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dayslikethis.
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and so it begins, began, begun.
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Alt(universe) high school and coursework and caffeine and team 7 introspection
meaning: severe sasunarusaku, senior sensei kakashi and a dab of sai (because i can) and death and cussing like a top sailor and ramen flavoured ice cream and unnecessary tangents from yours truly
(note) i started writing this at the end of my summer vacation. go figure. this might turn into a chapter-story, if i don't lose motivation.
respect the ratedm—trust me, it'll get there :)
don't own naruto
Summer nights are sweltering and sweet in Konoha City—'Almost as bad as suna heat, ne Sakura?' 'You idiot, nothing's as bad as Suna heat' 'Hn'—so Sakura and Naruto but not Sasuke buy (Yes Naruto, they have orange jelly and ick, is that … ramen flavoured ice cream? That can't be the newest flavour, that shouldn't even be a flavour) jelly and ice cream, something simply Konoha and something she's missed dearly. And Naruto and Sasuke, like strawberry jelly and french vanilla ice cream, are something simply Konoha, something she's missed dearly, desperately, in that godawful Suna heat.
She misses them—Naruto—when her father carries her and Mrs. Haruno-the-fifth to lunch, anywhere you want today, sweetie, so she picks a restaurant they've passed by because of the World-famous ramen and miso sign out front. Sakura orders ramen ('Ramen? are you sure Sakura—you can order anything, it's on your old dad today,' 'If she wants ramen, she wants ramen. I'll have a salad, french vinaigrette, thanks,') because for some reason, she's been craving ramen, instant-homemade-vending machine ramen, something fierce. And when the waiter sets down the steaming bowl with cautions of it being hot, Sakura nods, but doesn't even wait until the waiter is gone to break apart her chopsticks and, and, it doesn't taste right. It doesn't taste good, at all—it tastes like water, hot water with spices thrown here and there (not a savoury broth, just boiled clear spice water) and Sakura thinks, this place has nothing on Ichikaru's.
She misses them—Sasuke—when Mrs. Haruno-the-fifth takes her out for a day of shopping and souvenir scouring, although Sakura won't be buying any of the A close friend went to Suna and all they bought me was this (merchandise) and Catch some sun-a in Suna t-shirts, mugs and key chains that tourists seem to buy up like onigiri. 'Isn't there anything you see that you like? Look here, these trinkets are pretty, aren't they?' Sakura has to give the fifth props, because at least she's tries, plus, she's prettier than the third (that's for sure). However, Sakura shakes her head, and the fifth sighs. 'Alrighty then, I just have to do some grocery shopping, and then we'll catch the bus back,'
'There's no point in you coming in, I'm just getting a few things, okay? Here's some money if you want some ice cream, or soda, Sakura. I'll be in there if you need me, I won't take long' The automatic doors slides open (maybe she should go in, it is air conditioned in there, and oh, does it feel good) then the fifth's gone, goes off to whatever aisle with a list in her hand. Sakura could get a soda, razzle-dazzle raspberry or gregarious green apple, or an ice cream cone, but rainbow sprinkles cost fifty cents more than what the fifth has given her and—
Come one, Come all!
Today's sale:
Tomatoes
reads the wooden sign above a grocer's stall. Plump, round, red and green, polished in the sun. Residents here, even with a sale, don't seem to want tomatoes. Sakura herself plucks them out of her sandwiches when her mom buys subs late-night from a shop, and Sakura wonders how Sasuke can consistently eat them every afternoon for lunch. Doesn't he tire of tomatoes? (Sakura would) but this is Sasuke, those are tomatoes and it just is. A thermos of homemade tomato soup, a baggie of cherry tomatoes, tomatoes in perfect slices—'Ah, Sakura, I'm done—you've found somethi… these are all tomatoes … You should've told me you wanted some and I would've bought them for you. You've gone and spent all your money. You can't give your friends tomatoes as souvenirs,'
'I, just really wanted tomatoes (but I can't explain why, because you wouldn't understand) and—sorry,' The fifth sighs, then smiles because she's trying, look, she is trying, and says, 'Here, I'll hold them. We can make spaghetti, have a whole Italian theme this week; I make a killer sauce, what d'you say?'
