love at first sight
theeflowerchild
dix
Sasuke doesn't hate himself, but that doesn't stop him from punishing himself.
He hates liquor. It burns like fire down his throat, and the bitter aftertaste is unpleasant and painful. The smell reminds him of the hospital, and brings him closer to vomiting than he'd like. He'll never admit it, especially not to Naruto, be he's just too sensitive and too easily nauseated for liquor. His least favorite is whiskey.
So, he takes a shot. Tennessee Honey is supposed to be sweet and mild, but it's syrupy and strong. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, and clenches his jaw as it sits in his mouth for too long, and then forces itself down his throat. The feeling of disgust is enough to make him sick, but the taste tickles his stomach in a place he's sure he doesn't like.
When it's finally done, and down, and the burn still permeates and the taste still pervades, he opens his eyes and greets the crowd. The lights around him are flashing too brightly, but nothing is nearly blurry enough, yet. The music is too loud, and it's a genre he doesn't quite care for. Suigetsu's howl of a laugh is annoying, and too close to his ear.
"Man, this party is dope," Suigetsu yells over the music and the voices and the party Sasuke never wanted to go to.
Sasuke shrugs, and pours himself another shot. Without thinking—because he can't think, he can't let himself give in until he's loopy and disgusted with himself and perhaps enough drinks can help him forget about pink and green and beautiful ballerina girls that he knows he can't have—he takes it, and slams it down on the table. "It's alright," he says.
Suigetsu laughs again, raucous and loose. "Come on, man! Babes, music, free booze—what's there not to like? This is paradise."
No, Sasuke thinks. Paradise is not this party, paradise is not these women throwing themselves at him, or these men drinking more than they know they can to impress them, or each other. Paradise is not the sting of whiskey, or the smell of cigarettes he's itching for—he's quitting, he's trying to, really. Paradise is not this life that he should be having.
Sasuke chooses not to hypothesize what paradise is, though, because he already knows. He knows and he takes another shot.
"Man, you're putting those back a little quickly, aren't you?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, even though he's too many beers in and too many shots past Sasuke to be questioning anybody's choices. Suigetsu was always better with his liquor, anyway. "Take your time with it, wouldn't want you to get sick, like the old days—"
Sasuke remembers late nights in his dorm with Suigetsu and Naruto, listening to disgusting stories about nameless women, breaking rules and pulling stupid pranks. Sasuke remembers laughing, and drinking too much, and vomiting into trash cans until all he saw was black. "Fuck off."
Suigetsu laughs again and shakes his head. "Oh, relax. Wouldn't want that pretty little head of yours to get all upset—"
"I'm going to have a cigarette," Sasuke cuts him off, and makes a beeline for the door with a long sigh. He can only take Suigetsu in doses.
The early spring night is cool when he exits the party, and all he can hear is the soft hum of the bass through the closed windows. He pulls out a cigarette from his pocket, and lights up.
The patio is dimly lit by a light overhead, but it could be pitch black and Sasuke would know exactly where he was. This was the party, only a few months ago, that he met Sakura for the first time.
He had caught her across the floor where she swam in a pretty sundress too light for the winter air, drinking a can of coke—she was underage, but he hadn't known that. She was ethereal, and beautiful, and lit up the floor brighter than any strobe light. It had been almost four months since he had met her, and four months since she hadn't been in his mind.
A similar feeling settles in his stomach not unlike the first night he laid eyes on her, whether from the nostalgia or the simple thought of her, he's not sure. He remembers hearing her voice for the first time, the gentle lull of a song he'd love to hear for the rest of his life, right on this patio. He remembers her silly, too big peacoat, and the playfulness of her endearing smile. He remembers the way his heartbeat was almost painfully quick, and the damp clamminess of his hands in the freezing air. He remembers feeling like his life was changing before his eyes. He's still not sure if she's a cure or a curse.
Uneasiness settles over him as his cigarette dies on his lips. He throws it on the ground and digs his shoe into it for good measure, and slips back into the party. He needs another drink.
Somehow, it's greater and louder when he steps back in; it's overflowing with people, and the thick stench of alcohol. There isn't enough room for the crowd to part for him, so he nudges and pushes through until he's almost back at the liquor table, ready for another shot he's not ready for.
That's when he sees her.
