The sun is shining brightly through the window. It's a brand new day. I'm lying in bed, barely waking up. Oh, joy: I just had a dream within a dream! Well, that wasn't so bad. At least I don't have to explain such an awkward situation to everyone in Konoha – you know, about how I had a crazy sex dream about my ex-sensei and had to talk with him about it to prevent myself from having a fucking panic attack, only to realize that people were talking about me behind my back anyway and so I went to Kakashi for advice because he's so awesome and ended up having sex with him for six hours – because it never happened!
I should probably just forget about the dream and get dressed, shouldn't I? I turn around to find my clothes and realize that I'm not in my own room. Then where the hell am I? I look on the bed to find my clothes neatly piled on the bed, folded nicely… wait a second. I would never do that! Who the –?
"Breakfast is served," Kakashi announces, entering the room clad in absolutely nothing but his boxers and carrying two bowls of miso soup. I am SO not used to looking at him like that. This entire situation is suddenly becoming too real, even for me. "Here," he says, handing me a bowl.
I reluctantly take it from him and ponder something. If I'm awake now, then I'm actually here, and if I'm here, that means that… "Kakashi, did we have sex last night?"
The bowl in his hands stops before it reaches his lips as he eyes me warily. "You don't remember? As far as I could tell, you weren't drunk –"
"Of course I wasn't drunk, I don't drink!" I snap. Oh god, I feel sick… "I'm sorry, Kakashi. I just had a terrible nightmare, and I'm not sure if I'm still in it or not," I explain, rubbing my sore head.
"Was the sex really that bad?" he asks with a pained wince.
"From what I remember, it was… amazing," I stammer wistfully, remembering how he felt inside of me. His cock fit perfectly, like a missing puzzle piece. And I couldn't have asked for him to be a better lover; his performance was incredible.
"Then what's the problem, Sakura?"
Upon hearing my name, I look up at him. So that's what his matter-of-fact expression looks like behind the mask. Interesting. "You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?" I ask him.
"Are you?"
I become nauseous as the wretched twisting of my stomach swells, the guilt literally growing inside of my body. If the rumors were bad enough about me before I even did anything, I don't even want to think about what would happen if people knew the truth. "Well, I – I don't think it would be wise…" I admit.
"Well, you do whatever you think is best," he assures me, sipping his soup.
I sigh. He still doesn't know that I love him, and that most of what I've done in the past twenty-four hours has been because of that, along with the dream I had about him, which is also unknown to him. I feel like such a horrible person. If only I could admit to him what I've barely been able to cope with myself...
His warm hand rests on my shoulder. "Listen, Baby, don't beat yourself up about this. If you don't ever want to do this again, we don't have to. Just know that I'm ok with whatever happens, and that I'll always be there for you no matter what. It's what I'm here for." And with that, he takes his empty bowl back to the sink to wash it.
I feel frozen, paralyzed. I can't even eat my soup. Why am I denying what I know exists? You love him, you moron. Now get the fuck over yourself and your pride and just tell him already! You already slept with him; what's the point of being ashamed of it?
Kakashi returns to take my bowl and notices that I still haven't touched it. "Sakura, Sweetheart," he breathes, sitting next to me on the bed. "Do you want me to take you home?"
"Yes," I blurt. "I mean, no. I mean –" I should have known that I wasn't grown up enough to handle a situation like this. I gather together every ounce of courage I can muster at this time, look him straight in the eye, and tell him: "Kakashi, I had a dream about you the other night."
"Ok," he nods.
"It was a sex dream," I clarify.
"Ok." Nothing shocks him.
I'm on a roll, so I might as well tell him the last part. "And I want you to know that I love you."
He pauses, his eyes wide with surprise. "Oh, dear…" he mutters, looking down at the floor. "It's worse than I thought."
My heart stops. I ponder the implications as he sits beside me, just as stiff as I had been moments before. "You don't love me, do you?" I ask him.
"No," he states firmly. "I do love you. And that's what worries me."