She is no longer young and caught up in a dream.
She is nineteen and has let foolish hopes slip out of her fingers and grasped onto reality instead.
She is nineteen and no longer giggles or sends eager glances toward a dark haired boy that has fulfilled his own ambitions, killing a few dreams in the process.
Instead she watches him just as everyone else does. Eyes weary and always on guard.
But somehow her eyes are a little less hardened than the others, a little more tender. Perhaps it is from past memories of a pink haired girl and a black haired boy, and one night in the absence of stars where a thank you was whispered and a body was placed gently on a stone bench.
Maybe this remaining affection is also because of a certain other boy. One with blonde hair and blue eyes that brim with death and saddened sunshine. She sees him always with the other boy, smiling and laughing, and every now and then coaxing a smirk across his companion's face. It is from watching him, the only one who has the true right to shun, embrace the other boy and draw him toward life instead of loneliness.
She is nineteen and naivety is no longer a daily part of her life. She has seen death, felt it arrive in her very arms, and lick at the edges of her own soul. She has evaded it, only to have it return with a vengeance and steal someone else away.
She is nineteen and she is a full fledged ninja and it is the only life she knows.
As it happens, for it does in every shinobi's life, one day she comes back from a mission and doesn't want to continue it all. Perhaps it is from having to wash away the stain of blood from her palms. Perhaps it is from remembering the empty eyes and lifeless body of a child this blood comes from. Perhaps it is from the fact her apartment is empty and void of warmth and light. Void of love.
It's so tiring to leave for death, only to return for loneliness.
She falls onto the neatly made bed. Remembers. The face of a blonde girl she was once fond of. A boy with dark eyebrows and a fierce determination that remained until the last second of his life. A boy with a dog. A girl with silver-cool shy eyes. A boy with red hair and a sadness so complete the mere memory of him still has her heart clenching. She sighs and stands, shuffles to the window, already pushing the memories back.
She needs to. They are only memories that bring sadness and a reminder that her own name may be carved in stone tomorrow.
Outside the lights dance and a sweet music fills her ears. There is a crowd of people filling the streets, bright clothes and happy faces pink from excitement and cold. Children laughing under the stars.
It is a summer night glowing. A festival has started.
She chuckles to herself. Ironic that she can forget about something that has been planned for weeks, but still remember the bright green of a street sign from two weeks ago. Granted the memory of that sign might be strengthened from the fact a body had been hanging over it, but still.
She heads to her closet and pulls out a white dress. Light enough and short enough to stand the humid summer heat. Flowy enough to conceal weapons in various places. She heads out the door, not bothering to lock it. The apartment holds nothing of value.
She walks down the gravelly path. The street lights cast a orange-red haze over everything and air is smoky from the cooking stalls and firecrackers.
She comes across the path of a young man in a fishnet shirt, hair tied into a brown ponytail, holding the hand of a small blonde toddler. She had blues eyes and a smile so sweet Sakura feels her heart bleed. Neither say anything. To talk would bring memories of a girl -friend to one, lover to the other. So they exchange small smiles and walk on.
She ends up at a makeshift platform in the middle of the market. It is a few inches higher than ground level and dancing couples spin under the glow of lanterns. Moths beat their wings around the light and the air is infused with melody.
She closes her eyes. It is a pleasant sound and sight, and she wants to memorize it. It energizes her a little.
This is the reason why she goes out with the prospect of never returning.
Fights so these people will live to dance another day, and sing another song.
When she opens her eyes it is to silver-hair and starlight and a new song.
"Yo." He is standing in front of her, seemingly at ease. She has not seen him in weeks, maybe months. He has been away on a classified mission for the most part, and she has been taking care of her own duties.
"Hello." She offers him a small smile, just as she offered the young man.
"Are you here by yourself?"
His voice is cool and even and quiet.
"Yes, are you?"
"For the most part." He glances toward a food stall a few yards away and she sees several of his friends sitting there. One is smoking a cigarette.
