Alright then, after reading fanfics for over two years, I've finally taken the time to write something. The idea came to me while I was doing the dishes.

I'm not giving a disclaimer, fuck that.

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To Sakura, Naruto was her alcohol.

In her earlier days, she was far too young to have him. It never even went through her mind that she could want that disgusting liquor, much yet crave it. At that age, alcohol was forbidden by both her parents and her morals. She was young.

But as she grew, her curiosity also grew until one day she just stopped resisting. She first tasted alcohol at the age of 15, and it was nothing like she had expected. It was bitter, and sweet, and confusing, and held too many complications. She only took one mouthful that night, the aftertaste just wasn't worth it.

Life as a ninja didn't give much allowances, it was a ruthless and self-destructive lifestyle, even in her chosen field. She didn't like to think about what was worse, healing a broken body, or creating one. She'd seen him one night, after a month long absence which he neither tried to nor cared to explain, his smile was gone and his eyes drooped. She made a rash decision, and after one too many drinks all notions of hesitancy were forgotten, and she let the alcohol consume her. It burnt at first, she'd never drunk this far before and the sensation was new to her. But the pain stopped after a while, and with every new drink she got to experience something new and exciting, and she wondered why she'd never gotten drunk before. Inhibitions suddenly meant nothing.

Until of course, the next morning, when she awoke to find her hangover laying next to her, his leg between hers and his arm draped over her waist. It took a moment, but she finally screamed. Her hangover was gone as soon as it reared it's not-so-ugly head.

She hated alcohol. It was a fact, alcohol ruins lives, mainly hers. Stupid alcohol left her to freak out over what she'd done in a drunken stupor. Stupid alcohol didn't talk to her for yet another month until they accidently ran into each other at the most sober point of her life. Stupid alcohol wasn't there when she collapsed in a fit of tears, clutching her stomach and praying that little-alcoholic repercussions were not on their way. The sigh of relief she let out when the test came back negative almost sounded orgasmic.

It was not until later that she realized the news made her sad, not happy, and so another round of frustrated tears began.

Life wasn't fair, she thought while sitting opposite her liquid aphrodisiac. One day your were so so happy, and the next you were sad, then scared and then back to sad again. But finally you reached a fragile limbo which let you function quasi-normally, and then he had to show up and ruin it all. The defenses and arguments you'd replayed over and over in your head until they were a fucking play, suddenly crumbled to a drink with flowers, chocolate and a smile. Worst of all, it was sincere and apologetic, and though it could only lead to disaster you indulged yourself in one more sip.

Somewhere between the alcohol slipping down her throat until she choked and shutting her eyes for the night, she made a sort of decision, a plan. The execution of her cunning plan involved two arms, a waist and a strong grip, something which she was pleased to see held when she woke the next morning. It was different this time, she concluded, as she nuzzled the back of her hangover, who for the record was still not going anywhere. It would be easier.

She never found it odd that her favourite part about alcohol was the hangover, after all, it didn't seem to mind.

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This took me a whopping 23 minutes to write. Then another half an hour playing with the document editor, sweet.

Anyway I'd like to know what you guys think. Cheers.