Hurricane

They are passing a bottle of dubious alcohol around, the label covered by a brown paper bag. She laughs, looks over her shoulder at her boyfriend (what a strange word, that is, but Sasuke-kun had always been hers, in one way or another), currently occupying the shadows in the corner of the room. Sakura cards her fingers through her pink hair (dyed when she turned fifteen and left the house) and turns back to Naruto and the others.

It's not a party; they're nothing like the stupid fraternity boys up at the university, rich kids all of them, spoiled lily-white boys that never had to work for a thing in their lives. Here, among friends and equals, they defy stereotypes. This group (gang, the part of her mind that's still a good little girl whispers) of Asian kids that broke the barriers and left for the streets, became each other's family because their own hadn't stepped up to the plate, they support each other. Sakura is leaning against a bed in this crappy hotel room, the entire building abandoned for as long as any of them have lived in the city, and they're just revelling in their freedom.

Sakura knows they love each other, this ragtag group of teenagers, mostly eighteen and nineteen. But they don't say it. The bottle arrives at her, and she smiles at Ino (her best friend for always, since they had been little girls with dark hair running wild at the park and now as older girls with dyed hair running wild on the streets), who was passing it to her.

"Does anyone actually know what this is yet?" she asked as she downs a hearty gulp. Tonight, they (the Konoha, is all they're called, nothing more) are playing a game; they're guessing the alcohol in the bottle, label covered so nobody can cheat. Sasuke-kun is in the corner because he hates alcohol (she doesn't blame him, she's heard about his father) and is likely going to be responsible for taking care of them the morning after.

"Prob'ly Bacardi 151 or somethin', knowing Naruto," Kiba says, just as Naruto pipes up with an indignant "Hey!". Sakura can't help the fond smile on her face; this is what she left her house for, this is why she fled for the streets instead of braving another fifteen years of Daddy's yelling and Mommy's screams and shattered glass on the floor, the edges glinting unnaturally red.

She looks around, takes in these people, her family. They're a family bound by something infinitely stronger than blood; they're a family bound by choice, and love, and friendship, and loyalty, because in the end, they had all chosen each other over whatever they'd had at home.

There's Naruto, a de facto leader of sorts, sunny smile and blond hair to match. It's not natural; most of their hair colors aren't natural. She remembers clearly the day she had left the house, Naruto and Ino and a bunch of the others had gone out and dyed their hair with her. Naruto astounds her most of the time, and they've been friends since they were six. Naruto's parents had both died when he was very young, and as she watched him laugh and hit Kiba, she wondered how a boy with such a bright smile could hide so much pain inside.

(Naruto had confided in her once, about flames licking at the walls of the orphanage and being hit until he couldn't take anymore, and she had replied that she knew what that felt like.)

Her dark eyes skip over to the girl sitting next to Naruto; Hinata. Hinata is a bit of an anomaly in this group. She's quiet, shy, soft-spoken. A good girl, or as good as you can be when you're on the streets like them. No crazy hair, no weird tattoo. No vibrant clothing, either. Sakura doesn't know much about what Hinata and her cousin Neji had run away from. All she knows is what Hinata tells her on their girls' nights, and that's not much.

(She knows enough, though; she knows about Hinata's father always pushing for more, and more and more, until Hinata broke like a toy used too much; and then Hinata's little sister took her place.)

Of course, sitting protectively next to Hinata, is her cousin Neji. They have a strong family resemblance; dark hair, eyes that are such a light brown you would think they came from a white family. Sakura knows less about Neji than she does Hinata, but she can guess from what little snippets he's let through his facade.

(She knows about a father lost at age three, about twin brothers vying for power, about Neji's servitude, a Cinderella without a prince or happy ending.)

Going around the circle, there's Tenten, Neji's girlfriend. Tenten is quite probably the most well-adjusted and yet the most dangerous member of their group. Tenten has a penchant for shiny, pointy, dangerous things. Sakura is close with Tenten, if only because the vivacious older girl wouldn't settle for anything else. Tenten has snatched the bottle of what is likely rum in the scuffle, and is downing it enthusiastically. Sakura knows about Tenten, too; she knows a lot about Tenten, enough to recite her past like a grocery list.

(Tenten was born to working-class parents, lived alright until her father died in a factory accident at age twelve. After that, her stepfather had been a drug addict; she'd run away the summer after her second year of high school.)

Next, there was Lee. Lee was perhaps the only one that went by his last name; then again, Lee was the strangest. He only wore tight green clothing, had a thing for exercise, and wasn't allowed to touch alcohol. So why he was sitting next to Tenten, who was chugging down the alcohol like there was no tomorrow, she didn't know. Sakura didn't always understand Lee, or why he professed his love for her so often.

She didn't even know why he had left his former home; Lee was a mystery. All she knew about him was that he had a foster father of sorts, Gai. Sakura was happy for him about that, at least. She didn't know what it was like to have a father figure in your life.

The person next to Lee had originally been Kiba, but Naruto had divebombed him after Kiba's joke, and she doubted that the two of them would be apart any time soon. They were just having fun, tussling on the ground, everyone else instinctively shifting back to make room for them. Sakura couldn't help laughing, and her fingers crept next to Ino's, brushing hands like when their mothers had put their hands in each other's and said to never let go, because in a world like theirs, girls had to watch each other's back.

Sakura knew Kiba well; if Sasuke-kun hadn't been around, she had a feeling she would have fallen for Kiba at one point or another. Sakura liked her boys either tall, dark and handsome or with a mischievous twinkle in their eyes, either quiet or loud. Opposites.

