what a mess oh
A/N: One thing lead to another. Happy reading! -paranoid twitching ensues-
…
Whatever her mother's warped logic was about girls needing to have long hair, Ino was absolutely disconcerted. Besides, she was feeling a little light-boned anyway. Chop, chop. The pale spill of her light hair settled on the blue bathroom tiles. Her arms were elastic, with a dull pain from holding up for too long and when she was finally done, she leaned in, close to her steamed up small mirror and squinted. Ruffled her now short, close cropped hair. It's not like she knew what she was doing. She hardly ever cut her hair. A disaster as such was simply a novice's fate.
Lightly drumming her cherry-red painted fingers across the sink she reached for her kunai, curving it around her hair and cleanly shearing off a short portion of her long bangs. Dragging her lower lip between her teeth, she turned the faucet on, rinsing her scalp. The cold water trickled down her chin and she breathed calmly through her nose. She remembers how she had waited outside her closed flower shop this noon, when she had heard his heavy footfalls.
"Ino." Had cackled a somnolent, husky voice from where she had stood. The indolent bastard sounded tired as always.
"Shika!" Ino had turned, and there was Shikamaru in his jounin vest and tired eyes, "I need you to-"
A deep sigh through the nose and he shuffled as if he had not heard her, "What is the calamity now, Ino?"
Ino maneuvers her head so that water trickles down the side of her ear, into her shirt. Closes her eyes.
"A girl can't even ask her best friend to come over ? Asshole." Ino sounded crabby even to her own ears and she had thought how she might just be losing her touch a little.
"I…will be out of Konoha today. I can't come over. Not today."
Despite herself, her heart sunk. Her apartment walls are crumbly white, bleary and lone. Her room was suffocating. To down a cup or two of cheap peach sake on her sordid, mauve couch with his mirthless smiles and drunk troublesomes might have just cheered her up a little. She braces herself, withdrawing from the steady stream of water from the faucet and runs a towel through her hair. She can almost see Shikamaru now, a lean figure, languid yet drawn against a tree or a lamp post. Smoke curling at the edges of his lips, and his softened eyes at the dampness of them, ash flicking from a single glowing amber in his left hand down a dusky road.
"Bad day." The words had left Ino's mouth before she knew it, but her heart was clenching, the feeling clambered over her body, the one she's been trying to keep at bay since the day started. But she was far from regretting then.
"Bad life." Shikamaru agreed solemnly, his voice lilting a little with a dry smile.
"Chouji?" She had whispered, pulling at the hem of her yellow shirt.
"He's retreated to his quiet. Best not bother him right now." She does not miss a shaky, deep breath.
Ino presses her dry lips together, "Take care, Shika. Better see your ass tomorrow in one piece."
He laughs his brittle laugh and it hurts her ears, "Troublesome." Then, "Take care ,Ino." And he shuffles away, walking away, and Shikamaru is hardly ever vulnerable, but in that moment he had the fragility of the delicate of the maidenhair fern, curling in winters.
They're all fools. Fools, fools, fools. Asuma-sensei died three years ago this day and they're all breaking down like they are not shinobi, not hard-eyed with kunai-greased nails, a gruesome macabre of warfare in their wake leaving two of them fatherless and one scarred to the bone. But Mirai turned two just days before and she asked, with frosting on her face and a yearning-light in her eyes, holding fast to Chouji's hand how exactly her father died. His child with his curling dark hair and roguish strong chin and even the same smile, so small, and of course she deserved to know but they pretended to not see Shikamaru turning away and Kurenai heaving her chest. The room she had decorated with such fervor with Chouji and Shikamaru, all streamers and little lights seemed too pasty and dull then.
Asuma wouldn't want this. This is too long a time to mourn but here she is, a hand pressed against her quivering mouth, her eyes tearing up. A fucking bad hair job and her butt dangling of the edge of her cold bathtub.
Ino needs a drink.
.
Ino pulls out a short little blue number from her closet, some fishnets. Maroon lips, eyeliner, glitter. She hates this feeling, she hates thinking of Chouji's quiet sequester of bone-deep sadness and Shikamaru burning in ash and smoke of memories that hurt so much. She needs throat searing alcohol and sweaty warm bodies and loud, obscene music making her heart pound and adrenaline race.
