Crossposted from AO3
Haven't even read or watched Naruto in years, but I'm starting the year off right with some fic for a ship I'd never thought of before and the beginnings of a re-read ❤️
- Keep an eye out for switches from present to past tense etc. I try to make it obvious when I'm going to jump around in time, but still.
- Not everyone handles everything in a perfectly healthy way, here. I don't feel like it'd feel right or realistic if they did, please, just don't take the way things are written as any kind of healthy ideal.
- The title is from Sleep Talk by Shannon and The Clams
- I really only have my own frame of reference + what research I've done for depressive episodes. I know they can manifest in different ways, and I can't encompass all of those in one story (especially one it's not the focus of), but I've done my best to be respectful.
P.S. This is 100% pure, unfiltered, farm to table unedited nonsense. Beware.
• • •
Once the dust settles, the ache in her chest- the one she's always hoped might ebb once they finally turn to rebuilding, instead of fighting- it only gets worse.
Of course, she never thought it would end like this. Never thought rebuilding would mean something quite so literal. Tangible rubble she could hold in her hands, the ruins of the village that had helped and hurt in equal measure, now theirs to reshape.
When it's finally over, and they're all a little hysterical, Sakura looks at them and thinks about who they are to her, and who they can become.
Naruto, who's become more than family, with whom she's bonded more deeply than her own parents through all the blood, sweat and tears they've gone through together, the loss they've shared. He's beaming and crying just a little, with shoulders lighter than she's seen them in years.
Sasuke, who's- who's not who she ever thought he was, and never has been. She's never managed to get him quite right. Not the brooding hero, not the bloodthirsty monster, not any of the things she thought he was to her- but who isn't nothing, either. His face is more open and near to sincere happiness than she's ever even managed to capture in her mind's eye.
She looks at them, and she hugs them, and she thinks maybe, maybe this is it.
Time passes, and the chasm of loneliness that aches in her chest, kept at bay for years only because there was simply no time to let it get the best of her, grows wider.
She doesn't miss it, she'll never miss it.
Still, though, she isn't quite ready for the way time catches up to her.
It happens through a seemingly endless series of small moments. Her senses catch on something just a little too familiar, too specific, and Sakura is once again surrounded by loss. Haunted by the spectres of what sometimes feels like too many deaths to count. She'll wake up having dreamt of some betrayal, some abandonment, some neglect, and be left trying not to drown under the weight of emotions raw from old wounds she thought she'd felt the last of years ago.
Others share this experience, she's certain of it. She knows how the brain and the heart cope with loss and trauma, she's studied it in depth. A part of her wonders if this is what Sasuke had felt for years before they were ever teammates and wonders, not for the first time, if the village elders knew what it could do to someone so young.
They did. They had to.
The comparison makes her chest twist itself into knots of guilty empathy, too cruel to even compare the two, impossible to push away the confused mix of sadness and anger that wants to rise up in her chest once she has. Too much to think about, so she pushes it away, and, in the end, she doesn't talk about it- any of it, to anyone.
What would she even say? What could any of them say?
She's kept busy at the hospital, which has fallen under her command now that her training is complete. She can't say she knows everything- is fairly certain she'll never be able to say anything like it, but she is, for once, certain she knows what she's doing. Sakura knows she's the best they have for the job, and there's never any shortage of things that need doing, people that need healing.
Still, she finds time for her friends, when they find time for her.
Naruto is her best friend, her brother, someone she loves more than she knew possible, though she is not in love with him. She misses him. She worries about him. She knows he feels the same, but the simple truth is that while Naruto may have more love in his heart than anyone she knows, he's still human like the rest of them.
They make time for each other, they always will- she's not worried about that, but he's the most important person in her life, and she's not in his. Never has been, if she really thinks about it. It's not surprising, but it still hurts when she lets her thoughts linger too long.
Some foolish, naive part of her, a part she still sometimes feels insecure about, always thought that maybe- however long it might take, maybe the three of them would be the most important people to each other, one day. Once they were all grounded and healing, maybe then the bond they'd formed between them could turn to something more balanced.
Seeing, instead, the two of them slowly settle what's always been there, between them- just them, into something more honest and open, still never soft but always caring, it's- it's a lot to take. She's happy for them, because regardless of anything else she might feel, she cares for them, always has, and always will.
The unfortunate truth is that her caring simply isn't enough to quell the hurt entirely, it seems more and more often she feels a little too lonely for comfort, when she looks at them.
It was probably silly for her- or anyone- to think they could rival the bond Naruto and Sasuke have forged through their particular kind of rivalry, both buried under and propped up by so much hurt and loneliness she's still not entirely convinced it won't be the death of them, someday.
Her meals with Kakashi, or 'Kakashi-Sensei', as she still calls him now and then, mostly just to tease- she knows it makes him feel old, have been a pleasant surprise.
He'd never actually meant to let himself go quite so long, recede quite so far as he did. He'd just needed a little time. Time to process, time to grieve, time to sleep and read and do all the things it seemed like he hadn't had a proper chance to do in what felt like a lifetime.
It wasn't until his favourite- because despite how he'd failed her, she was that- former student came knocking down his door, almost literally, that he realized just how long it'd been.
Sakura had very pointedly informed him it'd been eight months since she- or pretty much anyone else, but he didn't think pointing that out would help his case- had seen or heard from him. He'd blithely replied that that was eight months it had taken her to notice his absence, and immediately regretted it when he saw the guilt that fell over her face.
