love at first sight
theeflowerchild
onze
Sasuke wakes up that morning to an incessant knocking at his door that, after five minutes of active disregard, does not stop. With a groan, he sits up, throws his legs over the side of his bed, and curses whoever could possibly need him this badly on his only day off.
He hisses when his feet hit the cold, hard wood of his floor. Frowning, he reaches for a pair of pajama pants to throw over his boxers, a t-shirt to cover himself, and checks the time. It reads noon, but he'd only gotten back from his incredibly long shift at seven AM—certainly not enough hours of sleep to make for a functioning human being.
He approaches his door with a glare in his eyes that could send a grown man running. Whoever it is—Naruto, he's sure—does not stop their attack on the unassuming doorway for even a moment; the horrible sound only gives when he throws it open, effectively removing the surface. He starts with, "What the fuck could you possibly want—?" easily expecting the idiot, but his voice dies in his throat when he's greeted with the smiling face of his brother.
"Itachi," he croaks. "What are you doing here?"
"Thought I'd pay you a visit," he says, and steps through the threshold without an invitation. "Is that how you greet all your guests?"
"Only the unwanted ones," he growls.
"I see," he says, and offers Sasuke a kind smile, never teasing or cruel. "You've been dodging my calls."
"Ignoring is the word you're looking for," Sasuke corrects, and shuts the door behind him. "Maybe you should take the hint."
"Nothing's changed around here, it seems," Itachi says, effectively ignoring his brother's comment, passing through the foyer. "Do you ever clean?"
"I don't make a mess in the first place." He purses his lips. "What are you doing here?"
"I already answered that," he says. "You really should think about dusting your bookshelves, and cleaning your windows. Aren't you allergic to dust? Don't you sneeze—?"
"Somehow, I'm fine," he snaps. "Do you often make a habit of walking into people's homes uninvited?"
"Only when they don't want me to," he counters, and his lips curve into a smirk that Sasuke is sure they inherited from their father. "Did I wake you?"
His eyes narrow viciously. "Yes."
"I'd be sorry, but isn't it a little late to be sleeping in, anyway?" he asks. He drops his coat on his couch, and Sasuke immediately takes note to the fact that he isn't wearing his uniform; it's his day off, too.
"I got back from work at seven," he explains, frowning. "And I can sleep however long I want, anyway—"
"Too much sleep can indicate depression, little brother," he says with a tiny frown. He clucks his tongue, and sits down in the corner of the couch, crossing his legs. "You should know; you're the shrink, after all. How have you been lately, anyway?"
"You know, there's a reason I hung up on you when you started giving me the third degree." He frowns, but takes a seat across from him, anyway; his brother has always had a strange way of getting him to talk, even when he doesn't want to. "I'm fine—and I'm not a shrink."
"That's all? Just fine?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Yes," he insists. He's tired, and angry, and confused, and alone, and fine. "I have nothing more to say, Itachi."
He nods his head. "Is that so?"
"Yes," he repeats.
"Fine," he agrees, and he's smiling again, like nothing is wrong—like he knows he won't be getting anywhere, so he may as well stop. "How has work been lately?"
"Busy," he says. "Does it matter?"
Itachi shakes his head. "Of course it matters. You work all the time, enough that it could affect your state of being—"
"I'm fine," he hisses. "God, will you stop acting like you know fucking everything? Because you don't, Itachi—"
"I never said I did," he cuts him off, too calmly. "It's just obvious to me when something is wrong—"
"Nothing is wrong!" he yells, suddenly standing from his seat. He throws his arms up, frustrated and red in the cheeks. "So quit it with your holier-than-thou, bullshit act!"
Itachi clucks his tongue, shakes his head. "Why don't you calm down? I'm not trying to upset you any more, Sasuke—"
"You're not upsetting me any more," he corrects. "You're just pissing me off! Right now! Period!"
"That wasn't my intention," he says.
Sasuke groans, and runs a hand through his hair, like he's trying to calm himself, like he's trying not to attack his brother that only has good intentions. He says, "Too late."
"I'm sorry, then." His calm face turns to a frown. "I'm just worried about you. We all are—Konan, Mom, and I, even Hana-chan."
