Title: Cherry

Chapter 1: Water Trade

AN: ...don't kill me. -_-;;

I remember back when I was pure.

Slim white legs. Dark blue knee socks.

Unaware of the price tag on every inch of this pale skin.

In those days, I felt I could do anything.

To Sakura, there was nothing creepier than Ginza in the daytime. The offensive brightness – the snooty, picturesque families and young girls looking for their newest big spend. It was the night, with its glittering street signs and coquettish pull that she found far more attractive. In her heyday, Sakura used to be able to join in the lavish show of consumerism without a second thought. Gucci sunglasses, Prada pumps, expensive cakes and macaroons... Now, she was lucky if she could scrimp together enough change to afford a cappuccino at Doutor.

It was funny how it all could come and go so quickly. The way the fucking carousel kept turning, even when you were forced to stand by on the sidelines. At 26, Sakura lived more like a careless college student than a real adult. If anyone from high school saw her current 4 tatami apartment and grungy attire, she was sure they'd be stunned. Or more like revolted. But like everything else depressing in her life, Sakura was quick to push it to the back of her mind.

As usual, that Saturday Chuo Dori Street was closed to traffic, and Sakura had plenty of space to fan her wet nails as she shuffled down the road. She'd done them herself with a cheap drugstore polish, but found that if you looked just right, they shone almost as convincingly as the real thing.

But the moment Sakura caught sight of a tower clock on one of the high rises nearby, she stopped her lazy walk.

3:37!

She was late again. After nodding off on the train and missing her stop, Sakura knew she had no real chance of making it to the club on time, but still picked up her pace, bobbing and weaving through prettily dressed clumps of shoppers and tourists.

It all went to the dogs however, as soon as she collided with what felt like a brick wall. The warmth told her it was something strictly human, however, and thoroughly embarrassed, she tried to push on.

"Are you kidding me? "A deep voice groaned, but Sakura was afraid to look back. She planned to bolt off like nothing had happened, but as if reading her mind, a pair of strong arms grabbed her wrists, yanking her back around.

"Shit!" Sakura cried out the moment her body collided yet again with something solid.

"I'm sorry!" She defaulted to a low bow, but the man grabbed her shoulder with both hands, forcing her to look up at him.

For a second, she felt flushed. Sakura had never seen anyone so rough looking on the Ginza high street before. It was usually polished men and women during the daytime, and his dark red hair and shaved brows were stunningly unusual. Even his sharp blue-green eyes, thickly rimmed by what looked like eyeshadow, proved a strange sight.

His gaze was angry at first, but the moment their eyes met, softened slightly.

"You should watch where you're going," He mumbled, but Sakura noticed the twinkle of curiosity when he caught sight of her pink locks. These days, most people frowned or shook cut their eyes disapprovingly of the dark roots and cotton candy strands. She squirmed, and he cursed to himself before she could apologize again.

Sakura followed his gaze to their feet and caught sight of a rather mangled looking cake box on the concrete. Pale yellow buttercream oozed from its smashed sides and pressed into the gravel.

"I'm so, so…" Sakura covered her mouth with both hands, trying her best to look flushed and innocent.

"I'll pay for it!" She cried, but knew instantly it probably wasn't even an option. The cake looked more than a little fussy, and no doubt if it came from any of the local bakeries, the cost would be more like half a rent payment rather than the measly couple of yen she had in her wallet.

The redhead took a long look over rumpled attire for a moment before sighing. Sakura's large, pale yellow dress was more tent-like than the boho-style she'd been aiming for, and there were a few greasy bolognaise stains near the collar. She knew she didn't exactly look a treat, but the open dismissal annoyed her.

"No…" He passed a hand through his hair, pushing the sweat-dampened strands off his forehead. It was then Sakura spotted what looked like a red ink tattoo.

'Love,' the kanji read, but she couldn't help but think that he didn't look particularly loving.

"There's no need," he gave the cake a dark look. "It's my sister's fault to begin with."

Sakura didn't understand, but didn't care enough to ask. Panicked, she glanced up at the tower clock and saw that it was rapidly approaching four. She was already 25 minutes late for her shift.

