Personally, Sasuke thought she was crazy.
She would be there every night, standing completely still, just uselessly staring up at the streetlight outside his house. Her back would always be facing him, a plain white circle on a red shirt like a large eye that watched him while he watched her. She would never move, never even scratch her head, shuffle her feet, bring an arm up to her face to sneeze into it. He expected her to do something; anything to tell him why she was there, staring up at the light that had probably blinded her by now.
But she never did, and he was left to stare at her and wonder.
WHO ARE YOU? Sasuke wanted to scream at her.
Where did you come from?
Do you have a family?
Are you even real?
Sometimes, he would make a life for her. He would pretend her name was Yuuki, and that she was sort of pretty and had blue, blue eyes that always sparkled, that could sparkle the life back into someone. He would pretend that Yuuki lived in the northern part of town, and that she lost her family to a traitor she thought she loved, just like him. Yuuki's favorite food was umeboshi, and she could eat it all day every day and never get sick, just like he would never get sick of tomatoes.
Or maybe she was Renge, a quiet, introverted girl who lived six blocks away. Renge's mother died giving birth to her, leaving her with a father who was heavily involved in his business and had neither time nor patience to deal with his teenage daughter. Renge talked very little, ate very little, and would shy away if you touched her.
Maybe she was Mizu, a spunky street urchin who had no knowledge of who she was, or where she came from, or her family. All she knew was that she was most certainly real.
When he went to bed, across the room from the window that was too high up for him to see the girl anymore, he would go over what he did know about her in his head. She had bubblegum pink hair, a sickeningly sweet shade one only saw in cotton candy dreams, cut off at her shoulders in a jagged way that made it look like it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. She wore a tanktop the color of blood from a fresh cut, with the plain white circle-eye on the back. A black skirt that ended in the middle of her thighs—and she was always barefoot; Sasuke would briefly worry how badly her feet were cut up.
Cars never passed, considering the once-thriving section of town that used to house the many Uchiha was now thought of as haunted, so he couldn't see if cars would pass straight through her. Maybe if he went outside one night and touched her, his hand would go right through her, confirming his suspicions that she was some type of ghost that only he would ever be able to see.
That though almost gave him comfort; like she was his and his only. At this, he laughed—if she were indeed Mizu, he could visualize her hollering about only belonging to herself. He would simply tell her that he was entitled to dream.
One particular night, insomnia wracked at Sasuke's brain, eventually forcing him to go down to his kitchen to make some tea and eat some tomatoes, and saw her.
She was performing her nightly ritual and standing stationary in the middle of the street, head slightly tilted up to gaze at the gleaming streetlight towering above her.
She was so wrapped up in her strange activity that she didn't notice the flash of silver lightning, fleetingly illuminating her surroundings and casting eerie shadows across her body, or the fearsome roar of thunder with enough sheer force to shake the abandoned, rickety estates in the Uchiha compound. And if she did notice these, she paid them no mind, even when freezing rain started pounding down in a torrential frenzy, beating upon her skin like lashes of a steel whip.
Sasuke, however, did.
And so, the young preteen forgot about all of his previous wonderings on whether or not she was a phantom or some projection of his imagination, hastily threw on a coat and shoes, and dashed outside.
As he approached her, he reached for her wrist, and to his own astonishment, connected. The skin was slick, cool and wet, but surprisingly solid.
So she isn't a ghost after all.
He took no time to look at her face as he led her through the frigid rain, eventually reaching the protection of his porch, and then, the warmth of his own home.
He bent over, hands on his knees, trying desperately to replace the air that had left his lungs in his pursuit to bring her inside. Blinking at the water his dripping body pooled on the hardwood floors, he felt the odd sensation of being gazed at, and looked up.
Her beauty was cherubic, a kind of innocent purity that the angels themselves grumbled enviously over. She had tickle-me-pink, cupid's-bow lips that were closed into a slight pout of surprise, and she had a button nose that was slightly upturned in a cute, childish way.
Her face was memorably pretty, he remarked to himself; of course, this was before he looked into her eyes.
The only other thing he could remember from that particular moment was green. Sparkling, gleaming, vivacious green that would melt the north pole in an instant. Every time she blinked, a tiny piece of his heart would crack and fall off, because then he would miss even a split second of those hauntingly bright eyes.
Her eyes weren't a dark chocolate like Mizu's, or a dull hazel like Renge's, they weren't even close to Yuuki's sparkling, blue blue eyes. Her eyes had a power a million times stronger that would bring even the devil straight to his knees.
Of course, Sasuke was not the devil, so he was even more subject to this young girl's arresting face, which he was not prepared for in the least.
He tore his eyes from hers after a lot of mental insistence and looked her up and down. She was soaked, even more so than he, and her arms were frozen at her sides, her feet close together. He thought she almost looked like her eyes would roll back into her head and she would drop in a dead faint at any second. Oh well.