They remain standing, neither really feeling the need to talk. Her eyes roam over his face and his over hers. The looks are impersonal. They are to gather information more than anything else. She notices a small scar by his ear that was not there before. She wants to ask what happened because she has never seen a scar on his face other than the one over his eye. She doesn't let the words slip out, but her staring is obvious enough and he answers the unasked question.
"It's nothing." She nods. She hadn't expected him to answer her anyway.
In tthe corner of her eye she sees a pair of young men walk by. They are talking and one is laughing, startling sunlight and breathtaking night sky, and they looks utterly complete. She feels a pang of loneliness from seeing the small universe they've created. One she will always see, but never be a part of. She turns back toward Kakashi.
The music changes.
"Dance with me?"
The words are more of a command than a question and she drags him out onto the floor before she can hear his words of protest, leaving them to be carried away with the wind.
The song is a slow waltz and she places the palm of his hand against her own. She lays her other hand on his shoulder and feels him lightly rest his hand on her waist. They move artfully to the music, it is not a complicated step, but she can still feel people's eyes on them.
It is not a surprise that either dances so well. Certain skills come with certain undercover jobs in high society. It is only natural that dancing is one of them.
However, it is a surprise that she is laughing, a sweet untroubled laugh that makes him smile and not mind the fact that he knows he will be teased the moment he gets back to the table. It is a surprise that during all of this her eyes are closed and her guard seems to be down, because anyone who is in her life knows that she has not been this carefree for a long time. Perhaps it is because of her earlier thoughts, or the fact that the moon is low and full and the song in her ears is enchanting.
Or perhaps it is because it is him and he is something familiar and comforting. Something that can sooth her and make her forget, even just for a second. Someone that makes her eyes go soft and an truly affectionate smile come across her features. There are so little people in her life that can do that.
She opens her eyes and the music changes.
It is a slower song. Soft. Sensual. It is one that requires the girl to be held close and lovingly. For arms to be slid around waists and draped across necks. As they accommodate themselves, people turn away, finding their own world to fall into.
Her hands meet gently at the back of his neck, the tips softly skimming the skin there in the tiniest, most delicate of circles. It is almost an unconscious gesture on her part, but to her and his surprise it is enough to make him give the smallest of shivers. A shiver so imperceptible it is more like a reaction to the stimulation of nerves.
But they both feel it.
His arms are around her waist, the hold is still light and respectful. There is no groping or digging into flesh. There is no wayward wandering. But the was he holds her is so gentle, she can close her eyes and press her cheek against his chest and pretend that there is love and protectiveness in it.
He can smell the fragrance of her shampoo. Something like honey and cherry and vanilla, one of those girly scents that somehow make a man's thoughts go fuzzy. And though he would never say it aloud, this is exactly what is happening.
The music changes, but neither makes a move to pull apart.
Instead she turns her face towards his body. Presses her the top of her forehead into the curve of his neck. Her breath warms a spot between the sides of his vest and through his thin black shirt. The feeling is intimate and warmth and for the briefest moment his eyes close. Then they are open, berating himself for thinking like that.
He knows, knows because he is Kakashi and he has been with her, witnessed her life from childhood to adult. He knows why she is acting like this. The loving glances, the soft touches. Knows that recently she went on a mission and lost one of her best friends.
He had known from the first moment two years ago as she ripped the kunai from some nameless man's body, stared at the vacant eyes of her first kill, that she would go through this. Every ninja goes through it. A normal person would label it as depression. For ninja… there isn't really a term. It is more defined from the actions that accompany it. The weary expression and the ghost smiles. The sadness that settles itself in the corner of each eye. The aimless wandering and carefully concealed envy directed towards others.
The seeking out of another person to act as an anchor to life.
The spot where her breath beats is now hot and the skin of her forehead is moist against the skin of his neck. The circles her fingers make are no longer subtle, they are bold and sweeping, and they feel good.
"Sakura…" He has to stop this before something happens. Before he can do something he will be unable to take back or cover up with an innocent smile and a pat on the head.
But once things begin, they always have to been seen though. And from the moment he let her take his hand in hers, he knew he wouldn't object.
"Yes?"
