Summary: Sai and his artistic take on our favourite sensei and student.
Rating: K+
Genre: Romance/Friendship
Rose on Ivory
It's strange, the way they circle one another, cautious yet hasty, restrained yet unfettered.
As an artist, Sai is trained to notice these subtleties, nuances that complete a perfect painting. Whether or not he himself possesses emotions is a different matter; paintings only come to life when emotions are captured, passion splayed on canvas with every stroke of the brush.
He doesn't usually name his paintings, but there is a title on the tip of his tongue, something he knows will suit them the couple perfectly. He can't quite place his ink-splattered paintbrush on it though.
He decides to observe them more closely.
If he were to compare them to fire, Sakura would be quick-burning tinder – quick to ignite but also quick to abate. Anything can cause her to spark up in anger and passion: an obnoxious voice, a persistent enemy, a bored look on someone's face, or even a genuine attempt at a friendly nickname… (Sai still doesn't understand why she holds a grudge against him for that to this day. After all, he's made progress with Ino's nickname.)
On the other hand, Kakashi would be a large log, wholly unresponsive to most stimuli, but when he catches on fire, the embers take much longer to subside. Sai has seen this in his anger towards Sasuke,
He is constant where she is variable, sturdy where she is malleable, unrelenting where she is forgiving. But at the same time, she refuses to submit herself to him, and there is an initial struggle of power before they lapse into a comfortable compromise, in which they are equals.
They keep their relationship a secret for now, and Sai can respect that. He's probably the only one who's caught on by now: of the people closest to them, Naruto is too slow to notice anything out of the norm, and Yamato would deny it to the ends of the earth if he was asked about it. Now that the war is over, they are viewed more as comrades than as sensei and pupil; there would be little, if any, stigma were they to be less subtle with their relationship.
But perhaps it is less of what others would think, and more of their inherent personalities. They do not seek the attention, and they do not need anybody's approval. They are both quiet souls – yes, even Sakura, after all she has gone through during the war – when it comes to personal matters.
Out of peacetime boredom, he watches them sometimes through the eyes of his ink animals, intrigued by the pair: there is a dichotomy between them, but also a sort of uniformity. Their hands fit together like puzzle pieces when they think nobody is around, their heads bump together tenderly. They go out at night, meeting on rooftops and secluded havens like their nearly-secret grove in the forest.
Tonight they meet on top of the Hokage's monument, perched on the cliff with their legs dangling over the edge. Their hands are entwined and their thighs touch. Their heads are tilted towards one another, and Sakura leans against him, moulding her figure to his, seeking the body heat he provides on the breezy night. In his own apartment, Sai watches from the eyes of an inky mouse sitting behind them, the tip of his paintbrush poised on the canvas, prepared to take the first stroke. But the moment is not yet ripe.
They stay like this for quite some time in gentle silence, overlooking the village in which their lives have and continue to unfold. A real mouse discovers Sai's animation, whiskers twitching curiously.
Then Sakura's face turns to her lover, angled upwards with parted lips and closed eyes. Kakashi too, turns; his masked lips meet hers. The brilliance of the moon against a faintly-twinkling velvet sky is a sight to behold; in the foreground, a breeze teases the tendrils of Sakura's pink hair, making it fan out onto Kakashi's subdued silver.
There. Perfect.
Sai memorizes the scene, dark eyes closing briefly as the first stroke of his paintbrush meets the empty canvas. His brush moves quickly, a practiced speed that was learned through battle and desperation. The picture begins to appear, the muted hues, grays and blues predominating, shadows plentiful compared to the one source of light, the moon. Gentle but certain lines frame their entwined figures; soft, creased cloth encases their bodies.
And the last splash of colour surprises the artist himself.
Sakura's hair comes out brighter, more vibrant than he has intended, and although the silvery mess that is Kakashi's hair pales in comparison, it serves as a warm complement, a serene background that is subtly alive.
Unconsciously, Sai's lips curve upwards. He dispels his inky mouse, surprising its furry companion, as Kakashi begins to pry Sakura's vest off, their kiss growing deeper. Sai's work here is done, and for once he has a name for it.
Rose on Ivory.