"That's nice," he says.
Itachi sighs, loudly. "It's very tiring chasing after you like this, Sasuke. It would be significantly easier if you'd just keep in touch, let us know that you're all right. It would be less of an annoyance for us, and you."
"Because that's just what I'm here for," he quips. "To mediate your problems." He falls back into his seat on the couch; crossing his legs and cupping his chin in his shaking hand, elbow resting on the arm. "Have you guys considered that maybe you're the problem?"
Itachi snorts. "We've entertained the idea, but it doesn't seem to fit."
He scoffs. "You might want to try looking back again—"
"So work is busy? Just that?" he asks. "How's Naruto?"
"I'm sure you've spoken to him enough recently to know," he says. "If you're not getting information from me on my boring life, I'm sure Naruto is feeding you crap."
"I don't think its crap," he explains. "He's worried, too. We're all worried."
He smacks his lips. "You already said that."
"Hana misses you," he tries. He fishes into his pocket for his phone, and begins sifting through it. "She keeps asking where you are—here, I have a picture, and she's gotten so big—"
"I believe you," he whispers, and turns away.
Itachi shuts off his phone. "Maybe you can join us for dinner one night."
He nods his head. "Maybe."
"Have you eaten yet?" he asks, and stands. He dusts off his pants, and reaches for his coat. "Why don't you come grab lunch with me? I'm starving—"
"No thanks." He stands, too, out of courtesy. "I'm going to try to get more sleep."
"These mood swings don't fool me," he says, slipping on his coat. "You can't just go from nasty to nice and expect me to relent."
"I don't expect you to do anything," he says, but he sounds more resigned than annoyed, now. It's enough to confuse his brother even more, he's sure, but he's too tired to fight him now, and suddenly he just wants him to leave—no matter how much, deep down, he'd like the company. "This morning just isn't a good time for anything, okay?"
"It's the afternoon," he corrects with a smirk, but falters when his brother doesn't chuckle, or say something nasty, or anything. "I'm your brother, Sasuke. I'll always be there for you, if you need me, if you decide you want to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about," he says.
"I'm sure," he agrees, and approaches the door. "Next time, I'll call before I come. Looking the way you do isn't helping your case one bit."
Sasuke smirks this time, brushes down his mess of hair with his hand. "Tell Hana I said hi."
"Why don't you tell her yourself?" he asks, opening the door. "Just come over for dinner soon, just once, Sasuke. It's almost Christmas, you should spend it with your family, and—"
"I'll think about it," he says, final, and eyes his brother warily. "I'll call you."
"Okay—"
"I'll call you," he repeats, and fixes his brother with a half-hearted glare. "Drive safely, and tell Hana I said hi."
His lips twitch up into a smile, one that makes Sasuke's stomach sink. "Get some rest." He shuts the door behind him softly, and Sasuke is alone.
Sasuke drags his feet on the floor, back to his bed. He takes off his pants, and shirt, and gets under his covers. His bed is too big for one, and the emptiness of the spot next to him is enough to remind him of who could fill it. It's enough to make him think of thin, sharp shoulders, and a halo of pink hair draped beautifully over his white pillowcases. It's enough to make him dream of burning kisses against his scapula and tiny hands wrapped tightly around his—
Sasuke falls asleep for the rest of the day, and the next day, too, until his alarm calls him for another late shift full of patients he doesn't care about and interns he does too much.
"Uchiha-senpai, hey!" Sakura calls from his opening door. "May I come in?"
He looks up from his paperwork, jaded, the skin under his eyes as lavender as his button down shirt. "Sure," he says.
She hesitates, traces the curves of his exhausted wrinkles all the way to the slant of his frowning mouth, before taking a seat across from him at his desk with a friendly smile on her face. "Welcome back. How has your day been?" she asks.
He shrugs. "Fine," he says, and doesn't ask about hers. She looks best in her baby blue scrubs, and her keds are looking less and less fresh with each passing day. He stares at his desk before he'd ever look her in the eyes. "It's a little early for you to be here, isn't it?"