Her voice is soft and innocent and sends a thrill through him because her actions are anything but. The heat of her breath is now against the skin right above to the top of his collar. Her chest is pressed against his, and the burning feel of her lips is sliding along his collar bone. He feels his heart skip a beat and his breath becomes heavy.
He pulls away.
The look she gives him is blank and guarded and hurt all at once. He sighs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. There is no easy way out of this one.
He sees her lick her lips, open her mouth to speak. Close it and look away. Look back. The look in her eyes turns from lost to fierce when she sees his indifferent posture. He braces himself for the onslaught of insults and yelling and tears.
Instead he sees the fierceness slip out of her eyes and something inside of him is relieved until a look so old and worn crosses her face.
She looks as though she lived through a million deaths in the passing second.
Something he himself has experienced before.
"I'm sorry." The words are out of her mouth before he can say anything and she is walking off, heading back from the way she first arrived.
He doesn't follow her.
He can't give her what she needs, or maybe he can, and he doesn't want to.
Can't afford to.
Instead he leaves in the other direction, not bothering to head back to his friends. He knows they saw everything and understand what has just happened. Just as he knows they won't say a word about it the next time they see him. Just as Sakura won't.
He heads towards a home that is empty, not because it has to be, but because he chooses for it to be.
The next time he sees her it is to starlight and bloody tears and raindrops.
He is laying the in grass, the onslaught of water falling from the sky more of a punishment than a relief from the heat. It stings the open wounds of his body, raises the stench of singed flesh and dark blood. Intensifies the red clouding of his vision.
But he barely notices this because he's trying to keep his life from falling completely out of his control. He can see darkness coming towards him and to say he is frightened would be a lie. Death doesn't frighten him anymore. But he does not want it to end this early, or this way, from a mission gone wrong.
He makes a silent plea to anyone who will listen and is amazed when he feels a cool hand on his arm.
"Kakashi-sensei." He has not heard anyone call him that for a long time. He looks to his right and she is kneeling beside him, her hair soaked and her expression grim.
"Don't die." Her voice is pleading and soft and she leans forward and places her lips against his masked ones. She mumbles the words against the cloth.
"You won't die." There is determination in her eyes and somehow he knows this is true. He closes his own eyes as the light becomes welded with his soul and her chakra floods his veins. It's like liquid fire, burning and pure and hot and healing in it's wake. They stay like that for a long time, her mouth against his, one hand pressed firmly on his chest and the other soothing across his forehead.
She stops abruptly and the feeling of being inside of an exploding star vanishes. She is dry heaving beside him and he sees her violently shaking.
"Sakura."
His voice is weak.
"I'm fine." She calms herself. Wipes the blood from her mouth and turns her attention back toward him.
He is silent until he sees the promise of death's shadow looming behind her and he tries to warn her, but the world tilts dangerously and everything blackens.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Tsunade sighs as she sits at her desk in the early morning, a stack of new mission reports piled before her. She picks up the top one and breaks he seal on it, noticing it's color.
Red seals mean death or fatal injury. Her eyes widen as she reads the information.
REPORT.
Mission: Information gathering in the Stone.
Rank: A
Ninja: Hatake Kakashi
Rank: Jounin
Status: Failed.
Casualities: 1
-Name of deceased:…
Tsunade closes her eyes.
oooooooooooooooooooooooo
The next time she sees him it is with closed eyes and a sad smile. The expression doesn't waver and the eyes don't open and he can can't help but think that death smiles prettily.
The next time he sees her she is surrounded by cheery blossoms and love. So much love. Every inch of space surrounding her is filled with people and flowers and memories.
He places a flower gently across her unmoving chest. Touches her lips lightly with the tip of his finger.
They are so cold.
He turns and walks away, ignores the stares and whispers that he sees and hears from unfamiliar faces.
"Isn't that him?"
"Yes, she was trying to save him wasn't she?"
"Weren't they attacked?"
"Yes."
"I heard they snuck up from behind. She didn't even have a chance."
"Poor thing."
He walks past the familiar faces who remain silent in respect.
He heads towards a home that is empty, not because he chooses for it to be, but because the one person who might have been able to fill it is now just a memory.
Her name will be carved in stone tomorrow.