It was that guilt which stopped Kakashi from trying to pull away- not that he was sure he could break her grip, nowadays- when she'd dragged him up off the floor and out of his 'sad, musty apartment' to find food.
The minute they'd stepped foot back inside she'd opened all the windows, put something that smelled far too good for him on the stove and set him to task cleaning up the signs of his neglect.
It wasn't particularly comfortable, having Sakura there- having anyone there, it made an itch rise up under his skin, skittering through his nerves and making him want to fidget. He could count the number of guests who'd seen his home in the last decade on one hand. Still, he couldn't help his reluctant marvelling at the way she'd breathed life into the place in a way he'd never been able to, even on his best days. Couldn't stop himself from hovering, feeling like a moth to a flame- unable to deny himself the chance to stand in her light even though he knew it only made him the worst type of person. For her, especially.
Kakashi wasn't naive enough to miss the things it almost made him feel- still does, to think about, but anything- anything so warm after months- if not years- of feeling so hollowed out, was worth the weight of the guilt it tied to his steps. At a certain point, they couldn't get any heavier than they already were.
She hadn't been planning on going back, but when she hadn't seen him again in the following week, worry had swelled in her chest again and she couldn't help it. It'd kept up that way for months.
If asked when the worry faded, Sakura's not sure she'd be able to say, but by the time it had, the weekly dinners had become not only a habit but something she sincerely looked forward to, most weeks.
So much so, that the first time he'd cooked for her, she hadn't even realized the anomaly until the next day, she'd been so surprised she'd stopped dead in her tracks, linoleum tiles squeaking under her shoes, and just about dropped the file she'd been carrying.
A warm feeling had swollen up in her chest that she couldn't quite manage to tamp down as she'd done her best to shake off the shock and get back to her rounds. Pride, perhaps, and just a little bit of pleasure at what she knew was Kakashi's way of thanking her.
It shouldn't have been significant- shouldn't even have been notable, if not for the simple fact that he's a grown man, then because of all they'd already been through together. Yet, as Kakashi had stood over the stove in his small apartment, stirring the broth far too carefully for what it was, he'd found himself unable to calm the rattling of his heart in his chest- so erratic it had almost hurt.
Sakura had become someone he couldn't lose. He'd- after his father, after Rin, after Obito, he'd been certain he could survive losing anyone. Less of him each time, but still, something.
With her, he wasn't so certain. Not anymore.
He'd wanted to thank her, to show her that she meant more to him than anyone else currently in his life- something that he wasn't necessarily proud of, but couldn't pretend she didn't deserve- but he couldn't. Couldn't do that to her, not outright. Couldn't put that weight on her, no matter how she'd insinuated herself into his life, mind, heart- not when he already knew how his story would end.
So, he'd cooked. It wouldn't be wonderful, cooking was never something he'd approached with an intent to linger over and enjoy- more of a simple utility, necessity, but he'd chosen something simple- though still nice, and followed the recipe with a nervous meticulousness that'd make even Iruka proud. It'd be good. It'd wouldn't be everything he wanted her to know, but it'd be something, at least.
Sakura is fully aware that healing people is something of a vice, for her. The more you're focused on healing someone else, the less you have to look inwards at yourself. It's not healthy, she knows, to let yourself believe you can heal others in all of the ways that count, to try and take responsibility for something that can ultimately only be an individual process, but still, she tries.
Unfortunately, no amount of self awareness can stop it from occasionally catching up with her.
It'd been days- weeks, even- that she'd felt tired. Tired in a bone-deep way, that left every thought feeling worn, weighed down by exhaustion. Too tired, too heavy, stretched too thin. On the verge of- of something, some indefinable feeling eating away at her from the inside, getting ready to swallow her whole. Still, she'd been through worse, so she'd continued to give what little there was of her and more, because the way she saw it, there was no other option. The people of Konoha deserved the best, and it wasn't pride, but fact, when she said that only she could give them that.
Eventually, a morning had come when she'd found there was truly nothing left for herself.
Sakura had never understood how someone could just stop functioning. Know all that they had to do, all the people relying on them, and still do nothing, and yet, there she was, unable to even bring herself to leave her bed. The want was there- or at least, she thought it was, she knew it should be- but the will was not.
She'd realized, with a kind of detached, far-away amusement, as she watched him step closer to the bed with caution and worry both plain- to her- in his eyes, that he'd never actually been in her apartment before.
It felt intrusive in some slightly nauseous way to climb in through her window like he did, but she'd missed their dinner last night- he'd spent far too many hours fighting off what he told himself was unwarranted disappointment- and when he'd stopped by the hospital that afternoon for not entirely inconspicuous reasons, he'd found she hadn't come into work at all, that day.
He'd thought back months, to the night he'd realized he wasn't sure how he'd cope if he ever lost her- knowing, truly, that it was irrational, that she was more than able to take care of herself and it hadn't even been a full day- he'd thought back and almost wanted to laugh at the fact that he'd been foolish enough to think the feelings couldn't get much worse.
So, he'd gone to her door, no answer, and known right away that however mad she got, he wasn't going to be able to leave without seeing if she was okay.