"I…I have to go." She started to back away, still bowing, but the redhead gave an annoyed grunt.

"If I think deeply about it, I realize this is probably your MO, right? Smash and grabs?" He crouched to pick up the box. "I guess I should check for my wallet now, right?"

Sakura squinted at him, a vein beginning to bulge near her hairline. It stunned her the way he was able to deliver each insult so calmly, as if totally bored. Typically, Sakura tried to restrain her temper with strangers, but the redhead was pushing his luck.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing," he muttered, but then added lowly as an aside, "Fucking street tramps."

Sakura saw red. Without thinking, she drew her fist back and socked right him across the face. From his crouched position, the redhead hit the ground easily, and Sakura's eyes went wide in shock of what she'd done. She shook out her fist and as fast as humanly possible, bolted down one of the side streets.

"Hey!" She heard him shout, but it was too late and she'd already made a beeline for the red light district. Sakura breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the hostess club with no redhead or police in tow.

"You're late!" Tsunade scolded Sakura as soon as she huffed and puffed in through the front door.

"Like five or ten minutes." Sakura lied, gasping for breath. She put out a hand to brace herself on the bar, but then quickly withdrew it as soon as the blonde's stern gaze drop to her fingernails and the smudged polish there.

'That asshole,' Sakura clenched her fist, but the thought of her bright purple polish punch-stamped into the redhead's pale cheek made her smirk.

"Nice manicure," Tsunade said snidely.

Sakura frowned to herself. Of course the woman wasn't stupid. She'd been in the hosting business for nearly 20 years and smudged or not, could certainly tell a home manicure from a paid one.

"Did you even make an effort to go to the salon?" She stared hard at Sakura's frizzy pink hair and no doubt the dark roots beginning to peek out.

"I didn't want to be late," Sakura lied and reached around the bar top for a can of diet coke. Her fingertips had just barely brushed the cool edge before Tsunade scowled and smacked her hand away.

"But you are. Jesus Sakura, all the other girls leave home early to fix themselves up, but you can't be bothered?"

Sakura fingered her limp hair and gave an idle shrug. She hadn't gotten it done in ages, but a professional cut and color was a luxury she could no longer afford. "I'm not even at the front anymore. Why does it matter?"

"You're not at the front anymore because you don't want to be. You're constantly pulling this shit, and frankly, I don't know why I still keep you on!" Tsunade snapped, but Sakura paid it no mind.

She was used to the sniping commentary, and knew it was meant to be more of a pep talk than anything. Tsunade often had a blind spot for most things Sakura did carelessly.

But the busty blonde was right, of course. There was a time when Sakura loved being one of the club's top ranked girls. There was a thrill in strutting in late every afternoon, dressed to kill, and knowing that in a matter of hours, the businessmen and the stars – the sports players and the trust fund babies would flood in and be falling all over themselves for just a moment of her time.

But things had changed. She wasn't 19 anymore, and though her body hadn't changed dramatically, everything else had freely taken a nosedive.

"Tadaiiimaaaa!" A sweet voice called in from the entrance, and Sakura smiled to herself.

"Okaeri, Nezumi-chan!" She called back, rooting through her bag for cigarettes.

"Damn it, Sakura-chan I told you to stop calling me that!" Matsuri finally popped her head through the curtained doorway with a pout.

The 19 year old was in top form, as usual. Today, her long brown hair had been styled into a youthful topknot and her pouty lips painted a light coral shade. Wide eyed and always grinning, she was full of so much youth and naiveté it hurt Sakura to look at head on.

Matsuri earned the nickname when she started a few months ago for her fine features and sleek, dyed chocolate brown hair. Like a pretty little mouse. But it was her dainty yet eager attitude that made her the top girl after only four months of working. Sakura wasn't surprised. She'd been there before, and youth was always the first thing that shot you up to number one. Matsuri was still fresh, and still had so far to fall.

"Hungry?" Matsuri held up a bag of something meaty smelling and waved it in Sakura's direction. "I had a date with Daisuke-kun today, but you know I never eat much." She put a hand on her hip to emphasize her slim waist. "It's gyudon. Want it?"