He has to take a second look, because he wouldn't put it past himself to create her out of thin air, to look for her wherever he is so desperately—because he wants her so fucking badly—enough that he'd mistake somebody else for her. Not everybody has pink hair, though, and not everybody is that short, and tiny, and delicate, and he'd know her if he saw her, anyway, because she's all he fucking thinks about—
It's her; it's her by the length of her cropped, pink hair, to her dainty stature, to the flow of her floral dress, all the way down to her pigeon-toed feet. He knows if she turned around, all he would see is eyes as green as grass as green as gemstones as green as mint leaves, and a smile that never truly vacates his mind.
He has to get out of here.
He pushes through a little harsher, and settles on the liquor table, but Suigetsu is gone. His eyes narrow, and a tiny growl rips through his throat that the music drowns out easily. He has to find him, and they have to leave.
It's too crowded, though, and the lights have been lowered significantly. The music is loud, and distracting, and cloud of smoke is both tempting and nauseating. He looks over the sea of people for silver hair, or for the sound of a laugh that's more of a howl, but he finds nothing.
He narrows his eyes, and sighs loudly. He reaches behind himself, pours another shot, and takes it without so much as a twitch.
The music is becoming more strangled as each minute passes, and the people are becoming blurrier. Sakura is here, and he can't find Suigetsu, and knowing his luck, Sakura will find him before he can find the door.
He counts his lucky stars, and makes a dive into the crowd. A few women stop him and ask him for a dance that he not so kindly declines, and he keeps his eyes wide for his friend. He says a few distracted hello's to people whose names he can't remember, and keeps away from the pinkette whose name he can't get out of his head.
Everything is moving too quickly, though, and Suigetsu is nowhere to be seen. He can't hear anything over the boom of music, and his eyes are too shaded by the thick lenses of one too many drinks. He can't imagine finding him any time soon.
But right when he thinks his luck is out, and he's about to turn around and say good riddance to his loser of a friend, anyway, he hears his voice. He hears Suigetsu's voice like nails on a chalkboard, like a baby crying in a restaurant, like whiskey in a shot glass and turns around with sound of relief.
"Yeah, babe, really, I'm a doctor!" the idiot says, his arm around a girl, and the grin on his face could swallow shit like a vacuum. "I work over at Sound Medical Hospital, on my way to heading my own department—I got a real future, you know?" He wiggles his eyebrows, and Sasuke finds him disgusting.
He's here, though, and they can leave. Relief floods over his body like a drag from his cigarette; he could almost smile.
He takes a step forward, the smoke clears, and Sasuke realizes whom the girls is. Sasuke has no lucky stars to count, he thinks as his heart falls to his stomach, and his stomach falls to his ass, and his ass hits the ground where he feels like he should be. Suddenly, the music becomes distant, and everything around him is suffocating him like little tiny fingers wrapped around his hot skin. It's too hot—far too hot in here, he realizes.
"Oh my god," he whispers, not like anybody can hear him. "Oh my fucking god." He'd be angry if there weren't so many people around, but he settles for curse words under his breath and a frown that could instill fear in a vicious dragon.
Sakura doesn't see him at first, of course, and he's not sure if he should be disappointed or relieved. He could easily turn around right now, make a way toward the door without a word and she'd never have known he was there. He could avoid her without consequence, and make believe like he'd never avoided her and ran away in the first place. He needs air.
But she looks uncomfortable, he thinks with a frown. She doesn't look as pretty when she's laughing so nervously, and fidgeting with her feet. She's much more beautiful when her smile is more honest than pressing, and her stature is more confident than troubled. She doesn't want Suigetsu touching her, and Sasuke is a weak, disgusting man, but he's not a man that lets young girls get harassed.
He clears his throat, but it's left unheard over the music. He stutters with his feet, but he takes a step forward. It takes him a moment to find his voice, but when he does it's much less confident and far softer than intended. "What are you doing, Suigetsu?"
Suigetsu turns, and his grin widens. He's drunk, drunker than he should be, as drunk as everybody else at this party, and it sobers Sasuke more than he'd like. "Ay, Sasuke, man! What's up?"
Sakura turns at the sound of his name with a raised eyebrow, and a frown. Her eyes narrow before widening as realization overcomes her. It makes his heart beat too quickly for his liking. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish for a few moments, before she says, "Uchiha-sama?"
Sasuke chooses to ignore her, focusing on the task at hand. "Suigetsu, get off of her. Can't you tell she's uncomfortable?"