It'd been hard- so hard to see her that way. Light extinguished, suffocating under the weight of the wounds they all carried where no one could see, and her own need to help people. Need to prove herself- like she should have anything at all left to prove.
He'd thought, not for the first time, that he'd never worked hard enough to make sure Sakura knew how incredible she truly was. He'd known- always- how she'd felt, overshadowed and left behind by her teammates, he'd known he should've reminded her of her own strength, should've let her know that what her teammates were was something else entirely, something that none of them had much hope of touching. That she was more than exceptional in her own right and the eyes of so many others.
But it had seemed so- so inconsequential, in the midst of everything. Trying and failing to bring Sasuke back from the edge, then doing his best to stop Naruto from hurtling himself over after him- it never ended. Nothing ever ended and then they were apart more than together, and by the time anyone had time to breathe, she was no longer his student and he'd already failed her.
Failed all of them, it felt like.
Still, this Kakashi could do. This he knew, intimately. She was not the first, and would not be the last, to end up this way, and while he knew he couldn't make her better, he could at least be there. Take care, make sure she wouldn't have to wake up one day and be surrounded by the mess wrought from a few hard days- weeks- however long it took- when she was finally ready to start clawing her way back to herself, the same as she'd done for him.
He'd hoped- thought maybe she'd want him there, after everything.
The visits were- awkward. At best.
Ino, especially, had been curious about why, exactly, Kakashi was the one taking care of Sakura. She'd even offered to step in and do it herself, and he'd found he was unable to bring himself to take her offer, even though he knew that he shouldn't be thinking- shouldn't be encouraging himself, the way he was. Shouldn't take the liberties he had, to even assume she'd choose him to be there.
Ino had looked at him like she'd known he'd say no before she even asked, and had only wanted to hear him say it. He didn't particularly enjoy feeling like he'd played into her hands. It wasn't something he had to feel often, but the situation left him feeling disarmed.
Naruto had been both the most and least comfortable. He'd come the most often, always dragging Sasuke- who looked perpetually reluctant, but not unwilling to be there- in tow and immediately throwing himself into dramatics, Sasuke berating him intermittently the whole while through. Between them they'd even managed to make her smile, most visits, which was more than anyone else had gotten.
It'd been just distracting enough that he'd almost forgotten that Naruto could be far, far too observant for his own- or anyone else's- good, when he wanted to be. Kakashi hadn't even wanted to think about how much worse that could likely be since he'd finally been allowed to spend every free moment Sasuke, like he'd been craving for years.
The look Naruto had given him after the third or fourth visit- however intentional or unintentional, it was hard to say- after he'd spent a good hour nagging and fussing over whether or not he made a sufficient nursemaid- a term that'd nearly drawn a laugh from Sasuke, as the two of them were on their way out the door, telling him to keep taking good care of Sakura, almost like a threat- it'd been enough to make him distinctly paranoid.
He knew, logically, that Naruto couldn't know what he felt.
Still, though.
It was with a little genuine pleasure- the first she'd felt in a while- that Sakura had realized the sight of Naruto and Sasuke together, comfortable and open, no longer made her chest ache.
Eventually, it got easier to be awake again.
Little visits and words- not always the right ones, as if there were any- said with sincerity and care, had helped to ease the weight of the lonesome hopelessness in her chest. Every day was still hard, but the need to feel like herself again, now that the fog had begun to lift, had kept her from giving in.
It had been a little embarrassing, having Kakashi there, once she was feeling more herself. It'd made her cheeks go hot whenever he'd bring her something to eat or drink, almost dizzying to watch him tidying her kitchen or her small living-room. Embarrassing but not at all uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, it'd felt right to have him there, so at ease in her space, something she couldn't quite get used to but never wanted to end.
He'd stuck around through the slow, messy, and at times quite embarrassing process of pulling herself back together. When she'd finally reached the point where she felt herself more days than not, and he'd gone back to his apartment for the first night in- she wasn't even sure how long- rather than sleeping in her living room, she'd felt his absence with far more clarity than expected. She'd missed him.
It was around that point that she'd realized that perhaps when she'd gone to his apartment the very first day, she'd been reaching out for her own sake as much as his, if not more so. He hadn't healed her, he hadn't fixed her, but he'd- he'd been there. He'd put her first.
The knowledge that he'd never actually left, despite the odd looks he'd garnered from more than a few of her visitors, not to mention all of Naruto's badgering that he make sure he was looking after her just so. It was enough to make something achingly sweet rise up in her chest.
She wondered, a little embarrassed, if he'd felt the same gratitude towards her that she felt towards him, and decided it might be best just to sleep, rather than think on it too hard.
Looking back on things, now, she thinks it's a wonder she didn't catch on sooner.
Sakura, is not, in fact, particularly naive. She has her moments, of course, perhaps more of them than some, but the way she's grown up means naive moments are more of a luxury than a habit, these days. She's known for a long time, now, what she feels towards her former teacher, what she's managed to miss is reciprocation. She's hoped, but she's not- she's not quite naive enough to think it's more than her projecting her own wishes, when she thinks she's caught him looking at her with a look she's seen in the mirror enough times to understand.
It's a true misfortune that Ino, of all people, is the one to open her eyes because that means she's going to have to be grateful to her, whether she likes it or not. (She doesn't).
As is not uncommon, Ino shows up at Shikamaru's door on a Friday night and informs him they're going out for drinks.
He says no, as he does near every time.