Sakura's slightly less trim tummy growled at the thought of the salty-sweet beef. She'd missed breakfast and couldn't afford a proper dinner the night before, but ever since she'd started tending bar, the pounds had slowly begun creeping on. She told herself this week was a strictly Diet Coke and Meiji green smoothie week.

"Can't." Sakura turned her nose from the scent and pulled her hair into a high ponytail. Several short strands fell out of the scrunchie to frame her face.

"Trying to slim down?" Matsuri smiled cheekily, and Sakura had to resist the urge to fly across the room and deck her. The morning's altercation with the redhead had definitely lowered her threshold for bullshit.

"Cutting back on the salt," Sakura said instead, and grinned triumphantly when she finally found her pack of Black Stripes. She popped a skinny cig between her lips and pulled a worn zippo from her pocket.

"Go in the back before you light up," Tsunade ordered. "I'll meet you in a few."

With the cigarette still between her lips, Sakura rolled her eyes and gave a sarcastic bow.

It wasn't as if Tsunade cared that they smoked inside, but Sakura knew it was her way of saying she wanted to have a talk. As soon as she reached the janitorial area, Sakura propped open the back door with a broom and fished around again for her lighter. It was always unbearably stuffy back there.

Sakura lit her cigarette and felt another body join her, further heating the room.

"What do you want from this club?" Tsunade's tone was unusually gentle. She placed her hands on the young woman's shoulders. "What do you want from your life?"

Sakura looked out through the crack in the open door with tired eyes and blew a small ring of smoke out into the air. She felt like she was in some sort of cheesy soap opera. "God…it's too hot here. Fuck Tokyo summer."

"Get in already." Tsunade grabbed her by the collar, and like a lion dragging a cub, deposited her back into the dressing room. A few girls were busy putting on their makeup, but scrambled out quickly when they saw the dark look on their mama-san's face.

"Why do you always pick on me?" Sakura feigned a pout. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Are you?" Tsunade pinched the pink haired woman's chin and forced her to look into her eyes. "I mean, really. Why don't you take care of yourself properly? Get your hair done, your nails. You're still in your prime, Sakura. When I was your age I was still pulling in top numbers."

Sakura snatched her face away and took another long drag on her cigarette.

"I don't have the time for that anymore," she lied, breathing out through grit teeth. "I'm just here now to make a few bucks and pay rent."

Tsunade stared at the young woman's hardened features for a long while before sighing out.

"Well you're on the bar tonight again. I can't have you out there with your hair like that," Tsunade picked up a brush and forced Sakura into one of the chairs in front of the dressing mirrors.

"Yes, mama…" Sakura closed her eyes as Tsunade began to pull the brush through her locks. The boar bristles always felt so wonderful against her scalp.

"Look… I'm serious Sakura." Tsunade pulled her hair into a low bun and began tucking it into a flesh toned wig cap. "The economy isn't what it used to be. I can't afford to have girls on who don't pull their weight. This isn't a cheap cabaret bar. I can hire a foreign cleaner or bartender for a quarter of what I'm giving you now, and you know that's not much. If you want to stay on, you need to shape up, improve your service, and start doing dohan*."

"You know I hate that." Sakura grimaced into the mirror as Tsunade pulled a black wig on securely. It was long and straight with a blunt bang. Suddenly, she looked like a completely different person - more like a middle schooler than almost middle aged.

"You'll hate being on the streets, more." Tsunade pinched her shoulder sharply.

"Ow!" Sakura spun around in the chair, eyes narrowed, but Tsunade only smirked. The blonde plucked Sakura's cigarette from her fingers and took a short puff.

"You've made such a turnaround since that time, Cherry." Tsunade blew smoke to the side. Her husky voice made the English sound vaguely sexual. "You wouldn't be here if I didn't believe in you.

Sakura snatched the cigarette back with a dark glare. "Don't call me that!"

o

o

"I gave you one fucking task…" Temari's brow twitched as she stared at the crushed cake on the table. The box was squashed almost flat, and pieces of dirt and gravel peppered the fluffy buttercream frosting.

Gaara stared at the floor, trying hard not to appear too pathetic with a bag of frozen peas pressed to his sore cheek.

"I told you, it wasn't my fault. This girl—

"—enough with the excuses!" She swatted the back of his head with a hand fan.