Ha fucking Ha. The moment she slinks into the club, she sits at a lone corner, a cold drink biting her hand and numbing her lips and when the alcohol kicks in, it's almost peaceful and dulling. Mitigated the dull thud in her skull ,the stinging in her eyes and the blockage in her throat. And so, she clatters a few more ryo on the counter, and swallows shot after shot in an incessant, greedy manner. Ah glorious life draught. There's a mission and interrogation tomorrow and the Hokage is going to hang her by her lacey underwear if she doesn't report on time but, oh so what. She settles her head on her bare arm, shining with glitter and sweat in the piss yellow light of the bar and contemplates if alcohol poisoning would be a better alternative.
"Ino?"
Ino's heartbeat increases an octave, her mouth turning bone-dry. She sees lily-white hands and a silky red dress shuffle near her. Settles in the adjacent stool. She doesn't look up, not yet. Soft, nimble hands touch the top of her head, fingering tufts of her hair.
"Pig, did you shear off all of that hair. This is not happening. Shit, shit, shit-"
"Shut up, Sakura." She mumbles against her arm, her voice drawling and catching. Ino pushes herself up, blinking and looks at her. And indeed, Sakura is adorned in a knee length, backless red dress. Her hair are pulled up into a knot, and her lips are impossibly cherry red and eyes, impossibly sea-foam green. And Ino is thinking, how she badly wants to press her hot mouth to hers and-
"I AM SO FUCKED." Ino growls and as Sakura regards her like she's naked and doing cartwheels, the bartender quietly places another shot on the counter, sliding it to her, nodding grimly and then shuffles away. Perhaps the world still has hope.
"No. Ino." And a quick hand darts forward and snatches the glass away from her lips. Ino squints at Sakura and notices the grim line of her mouth, that she's worried for her. Even though Ino has readily realized over the years how losing Sakura, over and over again Sucks ( And Probably Hurts) Incredibly she'd rather not have this wanton affection.
"Billboard. How. Dare. You." Ino drawls and is prepared to launch into a pity-insulating speech, when she notices a dark curling sign on Sakura's arm. An ANBU tattoo. Sakura follows her eyes and shrugs slowly, hesitating then, tipping back Ino's shot. At that point her words die in her mouth and she's tired and aching all over again.
"When?"
"This morning. First mission."
"I see."
"Yeah."
Ino almost chuckled at each others' utterly pathetic forms. Wallowing in misery and chugging alcohol and one hopelessly in love with the other. What a sordid pair of best friends. But Ino cannot keep her eyes of the curling ink scar until Sakura channels a little of chakra to mask this, and they speak nothing, just look away from each other. ANBU is always shit, no wonder Sakura decided to crash at the bar tonight. Even Shikamaru had vomited and heaved after his very ANBU first mission.
"What about you, Pig?" Sakura's voice is quiet, a balm and unruffled.
Ino pats down her hair gently, and the words spill, "Asuma-sensei… died today, two years back. And Mirai is growing so fast and- and she asked about her father but-"
Sakura looks at her clearly then, her eyes soften and her hand inches forward until it rests on her wrist and squeezes gently. "I'm sorry, Ino."
"Me too, Sakura. Me too." Ino is staring at her, and she is so beautiful. Pink soft hair and curling light lashes and brittle sadness with taunt strength under her mellow, soft-skinned self. Ino doesn't know where the courage comes from but she tests this, and it is truthfully, behest and a little yearning. Leaning forward and their foreheads bump. Ino shuts her eyes, leaning in, feeling Sakura's warm breath hitch as she tenses at this closeness. Suddenly the green of her eyes is overwhelming.
Ino knows she will regret this. But maybe, the dimming lights and numbness in her veins makes her feel this way, so brave, so foolish. So she tips her lips into hers, kissing like her life depends on it, pressing her lips harder against Sakura's. Her lips are warm, coaxing. She smells like bitter medicine laced with clean chakra and her strawberry shampoo. Tastes like sake. Sakura is rigid, unmoving, un-responding.
"I missed you." Ino breaks away, breathless. Their lips making a little sound of suction.
Tears sting her eyes again but she's adamant to not let them fall in front of her as she stands, swaying a little and she does not look at Sakura. She shoves and pushes dancing bodies but she needs to get out. As she hiccups the night air, finally, her heart beating like a theater drum and then she is shaking. Fucking pathetic.
Her lips still tingle from the kiss.
.
After walking straight to nowhere particular, she finds a lone bench. Dragging herself across it's cold, cemented length, she gropes inside her purse and bless, a cigarette. Her index fingertips lighten momentarily at warm, concentrated chakra. She doesn't think it'll work but sure enough, there's a tiny spark. She lightens an end of the cigarette and shoves it's between her lips.