And just like every time, he somehow winds up stuffed into the booth of a too-small bar somewhere on the main street, regardless of his wishes. Listening to the same conversation the two women in front of him have been having- or rather, starting- at least once a month, for years.
"All I'm saying- " Ino slurs, pointing her finger at Sakura and leaning over the table into her space far enough that she almost jabs her in the chest. "Is that anyone you still call sensei -"
"As a joke!" Sakura protests, with cheeks far too red to be convincing.
"-Should not be looking at you like he looks at you."
There's an ache building behind his eyes as the two women continue to bicker back and forth, and a loud, whining groan drifts out of the crumpled, blond heap beside him. Naruto doesn't seem to be faring much better.
"I hate this." The heap mumbles, voice muffled.
"Mm." Shikamaru agrees. Wholeheartedly. He tips his head back and tries to drown out the voices in front of him.
"He doesn't look at me like anything ." Sakura insists, sounding more than a little disappointed. He almost feels bad for her. Almost.
"Don't sound so put out, forehead. As always, you're wrong, anyways."
"I am not ."
"Why do we always end up here?" Naruto wonders aloud, sounding truly lost. Shikamaru reaches out to give him a commiserative squeeze on the shoulder, fingers tightening perhaps a little too much, but the blond doesn't seem to care.
"Because!" Ino declares, answering the question only half-asked. " She never believes me. Even though I'm right." Ino turns to him with eyes he already knows mean trouble, exhausting before it begins, and grabs him by the collar, dragging him forward. "Tell her I'm right. You know I am."
"As if -" Sakura begins to protest, but Shikamaru interrupts her.
"Please, Sakura. We all know it's true, just admit it so we can talk about absolutely anything else."
As it turns out, that's both the right and the wrong thing to say.
Sakura's mouth drops open, Ino smirks so wide and smug that he's half concerned she'll sprain something, Naruto makes a retching noise, and the table promptly erupts into chaos.
The pounding on his door is loud enough to have his neighbours screeching obscenities out their windows by the time Kakashi actually gets up to answer it. The colourful litany of insults the blond is unleashing into the night- all directed at him- don't exactly help matters, either.
A threatening housecall from a thoroughly drunken Hokage was not the way Kakashi had seen his night going. Sometimes Kakashi wonders if Naruto actually remembers he's the Hokage at all, the way he acts.
Naruto practically spills through the door the moment it's open, barreling into him only half intentionally and with enough force to nearly send them both to the ground. The smell of sake is rolling off him in waves thick enough to crush a lesser man, and by the time Kakashi gets to the couch, letting Naruto collapse, mostly upright, on the floor at his feet, angry neighbours are the least of his worries.
"-always knew you were a pervert!" Naruto points an accusing, unsteady finger at him, voice warbling as he sways on the floor, trying to stay upright. "But Sakura- Sakura! You'd better-better-" He stops, hitching his breath in a way that has Kakashi seeing red for a moment- if Naruto throws up on his floor he'll make him scrub the mats himself- drunk or not- and then hiccups instead, before continuing on his tirade as though he'd never stopped, reminding Kakashi what he should actually be concerned about, right now.
"You'd better be a- a gentleman, you bastard." Naruto can barely even sit up straight, but Kakashi's fairly certain he's the one who might need to lay down. This is- this is not ideal.
"Naruto," He begins, trying to sound more exasperated than terrified, "I don't know what you think you heard-"
"Everything!" Naruto shouts, throwing a hand in the air with such intensity he nearly topples over. "I heard everything- you- you asshole-" He's wobbling his way up to his knees, and pitching forward to grab Kakashi's shirt. He pulls him forward and down so hard he can just about taste the beer breath. "She told us everything. She said- she said-"
"Naruto, there's nothing to say." Naruto's face crumples, and he immediately lets go, dropping away and falling back onto his back with a heavy sigh, before whining, loudly.
"But there will be, won't there." And that's- at this point, he's not even sure what to say. He can put two and two together, clearly Sakura said something about him. Something- he's not sure what. But something. Something that was enough to convince Naruto this visit was in any way necessary, which it thoroughly is not.
A part of him wants to let Naruto keep talking, wants that desperately, but he can't. It feels too much like a violation.
"Where's your shadow? Shouldn't he be minding you." At the mention of Sasuke, Naruto's eyes go wide and watery, and Kakashi is immediately forced to listen to Naruto singing his expletive-filled praises.
"He's such- he's such an asshole. Always. Always! You know he does this thing- when we're- with his-"
"Naruto." Kakashi interjects, voice hard as he hauls him up off the floor by his collar. "If you respect me at all, do not finish saying whatever it is you're saying." Naruto stares up at him, and then his face cracks into a disbelieving grin and he laughs, and laughs, and then laughs some more. Kakashi tries not to let it dent his pride too much.
By the time Kakashi manages to get ahold of Sasuke so he can come peel a mostly-unconscious Naruto off his floor and never look him in the eye again, he already knows he won't sleep that night.
Sakura wakes up feeling surprisingly well, all things considered. This feeling lasts approximately twenty-seven seconds into waking up, when she is hit, all at once, with the recollection of last night's conversation. After Ino had dragged Shikamaru into a well-worn argument and forced it to new ground, Ino had insisted on plying her with a truly impressive, almost alarming amount of alcohol had resulted in a lot of arguing and, ultimately, a few confessions she'd rather not remember in the light of day.