"Temari…" Gaara sighed out. "I'm the one who ended up getting suckerpunched."

"You should have been carrying it in the bag, not in your hands!" Temari snapped, but when she sighed it was clear she knew how futile the whole argument was. Gaara knew anyway that it was her little way of telling him he deserved it.

Ever since they were little she'd found a way to be on his case about something, and though Gaara knew it was out of love, it was stifling all the same.

"I don't understand why you couldn't have just had it delivered." Gaara scowled through his mug of lukewarm coffee. "Would have saved us the whole trouble in the first place. And my face."

"Because that's so impersonal! You're supposed to be making a good impression now that you're finally back." Temari frowned. "Don't you care what Naruto thinks?"

"Not really…" Gaara smiled to himself. He knew the blonde would be as happy as a pig in shit just knowing he was planning to show up after being away for so long. "Besides, it's a quiet party. He doesn't need a cake. Just because you want to keep up appearances…"

"You mean mend appearances!" Temari shot back, face hot with blush.

Gaara shrugged and blew out a large ring in her direction. He took a second to admire the perfect circle before responding. "You really should stop caring what people think of me."

"Jesus Gaara, I thought you were quitting," Temari fanned frantically at the smoke cloud. She, like him, hated having anything tarnished or out of order.

"I am." Gaara tapped the ash into his half empty coffee mug. It made a satisfying sizzle. "Down to five or six a day."

Temari began brushing at her silk Valentino pantsuit, as if the smoke were clinging to it. "I bought you an e-cig just last month. It's supposed to help, you know."

"Help me look like a complete cunt, you mean." Gaara took another long, satisfying drag. Stoic as usual, he ignored the way Temari screwed her lips up at the vulgarity. It was so ugly – and not in the sweet sense he usually admired.

She stared at her little brother with a look of sheer exasperation. "When are you going to get over this phase?"

"Phase?"

"The rebellious 'fuck everything' thing is cute when you're like 16 and the entire world is angst, but you're 28. In case you didn't know, that's almost 30. This is the time you're supposed to be settling down with some cute girl and getting a dog or some shit. Not…whatever it is you do all day."

"Why is it any business of yours what I'm doing all day?" Gaara gave her a vacant look, but immediately felt another rap to his head, this time from a heavy set of knuckles.

"Knock it off, you." Kankuro shuffled into the kitchen with his bathrobe still on. "You know we're just concerned about you after…"

Gaara eyed his older brother darkly, daring him to finish the sentence. Instead, Kankuro just toyed with the belt of the bathrobe. It was almost 5 now and Gaara found himself wondering if the heavily tatted bouncer had even managed to leave the apartment all day.

Looking back to Temari, Gaara rubbed at his temple with a free hand. "Look. I know you mean well, but I'm really not interested in—

"—women?" Kankuro quipped. "Called it."

"That kind of lifestyle," Gaara said flatly. "I don't believe people are meant to be monogamous, anyway."

"Jesus," Kankuro and Temari chorused.

The blonde looked at her watch and then threw the fan in Gaara's face. "I'm sorry, I can't even begin to deal with this level of bullshit right now. I need to get back to work. Give my regards to Hinata and don't let me find out you guys were late to the party!"

Gaara waved her off and extinguished the rest of his cigarette in the coffee mug. "I should get out of here, too."

"Date?" Kankuro smirked over his own cup.

"Something like that," he shrugged.

"Well, don't forget to be back here by 7:15." Kankuro tossed the contents of the redhead's mug in the sink.

Without a trace of a smile, Gaara put on his sunglasses and slunk out the same way he'd come in.

By the time he'd made it across town to Hakuto's apartment, the dark haired girl was fuming. She closed her dressing gown with one hand, but not before Gaara saw the lacy lingerie she was sporting underneath. It looked expensive, and he was fascinated by the way the little rings of lace formed delicate flowers on the tops of her pale thighs.

"You're always late," she pouted, using the other hand to take a drag on a pink e-cigarette. When she exhaled the smoke, Gaara's nostrils were assaulted with a sickly sweet vanilla scent. He really couldn't stand those things.

