Do you remember you were once a child?
Hi, folks! This is my first real fanfiction, let alone my first kakasaku one. The premise of this story is pretty standard; a budding relationship between Kakashi and Sakura. It's not just a Sakura thing, it's a mutual attraction. Sakura is 22, Kakashi is 36. Sakura's sort of got this whole theme of childhood going on; as she sees herself as too young in most aspects, so she makes up for it by being a practical old maid in action. Kakashi both agrees and disagrees. They have a complex relationship. Although it might seem so from this story, I am absolutely not a fan of Sakura. As I've read the manga further, she just seems like a really spoiled little kid. This fic resides upon the premise that she's much more mature, and she has far greater skill, physically and emotionally, than her 16 year old self has.
This story was inspired almost entirely by the song Pretty Baby, by Entrance. You should listen to it, I think of the whole song as a conversation between Kakashi and Sakura. It explains my phrasing, I think, and it's also just a really cool song. It's a little weird and complex (the whole album, Prayer of Death, is weird, psychedelic folk music) but still really cool.
Thanks for reading, make sure to review with some constructive criticism, I'm always eager to edit my work!
Just so you know, I don't own Naruto, Masashi Kishimoto does!
Chapter one : Alive
In Sakura Haruno's opinion, it was never too early to wake up. Even when it was so early that the sunlight didn't break through her flimsy curtains. Or so early that no birds chirped yet in the dark.
Because, to Sakura Haruno, waking up meant being alive. Waking up meant being a survivor of another mission, another struggle, another day of living, another day of getting by. Another day of the same life.
Even if it was five in the morning.
Sakura stretched forward, the long curve of her spine forming a question mark as she touched her toes, her head bowed, her hair wild. She opened her eyes, both dull with sleep and bright with light, and promptly rolled out of bed. She wasn't a sucker for long, meaningless moments – even the most comfortable ones. Her scratchy carpet was cool to the touch on the soles of her feet, the too-thick, outdated shag weave threading between her toes. She moved into the linoleum floored hallway and padded quietly past the door of her snoring roommate into the tiny bathroom.
If there was one thing Sakura truly regretted about her life , it was her decision to continue rooming with Ino. The pig really was a pig, and Sakura spent more time cleaning their shared apartment than living in it. Not that she really had much of a life to live, between bustling from mission to mission to hospital duty to sake with Tsunade to mission. She was lucky she had garnered the tiny three-day vacation she was starting – thank the gods – today.
She was exhausted, despite her early awakening. She needed this break. She needed time to herself, not to sleep, but just to live outside of her work and role as a kunoichi, for just once.
Space to breathe.
Sakura slipped into her (sadly also shared) bathroom, flipping up the light switch as she closed the door. She winced at her face, at the dark bags surrounding her eyes and the long, ragged split ends of her pastel hair. She pinched the bridge of her nose before channeling chakra into the blue crescent moons of her dark circles, the strands of energy bringing life to strained capillaries and thin skin.
Sakura pulled hard on the rusty handles of her shower water supply before hopping under the burning hard spray; the one good thing about her ancient apartment complex was the water heater. That, and the practically non-existent rent. Sakura scrubbed at her hair and body, running her hands over lean muscle and modest curves. She used mismatched shampoo and body wash – one cherry blossom pink, the other sweet jasmine and honeysuckle. She always smelled like a bundle of flowers, which Ino always said was bad luck for her love life, because all those flower meanings – innocence and sensuality and vicious clinginess – clashed horribly, especially in the context of her personality.
But that was ok, because Sakura didn't believe in that sort of bullshit. Especially when Ino was involved. And so she meandered out of the shower and into the hallway, dripping wet and naked and cold. By now, dawn had broken, and pale light filtered through the apartment windows. Speaking of Ino, it was a Friday, meaning the Pig had hospital duty for the next three days. Meaning – Sakura did a little naked dance in front of her bedroom door – she would have the apartment to herself for the next three days. At that moment, she was happy that shinobi didn't have the standard five-day workweek. She thanked the gods for random schedules and post-bloody-mission breaks.
It wasn't that she didn't like Ino, she mused as she shimmied into her underwear and bra (no wrappings for her!), she just valued privacy and quiet and peace of mind. Which were impossible to attain when you lived with busty, loud, loud, obnoxious, loud, gossipy blonde woman.
Sakura slunk into the kitchen to make tea and toast and hoped hard to the heavens that Ino wouldn't encourage her to hit the bars and "find a real man" with her that evening. Veritably every night (not just shared weekends, the woman was that earnest) since Sakura's 21st birthday – which had been a disaster of epic proportions, thanks to none other than the blonde loudmouth herself – had been a struggle of going out or staying in.
Sakura snorted as she filled the kettle with water and set it on the flaming gas stove.
"I'm a ninja, not a little girl," she murmured. When Sakura thought about crushes, she thought about being twelve years old and sixteen years old and longing for Sasuke and knowing deep, deep in her heart she would never ever make him want her back. Or make him come back. When Sakura thought about love, she thought about Naruto and being best friends and worrying and worrying about the safety of her teammates and her now-dead mother and father. Sakura didn't need love from a boyfriend, but Ino did. She was just projecting her wants onto Sakura, that was the polite thing to do.
"I'm not a child," she said, she whispered into the morning and the teakettle. "I'm not lonely," she said, she soothed her nerves and her mind; even though she absolutely was lonely.
Sakura sat at her stained wood table (she bought that table by herself, with her own money, it was hers) in her half of a tired, lonely kitchen in a lonely apartment at six o'clock in the morning. She sat and stared into her old mug of steamy green tea and at the tiny specks of tea leaf at the bottom – all clustered together into a blobby face that stared right back at her.
Into her soul.