She misses them, both of them, misses ramen and tomatoes and bright orange and dark blue, curled up on the sofa. It's action week—and Italian pasta pizza week—so a movie with ninjas and swords and cliché-after-cliché is playing. Sakura doesn't catch the name, but knows if she asks about a princess named Sayuri, a samurai named Jin and samurai Jin's rival—in love and in swordsmanship—Nobu, Naruto will know the movie. It is a movie that Naruto would drag them to, a ridiculous named movie like Temptation of A Samurai: Forbidden Jade Petals, and gets them kicked out of forty-five minutes later. Sasuke will 'Hn,' annoyed but not because he was not enjoying it, hands shoved in his pockets, and Sakura will say, soda and bits of popcorn clinging to her shirt—it's a old tattered shirt, because Sakura knows better when it comes to Naruto—'Naruto, you got us thrown out, why can't you ever shut up?'
'But Sakura, that guy started with me! Seriously … I'm hungry; let's go to Ichikaru's. Sasuke,'
'No,'
'Why not, asshole? Sakura paid last time and I'm broke ('Naruto, you and broke are practically synonymous,'), so c'mon, you're richer than the two of us put together, filthy stinkin' Uchiha rich—you live in a mansion, your dad's the head police guy, your mom's freakin' superwoman, and your brother … well, I don't know what your brother does, but c'mon, pay for lunch. I'll never ask you for anything again,'
Sakura's kind of, sort of (awfully) hungry too because Naruto gets her thrown out before she can even reach for popcorn, the bucket tumbling onto the carpet beneath them, but she'd never admit it. Her stomach rumbles, thunderous lion hunger, oh, she is starving (and because she does not completely know better, she doesn't pack a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a pack of chips or even grapes) and Naruto grins. 'See? are you going to let Sakura starve, asshole?' Translation: I win.
'… Fine,'
Sakura turns off the tv and sits by the window until it's time for dinner.
'Sasuke,' Sakura says, 'Don't you want some?' (no) 'Don't you at least want to try it?' (hn) 'I bet if it was tomato flavoured, you'd want it then, speaking of which, Naruto, that is disgusting—'
'Tastes pretty good to me, here Sakura, try some,'
'No, no, Naruto—'
'Ow, Sakura, you're so rough,'
'Anyways,' Sakura ignores Naruto, 'we're here—'
Here is the Haruno's apartment. It's orderly, unlike Naruto's apartment, but barely any space for anything, unlike Sasuke's mansion—and the three of them file into the kitchen-living room, Sakura (it's her turn to wash dishes), Naruto (to raid her pantry because Sakura has the good stuff) and Sasuke (to sit). It's quiet, with the occasional slamming of cabinets and on-off-on-off of water. '… Ketchup chips?' Naruto cocks his head, peering at the bag closely, sniffing it, 'ne, Sakura-chan, can I open these?'
'No, give it to Sasuke, I bought them for him in Suna,'
Naruto pounces on Sakura, bag tossed in Sasuke's direction—Sasuke catches it. Inspects the lettering and Sakura hears the crinkle of the material and that potato chip bag pop—'What'd you get me from Suna? I bet it's not some stupid ketchup chips (crunch crunch crunch) right Sakura?'
'Uhm—' Sakura bites her lip. Think, Sakura, think because Naruto's real present was an orange t-shirt with a red frog on it except her dad took a liking to it and wore it all around the house and she couldn't go back out because all her money ('Sakura? Oh, you're on the phone? I'll leave this here—we're going shopping tomorrow around ten, okay? Don't stay up too late talking,') was all gone, spent on frog t-shirts and ketchup chips and fridge magnets and she still had to pack for her flight tomorrow.
