Sakura is more hurt than she thought she might be, but Sasuke's rejection is not unexpected.
She only has herself to blame, and she knows it as she sits in the empty silence of her room, Sasuke's wonderful scent lingering in the air and on her sheets and pillows and the place on the mattress where he'd sat beside her is still dipped slightly from his weight. She misses him, abruptly and irrationally, and mourns for his departure, and hates herself all over again.
Sasuke could never see anything more in her than friendship, and why should he? Why would he go for her, knowing slivers and pieces and faintest iotas of her horrific past? She is tainted. Dirty, sullied, right to her core, and no matter how hard she tries to pick up the pieces of herself and move past herself, she never can and maybe she never will.
His rejection is a brutal, but necessary, wake-up call. She must have imagined the flare of attraction in the bottomless depths of his blackblack eyes. She must have imagined the way he looked at her when she spoke, like she mattered. She had listened to Karin and Ino and the others rather than trust in the only thing she knows to be true:
That she is unlovable, and no amount of wishful thinking will change it.
Sasuke is her friend. She knows he cares for her in his own quiet way, but tonight has proven that that way is not romantic. She is fooling herself to hopewishtry for something more than that.
So she will bury this new heartache. She will choke on these new insecurities stemming from her growing affection for him, choke on them until there's no air in her lungs or energy in her limbs, until there is only that beaten, bent, unbroken will to carry-on-pick-up-move-forward-don't-look-back-don't-fall-again. She will turn the page on Uchiha Sasuke as her Prince Charming, because she does not deserve a Prince Charming.
Not when Prince Charming deserves the world, and all she has to offer is a broken heart and shards of the person she might have been.
She does not deserve Uchiha Sasuke. So she vows to hold onto him as a friend, like him silently, treasure his friendship and everything he will give her and give him everything she can in return, her heart and love and friendship, but she will withhold her expectation.
Sakura does not shed a tear. She does not break tonight, sitting alone on a bed that seems at once too small and too large for her, her legs bare in the sudden chilliness of the lonely room on the fourth floor. She studies some more, then she showers, then she weaves her hair into braids and watches a baseball game in the dark like nothing's wrong, like nothing's changed, like there isn't agony in her heart.
She sleeps that night, and yearns for Sasuke, and surrenders him all at once.
xoxoxo
Sasuke watches Sakura in the common room one morning and wonders What If.
What If is a game he played back when he was a child. He would imagine that things were different, that he had a family again, that they loved him like they used to and protected him and he would smile, picturing strong Father and kind Brother and loving Mother at the dinner table just like old times. Sometimes What If helped get him through the nights that went on for years, when the world was cold and lonely and he was angry and sad and alone.
What If stopped working as he grew, and he stopped playing.
He finds himself playing it now, and he is surprised.
What If the Uchiha family was still alive?
What If he'd met her, Sakura, unharmed as she was and instead this sweet, funny, witty, beautiful girl she has become?
What If he had taken her out on a date, like girls like Sakura deserved? And made her laugh the way she's laughing now at a stupid joke Naruto is telling? And held her hand and brought a pretty flush to her face, and kissed her on the cheek like you should on first dates, according to TV shows and shit?
What If he brought her home to meet his family?
Sakura is playing a video game now, he sees, accepting Kiba's challenge and she is doing terribly, but seems unaffected by her failure. Instead she laughs freely, honestly, tears of mirth spilling from her crinkled up eyes and he doubts she even notices how rumpled her hair is, how her nail polish is chipped and that her skirt is askew. She is happy now, happy in the moment.
He wishes she was happy all the time.
He wishes he could make her happy all the time.
What If.
What If is useless, he knows. What If won't bring his parents back, won't make him happy, won't make him suddenly able to make Sakura happy, won't make him the man he knows she deserves.
Absently, he knows his family would have loved her.
xoxoxo
"You're really going through with this?" Karin's voice is dubious.
"She made the deposit already, it'd be stupid not to." Ino is as blunt as ever.
"Aren't you scared?" Karin wants to know.
"Why should she be?" Ino scoffs.
"Sakura you're a total badass," Kiba says with a touch of reverence.
"Oh, Sakura-chan, totally!" Naruto pumps the air with his fist.