Unfortunately for her, she's never had that type of luck.
Sakura calls Naruto to apologize, mainly because she's certain she must've scarred him for life.
Sasuke picks up, and when he actually laughs down the receiver before handing her off to Naruto, she knows already that she's in trouble.
It's not until he assures her that "It's fine, Sakura! Even Kakashi was mostly able to laugh it off." That she realizes just how deep into that trouble she is.
"He- what?! Naruto, tell me you didn't tell him anything." The silence coming from the phone is deafening , and all she can hear is the rushing in her ears while her heart pounds hard enough to hurt.
"I didn't. Exactly. I think."
"Naruto."
"I- I mean I'm pretty sure! He just- I mean- you and Ino, you weren't exactly quiet, Sakura! You said all those things- and I got all- I mean. I care about you! So I just- I went by his place-"
"You went by his house. What did you say, Naruto." She's well aware he can hear the murderous intent in her voice. Good.
"I- uh. I'm not completely sure. Not much? I think. When he came by this morning-"
"He was there?!" Somehow everything Naruto says to make it better just makes the nausea in her gut knot itself tighter.
"He seemed like- I don't know! I just thought maybe you guys were already together, or something. He wasn't, like, surprised, or anything. I think. I don't know, I tried not to think about it!"
Sakura is quite certain she can't remember the last time she wanted the ground to swallow her whole quite so badly, it may, in fact, be the most embarrassing moment of her life. He wasn't surprised. Has she been so obvious?
The tapping on her bedroom window just about stops her heart, and when she whips her head around to see Kakashi crouched on her balcony, looking far too amused for his own good- though still a little tight around the eyes, she thinks back to her earlier statement and thinks that actually, this is definitely the most embarrassing moment of her life.
"Your days are numbered, Uzumaki." She promises just before hanging up the phone, silencing Naruto's loud protests.
She tries to shimmy into some sweat pants with as much dignity as she can muster- it's not much- before going to open the window, all the while trying- unsuccessfully- to quell the beating of her heart enough to cool her cheeks. She's almost dizzy with it.
Kakashi slips in as she steps back, and a rather large part of her is disappointed when he doesn't come any closer, though she immediately berates herself for the thought as she crosses her arms over her chest so he can't see her hands shake.
"I had an almost enlightening conversation with Naruto, last night." He says, too casually, in place of his usual greeting. "Though, to call it a conversation might be too generous. It was more of a verbal assault. Still." It's the least clarifying thing he could possibly say, giving away nothing about what he thinks of that conversation. Sakura kind of wants to hit him for being so obtuse in such a simple way. It's not an unfamiliar urge.
"I-" She begins- but her mouth has gone dry with nerves, as the reality of what this could mean washes over her. No matter what the outcome is, this will change things. In a way she's glad he seems to be taking this so lightly, but she- she can't. Sakura swallows hard, and tries again. "I didn't mean for you to find out- like that."
"I'm pretty sure you didn't mean for me to find out at all."
She steps forward involuntarily, and his eyes go a little wider but he doesn't step away from her, it sends her pulse skittering erratic through her chest.
"That's not true." Her voice comes out far more steady and solid than she feels, right now. "I wasn't- I don't want to say anything if you don't-" She takes a deep, steadying breath, ignoring the way it shakes on the exhale, and digs her nails into her palms. "If you don't feel the same."
She's terrified- but the look in his eyes, like he wasn't expecting her to be this honest, like she expected him to shy away from this, like he- like he's relieved- it keeps the words spilling out of her mouth. "You're too important to me. I didn't want to lose you taking that risk if you don't want this the way I do." It's impossible to keep herself from swaying forward, just a little, as she finishes, "If you don't want me the way I want you."
"Sakura." He breathes, it sounds like she's just knocked the breath out of him, and she wants to step forward, say something else, push, but he puts a hand up and steps back like it's a torment to do so. "I wouldn't be good for you."
"Says who?" She demands. When she glances down, she can see his white knuckles at his white knuckles at his sides. She doesn't drop his gaze again.
"I'm too-"
"If you say too old I'm going to kick your teeth in." He smiles a little, at that, but it's sad around the edges.
"I'm too weighed down, Sakura. I have too many ghosts. Besides, I'm terrible at accommodating anyone else. I-"
"Bullshit." She grates out. She can feel the anger she keeps such tight control of, these days, spilling over, and she steps forward, fisting her hands in his vest so he can't flee.
"We all have ghosts, Kakashi. That's the way this life works. And you're- you're not bad at having other people around- not as bad as you pretend, anyways. You took care of me."
"That was different."
"It wasn't. You're just making excuses."
"Sakura," Kakashi's hands come up to cover hers with an intensity that contradicts his words. "I know you want this- me-" He says it like it's a struggle to believe, and it makes her ache as much as it makes her angry. "But I couldn't- you deserve better."
"Don't do that." She can't- she can't contain herself any longer and has to let go and force herself to step back. She's almost certain her palms are bleeding. "You can- if you don't want me, just say it. I won't break. But don't disrespect me by pretending you're just doing what's best for me. By pretending you know."
Kakashi opens his mouth to speak, and this time he's the one who steps forward, but she pulls back, not giving him the chance. "You're not my teacher anymore, and I'm not a child. I know what I want, and if it's a mistake, then that's just- that's life. I make my own decisions, mistakes and all."