Inhales and coughs and inhales. Ino hates smoking, with Shikamaru puffing it out like a chimney around her all the time, but desperate times call for desperate measures. She winces at her own triteness and inhales deeply, again.
"Oh, Asuma-sensei." She whispers harshly, smoke pooling out of her mouth like a thick miasma. "What do I do?"
Trees make thin, spidery shadows across the empty street corner, her short heels click and scrape at the tarmac far too loud. She inhales again, a long-suffering breath and rests her head at the back of the bench.
Haruno Sakura. Billboard Brow. Beautiful, beautiful girl-woman.
Sakura is meant to marry the pretty boy Uchiha with his god-like prowess and spinning Sharingan and glaring Rinnengan. Traitor, war-hero, Sakura's long time love. There'd be a small wedding, decorated with uchiwa fans and cherry blossoms, she would be the maid of honor with a bitter smile on her made-up face. Lots of beautiful people sex and later, children running around the Uchiha compound. Maybe a pink-haired daughter with the Uchiha bloodline blaring in her eyes or a boy with apple-green eyes and a shock of jet-black hair.
Ino laughs bitterly at her own imagination and lights another cigarette. She's wasted alright.
Ino doesn't need to be told twice. She's not the kind who persist after it's made clear that she's not wanted, not welcome. But there's this one incident that keeps resurfacing and it fucking haunts her. It's bleak, miserable. A film of morning dew on ash. The war was though. Sakura dealt with the dead or half-dying and Ino, with her fingers crackling and her mind-jutsu stretching beyond its limits, her veins taunt against her forehead as she snapped sanities.
So maybe that one day, when she had three broken ribs and twisted ankle and blood spurting out of her mouth as she perched out of the medical tent, wincing and laughing a crazed corrosive laugh, she had lost her sanity too. What did her father say a day before? That he was leaving the Yamanaka Clan to her, that he was old and frail and probably dead tomorrow, of curse skipping the latter but Ino was no fool. Her father was a strict man, defined by his morals and firm beliefs. And he brushed her hair back for the last time and kissed her forehead. What was she? A sixteen year old with a tramped on heart, broken flower petals back home and the death of her comrades and herself hanging over her head.
How then, Sakura had pulled her inside, her hair in a curt ponytail, dirt across her face. She had undressed her gently, leaving her in her underwear, washing her with soft clothes and warm waters. Her chakra dancing across Ino's skin, tickling and mending and so warm. Ino remembers waking up to Sakura sitting across her, her hand so tightly gripped in hers, the anxious way of children holding to balloon strings. Smell of kerosene and sounds of snoring and wincing patients. How Sakura blinks, groggily and Ino mutters something incoherent with the drug of sleep but then she's leaning over Ino kissing her cheek and then raising her hand to her lips, pressing a chaste kiss there too.
Sakura was shaking like a leaf. In her eyes danced the kerosene flame and held a sentiment so strong that Ino had to look away.
"Sleep, Ino."
That was all she remembers. But the memory is so shiny like soap bubbles, Ino finds it hard that it happened. But it did. And it's a bare thread of a hope, but Ino clings anyway. She needs to. She has too.
So she stumbles and stands. Drops her cigarette and crushes it beneath her heel.
"Asuma-sensei." She whispers, smiling, and she knows what he'd say that she has one of her looks on. She holds her head high, because she is smooth operator damn it and is not going to give up.
.
Ino, as she stands in front of her apartment, feels utterly helpless.
There is Sakura, her head lolled to a side. In front of her door, next to her hibiscus flower pot, the cheap paint rubbing against her back. Ino uncomfortably shuffles on her feet, her stomach dropping to a sticky dark feeling. It looks like she's been there for a long time. So she crouches, hesitant and brushes back Sakura's hair.
"S-Sakura?"
And green eyes snap open, so angry. So damn furious. Ino prepares to manage a quick retreat when Sakura lunges, and Ino yelps. Pink hair and blazing eyes are all over her face and she is about to open her mouth when Sakura crushes her mouth to hers. She probably tastes like ash and smoke and sake and let's not pretend that she is too surprised and shock-ridden to give her A Proper Kiss rather, just makes an embarrassing choking sound in the back of her throat.