'Here,' Sakura grabs a mug, freshly washed, and shoves it into Naruto's hands.
'Wow—no way, look asshole, it has a sun with sunglasses and it's grinning and there are birds and everything. I am using this all the time. This is way better than your ketchup chips, Sakuraloves me more. Jealous, Sasuke?'
'I am very jealous, Naruto'
'You hear that, Sakura? Sasuke asshole's jealous,'
'Hn,'
What Sasuke doesn't say—and what Sakura won't say—is that that mug used to be her dad's. Father's day, age six, bought at a ceramic's store with her mom, it is definitely not brand new. That her dad had used that mug every morning (6 am) before dropping her off at school, that her mom has used that ungrateful, see how ungrateful he is Sakura? he's run off and forgot all about (us, you, me) this mug. i'm glad i didn't pay that much ($12.95) for it, gotta go Sakura mug, Sakura has used that mug, visitors have used that mug—at least he can be reassured that strangers haven't used his mug, although the thought briefly crosses her mind that Naruto may not know everyone that she knows. C'mon Sakura, this is Naruto, everyone knows Naruto—and Naruto has used this mug. Requested it, even and almost dropped it more than once.
'Wait a minute, Sakura—?'
'Let's all go watch a movie, yeah? Yeah.'
'But—'
'Naruto, you can pick. Go ahead, I'll make the ramen,'
'YEAH! IN YOUR FACE SASUKE, I GET TO PICK THE MOVIE THIS TIME,'
'Smooth, Sakura,'
'Oh, shut up,'
It's past eight, past the acceptable time for Sasuke to be out (ha ha ha, Sasuke has a curfew) but theoretically Sasuke's not outside. he's here, with Naruto and Sakura (always with that Uzumaki kid and Haruno girl, Mikoto, when he should be studying) in her room, on her bed. It's past the acceptable time for Sakura to have guests—anyone, but what her mom means by anyone is boys—over when her mom isn't here, but her mom's either coming or going, and tonight she's going, money's here on the counter Sakura, love you, so theoretically Sakura would've asked if her mom wasn't so busy, and really, it's not that big of a deal. Naruto has no curfew, just don't, he said and Sakura hasn't asked since, figures it's better not to ask why.
'I can't wait for high school. This year, I am going to be the man. Girls are gonna be fainting for me, Naruto Uzumaki, Konoha's numbero uno ladies man!—Sakura, stop laughing. You're so mean,'
'I—auhm, I wasn't laughing at you—'
'Yes, you were Sakura,'
'I was not,'
'Hn,'
'Hn,'
'The two of you are so immature,'
'… what? What? How am I immature. If anyone's immature, it's YOU Naruto. I can't believe you just, you—I'm going to sleep,'
'Great going stupid, now we'll never hear the end of th—'
'—SO HELP ME IF YOU DON'T—'
'… You're an idiot, Naruto,'
'What did I do? Guys? Guys? seriously—'
'SHUT UP!'
In the blue hue of the tv she'll turn off in a few minutes, lying in-between Sasuke, who kicks her (he'll swear he doesn't come morning) and Naruto, who snores and drools and tends to roll over into her personal space's personal space (he'll swear he doesn't come morning, then ask why his eye is black), Sakura wishes for this—the sleepovers, the ramen Mondays (Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays), the No, We are not having ramen, because Sasuke and I are sick of it Fridays, all of it—to never end.
be careful what you wish for
i so did not borrow those Temptation of A Samurai: Forbidden Jade Petals names from memoirs of a geisha, samurai champloo, or NANA.
somehow, suna became this summer vacation town version of Canada—or wherever ketchup chips are sold
i can't write sasuke (or naruto, or sakura), because i've never written team 7, so he is resigned to 'hn' and 'no'
will be edited and updated soon :)
