A/N A small little fluff fic for KakaSaku. Kakashi is totally out of character and Sakura is still oblivious to his innate hotness. Also: it's Kakashi's POV even though his name's never stated directly. Also also, I haven't acually read or seen enough Naruto to make them seem anything like they are for real, even though this is one of my favorite pairings! Um, Sakura's definitely over 18. Kakashi isn't a child-molester. Usually.
And I can't place it in any continuity - just some time in the future when they are relatively close.
"You deserve so much more than him."
She smiles, lips parting, teeth glistening. "That's what so many people tell me," she whispers, looking up, her eyes shining and her lashes dewy. She is so perfect looking, in this instant. Clouds release the sun from their suffocating pallor, and it bursts triumphantly from the skies, turning everything hazy and painfully white, slicing through the window in her room and racing to her feet, her legs, her waist, her breast, her shoulders, her lips- now her nose, her fine eyebrows, her brilliant hair. The light strikes her, and traps her in frozen time, a glowing statue. Her skin is made of rose quartz, her eyes inlaid with green jade, flecked with glittering emeralds. Her lips and her cheek are brushed with ruby dust, her teeth are moist pearls. There she stands, her left leg slightly buckled with her weight as her right one bends lazily, her elbows resting behind her on her desk, covering papers and bubble-gum wrappers. The shadow of her profile curves, contorts, makes strange patterns on the floor, writhing tortuously and making its way close, and then darts, escaping to the wall, finally, painfully disappearing out the window.
The moment passes, and once again she is a sad, rather petite girl, with eyes wiser than their years and a heart bruised and torn. "How old are you?"
Surprise. Startled. Confused. "I've been nineteen for two months," she says in a cautious, broken voice. It is the same voice children have when, after crying for several hours over a spilled milkshake, look suspiciously upon an ice cream cone, unsure of whether to be sufficiently distracted or to hold out until the cake and sweets appear. She sniffs.
"Already?"
"What do you mean, already? And how old are you, I'd like to know!" a spark flies, solitary, behind her eyes, leaving as soon as it has come. But it is enough, for now, and she is already distracted, as if she wanted the diversion all along.
"Do you really want to know?" She comes so close, her eyes round in not-quite-healed curiosity, tears still threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. A strawberry lock marrs a perfect pale slope; she brushes the strand aside impatiently and tucks it behind her exquisite ear. "I'm…" She comes closer, ever so eager. "I'm…" And now color has returned to her lovely cheeks. She nods encouragingly.
"I'm…old enough." A snort, and with that she is gone, rocking back on her heels and plopping on her bed, grumbling about something. But there is a smile painting her lips, and it is worth the provocation.
"I think I can do better than him," she says conversationally from the bed, her voice muffled from the pillows she buried her head in. "He's so handsome, though," a sigh, a wistful daydream, a summer day full of fancy.
"Sometimes looks aren't enough."
"I just feel so stupid, pining after him all this time like some…some little girl!" an echo of passion. An undertone of despair.
"You can't help who you love."
"I don't even think it was that. If it was love I think…I think things would've been different." She sits up, gazes out the window. There is a single tree, and its leaves fall leisurely to the ground.
"How so?" She remains silent for a moment, following the path of a particularly adventurous leaf which finally landed some feet away from its brethren near the base of the tree.
"I would have wanted to just...talk with him, you know? No, not in the everyday way, but in a - a different way. Like -" Her mouth opens, but then she shuts it, blushing furiously. Her breathing quickens. She looks up once again, and this time her eyes muddled, a passionate, rich green, and she gets up. "I need some time alone, okay? Thanks bye!"
A last whiff of her scent, a last glance at the wonderful curve of her thigh, and then the door, frigid and matronly, smelling strongly of baking soda. "Sakura." Nothing. "Sakura." A caught breath and then a strange sensation of loss.
"I'll always be here. Always." The words are a comfort, but bounce off the door, echo down the hallway, frolic down the stairs, dance into the street. There is nothing but the sharp intake of her breath, her chest surely rising and falling in quick succession. The door opens, sunlight pours into the hall and with it her golden, shining arms. They burn to the touch, but with such a sweetness it doesn't matter. There is only her, her smell, her smoothness, her breath, her tears.
"I know," comes out in a breathy whisper. "Always."
Lulzy leaves. tell me about anything I can do to make my next one better!