Kiba was a halfie. His father had been white, but that was no bar to Kiba joining the Konoha. Kiba was practically feral, sometimes; he had a wildness to him that Sakura rarely saw. Kiba had confided once, over cheap whiskey, that he had had about the same family situation as she had had, where Daddy had anger issues and Mommy just did the best she could. Kiba had had an older sister, too. Sakura never asked what had happened to her. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Chouji had been next to Kiba, albeit slightly unwillingly (he'd complained that Kiba would make him drop his hard-won chips), and was leaning away with a clear expression of regret on his face. A smile flickered at the edges of her mouth; she was rather fond of Chouji, because he was perhaps one of the kindest people out of this ragtag group of too-jaded teenagers with eyes that were too hard and clothes that were too worn and laughs that were too bitter.

She didn't know whether Chouji had run away or run to; sometimes she thought it was a bit of both. Chouji had grown up in a house where there was never enough, like most of the others. Sometimes, the way he talked about his family, Sakura got the feeling that he'd left to spare them from having to feed such a demanding mouth. It made her both sympathetic and jealous; what would it be like to care so much for your family, and have them care for you?

(Well, she knew what it was like now; she had her brothers and her sisters and her boyfriend, scattered around her in this hotel room.)

Sakura's eyes jump over the chip crumbs on the floor and land on the ants clustering around Shino's unfortunate feet, who happen to be next to the crumbs. Not that Shino seems to mind; the quiet boy usually attracts all sort of bugs, for unknown reasons. He doesn't say much, she thinks as Kiba finally scurries back to his place in the circle, laughing all the while.

Shino is a mystery to her. She knows nothing about him, other than his unlikely friendship with Kiba. She's never even seen his eyes; Shino is always wearing sunglasses.

Between Shino and Ino is Shikamaru. Shikamaru is Sakura's intellectual soulmate, and vice versa, and so when her eyes meet his, pink lips draw up into a smile almost on reflex. Back when she had still cared about school (had considered it her only way out, before doing what she could only think of as giving up and running away), they had done partner projects together more often than not, had vied for top spot in their class.

Shikamaru's smart, if too lazy for his own good, and Sakura has memories of him always sneaking out from his house and lying on a hill of grass, looking up at the clouds for hours. She thinks she might have tried to date him, too, if it weren't for Sasuke-kun. Shikamaru is smoking a cigarette (the cheapest brand from the gas station store; he's not picky), and there's a discarded pack of the rest next to him.

He hadn't smoked before. Sakura could pinpoint the exact time he started, though; his friend, teacher, and mentor, Asuma, had died, as well as the rest of his family. Asuma had been a chainsmoker. After they all died, Shikamaru had taken up the habit.

There's a look in Shikamaru's eyes that makes her think he knows what she's thinking, so Sakura's gaze moves on to the girl sitting next to her; Ino. Sakura and Ino's lives have been intertwined since they were babies. They had been neighbours, back in the good old days of sunlit childhood, and best friends since before she could remember.

Ino had done so much for her, Sakura thought as Tenten finally passed the bottle around again. Ino had saved her from bullying over the most inane things in elementary school (forehead size being one of them) and had even managed the miracle of giving Sakura the self-esteem that she had now. They got through every obstacle in life together, and the other's loyalty and friendship was almost agiven now, after so many years. Sakura leaned against Ino's left side, head lolling onto her friend's shoulder. Ino had had this happen to her so many times that her blonde friend didn't even care.

Ino had run away with her as soon as she announced her decision, no questions asked; Ino had had perhaps the best family life out of them all. Their family had run a nice flower shop in town, although after Ino's parents' deaths, it hadn't been doing so well. It wasn't like Ino, at age fifteen, could run a flower shop on her own. Sakura knew that Ino still harbored guilt, despite that logic, for abandoning her family's store.

Sakura looks over her shoulder at Sasuke-kun, now her boyfriend. The word still sends a tingle down her spine. She had always liked him, and so had Ino, back in elementary school. But Sakura's puppy love had morphed into something remarkably like obsession, and then, although neither of them would admit it, something like actual love.

(What was love, really? It wasn't like she's seen any good examples.)

Sasuke-kun's quiet. Not in a soft sort of way; he was quiet in the way you can dismiss wind and rain until the thunder and lightning comes for you. His silence was always preceding something. His moves were always calculated, and watching him now, at rest, with the barest hint of a smile at play on his face, was enrapturing.

His dark eyes flicker up to meet hers, and Sakura exhales softly and smiles. Sasuke-kun almost returns it, but settles instead for a sort of head-nod acknowledgment. She's abruptly reminded of why he had run away from his life; Sasuke-kun had had it 's an Uchiha, after all. They were the richest Japanese family in the city, although they had always had some unsavory connections.

When Sasuke-kun was eight, his entire family had been massacred in one night. Sakura didn't know why her boyfriend had been spared; she didn't dare to question it. Whispers had run rampant through the city afterwards though, that Sasuke's brother Itachi had done it. Whatever had happened, Sasuke-kun had grown up in the orphanage after that, which was how he'd met Naruto.

(Sakura still remembered realizing that Sasuke had come out of it less scarred than Naruto because he'd had his family's inheritance to protect him from his 'caretakers' and wanting to throw up.)

Sakura turns away from her boyfriend, smile wavering a little now at this reminder of all their past lives. Where was the bottle of probably-Bacardi? Tonight's not the time for depressing thoughts.

(Tragedy hung like a thick stench around all of them, more so than Shikamaru's cigarette smoke.)

Sakura's fingers momentarily untwined with Ino's as Ino took a swig of the bottle and passed it on to Sakura. Sakura grinned at Ino (and how things had come full circle) and took a swig.

Despite all their shared tragedies, she wouldn't exchange this for the world.