"Yo, Sasuke, chill," he says, and doesn't let go. "I know she's cute, but there are a million other girls here. Can't you find someone else?" he asks, and nudges him away with a nod. Sasuke pushes aside the disturbing thought that Suigetsu has good taste.
He persists, and his frown is menacing. It's a relief to see her more surprised than shaking, now, but the idea of her in another man's arms is enough to rattle him, anyway. "Suigetsu, leave her alone," he says, and takes a step forward, an implication.
"Sasuke, chill," he repeats, insists. He raises his one hand in defense, and his raised eyebrow is more in curiosity than surprise.
Where Sasuke finds he should be angry, he simply sighs. He feels his hand twitch beside him, itching to push the son of a bitch he calls a friend, and if Sasuke were drunker, maybe he would, but logic tells him that Suigetsu is too far gone to realize his errors. Carefully, he says, "Suigetsu, look at her."
Suigetsu grins in turn. "Oh, I have been—"
"Suigetsu," his words are a dare, and his voice is steel. "She's obviously underage."
He turns to look at the girl quickly, dumbly. It takes Suigetsu a moment to process the information, but when he does, his eyes widen, and his jaw slackens. He releases Sakura within a second, and shakes his head. "Whoa, girl, look at the time—it was nice talking to you, gotta go, see you later, I'll be around here somewhere, Sasuke—" and he's gone within a few seconds in a crowd of drunken mistakes and sorry smiles. When he passes by Sasuke's ear, he whispers a rushed thank you with a grin that makes his blood boil.
When Suigetsu is finally gone, and the urge to hit him has he released, Sasuke takes a moment to look at Sakura, really. The surprise painted on her face is tempting, and her hair is a little messier than normal. Her eyes are a dark, forest green in this dim lighting, and her dress is pretty and flattering.
He should have known from the moment that Suigetsu brought up the party that nobody was ever on his side, and that she would be here. He should have known that anything that could go wrong would. He should have known better.
She is the first to break the silence. Her smile is pretty, and makes his stomach flop. He shouldn't have drank this much, he thinks, but regretting seven shots is the only thing you do after seven shots. "Thank you," she says, loud enough for him to hear, but soft enough to make his heart twitch.
He nods his head. "It's no problem," he says, because it isn't. He wonders if it were another girl would he have done the same thing.
"He was…" she purses her lips, "your friend?"
Sasuke grinds his teeth, and shakes his head. "Right now? No."
The curve of her lips into an amused smile makes him feel like jelly. "Thank you," she repeats.
He shrugs, and runs a hand through his messy hair. He's not sure how to respond, doesn't know what to say—he'd do anything for her, there's no need to thank him; he probably would have hit Suigetsu for her if the problem had continued, not that she would ever know that. Instead, he asks quickly, without filter, "What are you doing here?"
She looks shocked for a moment at his bluntness, but her smile returns. "What do you mean?"
"Everybody here is almost…" he pauses, and swallows. "Almost ten years older than you. You're underage. Why are you here?"
She mouths an "o," before shaking her head. "Do you know Sasori?"
Sasuke raises an eyebrow. "I do."
"He's my older brother," she says, then corrects herself. "Step-brother. I know you guys are a lot older," he feels his stomach turn for the worst, "but he throws these parties, my friends are really into them, and I'm sort of their only way of getting in…" she trails off.
He nods his head, understanding. The lights are suddenly too bright, and the music is suddenly too loud, nudging his inner ear like a sharp sword, ready to pierce through almost painfully. She's too far away, but she's too close. Her voice is endearing even over the loud music, even when she's almost yelling at him, and it makes him twitch to be here. "I see." She looks out of place in this kind of setting, from the bubblegum hair to the floral she dresses herself in. A faerie like her doesn't belong in a swamp like this. "I hope you enjoy yourself," he offers.
"You too," she says, and smiles again. "You seem to be having fun…?"
"Sure," he says, but it's dishonest. He doesn't know what to say, so after a moment he offers, "I have to get going. My… friend can't quite take care of himself." He doesn't even have the energy to be embarrassed. "It was nice seeing you, Sakura."
"You too, Uchiha-sama." The distant, formal use of his last name hurts for some reason; makes his heart twist and turn. She nods, and begins to pass him and when she does, she touches his wrist gently, perhaps little too tightly. She looks up at him with eyes that make his stomach hurt. "I'll see you tomorrow," she says, and walks into the crowd.
It takes him a moment to realize she let go, frozen in the spaces where her fingers met his wrist. When she's gone, he nearly crumbles. His arm burns like a trail of whiskey on his skin, and her youth is too evident in his eyes.