She nods her head, and a dust of pink shades her cheeks. She looks down at her lap, flutters her long eyelashes, and he know she's as embarrassed as she is adorable. "Yes, well, I'm sorry, Tsunade-shishou told me she didn't want to see me today, I'm not sure why, I think she's having a bad day, and—"
"What a nasty woman she can be," he says, and sighs. Trying to avoid any further conversation with her—because her voice is penetrates him like an arrow, and her thoughts are as sweet as his mother's desserts, and Sakura is too everything for him to understand without his knees turning to jelly—he moves as quickly as possible. "That's fine. We can go over your readings, and maybe you can get out early."
She laughs, and nods her head. "Even if she doesn't want me, I'm sure she'll make me finish my entire shift."
His lips twitch into an amused smirk. "Did you complete all of the readings?"
"Most of them," she admits. "The one on the scientific functions of the cerebellum became nearly incoherent as I went on… The psychology texts were particularly interesting."
"They usually are," he agrees. "Certainly easier."
She pulls her backpack off the floor by her feet and unzips it, begins sifting through for something in particular. After a moment, she pulls out a packet. "This one in particular on endorphins was interesting."
He removes the article from her hand and sifts through it. "Yes," he agrees.
"There was a section on endorphins released during exercise," she begins. "About how it can give a similar feeling to morphine, which I found interesting. It went on to talk about how exercising can have benefits with depression, and—"
"Very good," he compliments, and flips a page. "Continue."
"It went on to talk about how many endorphins we release doing… anything, and everything." Her lips twitch into a smile, and it takes everything in him to keep his head down toward the article. "Like when you're laughing, you release endorphins that can relieve stress. It's most physical activity, it seems—running, dancing, sports, singing…" She pauses for a moment, and swallows, loudly. "And sex."
He feels a lump lodge in his throat, tries not to choke on it and toss it up all over her. "That's correct," he says.
"While getting up and moving can be hard when you're depressed, it has so many unbelievable benefits," she says, and smiles. She reaches for the article, and he returns it to her. Flipping to a page, she reads, "… Strenuous exercise releases endorphins into the blood stream. Others have found that endorphins are released during laughter, as well as during..." She halts, licks her lips, cheeks as pink as her hair. "Orgasms. Endorphin release may occur with frequent sex and…" she stops. "Well, you know."
He doesn't think he's ever found his hands so interesting, fashioned in his lap perhaps a little too closely to himself. "I do."
"Endorphins are fascinating," she says. "How something as trivial as dancing, or singing, or…" she trails of, and then says, "Can benefit you so much. Don't you think so, Uchiha-senpai?"
He's sure his cheeks are red, but he's also positive there's nothing he can do about it. "Sure."
"Emotions are so intriguing." She pushes a strand of cropped, pink hair behind her ear. "How the chemicals in our brain can completely change how we're doing for the day. You can have a bad day, and have sex, and it can totally turn your day around."
Sasuke isn't sure he can continue to hear the word come out of her mouth when he feels himself twitch. He shifts in his chair uncomfortable, watches her nimble fingers twist her hair, watches her slender neck as she swallows, sees her tongue flick over her pretty, pink painted lips. "You are correct."
"I'm not sure who it was, but another person you recommended to me wrote an article entirely on running, and how it can help some people with their depression more than medicine can." She shifts back into her backpack, and pulls another stack of papers out that she thrusts toward him. "Isn't that so cool? Imagine how many people could find real therapy in exercise, instead of chemical manipulation with medicine."
"I imagine many," he says, and shifts again.
"So I looked even further into it, and I found so many studies on these kinds of things. Benefits of dancing with depression, benefits of singing with depression, benefits of sex with depression," she explains, and nods her head thoughtfully. "There are people out there who cured their depression by curing their sex lives. Isn't that so cool?"
His throat is too dry, and he doesn't respond.
"Anyway, I found that fascinating, along with the essay on the vegetable, what was his name?" she asks.
Quickly, he responds, "Zetsu."