Sakura is filled with confidence and fear. What she is doing is crazy, out of line, and completely unexpected for someone like her.
That's why she's doing it, that and a million other reasons, and her determination to changeimprovetry outweighs any self-doubt. For once, Sakura is a master of herself, of her emotions, of her fears, and while there is some nervousness, there is resolution as she lays on her right side of the tattoo artist's leather chair, her shirt tugged up to just beneath her breasts.
The tattoo artist prepares the ink and needles on a table that looks like the kind she will take operating tools off of when she's finally a doctor, and Sakura smiles. Someday, she will make marks on a patient's skin the way he is marking up her side.
"I'm not afraid," she says fearlessly, bluntly, and her eyes find Sasuke's, and he looks bored as he always does, but he's smirking a little bit. She likes to think it's because he's proud of her, so she doesn't question it.
The process is longer than she thought it would be, and it's painful, but eventually the burning dulls to a throb and she's quite good at managing the consistency of a dull wound. She does not look at the slow but sure progress like her friends do, preferring to be surprised and trying to map out what it looks like mentally based on the feel of the needles.
He fills in color at her insistence. She wants this to be over and done with all at once, and Naruto and Kiba applaud her for "taking it like a man," and Ino is jealous and Karin is impressed and Sasuke stands there and watches and is quiet, and two hours later, Sakura gets a look at her new, first, shocking tattoo.
It is a long vine, winding from her upper thigh to her rib cage, with her favorite flowers (violets, not cherry blossoms, contrary to popular belief) painted beautifully along the vine, tiny leaves embellished along her skin and even though her side is red and raw, she absolutely loves it.
It is impractical. It is the last thing a girl putting herself through college and medical school and life should splurge on. It is not overly meaningful, it is just something Sakura wanted to do for herself and now she's done it and her friends love it but most of all, she loves it. She is happy with her decision to do something spontaneous, and now she has a sexy tattoo to show for it.
Sakura is giddy as hell that evening and able to dispel the ache in her side through her happiness. Her friends hang out for awhile in her room before dispersing one by one. Sasuke goes to leave last, but stops in the doorway.
"Need something?" she asks brightly, too happy to acknowledge any lingering awkwardness between them since their almost-kiss two nights prior.
Sasuke is quiet as he looks at her, and he moves towards her. Sakura blinks up at him, wondering at his actions, and her breath tightens and chokes off in her throat when his fingers flirt with the hem of her shirt.
She feels no fear at this intimacy, something that amazes her, considering her crippling fear of being touched by practically everyone. Instead, she is puzzled by it, as if watching from somewhere outside her body as Sasuke lifts her shirt high enough to show some of her new tattoo.
His fingers ghost over one of the violets lingering beneath her ribcage. Heat explodes in Sakura's abdomen, arousal gripping her like an iron fist, and she looks up to Sasuke for explanation, unconsciously drawing closer to him.
"The others didn't see this, did they?" he asks softly, and she manages to tear her gaze away from his face to notice where he's touching.
Comprehension dawns on her, and she giggles.
"Guess nothing gets past you," she says teasingly.
Sasuke has noticed it when the others didn't, a little embellishment the tattoo artist made upon her secret request. At first glance, the violet looks like the other ones, but Sasuke's dark eyes do not miss the tiny kanji inscribed inside one of the petals, that reads "Hope."
He looks at her in silent expectation. Sakura is not free of her arousal, but like so many other things, she manages it. She does not draw closer, but she does not back away, and neither does he.
"I wanted to remember it," she says eventually. His touch is gentle, impossibly gentle on her tender skin, has not moved. Absently, she wants to remember this as well. "I wanted to know that no matter who can see it or can't, that there's always hope, and...I don't know. A little reminder to myself. You know? Permanent, like hope should be. I think."
Sasuke nods. He accepts her explanation, and there is a slight smile on his face, lopsided, one of his lips tilted higher than the other like they need to be recalibrated, but he is as painfully gorgeous as ever as he says, "Aa."
And in that word that isn't even a word, Sakura knows he understands.
She's coming scarily close to loving him, and when he takes back his hand and returns to his room, she thinks maybe she already does.
