorframe. "Ch, and what makes you think we're even going to see each other again?"
"Don't worry," she grins, tossing her Polaroid camera back into her purse and whips out her white sunglasses all over again. "I just…know."
And before he can say anything else, she drunkenly stumbles straight past him and out the bathroom door, down the hallway, and to the top of the grand staircase overlooking the entire Uchiha foyer. She is faintly aware that she has left him behind, faintly aware of her heels clacking on the tiles as she slowly makes her way down the steps, faintly aware of the warm feeling the alcohol has caused in her belly, faintly aware of her father's overly-polite conversation with his new business partner, faintly aware of the way the whole party is exiting the dining room but has yet to notice her, faintly aware of only Uchiha Itachi's eyes on her as she walks back towards them—
But the one thing she is fully aware of, the one thing that sticks out to her the most, is the picture of Uchiha Sasuke's scowling face in her hand.
disclaimer: MK owns. Inspired by (but not at all based on) UK Skins.
things to expect in this story: language. drugs. alcohol. sex. smoking. disorders. dysfunctional families. heartbreak. passion. abandonment. teacher/student relationships. love triangles. heavy partying. sexuality/sexual identification. breakdowns. unusual fashion sense. hospitals. minor non-character death. growth. lovelovelove. nothing you've ever read before.
note: I have done my research; any references to drugs, alcohol, raves, and the schooling system are accurate to current Japanese law and social customs. Also, Sakura's dad has been revised and renamed, based on Kishimoto's official release of Sakura's parents in Road to Ninja.
A/N: Been writing this piece for months now and finally picked it up again! Yes, all other stories will be completely finished eventually, but this is my new baby and therefore it is my numero uno priority (: I have every single bit of this story mapped out and ready to go, and I'm even turning it into a non-fanfiction screenplay/teleplay. Yikes. Also, for the record, Tanzaku and Nakano are real places in the Naruto-verse. Look 'em up!
I apologize for the weird writing style, but I figured I'd try something new. I have both a present tense and past tense version of this story, but I like present tense better, as it fits Sakura's state of mind and the mood of all the characters. If a lot of people don't like this, though, I may go back and change it to past tense again. Send me your thoughts~
I promise there's going to be a lot of crazy stuff in this story! And it's all going to start immediately, so if you want to read about a lot of fucked up shit, you might want to stay tuned (;