The SasoSaku fandom is really quite small, I'm aware, but I'm in love with the idea of them, so I'm going to give it a chance and start this story. Please give me and this story a chance as well, and read/review.

1. Three Little Birds

Kakashi Hatake had discovered Sakura Haruno when she was an eighteen-year-old freshman at Konoha University, two months into her nursing studies and not quite finished with dreaming.

It had been in an upscale restaurant that the businesspeople of downtown liked to frequent, and amid the low light and the much-better-dressed, Sakura was nothing more than a voice.

But it was an extraordinary voice.

He wasn't surprised that no one else in the restaurant seemed to think it very remarkable, and it didn't skew his judgment in the least. He was used to it, because these were mundane people with mundane existences and mundane senses. They were here to chat, relax, enjoy good food, and if the music was tolerable, there would be no complaints.

But he, Kakashi, had been trained to pick up on the microscopic details, the nuances in a voice, the lifts, the pitch, the emotion, the sound. And what he was picking up from Sakura's voice was a bright sound, one with promise and charisma and a solid range that could be improved with time.

"Pardon me," Kakashi said to his table, standing and raising a hand to excuse himself. "Restroom."

As he passed the stage, he slowed his pace, keeping his eyes on her silhouette. She was seated on a stool, legs crossed, hands on her knees. He could see the glimmer of her white teeth, centimetres away from the standing microphone, and the shine of her eyes, so very green and large and coy, blinking right above.

Her hair was a question in itself; perhaps orange, or red, but it was difficult to say given the poor lighting.

Mental notes clicked in, one after another, as Kakashi stepped past and left the stage behind in his pursuit of the restroom.

It was another half-hour before the business dinner ended, and Kakashi's colleagues began to leave. He explained to them that he would take care of the bill, and once the last of them had gone, he called for a refill of wine.

Yet another half-hour and another glass later, the restaurant had cleared. The bartender was wiping his counter and the busboys were hustling. Kakashi waited until Sakura had stood from the stool and got up from his seat as she took a long drink of water from a plastic bottle.

"Wonderful performance tonight, miss," he said cheerfully from beneath the stage, hands in his pockets.

Her green eyes widened a fraction when she realized that there was still a patron about. She swallowed the water in her mouth and ended up gasping slightly as she spoke, out of excitement at having been complimented. "Oh – oh, thank you! That's so nice of you, really—"

Kakashi smiled, amused by how flustered she was. "Yes, you're quite talented."

Sakura flushed, biting her lip. "Oh, no, really – there's a couple who comes here on Tuesdays and Thursdays and they're truly good—"

Kakashi had heard the duets before. "Good, for sure," he agreed, still beaming at her, "but they don't have any shine, they don't have the charisma, the spark, the magic … I believe the industry refers to it as star potential."

Sakura was listening intently.

"You've got it, though," Kakashi added, calm and off-handed. "I think you could make it big."

He caught the softest of sighing sounds as she smiled warmly. "Oh, that's very sweet of you." Sakura lowered herself to her knees, capping her water bottle and packing it away into a black tote bag at the foot of the microphone stand.

"I don't give praise to be sweet, my dear," he said, reaching into his breast pocket and withdrawing a business card. He slid it onto the wooden surface of the stage, letting it rest right by her ankle. "I do it to make money. For myself, and for you."

Faintly bemused, Sakura lifted the card, slow and cautious, and scanned it. She took in the peculiar company name, the even more peculiar man's name, all of it.

"A record label," she read aloud, quiet, disbelieving. "You work for a record label."

Kakashi chuckled. "Actually, I own a record label."

Sakura was shaking her head. "Oh my gosh," she whispered, fingers on her lips. "Oh my f– is this really happening?"

He stared at her for a few moments before he spoke again. "Take some time, think it over. If you're interested, give the office a call and we can set up an appointment. Bring your parents, if you want, but I'll only need their permission if you're still a minor."