The idea is frightening, so Sakura focuses instead on the success of her first ever tattoo, and is thankful that Sasuke understands her, at least somewhat.
xoxoxo
The door is closed between them. The hallway is deserted, everyone already in bed, and Sasuke stands alone outside her room, trembling, his head resting on the door as he fights to regain control of himself.
Fuck, he thinks. His heart races, and lust grips him so strongly it's a wonder he hasn't kicked in her door yet. Fuck what the fuck am I doing?
It had been impossibly hard for him, watching the tattoo artist with his hands on Sakura earlier that day. He'd been overcome by jealousy and anger, for this undeserving scum touching the girl he'd unconsciously marked as his own. His jealousy, he knew, was irrational, he knew that the artist was only doing his job, but rationale flew out the window when it came to Sakura.
He couldn't put his hands on her, so no one else could either.
What he'd done was stoked the fire that burned within him. His fingers ghosted over her skin and it was all he could do not to show her exactly what she meant to him, in exactly what way; her abdomen was completely flat with the barest hint of muscles from her strict dance training, her skin absurdly soft. He couldn't stop himself from imagining what it would feel like, to trail his fingers from her stomach, up between the valley of her breasts, back down between her legs to see if she felt as hot there as he thought she might...
Sasuke fights to control himself. He is torturing himself with what he can never have, what he will never do enough in his life to deserve. He is on a strict diet but tempting himself with the sweetest of delicacies. He knows Sakura is not his but he wants her all the same.
His hands are clenched into fists, knuckles bleached, nails digging into the palms of his hands hard enough to hurt, and the pain is somehow enough to anchor him to reality. Sakura is heaven and hell to him, everything he ever wanted and everything he can never have. She is fire: beautiful and consuming, tempting to touch and tame but impossible to predict, prevent, control.
He is losing his mind, he knows, standing in the hallway shaking like a leaf and trying not to choke. She is stripping him of everything he is, of his apathy, of his detachment, of his barriers. She is tearing him apart, cutting and reshaping him into something new, unidentifiable.
Who am I now, Sakura? he thinks, loving and loathing her in varying measure. What will I be, when there's nothing left to remake? What do you WANT from me?
What do I do when there's nothing left?
xoxoxo
Sakura is watching her favorite movie one cozy Saturday night.
Everyone is partying that evening, and normally, she would be out with them, but a slight headcold has her feeling more lethargic than usual. She decides that an early night in, just sweatpants and a hoodie and fuzzy socks and her blankets and pillows and Humphrey and Ingrid and a bowl of ramen, is exactly what she needs.
She loses herself in another time, adores the way Rick calls Ilsa "kid," adores the way they love each other more than anything. Her heart breaks for them, for the moment when Rick surrenders his claim to Ilsa, because he loves her enough to want what's best for her, even when what's best for her is another man, another life.
She hopes someday she will find someone like that, someone who loves her beyond himself.
She hopes someday she will love herself enough to know she deserves it.
For now, though, she watches old time movies and lets herself dream.
She is dozing slightly when the sluggish knocking comes, startling her right out of her skin. She is briefly terrified before remembering she is safe behind this door, and she carefully calls out, "Who is it?"
"Sasuke."
His voice is deep but slurred, and Sakura quickly stands up and opens the door to find Uchiha Sasuke standing in the threshold, his eyes tinted red, his posture slouched, the burning smell of vodka heavy on him, and Sakura begins to giggle.
"You're drunk," she observes.
"Hn," he mumbles back, and he staggers inside, tripping slightly on the plush area rug before collapsing on her bed.
Sakura is amused and overwhelmed with fondness for him all at once. She shuts the door again and locks it before returning to her bed, where Sasuke is lying facedown in her pillows.
"You need to have some water," she says sternly. "And eat something. Here, hang on..."
"I'm fucking drunk, Sakura," he slurs, voice muffled as he speaks into the pillow. "Jesus. Fucking drunk."
"I know." She grabs a bottle of water from her mini fridge and a packet of peanut butter crackers and helps him sit up. "You need to have some water so you don't dehydrate. Drink."