He leaves without Suigetsu. He catches the nearest subway even if it isn't direct, and steps into the cool air that isn't cool enough. He's too sober, too tired, and the words "a lot older" ring in his ears like funeral bells in a small town.
It's enough for Sasuke to contemplate their age gap, but to hear those words leave her lips hurts him like a knife to the gut. If he were a different man, he'd cry. He rests his elbows on his knees as he sits, and places his face in the palm of his hands. His forehead is damp with sweat, and he smells cigarettes and alcohol and party on his clothes.
He wants to scream. He can't pull his hair hard enough, and the grinding of his teeth brings him no pleasure. What feels like hours are seconds that pass and the train is prompting him to get off, to switch so he can go home, but he doesn't. He rides the train to the end, and then back, and then back again.
Hours pass, and his stomach doesn't settle. The car is empty by four AM and his phone has ceased it's vibrations from his friend he left stranded. He wonders if Suigetsu went back to Sakura. He wonders who the fuck is out there that would allow such a coincidence, such a travesty to happen; he wonders why nothing can ever go his way, why he ever had to talk Suigetsu out of sexually harassing Sakura, why he ever had to see her at that party, why he ever had to fucking meet her in the first place. He wonders why any God would present him with something so lovely that he cannot have. Loving Sakura is a mistake.
Nothing ever goes right in his life, he thinks, and he's not sure why.
By five AM, Sasuke transfers and takes his own train home. He's too tired to think about little girls that are too young or lecherous doctors that are too old. He just thinks about how awfully well the colors blue and pink settle together.
By the time Sasuke is home, it's almost time for work, but he's not tired. He finds Suigetsu strewn across his couch in a position he's sure he couldn't figure out sober. He checks his breathing before changing, grabbing his coat and leaving without a second thought.
He's too eternally tired to feel the sting of one night of no sleep, too exponentially exhausted to taste any whiskey left on his tongue. He lights up a cigarette on the sidewalk and hopes the smell masks the shame; this is a warm burn, the leaves taste like tea and tar, and it makes his blood feel like warm milk. Every time Sasuke looks to put the pack down, something happens to make him pick it right back up again.
He sighs loudly, and feels too old, feels like the last thing he wants to feel. He's sure that if he looked in the mirror right now, he'd look ancient, older than what he is. He has rings under his eyes that simulate an age many years past him, and crows feet from long nights spent up late, studying medical textbooks and smoking tobacco. Sasuke wishes he were ten years younger for the wrong reasons, anyway. He doesn't wish for the fountain of youth—he wishes for Sakura.
The sun rises in hues of lavenders, and yellows, and pinks, and he hates it. He hates the gentle sweetness of pastels in the morning sky, hates the shadows they cast on the foliage the city planted only a few years ago to make the place greener. He hates the roundness of the sun, and how small it makes the world seem before his very eyes. It makes everything seem so simple; it makes everything seem like a big, huge lie. He hates how nature makes him feel like anything is possible, when it isn't.
Spitefully, he litters his cigarette onto the ground in front of the hospital when he's finished.
He enters the hospital, and is greeted by the main secretary. The elevator ride up to his floor is empty, much to his delight, and it seems the nurses' station isn't as busy as usual when he enters through his doors. They all greet him, and smile, and they're almost all young and pretty. He nods, and picks up the stack of files one of them hands him, and walks back toward his office. He passes exam rooms, and supply closets, all the way to the back of the hallway, and enters his domain with a slam of his door.
The day is lengthy, but short. He shares lunch with Naruto, and is sure he'll meet him later for dinner, too. There aren't any special emergencies, and he has no surgeries today. He meets with the easier patients, the younger patients, the patients he knows how to deal with properly, and painlessly. He doesn't see much of his coworkers, and Tsunade stops by once to make sure he's ready for later that day.
Today is the day that he will begin to teach Sakura, of course, because he can never catch a break, and absolutely nothing is ever easy.
So, the clock moves slowly, and each tick and tock shudders through his chest like the vibrations of an explosion. He flips through files he's not truly reading, takes phone calls he's not really listening to, and waits for the clock to strike six. The last hour flows like molasses out of a glass jar, until he hears a knock.
He's not sure what to do at first. He freezes in his desk, and stares at the door like it's some foreign object. The frown on his face is disturbed, and annoyed, and he waits. She knocks, again, clearly a little louder, and he clears his throat.
