A/N: A day late. Oh well. Happy Valentine's Day?
Weeds
Amarxlen
Sasuke never really liked roses—never saw the point in the bundles of flowers (always in dozens) that lay on his porch every February fourteenth.
Why roses? Who decided that? Why twelve? What was significant about that number?
He never really understood why they would be left on his front porch, even if he couldn't help but be vaguely (not really) impressed that all those girls would brave the Uchiha compound, full of ghosts as it was.
Now, Uchiha Sasuke wasn't completely heartless (not nearly as much as he pretended), so once a year, every February fourteenth, he would wake up earlier than usual to begin bringing them inside.
He would place them around his house, offhandedly reading the cards spouting declarations of love and mushy sayings, always signed, (he rolled his eyes often) before tossing them into his fireplace.
And there, in their scattered positions sitting on his furniture and spilling onto his floor they would stay until the day they wilted when they would, bunch by bunch, be thrown unceremoniously into his trash can.
He had no doubt that this year would be no different as he slipped into his bed and lay there, listening with paranoid expectation. And sometime in the middle of his silent vigil his eyes slipped closed and he fell asleep.
Just as he had expected, when he woke up his porch was covered with roses, vases, red hearts and ribbons and boxes of chocolate and he scowled (he hated sweets). So, after dressing quickly, he began the tedious task of hauling all the flowers (no better than weeds) into his home, sifting through the cards that accompanied them.
Perhaps there were less this year, or maybe the time just went by faster, but in no time at all he was carrying the last bundle of flowers (crudely tied together with red ribbon and slightly crumpled) into his house.
And as he placed them upon his kitchen table, he frowned. Reluctantly, he lifted them back up and searched in between the stems, before placing them back on the table. Frowning deeper now, he retraced his steps to the front door and quickly scanned the ground.
If he wasn't mistaken (and why would he be?) there was no card accompanying these roses. Slowly he made his way back into his home and, almost without thinking about it yanked free a bundle of roses (from a girl he didn't even know) from their vase and replaced them with the crudely tied together and slightly crumpled bunch.
With every bundle of flowers there was always a card or note. This ownerless cluster was vaguely (almost extremely) disturbing to him, but he had no time to brood over it as he realized he would be late to meeting Team Seven if he didn't leave now.
---
"Sasuke-kun?" (Shut up.) "Are you okay? You seem... out of it."
"Hn." (I'm fine.) Truth be told, the ownerless bouquet had been sitting in the back of his mind all day, glaring at him. It was due to this that he almost missed that Naruto seemed distracted too.
Sasuke watched as Naruto sidled—wait. Naruto wasn't moving closer to Sakura, wasn't asking her on a date, wasn't bombarding her with some ridiculous gift meant to woo her.
Sasuke watched as Naruto didn't edge towards Sakura, and felt his features twist into a deeper frown than usual. And if Sasuke hadn't been watching the blond closely, he would have missed the small piece of paper (huh?) that fluttered from an orange pocket.
Glad that Sakura had sped up a bit when Sasuke refused to answer her, he reached down and grasped the square paper between pale fingers. Eyes darting up to check that neither of his teammates was about to turn around, he unfolded it and quickly read the chicken scratch (what awful handwriting) words.
And had to read them again.
And again.
And then he looked up.
"Happy Valentine's Day, teme."
Sasuke never really liked roses—never saw the point in the bundles of flowers (always in dozens) that lay on his porch every February fourteenth.
But there was something different (honest, real) about them when they came from the blond.