"Right, Zetsu. He was asleep for almost five years, and then just woke up one day, almost fully functioning!" she says. "How interesting. Could you imagine being out of commission for that long, and then waking up, expecting to catch up with the world?" she asks, and then laughs. "He could sure use some endorphin therapy—"
"That's enough," he cuts her off tersely, sounding annoyed. It stops her in her tracks, and she sinks into her chair. "It seems you've soaked in a lot of your reading, but I don't think there's anything I can do with you until you understand the brain. The psychology is fun, and interesting, but useless without the knowledge of where it truly comes from."
"I'm sorry," she squeaks.
"There's no reason to apologize to me. It's simply a waste of your time," he explains. He shifts, and his throat is too dry, and he's unnecessarily nasty, but he's suddenly realizing all too quickly that this is all too much. "I can't do anything with you tonight, then, so maybe it's best you leave. Go read, and come find me when you're finished, whenever that is."
She nods her head slowly. "O-Of course, Uchiha-senpai."
"Good, go find a quiet room and get to it, then," he instructs, and brushes her off with a wave of his hand. "Perhaps a computer, too, if you get stuck."
"Sure, thank you, I'll try to finish as quickly as possible," she says, and stands, throwing her stuff into her backpack.
He shakes his head, sighing. "Don't rush. If you don't understand it, there's no point." He waits until she's nearly out the door to add, "And if you can't understand it, don't bother coming back."
She leaves in a hurry, and he's sure he hears her choke on something like a sob of embarrassment, or hurt before she slams the door.
Sasuke shifts in his chair, glares at the closed door in front of him. His hands are sweaty and his bangs are too thick against his forehead. When he tries to swallow, he hacks a cough into his palms. Something in his stomach burns, and he feels a sting in his eyes when his groin aches.
Disgusted, he shifts again. He crosses his legs, and uncrosses them, licking his dry lips, playing with his damp hair. His hands twitch toward himself, and he moves again. He throws his head back with a sigh, and reaches when there's a knock.
He jumps in his chair, and his door is opened before he can protest. "Hey, bastard!" Naruto says, grinning. "You ready for dinner?"
Sasuke pauses, and swallows. He croaks, "I'm busy."
He frowns. "You said you'd meet me."
He nods, slowly. "And I will," he says. "I'll meet you down there. Give me a minute."
Naruto's eyes narrow, but he starts backing towards the door. "Okay, see you in a few, asshole." He shuts the door behind him with a wave, and Sasuke melts into his seat with relief, hands where his eyes can see them.
It takes Sasuke twenty minutes to meet Naruto at the cafeteria, and five minutes before he's sitting with a plate of pasta in brown sauce. Naruto rolls his eyes, and says, "You're late."
"We didn't designate a time," he says, and twirls his spaghetti on his fork. "I said I'd meet you here."
Naruto shakes his head. "I guess you did say that." He takes a long slurp of his noodles, and closes the case file in front of him. "I've got a weird brain tumor I'd like you to look at. Tests came back negative for cancer, but it's definitely messing with some cognitive functions."
He sighs. "Do we have to talk about this now? I'm eating. We don't always have to talk about patients."
He closes the folder. "What would you like to talk about, then?" he asks, an amused smile on his face. "Anything in particular."
Sasuke clucks his tongue, leaning back into his uncomfortable chair. "I don't know. Just not brain tumors. Okay?"
"Fine, we don't have to," Naruto says, and finishes off his last bite of food with a clear smack of his lips. "How are things at home?"
He raises an eyebrow. "I live alone."
"You know what I mean," he says with another roll of his eyes. "With your mom, and brother, and—"
"I'm guessing Itachi called you after his visit the other day," Sasuke says, but he's smirking.
"Now, I never said that, bastard," he replies.
He responds anyway with, "Things are fine, I'm guessing. Itachi is alive and breathing. I spoke to my mother yesterday, and she's as sane as she'll ever be."
"I see," Naruto says, nodding his head. "Aren't you going to ask how my family is?"
"No." He smirks when Naruto's face falls, and asks, "How's everything with you?"
"Great!" he cheers. "Hinata and I are looking into putting Boruto in some daycare, isn't that great? And we're going to the in-laws tomorrow, which isn't always fun, but they sure love me a lot more since Boruto was born!"