"Sorry, I was running—

"—an errand," she finished for him, highly unamused. "As usual."

"Want me to go?" Gaara leaned against the doorframe, putting on his best lazy smile. He didn't know much about romance, but over the years found it amazing the way women would do just about anything if you showed a few teeth.

Hakuto rolled her eyes and tugged him in by the lapels. "Get your cock out."

o

o

"What happened to your face?" Hakuto finally asked once Gaara had started slowly shuffling back into his clothing. As soon as he came, the high was gone, and he found himself stuck in the usual cloudy fog of sobriety. Gaara was suddenly unable to keep from focusing on each and every one of the clean, minimalistic lines of Hakuto's apartment. The place was like her body. Pale. Bare. Perfect.

She was a new one, but a good one. They'd met on his third night back from Dubai three weeks ago. Temari had invited him out to a client's gallery showing and Hakuto was one of the attendants. He remembered her outfit perfectly – a backless minidress as bold and inky black as her hair.

She was his type – simple – and despite the fact that she'd come with some preppy banker, it didn't take more than a few minutes of idle chit-chat before she was cumming with him in bed.

Most days, Gaara probably admired Hakuto's taste more than her body, but as an artist himself, it was no secret why it turned him on.

"What?" Gaara finally asked as he leaned over her makeup table to inspect his cheek. A large, purple bruise had already spread up the side of his jaw, all the way to his ear. He remembered the small pink haired woman, her cheap purple polish, and the feel of her fist against his face.

'I can't believe this.'

"I…tripped," he said lamely. "Didn't brace myself in time."

The last thing Gaara wanted to admit to Hakuto was getting cold clocked by a girl. Especially such a frumpy one. Gaara liked appreciating the simple beauty in most things – most women – but she was a strange one. She'd practically been wearing a filthy tent, and it draped sadly over her thin frame. But he thought of her face – how sweet and soft and symmetrical it looked, even the little wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. It was interesting.

"I can cover it with some foundation if you want." Hakuto pinched a cigarette from Gaara's carton of Black Stripes and started to light up. "We're probably the same shade."

"No thanks." Gaara watched her with mild amusement as he began slipping into his shoes. "I thought you told me you were quitting."

"What can I say? You're a bad influence." She gave a childish moan and flopped onto her stomach. "Where are you going? Why can't you sit still somewhere for like five goddamn seconds?"

Gaara took a seat on the edge of the bed, staring out blankly. "5...4…3…2…-

"—Gaara!"

"It was great." He gave her head a soft pat before turning to leave. "I'll see you."

Hakuto flopped back onto the bed, pouting sourly, but watched him go.

Gaara lit up a cigarette as soon as he was outside. It was after 7:00 and he knew he had to be back downtown to meet Kankuro so they could make it to Naruto's by 8. Even though Temari's place in Aoyama wasn't far from Naruto's penthouse in Setagaya, traffic in the city around that time was always a bitch. Still, Gaara grabbed a cab anyway, ignored the 'no smoking' sticker and handed the driver Temari's black AMEX. He knew she'd be pissed, but also that after a bit of bitching she'd just expense it anyway. As the part-owner of one of the most famous art galleries in their Tokyo, she wasn't exactly hurting for cash.

But by the time the black cab rolled back up at the apartment, it was 7:45 and Kankuro was standing outside looking more than a little ticked.

"Where were you for two and half goddamn hours?" He grabbed Gaara by the shoulders as if primed to shake, but instead leaned in to catch a whiff of his breath.

"Get off!" Gaara shoved back. "Are we going or what?"

"That's up to you." Kankuro eyed his brother carefully. "Think you can behave yourself?"

Gaara snorted and crushed his cigarette into the side of the cab door. "Please. I'm always on my best behavior."

*dohan - paid dates with patrons outside of the bar and regular working hours.

*mama-san - a woman in charge of a geisha house or bar or nightclub in Japan.

AN: Edited to change the Yuri placeholder name to Hakuto. I thought it would be fitting based on Gaara's Gaiden. Which, no! Fuck you, Shijima! Sakura was supposed to eventually get divorced from Sasuke and marry Gaara, damn it! lol.

She'll also appear in this story later on.