She likes the way he listens to her, when he normally would have rolled his eyes at her bossiness and called her annoying. He downs the entire bottle and the empty plastic is tossed carelessly away from him; he does not eat the crackers, but Sakura is content that he has something in his body to dilute the alcohol.
"Any reason you came to my den of sickness instead of going back to your room?" Sakura asks teasingly as she sits on the edge of her bed.
"You're here." His reply is immediate, and it's unguarded, and Sakura is stunned. Another rush of fondness, and she reaches out and brushes his sweaty hair out of his face.
"Can I stay?" Sasuke asks. He looks at her with unfocused eyes, and even though he's over six feet tall, even though his shoulders are broad and his muscles are hard and his voice is deep and he is more a man than a boy, he reminds her of a child. Shy and lost and needy.
Sakura knows then, that she loves him.
"Yes," she replies softly. "Here, come on, take off your shoes. And your jacket, I have a space heater. You'll be warm enough, I promise."
Sakura does not know what it's like to have a loving mother, or an older sister, or anyone in the world to take care of her, but she tries her best to do this for Sasuke. He does not argue as she helps him out of his stifliing varsity jacket. He kicks off his shoes obediently, and when Sakura lifts the warm cottony blankets, he slides beneath them without comment or struggle or debate.
He lays down on the pillow and exhales deeply through his nose. Sakura watches as his muscles relax, and goes to her closet to grab her spare blankets so she can set up a bed for herself, on the floor.
Sasuke's voice stops her, still slurring slightly but as jarringly clear as ever.
"What are you doing?"
She looks up at him and replies, "Setting up a bed for myself, what's it look like?" Her weak attempt at humor falls flat.
"Don't be stupid," Sasuke scoffs. Drunk as he is, he retains all arrogance, and Sakura both loves and hates that about him. "Get in bed."
"I can't!"
"Tch. Sakura you're annoying."
"I don't want to get you sick! I have a cold, remember?"
The excuse is pathetic and drunk Sasuke sees through it as easily as sober Sasuke. His eyes soften somewhat even as he spits out, "I'm not gonna hurt you. Get in bed. You'll get sicker sleeping on the floor. Jesus fuck."
Sakura knows it's a Bad Idea. She knows a lot about Bad Ideas, and this has Bad Idea written all over it.
But the night is long and Sasuke is here and he's warm and he's making her laugh without meaning to. And he is here because he wants to be here, because that's what he said and Sasuke does not lie like she does. He is only ever truthful. And he pats the space next to him impatiently and calls her stupid and annoying and she loves him.
He needs her right now. Even if he says he's looking out for her because she's sick, Sasuke is here because he needs her the way she needs him sometimes, when she's at her most vulnerable. This is Sasuke, vulnerable like she has never seen him, and Sakura loves him and it's exactly that that makes her climb back into bed.
He lays behind her, her back resting lightly against his chest as they both find space on the mattress. Sakura's muscles are stiff as the unfamiliar sensation of sharing her bed with a man overwhelms her, and she finds it impossible, for once in her life, to concentrate on Ilsa's confession to Rick in the room above the bar.
In that moment, all she knows is Sasuke, breathing deep and even behind her, and when he wraps an arm loosely, languidly around her waist, as if he does it all the time, as if there's nothing strange about it, she bites her lip hard enough to sting.
Don't get your hopes up, she thinks harshly. Don't get excited about this. He's drunk, that's all. He's drunk and you're the only one in for the night, that's why he's here. No other reason. It's just like sharing a bed with Ino. Just friends, Sakura. Just friends, you stupid girl.
He'll never want you.
But Sakura's mantras don't work right now. Sakura relaxes against her will. It's impossible not to, when Sasuke is as warm as her space heater, and he's cuddling with her like a boyfriend might, and his breath fans against her ear from behind and her room smells like vodka and cold medicine and the boy of her dreams.
Sasuke is sleeping already, and Sakura is not far behind.
The movie ends with no one to press Stop.
xoxoxo
note.. For those of you who don't know, the movie Sakura's referencing is Casablanca, with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, AKA my favorite movie of all time. If you haven't seen it, you need to. Rick Blaine is the only man I'd leave my fiancee for that doesn't play for Philadelphia. GO WATCH CASABLANCA. Love you :)