A/N: Warning - angst ahead! I couldn't get this one-shot, possibly two-shot out of my head, so I decided to whip this up. I'm a sucker for confession scenes. Read and enjoy!
Thank you to all the readers and reviewers! I really appreciate it.
Confession
Climbing up the stairs, her foot hitting the top step, she screeches to a halt. Her eyes widen in sheer panic and realization.
I can't do this. I can't do this.
Turning around, she rushes down the stairs but stops midway. Having a brief moment weakness, she pauses and glances back at the door, her eyes lingering on the welcoming light filtering through the window.
She grips the railing tightly, gathering her courage with each slow step toward the warm light.
This is crazy. It's just him. There's nothing to be afraid of. I've been here hundreds of times.
The distance to the door is shorter than she remembers. Staring at the barrier between, she tries to slow the beating of her heart.
There's no reason to be afraid. I can do this...I think.
She releases a shaky breath.
Her exterior seems calm and confident, but in reality she's afraid of so many things. The doubts pile in her mind. She backs away from the door, hitting the railing, the brunt of her undertaking falling upon her and paralyzing her with fear.
What about their friendship? She grimaces at the impending awkwardness after tonight.
This is the farthest she's ever gone. Usually when she gets these bursts of confidence to tell him everything - all the things on her mind and her heart, she finds herself standing outside his apartment on a street corner. Yet her courage turns to wishful thinking, and she retreats.
I don't think I can do this. There's no way. I'm not ready. I can't. I'm not ready for…
Her thoughts trail off. She doesn't need to complete the thought. It's something she thinks about often - how he'll gently reject her, tell her he's sorry, and then placate her with something like "I love you but not in that way." Her knuckles turning white with the pressure, she grips the railing behind her, grounding herself, away from the depressing thoughts.
Though, lately she wants something a little more than she wants him. She wants to move on. She wants to live her life, no matter the outcome. She's tired of trying to live in dreams and of drowning in her own self-imposed sorrow.
So, without a moment to think, she pushes herself forward and knocks in one fluid motion.
A blond opens the door, a small kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder, his face lighting up. "Oh hey Sakura-chan!"
Seeing his face, she can't help but smile brightly back, his happiness always contagious. He lets her in without hesitation, and she follows him, toeing off her shoes. He heads toward the kitchen, yelling behind him casually.
"What's up? You hungry? I'm making dinner right now." He's chopping some random vegetables. Her focus isn't on the food but just him. Like a strange gravity, she's already drawn in.
She replies, steadying her voice, not wanting to be too suspicious. "I was just in the area and decided to check if you were still alive since I hadn't heard from you in a while." Peeking over his shoulder at the contents of the pot, fully aware of their proximity, she takes a whiff of the food. The aroma has her drooling.
Recovering, she teases. "Are you sure your dinner is edible? I didn't even know you knew how to cook anything other than ramen."
Sticking his tongue out, he retorts. "I know how to cook more than you do."
She smirks. "Touche."
She sits on the edge of the table, casually observing him work in his kitchen. He's chopping up vegetables smoothly, dumping them into the pot with a flick of his wrist and a knife. There's an expression of concentration on his face, but she can tell the domestic activities are relaxing to him. He picks up a spoon, tasting the contents of the pot, smacking his mouth.
Licking his lips, he glances up at her, smiling and raising a spoon towards her. "I think it needs more salt. Be my second opinion?"
She's tempted, a 'yes' itching to fall from her lips. It's such an intimate gesture, but she's so uncertain if she can handle such a thing right now. She plays it safe, waving him off.
"Nah. I'm sure it's great."
He shrugs. "If you say so."
He picks up a piece of bread to munch on casually while he cooks. Boys will be boys. They're always so hungry. The sound of water crackling and sizzling on the stove signals that his pot is over-boiling.
"Ah, my pasta!" He muffles out as he sticks the bread in his mouth and handles the pot.
She chuckles at his antics. Still at the same time she wants nothing more than to be that piece of bread in his mouth. She'd lean in calmly, her eyes never leaving his blue ones, and slowly take a bite of the bread in his mouth. His body would be stockstill in surprise, their noses slightly brushing against each other with their lips inches away. Amusingly, she thinks - He'd probably choke on his bread. She shakes her head slightly to rid the daydream.
Damn. I have it bad. She's not afraid to admit it to herself.
She waits for him to finish cooking, not minding, enjoying the time together even if it's in silence. He puts his pasta to dry in a colander.
Attentive as always, he turns to her, leaning against the counter, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. "Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?"
"Yeah I'm sure." She hesitates, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Hey, uh. I need a favor from you."
His brow furrows, looking concerned, he says. "Yeah, of course."