He waits one more second before saying, "Come in."
The door opens slowly, and he's almost sure it won't be her, that this will be a nurse looking for him, and that someone is out there to make him anxious and upset, but it is. His stomach churned and his heart raced for the right reasons; she opens the door with a tiny smile on her face, swimming in pretty, baby blue scrubs and white keds, and her pink hair is pulled up into a stump of a ponytail. "Good afternoon, Uchiha-sama."
He nods. "Sakura, take a seat."
She comes in empty handed, and takes a seat at the chair closest to him. She crosses her tiny legs, and rests her elbow on the arm of the chair, and her cheek in the palm of her hand. "How are you doing today?" she asks sweetly.
He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but his mouth is far too dry; she never ceases to leave him anything less than fucked up. "Fine," he croaks, and doesn't extend the formality.
"I'm glad," she says. Silence befalls them, awkward and unpleasant, and he's almost sure she may bring up last night as small talk, as something—but she doesn't. She sits there silently, waiting, staring at the floor with her bottle green eyes. It's too kind of her, he thinks, for her to keep silent; too understanding of her to know he wouldn't want to talk about it. He's always too right about her; she's too much, she's too perfect.
"Well," he begins, and tries to swallow again. He coughs, and shakes his head. "What do you know about… the brain?"
The smile that twitches on her lips is nothing less than amused, but he doesn't pick at it. "What I learned in high school biology, I guess. The brain isn't really my center of expertise, like yours—I guess nothing really is yet, though." She laughs, like bells.
He nods his head in understanding. "So, then… We have a lot of work cut out for su," he tries, and she nods. "I can't do much with you yet."
Her smile falls. "I see." She uncrosses her legs, and looks like she's about to stand, but he calls after her. "I'll just do the readings, then—"
"Wait," he says, but he realizes he has nothing to say almost immediately. She stops in her tracks, and he wracks his brain. His hands twitch toward his files, and he fishes for something in between. "Have you ever seen an MRI?"
She almost immediately lights up. "No," she whispers.
He regrets saying anything almost immediately, because seeing her so excited, because of him, sets him off. She's too cute, and she's too, too, too much. "I—I have a patient today; he's concussed, coming in for an MRI, would you like to—"
"Yes!" she cuts him off, nearly too excited, before blushing and correcting herself. "Uh, I mean, sorry—yes, of course, Uchiha-sama."
His lips twitch up into a smile that he wishes they wouldn't. "It's not until seven, so we can assign readings now, then?"
Her smile falls only slightly, but she sits back down. "Yes, readings, sure."
The rest of the session goes too quickly for his liking, but not quickly enough, never quickly enough. She's genuinely interested, hangs on every single word he says, and she's even smarter than he could have ever believed her to be. She's not afraid to ask questions, and she reads like lightening, and it's endearing and scary all the same. She's smarter than he'll ever be, he's sure; impressively analytical with the capacity to understand greater than anybody he's ever met. He sees her in a whole different light, and it makes his heart beat even more.
She thanks him after the MRI, earnestly, and says, "I really can't wait until next week. I'll get all the readings done, I promise! Thank you, Uchiha-sama." She squeezes his wrist, and leaves the room.
Touching Sakura is still too much for him, perhaps will always be too much for him. It makes the bile settle too close to his throat, and makes him feel like he's going into cardiac arrest. He doesn't like it and loves it all the same.
When he's passing through the hallway later that day, he runs into sweet Hinata who smiles at him like he can do no wrong. "Have a good day today, Sasuke-kun?" she asks.
He shrugs. "Something like that. Keeping busy?"
"Something like that," she agrees with a light laugh. "I saw you with Sakura-san, is that true?"
He nods his head, skeptical and careful. "Yes," he says.
"What a sweet girl, she is," Hinata says, and Sasuke nearly verbalizes his agreement. Instead, he nods. "Such a smarty, too. She'll make a fine doctor, not unlike yourself."
He smirks. "If you say so."
"She was telling me about her full ride to Suna U next year," she says, and Sasuke's eyes widen. "Isn't that impressive? What a fabulous school, and for medicine, no less!"
He feels a ringing in his ears not unlike the one at the party last night. "Suna?" he asks.