There's a long silence during which all she can hear is the overwhelming buzz of her heart beating in her ears, before Kakashi sighs. She's expecting him to come closer, or farther, but he does neither. Instead he sighs, tired, and skirts around her to sit on the bed, hunched over just enough that his hair hides his eyes from view.
"Sakura." He breathes, and she loves the way it sounds. "How can you- are you certain you want someone who's let you down so many times already?"
It hurts to hear- hurts in a lot of ways. Hurts because she knows he's carrying that guilt with him on top of all he already feels, hurts because she knows it's not untrue. Perhaps not as true as he thinks it is, but definitely true enough. They've all made mistakes.
Sakura drops down next to him on the bed, and wraps sore hands around the edges of the mattress as she stares down at her knees.
"I'm sure. That's all I can tell you."
They sit in silence a moment longer before she continues.
"I don't want you to be with me if it's going to make you feel worse."
"You could never make me feel worse."
"That's not what I meant."
"No- I mean it. Sakura. I'm better with you. I'd just like to be able to do the same for you."
His voice is raw in a way she's rarely heard it, and she's proud of the way her voice stays steady when she speaks as she finally looks over at him again to find his tired eyes already on her.
"You already do."
Sakura would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about seeing his face before, like this, and she'd always thought it might feel kind of surreal, detached, even, but it's quite the opposite.
Every one of her nerves feels like fire and she's hyper-aware of the slip of his mask under the calluses of her fingers as she reaches out with the hand furthest from him to draw them over the edge of, looking for permission.
He gives it by bringing the hand nearest to her up and drawing the mask down himself until her fingers are touching nothing but bare skin and the scrape of stubble. She's only got a moment to appreciate the sharp lines of his features before he's leaning forward, hand that was pulling his mask down a moment ago now brushing down her temple, into her hair, and then her eyes slip shut and they share a breath that makes the want swelling under her skin feel like it's going to burst, and she finally, finally feels the rough push of his lips against hers.
The noise that escapes her when she feels his tongue trace the seam of their lips- almost sharp along her skin already over sensitive with anticipation- would be embarrassing if not for the way his hand tightens in her hair when she does it, the other coming over to grasp at her waist, too far from gentle to be anything but urgent.
It lights a fire in her that spurs her forward, and when she pitches closer, bringing her hands up to his shoulders, he must take it as an invitation because he slips the hand on her waist down over her hip and around her thigh so he can swing her onto her lap and- oh- she feels the friction of it in such a delicious way, she slips her arms around him fully, one down his back and the other hand sliding up into his hair, and presses closer.
It's her who pulls this time, tugging hard at his hair when he nips at her tongue and the deep noise that rolls out of him lets her know he liked it. She wants to feel that noise when he makes it, next time. He looks up at her a little confused when she pushes him away, but then she's tugging at the vest that's been digging into her chest and stopping her from being able to press bruises into his back while his fingers toy with the hem of her shirt.
When Kakashi pushes in close again he goes straight to the curve of her jaw, nipping and sucking his way down her neck until he has to pull the collar of her t-shirt to the side to mouth at the hollow of her neck. His fingers have slipped up under the hem of her shirt to drag over the small of her back, skimming up along her ribs and under the curve of her breast, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touches her, making her shiver while her hair stands on end.
It's got a heat swelling and rolling through her abdomen that she knows well.
She's been gripping at his hair the entire time, so when he pulls particularly hard it takes a moment for him to realize she means to speak to him. When he pulls back to look at her, his pupils are blown wide and he's still clearly a bit dazed.
She thanks the fact that her face had already gone red from arousal, otherwise she knows she'd turn pink upon speaking. "Kakashi, I want- that is, how far do you want to take this?" He exhales sharply, like the shadow of a laugh, and grins, just a little. It's hard to pay attention.
"Isn't that supposed to be my line?"
She finds it easy to laugh a little until he shifts and wraps his hands around her waist so she slips snugly into his lap, feels the heat of him even through their clothes and they both lose their breath just a little when she rolls her hips down against him, the way the loose fabric of her sweatpants drags over her thighs and the thin, already damp cotton of her underwear sending a wave of sweeping out from her abdomen through every inch of her.
"We don't have to finish this just because we started it." He answers, finally, a slight pant in his breath as he leans forward to place a lingering but chaste kiss to her lips, pulling back just a little. "But if you want to, I definitely won't be stopping you." He leans in again and she can taste the smile on his lips, like he already knows her answer.
He probably does.
Sakura doesn't answer him, but she does reach down to tug insistently at the hem of his shirt, and- well. It doesn't take a genius to know what she's getting at. When she laughs at the mess he's sure his hair has become once he's free of his shirt, the sound makes his heart swell, giddy and oddly light. It's a strange feeling. One he hasn't felt in a long, long time. Possibly ever.
He grabs her by the hips and lifts her onto her feet so he can pull her sweatpants off in no time at all, and when she gasps at the exposure, little goosebumps rising up the curves of her thighs, it takes everything in him not to lean forward and taste her right then. But, he has plans.
Instead, he grabs her and spins so he can toss her back onto the bed, running his hands up over soft skin and mostly-faded scars as he crawls up over her, savouring the sound of her half out of breath laughter. He's not sure what he's done, what he could ever do, to deserve someone like her. Someone who's seen him- perhaps not at his worst, hopefully never at his worst, but damn near it- and stayed. Wanted. Even loved, he thinks, maybe.