Fifteen hours later, an agreement was reached, a contract was signed, and a pink-haired, green-eyed star was born.

Two years after

Sasori Akasuna was twenty-two years old and the youngest photographer hired by the legendary Akatsuki Studios.

"Beauty," he muttered, zooming in and refocusing. Once the shot was in place, the shutter clicked and the picture was captured.

"Sasori," came the familiar voice of Deidara. "Your break's over. Itachi's waiting. What're you doing?"

Sasori was standing on a picnic table a few meters away from the emergency exit of the studio building, one foot on the bench and the other atop the table. He stepped down to the ground and extended the camera to Deidara. "Check it out."

Deidara inspected the photos in silence for a few moments, then, as he opened the exit door for Sasori, handed back the camera with disinterest. "Tch," he scoffed, "you call this art? Art is an explosion, yeah."

Sasori shot Deidara a sidelong glare as he took back the camera and turned away to duck through a black curtain. On the other side were a line-up of undressed mannequins and bare heads.

He set his camera down on a shelf and ran his fingers along one of the fake faces. This was true art, the eternality of creation. Just like his photographs, and unlike himself, these things had the potential to live forever.

"Sasori," drawled Kakuzu, from outside the curtain. "Itachi's brother has arrived. He's in Studio 9, waiting for you."

Sasori nodded for no one to see and shrugged off his jacket, then made for Studio 9. As he neared the area, he could see a tall, lean figure with dark hair and a small entourage of makeup artists bustling about him – Sasuke Uchiha, he supposed.

Itachi, Sasori's supervisor, was standing by Sasori's camera, looking impatient.

"Sasuke's behind," Itachi snapped, as Sasori took his place behind the camera. "Don't waste time today. He's meeting an interviewer for dinner at four."

Sasori looked at Itachi as if he were an idiot. "Do I ever waste time?"

Itachi had already started walking away. "Just make them good."

Sasori could do that. Sasori would make them better than good.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked Sasuke. "Get in front of my camera."

A thin, perfect eyebrow lifted, then Sasuke dusted off his fussing stylists and stalked over to the backdrop.

Sasori absolutely hated this part of his job. The photography was one thing, but the industry was another. There was nothing that Sasori hated more than the hair-tossing, label-whoring, airheaded celebrities that he was being made to photograph on a daily basis. They were stupid. Utterly. They may have been talented, or beautiful, or both, but they were obsessed with their weight, their looks, their reputation, and their money. It was nauseating just to be around them.

Sasuke was an experienced model, that much was obvious. It made the shooting a lot easier and quicker when they were.

"Chin down," Sasori ordered, and Sasuke complied. "That's it."

Stepping back from the camera, Sasori signalled to Itachi who was hovering around the other side of the set. Itachi nodded, satisfied, and immediately crossed over to Sasuke.

Glad that's over, Sasori thought, rubbing his neck. Bending over a camera could be taxing. He was my last shoot today, I think.

"Sasori!" shouted Deidara, passing by Studio 9 with a sealed box in his arms. "I'm working overtime for Pein's project; I don't need a ride today."

Sasori didn't respond. He simply headed for the little room behind the black curtain where he had left his jacket and personal camera.

"Hey, wait up."

He turned at the sound of the voice. It belonged to Konan, the studio owner's personal secretary and not-so-secret girlfriend.

"Here's your schedule for tomorrow," she said, handing him a closed manila file. "Two singers in the morning, and then a movie cast shooting for the afternoon."

Sasori raised his eyebrows. "That's it?"

"You've never done a movie poster shoot, have you?" Konan said, her face expressionless. He wondered if she was looking down on him. "They normally take a few hours. Cast members are shot individually, in pairs, groups, altogether, in different outfits, different backdrops … if necessary, we might need to allot another day for it."

Sasori shrugged. A shoot was a shoot. He took the file and left.

Sakura Haruno, now twenty, was at the height of her stardom.