Sakura draws back, a hair stuck to her face. All flushed and nostrils flaring, spitting fire,
"YOU FUCKING IDIOT, YOU FUCKING PIG HEAD. HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME LIKE THAT SO WORRIED AFTER KISSING ME LIKE THAT- you-you worried me so much I-"
Her voice softens and her features school into something much calmer and there are tears in her eyes. Ino opens and closes her mouth, feeling like a lost little puppy.
Mrs. Yahiko, meanwhile interrupts her moment, bursting forward leaning over the the upper floor railing in polka-dot pajamas yelling at them to 'grope at each other somewhere else suited' and that Ino is 'instable' and Sakura growls and hisses and Ino is had a permanent goofy smile plastered all over her face.
Until they catch each other's eyes and giggle. They hardly make it to the bedroom, of course.
.
Pushing up on her elbows, Ino squints in the dark of her room and shivers. Her head pounds and her mouth feels so dewy and-
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Ino, as she holds up a light gray bra, her bra, quite carelessly thrown over her comforter is hit by a wave of panic. So does the heady smell of sex and sweat on her skin. She groans and cups her head in her hands. The ruffled place next to her is cold and unmade, that means Sakura is probably gone.
Until her bedroom opens, and Ino blinks, shielding her eyes against the sudden stream of light.
"You're awake." Her kind, honeyed voice. The same voice that hissed heated, sweet things in her ear last night. And Ino remembers everything all of a sudden.
Searing kisses and hungry hands and tongues and Ino could marry a man and have five strong children and yet, would never forget the sight as long as she lived. Sakura's alabaster thighs spread apart, her fingers in her short hair and her hot, humid gasps in her ears. She looks away as Sakura sits at the edge of her bed.
"G'morning." Ino says, her voice coming of husky and heavy, kicking off her comforter, a little nervous, ( heck, who is she fooling she'semterrified/em ). Sakura smiles, cocking her head and Ino realizes she's wearing Ino's purple blouse and her plain pants, folded up around the ankles.
"Yeah, um, about last night-" Ino starts awkwardly, a sudden blockage in her throat.
"Take this." Sakura's voice is soft as she presses a white pill in Ino's hand, and a glass of water in her hands.
Ino shuts her mouth and nods. All the while watching Sakura tuck her hair behind her ear and tug her shirt down. She drinks the pill down, the water washing the taste of sleep in her mouth. Ino knows she has to do something about this very much palpable tension between them, so she womans up gracefully, coughing a little on her water and Sakura regards her with worried eyes.
"I um, Sakura. It's just that you don't have to feel compelled to," Ino makes a random motion with her hands, between them and clears her throat, "You know. And I-"
"-Ino,"
"I will respect whatever your decision is, I would keep the fuck away from you if you want me to-"
"Ino-"
But Ino's on a roll and she's not stopping until she says it. She needs to, has to. The unsaid words have pricked at her for years, and she just can't stop.
"I don't want it to be awkward between us, I know that you want to be with Sasuke and I don't want you to distance from me, I won't be able to live with myself if I ever- because," Ino breathes, "Because, I love you, Sakura. I've been in love with you for a very, very, very long time."
Sakura stills, her jaw tight. Ino can't see her expression in the dark all too clearly but she can see the tense line of her shoulder blades, her clasped hands.
"I'm…sorry." Ino says at last, her voice breaking into a whisper.
But then Sakura raises her hand, touching Ino's cheek gently and the gesture is so tender, her heart hurts. She leans into her touch, she wants to cherish every moment she has with Sakura and that's all.
"Perhaps…perhaps I was just waiting for you to finally tell me this." Sakura is whispering and Ino snaps her eyes open in disbelief.
"So you-"
"Yes, Ino."
And then Sakura is crashing into her, her mouth against hers, it's a lightening quick kiss. All clanking teeth and nails digging in skin. Sakura breaks away just as quick, her thumb caressing Ino's cheek.
"I love you, Pig."
Ino is breathless all for a while, then she is grinning, and with all the sincerity in her voice. "Fuck you."
"Oh? That can be arranged." Sakura is smiling that lovely smile of hers and pushing Ino back against the bed.
And there was much rejoicing.
.
They fight and curse and make love on thin sheets and smell flowers and kiss in the snow, their breathes mingling and quake in nightmares of lost fathers and bloodstained hands only to find each other in ones arms, rocked to gentle, gentle sleep. They are kunoichi, lovers, friends and foe.
All fake dulcet smiles and fists of steel and dewdrops and kunai edges.
What a mess oh, what a perfect disaster them.
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