He's going to do his best to make sure she never wants for anything he can help.
Clearly, he's been caught up in his thoughts too long, because she clears her throat underneath him, hands coming up to tug at his shoulders as she spreads her thighs a little wider in invitation and- he doesn't even hear what she says over the rushing in his ears, just looks at the way her green eyes have gone dark and wide, the messy fan of her hair spread haphazardly over the mattress, and wants her like hasn't wanted anything in years.
His hands travel upwards, pushing her shirt out of the way as he goes, and his mouth follows. Nipping and sucking and licking his way up her Torso, by the time he reaches the soft curve of her breast, his cock is so hard it hurts, it's a fight to push it from the forefront of his mind. He pulls back just enough to appreciate the sight of his hands on her, dragging a nail over her peaked nipple and enjoying the way she groans and shifts underneath of him. Smiling and stretching her arms up over her head before letting them fall back against the bed, relaxed.
Allowing him to look his fill. Do as he likes. Comfortable.
The hand that'd pushed her shirt out of the way drifts up, along her chest, her neck, over the flutter of her pulse- it makes him giddy to feel the jackrabbit rhythm of it- until she can turn to kiss his palm, before affectionately chiding him, "Get a move on, you old pervert. I'd like to have an orgasm sometime this century, please." He's torn, for a moment, before he settles on simply raising a brow.
"Just one? It hurts when you underestimate me like this, Sakura."
She laughs, but before she can answer he leans down to mouth at her chest again, much less gently than the first time. This time, he slips a hand down, down, down, until he's teasing at the line of her panties. Her hands find their way into his hair, massaging and tugging in alternates, urging him to do something as he continues to draw his fingers over the sensitive spot right in the dip below her belly, just above the swell between her thighs.
When he finally, finally gives in to her pleas and slips a hand down over her, still outside the thin layer of cotton, he finds she's already soaked through and pants into the valley between her breasts as they both shiver, hears and feels the low moan echo through her chest as he begins to tease at her.
It's too tempting, and he has to draw back just enough to look up at her face as he teases his fingers over her cunt, just a ghost of touch over the lips, a little more pressure down the centre, a gentle, but firm pressure against the peak between her folds, watching the way she flushes red, body twitching whenever he manages something particularly good. Seeing her torn so clearly between arousal and frustration at being given not quite enough, it's possible he likes it too much.
He'd be entirely too willing to keep her in limbo, in that space, if not for the fact that Sakura does not, in fact, have the patience for that at all.
She wraps her legs around his ribs and squeezes hard enough to bruise and informs him that unless he'd like to give her an orgasm in the next five minutes, she'll be throwing him out and doing it herself.
He's never been a fan of deadlines, but just this once, he figures he can manage.
Once she loosens her grip, he slips down her body and takes her panties with him so he can settle between her thighs, legs still draped over his shoulders and back, and get to delivering. He breathes in heavy as he grips one thigh tight, the other hand splayed over her abdomen, and slowly- probably too slowly, but he needs a minute- kisses and nips his way down the soft skin of her inner thigh.
God- he wants to be inside her, aches so bad it hurts. He feels the pressure of his arousal wound so tight it's almost nauseating, leaves him dizzy, but he wants- needs to make this good for her. Needs to be the best she's ever had. It's entirely selfish, and probably unrealistic, but he wants her to look at him and know he can make her feel things no one else can.
He brings his hands down to drag his fingers along the crux of her hips as he brings his lips to the back of her other knee and makes his way down, just the same. She's rolling her hips underneath him, small, possibly unintentional movements, like she just needs something- anything bad enough she can't help it. He's pretty sure the sight of her alone is taking years off his life.
It's that which spurs him to finally drop down and press his lips against her. Brief and chaste, but she shivers at the contact all the same and it travels through him in turn. He drags his lips over her, breathing heavy against her slick skin and wet curls, before leaning to the side to drag his tongue up over the outer lips of her cunt, one at a time. She tastes sweet and sharp on his tongue and he knows, clearly, that it's objectively not a wonderful taste, but he loves it immediately.
Exploring, nipping and tonguing his way around her, teasing, pushing, sucking, he savours it all. When he dips forward to suck at her clit her hands immediately go tight in his hair, pain lancing across his scalp as her hips buck up against his mouth and she moans, spurring him on more, helped along even further by the quiver of her thighs against the skin of his back.
When he eventually dips down and slides his tongue inside her, thumb still working at her clit as the other hand teases along her thigh, he marvels at how open for him she is, how ready and wanting her body has become. If he'd had any doubts about how much she wants him, they couldn't hold up against this.
He kisses back up her cunt to work his clit with her mouth again and she curses when he pushes two long fingers inside her and curls them upwards. He keeps going and going when he finds the rhythm that seems to make her tremble, not willing to risk changing a thing, and he can feel the bruises forming under her heels on his back. Can't wait to feel the dull ache of them tomorrow. Carry it around with him and be unable to forget the taste of her for even a moment as long as they're there.
From there, it's not long before she's shaking apart, and he wishes dearly that he could pull up to see her, watch her orgasm wash over her, but- well, it'd be a bit self-defeating, so he stays put, feels the way she seems to seize, going tense all over as she chokes out something that sounds like his name, something he wants to hear again, and again, and promises himself he'll still get to see before the night is up.