He took off his shoes, followed by his coat which he threw over the edge of a nearby chair. He walked silently to the kitchen in his bare feet, picking up the teapot he forgot about and finding it still warm, to his own delight. Thoughtlessly getting out another cup, he poured it for the both of them and took it out to the living room, where she still stood immobile. He handed her a cup and she took it shyly, putting a palm under it so as not to let it slip through her wet fingers.
When he came back from the kitchen with the plate of tomatoes in one hand and his own cup in the other, she was still standing in the middle of the room, the steaming cup in her hands and staring at him owlishly.
"Sit," he grumbled, and after a second, she complied.
She sat on the floor.
With a grunt of annoyance, Sasuke pulled a random blanket off the back of the sofa and laid it down before pulling her up off the floor and sitting her down on it. He nodded with satisfaction, turning and padding across the the chair against the eastern wall and sitting down, picking up his teacup.
Letting the scorching fluid wash down hit throat, he fixed her with an awkward stare.
She wasn't Mizu. That was for sure. She was too damn quiet for that—Sasuke had decided three weeks ago that Mizu would have been chatting his ear off if he'd ever gather the courage to talk to her. She didn't seem like Yuuki, either, because Yuuki was bright and cheerful, and also rather talkative, though often calm and docile.
She could be Renge. Maybe Renge would be sitting ramrod straight, so careful not to let her damp back touch the back of the clean blanket. Maybe she would be holding her cup like that, perfectly cradled in her tiny hands, not a drop sipped.
But Renge probably wouldn't be looking him straight in the eye, blinking owlishly as she waited for him to move, say, do.
So, she wasn't Mizu, or Yuuki, or not even Renge, so who was she?
"Who are you?" It slipped from his lips before he could catch it, and covering his mouth would seem undignified, so he played it off like he'd meant to say it anyway.
She blinked. Looked down at her teacup. Sighed the smallest sigh he'd ever noticed. Did not answer.
A spark of agitation flickered into his stare. Who was this child, not answering questions asked? Not speaking when spoken to? Sasuke hated that—hated it even more now.
"I said, who are you?" he ground out, careful to keep his voice contented enough not to scare the poor creature.
"S-Sak—ura." This time she answered immediately. Sasuke noted her stutter and mid-word hesitation, almost as if she was unsure. He wondered if she had no idea who she was, and had chosen the name herself. Sakura does seem like an obvious enough choice. Fitting.
She then took not a sip, but a gulp of her hot tea, swallowing hardly and focusing melancholy green eyes on the rippling copper liquid. Her pinky began to tremble.
"Why do you come out every night?"
She jumped, and for a moment, Sasuke was afraid she would drop her tea all over the place, but her hand steadied, though her breathing did not. Once again, she failed to answer, and a word flashed past his mind's eye—annoying—before he calmed himself, and looked her straight in the bright green eye.
"Every night, you come out and stare at that streetlight, no matter the weather. I want to know why."
And again, there were obvious signs of her discomfort. She fidgeted, her eyes twitched from place to place (but never resting on him), and he watched her fingers tap on the teacup. And just when he thinks she will not answer, she breathes, and opens her lips. He watches her patiently.
"I..."
Still, he watches. Her lips are full, he notices again. Perfect.
(kissable)
"I was taking a walk through the Uchiha district one night a year ago. I...remember the night. It was summer..."
He remembered.
"...Yes, it was summer. The fireflies were out...and there was one...he flew around me and landed on my nose, then pushed off and fluttered up towards the light." She motioned this with her fingers, delicate limbs poking the air and rising upwards, like plinking the keys of a piano on its side. "And then I saw the light."
At this point, she looks him right in the eye, black to green, obsidian to emerald, boy to girl, soul to soul.
"It was just so beautiful, I couldn't look away. And I still can't, these days." Now, she looks back at her tea, and Sasuke mourns the loss of her eye contact.
"Why do you always go to the same one?" he questions. And she smiles at him, a warm, sincere smile that stretches his heart like it does her lips.
"I like consistency."
Unsurprisingly, so does he.
And every night after that, when she goes to see the light, he will bring her inside, give her tea, and ask her questions—and she will not sit on plastic covers.
So they talk. About anything, everything, and they never mince words. Now, instead of going to the streetlight every night, she will go to his house (though she will always look at it, for consistency), and he will realize.
She is not Yuuki, or Renge, or Mizu. She never will be. Instead, she is Sakura. Sakura has green eyes and a nice life and her parents love her and she just talks, not happily, or angrily, or passionately, she will just talk and talk about anything. Will not tolerate silence, and that is good for him, his mother would say. And he is content to listen, because she is Sakura.
He probably couldn't have loved Yuuki anyway.
Yes, yes, yes. I have been writing this since last August. I dropped it, and then, when I was looking for something AU so Justin could read my writing and actually understand it yesterday, I came upon this. Curly-haired brat coaxed me to finish it. Yes, that was an enlightening day. :D