Her eyes narrow slightly, and she purses her lips. "Yes, Suna. It's far, but you have to admit, it's the best school around for what she wants, though I know she's still waiting on Konoha…"
"Yes," he says, perhaps a little too quickly. He takes a step past her, and shakes his head. "Well, I best get going, it was nice seeing you, Hinata, take care—" he says, and almost runs toward his office.
"Oh, Sasuke-kun!" she calls after him, but laughs and shakes her head when he's gone. "Always in a rush, that one."
Sasuke slams his door behind him when he's finally inside, and feels his breath caught in his throat. It hurts, and his heart is beating too quickly, and he's almost sure he's having a panic attack. Everything around him is spinning like it's laced with liquor, and his fingers are twitching, and he's sliding toward the ground too quickly to catch himself.
His palms are soaked, and his hair is a mess, and he can't breathe, he can't breathe. Sakura is leaving. Sakura is going to have to go. Whatever time he has with Sakura now is it, and then Sakura is going far, far, far away, never to return. Sakura is not his, Sakura will never be his, and his relationship with her is ultimately finite.
He can't breathe, and he is in too fucking deep.
When he gets home that night, Suigetsu is rushing to pack, like he always is; too behind, always needing to catch up.
He grins like a shark when Sasuke comes in. "Saw you didn't come home last night, bud," he says, and wiggles his eyebrows.
Sasuke sighs, throws his coat over the couch, and drops his backpack on the floor. "I'm not in the mood, Suigetsu."
His smile falls, but persists almost immediately. "Whatever. You're never in the mood, 'cause you're a little bitch."
Sasuke rolls his eyes, and sits down on his couch. He crosses his legs, and watches Suigetsu rush around the room. "Running late?"
He only glares in response.
"I'd help, but I don't care," he says, and smirks. "Don't forget any of your shit here."
"Yeah, whatever—wouldn't want to come back here, anyway," he says, and pauses to shoot his friend a smile. "Before I go, I have something for you."
Sasuke raises an eyebrow in question, falling deeper into his too comfy couch. He could use a nap right about now. "Oh?"
Suigetsu pauses in actions, and reaches for something in his pocket; he yanks out his wallet, and fishes through it, recovering a small, paper card. He shoves it toward Sasuke before continuing in his search for all his shit. "Take that," he says.
Sasuke reads over it, and frowns. "Why would I need this—?"
"It's all over Orochimaru's information," he continues. "Even his cell number. He wanted me to give it to you; just hold onto it."
His frown deepens. "Suigetsu, I told you—"
"I know what you told me," he says, and he stops. He stands up straight, and the look on his face is so honest it almost strangles Sasuke. "But Orochimaru is the best damn neurologist in the world. He's made so many advances you couldn't dream it possible. He could really help you, moron; I know you're dead-set on staying in Konoha, but you should still consider that."
Sasuke swallows, and half of him thinks to rip up the card, but he places it in his pocket. "Fine," he says.
"Thank you." He nods his head.
Sasuke smirks, trying to ease the air. "You're the little bitch, though; too sentimental," he jokes, and glares none too seriously.
Smartly, Suigetsu doesn't respond, and zips up his backpack. "That's everything. Walk me to the subway?" he asks.
Sasuke snorts. "Fuck off."
"I figured," he says, and laughs. He walks toward his friend, and shoves out his hand. "It was nice seeing you man."
Sasuke sighs, and smirks, and takes his hand. "Yeah, you too. Come again soon."
"Maybe," he says, and makes his way toward the door. "Take care of yourself Sasuke, I mean it. If you need anything, you give me a ring. You're always welcome to my place if you need a break."
He sighs again, but his lips twitch into a small smile. "Get out of my house."
He grins in response. "Couldn't be any sooner," he says, shuts the door behind him, and Sasuke is alone.
Its bedtime, he thinks, not a moment later. He begins shutting off the lights in the living room, the kitchen, and doesn't even consider a meal. He stretches, and yawns, and begins making his way toward his bedroom when his phone rings.
With a growl, he reaches to answer it; probably Suigetsu confused about where to go. He picks it up and says a little too harshly, "Hello?"
"Sasuke, it's me," the voice says, and his eyes widen.
"Itachi?"
This is becoming very Lolita help me. I hope you enjoy, sorry for not updating in a while; it's been a really bad few moths, and I've been so busy this summer working. I hope you enjoy the chapter! I tried to make it a long one.
Please review! I'll try to update again ASAP! Thank you for all your support and kind words, everyone!
Also tbh there might be some spelling errors, but I'll go back and fix them tonight.
Peace.