Everything feels pleasantly boneless, her mind fuzzy around the edges, contentment buzzing under her skin as she pulls Kakashi up and pulls him down to kiss her, messy and wet and entirely too satisfied for her own good. The weight of him on top of her, the slide of his waist in-between her slick thighs, it's something she can see herself being more than happy to get used to.
He steals the breath from her lungs and she can feel him hard against her through the thin material of his pants, undeniable proof that he must be desperate, as if she couldn't already feel it in his touch. When he speaks he sounds as wrecked as she's ever heard him, breathless and hoarse, urgent, though he tries to hide it.
"Do you- do you still want to-"
"Yes." She punctuates her affirmation with a roll of her hips up into his and he shudders and pushes down against her. "Come on," She pushes him back already trying to shove his pants down with her feet- though not very successfully, at the same time as she tries to struggle out of the rucked up t-shirt they'd both managed to forget about. "I want you inside me, hurry up already."
He half laughs, half groans, and leans back enough to shove his waistband down so he can kick his pants off the rest of the way, along with everything else, and it's- it's impossible not to laugh at him, at least a little. He's just managed to shake them all the way off and he turns back to her and tells her, very seriously, that it's cruel to mock someone when you're naked together, before they both can't help cracking up and he collapses down onto her, kissing her neck and leaving her breathless in the best way.
By the time their laughs have turned to kisses, and kisses to a renewed sense of need, she feels the familiar heat from just moments ago beginning to swell in her abdomen again, molten and thick, rolling through her and decides she just can't- won't wait a minute longer.
She tightens the grip of her thighs and rolls them over suddenly enough she hears the breath leave him when she presses him into the mattress. He hardly has a chance to speak, merely getting out the question of her name as he pushes himself up to meet her, wrapping his arms around her waist, digging his fingers into her skin, before she's reaching back to take the weight of his cock in hand, dragging him over the seam of herself because- fuck- she loves this moment. Loves the hot, wet drag of him against her, the anticipation.
He says her name like he's begging, pitching forward and panting into the crook of her neck, and she finally, finally lets herself sink back onto him, sighing at the slight stretch of him, that barely there sting, splitting her open and filling her up better, better, better the further she sinks down. It feels like forever before their hips finally meet and he bottoms out.
It's not difficult to feel the tension that's running through his body, and she's feeling generous, still riding the buzz of her last orgasm, so she doesn't bother to tease or draw it out before she starts moving, savouring the long drag of him inside her and the bruises she knows she'll have on her sides, where his fingers grip so tight, come morning. The drag of his lips over her skin as she drops down again and again, whispering words of worship into her skin that are mostly nonsense, but they're both too far past the point of thinking straight to care.
Once they've found their rhythm she shifts so she can wind her arms around his shoulders and he lifts his face from her neck, leaning their faces close, not quite in a kiss, but sharing breath. Leaning, lips brushing, nothing but sweat and heat between them as they move. It's- she's not sure what it is about the moment that hits her so suddenly, but she is overwhelmingly and poignantly aware that this was something she thought she'd never be able to have up until last night, and now, she might never have to be without him.
It's too much to process, so instead, she presses forward to drown the choked off sob that wants to escape- she will not cry during their first time- in a kiss. He rocks forward and slips out as they shift, her back against the mattress, now. She misses the weight of him inside her immediately, but it's only a moment before he's there again, kissing her and pushing inside her and making her feel as much as she's ever felt before.
Neither of them are going to last much longer, she can feel the way he's trembling against her, knows he's been ready for a long time, now, and when he reaches down between them to rub at the apex of her thighs, fingers pausing to trace along the place where they meet- somehow still embarrassing when he's inside her- before getting back to their ministrations, she finds she's still oversensitive from her last orgasm.
When she feels the heat that's been building up inside her begin to crest, she reaches down to join her hand with his, make sure between the two of them they won't lose their rhythm, and tightens around him as much as she can manage to take him over the edge with her, living for the way he cries out her name into her skin as heat washes over them both. She's shaking and seizing, nerves flaring as she feels him lose himself inside her, heat washing through her from the inside out. Feels his hips stutter as both their hands falter when they're both rendered incapable of smooth movements. Control lost.
After the comedown, they're both feeling particularly wrecked. He's half expecting regret, but what he gets instead is a very, very cuddly Sakura who won't let him sleep. He can't bring himself to be annoyed, because there isn't actually a moment he'd want to miss of her looking at him the way that she is, however undeserving he might be.
She insists they need a shower, and it's the thought of being pressed up against her in her small, simple shower that makes him get up and be the one to drag her to her feet. They manage to drag one more round out of their tired bodies, and only just avoid passing out in the shower afterwards.
In the morning he's hoping to do the cliche thing, get up and make her breakfast before she gets the chance, but instead she wakes up first, when he rolls over he can see her in the bathroom, mostly naked, inspecting her bruises in the mirror with far too pleased a look on her face.
Whether people realize it or not, he's shy by nature. His first impulse had been to reach for his mask in the morning, hide his face. For comfort more than any insecurity, she's already seen him, wants him, he knows that. Still, though it's tempting.
When he sees the pride with which she wears his bruises, it makes him feel a little bold.