"It'll be a shame when he grows up to be just like you, then," he jibes.
Naruto waves him off with a hand. "You're a bastard, Boruto is perfect."
He rolls his eyes. "I'm sure."
Naruto laughs, and watches Sasuke carefully before saying, "You seem like you're in a good mood."
"I'm always in a good mood," he says, and takes a long sip of his coffee.
He snorts. "We both know that isn't true."
Sasuke shoots him a look that elicits a chuckle. "Maybe."
"Either way, I'm glad," he says, nodding. "Whatever's making you feel a little better is alright by me."
He scoffs. "Nothing is making me better. I've always been fine."
"Yeah, sure, whatever," he says, and stands, gathering his empty plate and case file. "I'll have a nurse deliver this to you once I finalize some papers."
"Whatever," he says, and doesn't spare him a glance. "Go do your job."
Naruto grins, and leaves with a wave that Sasuke doesn't return. When he's gone, he falls back and sighs. Sasuke's mood hasn't changed, no.
He just happened to see pink in his line of sight.
Sasuke runs into her when she's leaving, leaning against the nurse's station, changed back into her day clothes. She looks impossibly pretty, and just her age in her dainty floral dresses and strappy sandals. Her short hair tickles her shoulder, and compliments the roundness of her face just right. Sasuke has to pause for a second before he can gather the courage to pass her.
She stops him, though, with a smile and an, "Uchiha-senpai."
He stops, and turns toward her with a look of apathy. "Sakura, good evening," he says. "I take it you were unable to finish the reading?"
"No, I did," she says, a triumphant smile on her pretty pink lips. "Tsunade-shishou just decided to put me to work at the last second."
"I see," he says, and nods his head. "Well, if that's all—"
"Thank you for pushing me," she says, taking a step forward. Her eyes are impossibly green under the fluorescent lights, and the look of adoration on her face nearly chokes him up. "You're a good teacher."
Despite himself, he croaks, "I am?"
She looks surprised for a moment before she laughs. "Of course, Uchiha-senpai! I don't believe Tsunade-shishou would have trusted you otherwise."
Slowly, he nods his head. "Of course," he agrees. They stand like that for a moment, him looking down at her, her eyes twinkling like the stars in the night sky. He's much taller than her, much bigger than her. The hallway is too empty for his own good, he could just as easily—he swallows. "You're all alone?" he asks.
She looks around, and then says, "I guess I am."
He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips, and then shoves his hands in his pocket. "It's cold, and dark. I could walk you to the train if you'd like."
It takes her a moment to process what he said, an adorable look of puzzlement on her face, before her mouth forms an 'o.' "Thank you," she says, and offers him a smile, "but—"
"Sakura," someone calls, interrupting the sweet silence, interrupting her gaze on him, and only him, interrupting something that feels to intimate to be anything else, but—
Sakura swallows, and turns toward the voice. "Neji-kun, hello," she says, and takes a step away from Sasuke. He doesn't look up, can't look away from her, not yet. "Thank you, Uchiha-senpai, but I was just waiting for a friend," she finishes to him with a smile.
Sasuke takes a step back, and turns his head. "Of course." His heart is beating too erratically, and his voice sounds farther away than normal. "Have a goodnight, Sakura. Stay safe."
"Thank you, you too," she says, and the boy from the train takes his place beside her where Sasuke believes he should surely be.
The walk home is long, cold, and stupid. His breath fans in front of him like a cloud of smoke, but he does not touch his cigarettes. His breathing is too shallow; he'll surely be unable to take the sting of nicotine and the expansion in his lungs. Instead, the cold air burns just as closely, stinging his rosy cheeks, the lights creating a blinding glitter on the untouched snow.
When he finally gets home, he doesn't bother to turn on the lights. He drapes his coat on his couch, throws his keys on the table, undresses, and gets in bed.
She'd fit nearly too perfectly, he thinks, in the empty spot he's unintentionally left for her. She'd fit too snugly in his arms; her skin would be too sweet, too hot against his cold marble. He twitches to life in the dark, finds himself beneath the sheets, and sees stars like her eyes before drifting off into a restless sleep.