"So beautiful," murmured Hinata. Sakura had met her friends, Ino and Hinata, in high school; Hinata had followed Sakura into nursing, and had just recently graduated. Ino, on the other hand, had pursued a degree in Business and taken over her family flower shop.

Hinata ran her fingers across the glossy magazine cover on which Sakura was printed.

"Hinata-chan, that's photoshopped," Sakura laughed, waving her hand as if to dismiss the comment. "You both know I don't look like that."

Hinata glanced up at Sakura, shy. "Yes, you d-do," she said. "You just don't wear as much m-makeup as you did here."

Ino smirked and punctured her poached egg with her fork. "Too bad makeup can't change the size of her forehead."

"Do I smell jealousy, Pig?"

"You're obviously delusional, Billboard Brow."

Sakura grinned, enjoying their banter. It wasn't often that she found time to spend with her friends, so these rare dates were extremely special to her.

"Speaking of billboards," Ino said, "guess whose face I saw on the biggest billboard ever today?"

Hinata thought hard. "Sakura-chan's?"

Ino snorted. "She wishes." Then: "Sasuke-kun's!"

Sakura smiled slightly as she watched Ino perform her melodramatic love-at-first-sight swoon.

"Seriously, Forehead. Get his number for me already."

Sakura shrugged. "I'm helpless, Ino," she said truthfully. "I haven't even met him yet."

She could see the appeal of Sasuke Uchiha. Where she dominated the music industry as the favourite female singer, Sasuke was undeniably her male counterpart. He was cool, dark, mysterious – and his speaking voice alone was enough to send chills down a girl's spine. His singing voice was simply breathtaking.

Ring-a-ling-a-ding-a-ring-a-ling-a-ding-a—

"Whoops – hello?"

"Sakura?" came the muffled voice of Kakashi on the other end of the line. "Are you at home yet?"

Sakura frowned. "No, I'm still with Ino and Hinata. What's up?"

Kakashi coughed. "Nothing urgent. I just faxed a sheet to your condo. Akatsuki managed to fit you in for tomorrow morning at eleven."

Sakura sat up in her seat. According to Kakashi, Akatsuki was a fairly prestigious studio and were normally booked months in advance. "That's great," Sakura said. "What's the fax?"

"Just the address," said Kakashi, "and directions. I have a meeting with my lawyer in the morning tomorrow, so I can't pick you up. I'll meet you at the studio."

Sakura nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see her. "I can find my way," she assured him, even though she would probably have to resort to taking a cab. "See you then."

Kakashi disappeared from the line and Sakura clicked her phone shut, returning it to her handbag. Hinata and Ino broke off from their side-conversation and both turned to look at her.

"Good news?" Ino asked cautiously.

Sakura smiled wide. "Great news," she corrected. "I finally got an Akatsuki photoshoot for my album cover. Kakashi tells me they're the best."

Sasuke Uchiha was waiting by the Akatsuki Studios front entrance.

Once the familiar black car pulled up to the curb, Sasuke was helped into the backseat to join his publicist, who was scanning a document with nearly every word highlighted.

She looked up as Sasuke entered, tucking crimson hair behind her ear. "How was the shoot?" she asked, hardly sounding like she cared.

Sasuke shrugged and didn't answer vocally, but Karin was accustomed to his silences.

"So the interviewer requested a private dining room for the two of you … I don't quite know what he thinks he's expecting from this interview, but as long as you don't act out of line, there shouldn't be a problem."

Sasuke scoffed inwardly. Was he ever anything but professional?

Karin pushed her glasses further up her nose and added, "I was forwarded the list of questions this afternoon. Most of them are fairly straightforward, like how you were discovered, when you realized your talent, your hobbies, your skincare regimen, what you think of your fans …"

Sasuke nodded. Those sorts of questions he could manage.

"… then there's a question on your opinion of Sakura Haruno," finished Karin, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes.