She wants to avoid the cliche, "Maybe you should sit." Instead while he stands there, she blurts out everything she's wanted to say and doesn't let herself stop until she's out of breath. In her dreams she is wonderfully eloquent, but now in her mind's eye - she sounds needy and desperate. She hates this vulnerability almost as much as she hates how desperately she wants him.
"I think you've known for a while now, so I'm just going to go ahead and say it." She inhales, fighting the urge to look away. She should at least look him in the eye when saying this.
"I like you." Surprise! She thinks.
His eyebrows shoot up, and blue eyes widen. She ignores his reaction and how his body tenses at her words, his fists clenching in the pockets of his jeans.
"I've liked you for a long time. I've liked you through all the girls and all the drama. Even though they're incredibly annoying, I even like your flaws and your quirks. The thing is we're friends - best friends almost, and our friendship is something important to me. So, ha...that's a problem. I need you to help me, so that our friendship continues until we're old and wrinkly with our own spouses and cute grandkids. The favor I need is that you tell me you don't like me." She softly laughs, trying to get him to lighten up. She can see the concern on his face, his brow furrowing again, and she's tugging on the sleeves of her shirt.
She continues in a light joking manner, her voice cracking slightly."Tell me that I was never in the cards or that you see me as a sister. Tell me I'm crazy. Hey, you can even throw in the whole 'not in that way and I deserve someone better but not you' spiel."
Yet all I want is you. She says in her mind bitterly.
"Just give it to me because I need to move on, okay? Think you can do that?" She smiles tightly, holding in the wave of emotions, forcing her mind to be blank. If she lets herself relax, the tears will pour out. She just knows it.
He opens his mouth, and no sound comes out. He closes it again, frowning and then smoothing his face out again. She can tell he's compiling the easiest way to let her down.
Looking hesitant and possibly scared, he rubs the palms of his hands against his thighs.
Here it comes. She thinks.
"I'm sorry." He looks at the ground, not having the heart or the guts to look at her in the eye. She almost wants to be mad at him for that but then notices him tense up, and he whips up to look at her in the eye. It's the look of determination that she admires.
"I'm sorry. I don't like you in that way, but I don't think you're crazy." Brushing his hand through his blonde hair, he half-heartedly smiles. "I'm just not the guy for you. Don't kid yourself about almost best friends. We are best friends. You're great and one of the most compassionate people I know. I -"
A hand shoots up. "Don't. Please stop. Don't shower me with compliments." Sincere words are only more ammunition to dream with, but that's all they are - dreams. I'm done with what-ifs. She stands up and shrugs. "You did what I asked. Don't do anymore."
She heads to the door clumsily, trying to put on her shoes as her eyes blur, stammering. "Um, no hard feelings, okay?" Staring at the floor, she blinks back the tears, pleading in her mind - I'm almost out the door. Just wait tears. Please wait.
Laughing weakly, he mutters. "I think that was supposed to be my line."
Ensuring her eyes are dry enough, she chances a glance at him. He's standing near her, hands in his pockets. Gazing at the floor, he has this solemn expression. It's guilt-ridden, and she absolutely hates it.
She punches him on the arm, and he looks up. "Hey. Don't look so sad. That look doesn't fit you, and you'll wrinkle earlier." She jokes. After everything, she still wants to make him feel better.
She sees that half-hearted smile again. If it was any other time, she'd work harder to get a genuine smile. She resists the urge.
Not tonight.
Opening the door about to slip out into the darkness, she peeks her head in.
"Hey. Don't be sorry. Okay? I asked for it." Her jade eyes are soft, her lips slightly upturned. She can't help but think her expression looks like a grimace.
Naruto is about to say something, but she beats him to it, putting on the best smile she can manage. He's almost fooled.
"Things will be back to normal in a few days. I'll be okay." She tries to sound reassuring. "See you soon." She gives him a small wave.
The door clicks shut, and she starts at a brisk walk away from his door so that he doesn't hear. Reaching the stairs, she breaks into a run, pink hair bouncing behind. As she reaches the bottom, she turns the corner and leans her back against the building wall. She lets the tears silently roll down her face. A sob and hiccup escapes, and she muffles it with her sleeve in case he can hear, biting down on the fabric, her body shuddering.
She should feel closure, but she doesn't. There's only a deep ache in her chest. There's no freeing release. There's no rainstorm to comfort her in her tears - just crushing acceptance.
Pathetic. What did I expect? Of course, everything was in my head.
She was never in the running or was even spared a glance. She was never on his mind like how he plagued hers. He didn't crave her touch like she did. He never missed her.
The constricting ache continues to blossom, making it hard to breathe. Sinking to the ground, she pulls her knees to her chest, telling herself she'd only sit out here for another 10 minutes.
Things will get better. Sakura thinks. I'll move on…tomorrow.