Sasuke didn't seem surprised. It was probably due to the fact that they both enjoyed a similar degree of fame, being the current hottest names in the music business. "Hn. So what do you want me to say?"

Karin tapped the document she was holding, but he didn't bother reading it. She would tell him what he needed to know without him having to. "You're going to tell them the truth – that you haven't met her yet. You're going to say that she seems very dedicated and is a great artist, and that you look forward to meeting her when the two of you work together for your next single."

Sasuke nearly did a double-take. "What was that?"

Karin tapped the driver on the shoulder: "Take a left right here; the radio said our exit is going to be closed off at five." She glared at her wristwatch. "Darn it, we're running later than I thought."

"Karin," said Sasuke. "Tell me about this next single."

Karin sighed and relented. "Well, it turns out Sakura Haruno said on a talk show, not too long ago, that she thought you were very talented and would love an opportunity to collaborate with you—"

"That," Sasuke interjected, "was probably bullcrap that her own publicist fed her, too."

Karin flushed and continued, louder, "—so we reached out to them and pitched the idea for a duet, and they agreed. You're meeting Sakura this weekend in a songwriting session to see how things go."

"And if they don't go well?"

"Then we'll have a professional songwriter whip something up for the two of you to record, and you won't have to bother with her again," Karin said airily. "No big deal. Now, we're here. Fix your collar. Stop glaring at me. Get inside, you're already late."

Sasori opened up the box of pizza and piled three slices onto a heavy plate, then carried it over to his futon with the manila file tucked under his arm.

The loft he occupied was small and rather cluttered, filled with his belongings, most of which were either black or red in colour. There were various photographs and paintings hung up around the walls, the odd puppet or mannequin shoved into a corner.

Sasori took a bite of pizza and opened the file lazily with one hand, flipping through the information.

0900: clock in, print yesterday's pictures, prepare for shoot

0930: pro fighter Rock Lee photoshoot for TNX Protein Supplement promotion

1030: wrap up, prepare for next shoot

1100: musical artist Sakura Haruno photoshoot for album cover

1200: lunch break

1300: clock in, prepare for shoot

1330: Blood Prison cast photoshoot for movie promotion

Sasori tossed that sheet on the floor and moved on to the next.

It was a profile drawn up on the aforementioned Rock Lee, complete with a picture.

Sasori grimaced and nearly choked on his pizza.

This fellow would be difficult to photograph. He was, from head to toe, absolutely ugly. He had eyes that bugged out in a disturbing manner, set below bushy brows and a bowl-shaped haircut that shimmered from either grease or excess hair gel. He was extremely gangly and did not have a very impressive physique at all, which Sasori doubted would be able to sell protein supplements.

However, it was his job to make his subjects look appealing and inspiring.

Mentally groaning, Sasori let that sheet fall to the ground as well and glanced at the next.

It was a profile of Sakura Haruno.

He had heard of her – who hadn't? – and had prayed that he would never have to work with her. She was one of the biggest names on the charts at the moment, and, although he had never met her, probably the bitchiest hair-tossing, label-whoring, airheaded celebrity of them all. She was a sweet personality in her interviews, and none of her work was offensive or explicit, but Sasori wasn't a fool: most of the time, these types were the worst two-faces.

He studied her, already brainstorming ideas on how he could make the most of her features. The better he worked, the faster it'd be over.

She had short pink hair that would contrast nicely with any coloured backdrop, and brilliant green eyes that he could use to his advantage. Her skin tone was fair and even, her figure was slender and typical of pretty young things. She, at least, seemed more photogenic than Rock Lee would be.

Sasori skimmed through the profiles on the cast members of the Blood Prison movie, finished three additional slices of pizza, then called it a night and headed for bed.

He had a feeling that he had a long day ahead of him tomorrow.

(Oh, he had no idea.)

Merci beaucoup for reading the first chapter of Capturing Sakura.

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