We lose our first scrap game against the Suna Suns.

I'm pissed. I know it doesn't mean anything. It's a scrimmage; they're not playing all their starters and neither are we, since we're just kind of going through the motions. Getting back into the swing of things (no pun intended. Ever.) Wetting our appetites, so to speak.

But I hate losing.

This is the kind of field…this competitive sports thing…that's either my salvation or my annihilation. No middle ground. Even though Kakashi and Asuma both told me I did a great job calling pitches for Raidou (who didn't have his best shit today) all I can think about is the third inning, when I called a fastball that this kid Gaara beat the shit out of, costing us a run. Yeah, it wasn't my pitch, but I influenced it, didn't I?

Sakura always tells me I focus too much on the tiniest flaw. But if that's true, then this is a horrible industry for me to be in, because anything less than a complete victory with absolutely no mistakes isn't fucking good enough.

Remember, Sasuke: remember you're not good enough, and no matter what, you never will be.

I kind of yelled at Sakura today.

I feel like shit about it at dinner tonight, just sort of poking at my food instead of actually eating it. Naruto, next to me, doesn't seem to suffer from the same problem, as he's already on thirds before anyone else has even gotten to serve themselves. (The hotel staff can't stand him, but I don't really think it's his fault that they give us free food during the preseason. You have hundreds of sweaty male athletes swarming the city working up appetites. You should've thought about that before.)

I don't feel good about…was it a fight? Felt like one, only she didn't really fight me back. Just kind of…got sad. Like I said something wrong. But she gets it, right?

In a big baseball town like Konoha, the wife, or girlfriend, of a baseball player is sometimes as famous as the baseball player himself. Kurenai is the wife of a coach, and she's practically a celebrity. There's all kinds of publicity surrounding the families or friends of pro athletes in Konoha, and I know Sakura.

Sakura's on track for something great, but her greatness isn't gonna be because she's the better half of Konoha's new catcher. If she even knew what she's risking just by being seen with me, she'd probably hightail it the hell out of my life. She doesn't want her name and face all over the tabloids anymore than I do.

At least I had the choice, you know? This is my dream, and whatever. So like the hotel kitchen staff, I get what I asked for, but in spades.

I don't wanna drag my girl down with me. This shit sucks sometimes. No privacy. No secrecy. A story in the tabloids every other week about what a womanizer I am: playboy Sasuke at it again, or whatever the hell they're coming up with. And things have been quiet lately, since no one knows where I live unless I tell them, and no one knows who I'm seeing, and no one knows it's exclusive.

I like things quiet.

Don't get me wrong, okay? I know this shit's gonna get out eventually. It's got to. There's always someone looking in where he shouldn't be, someone who's gonna slip up and say something to the wrong person, and our secret's blown. Is it wrong of me to want to put it off, though? To keep Sakura to myself a bit longer, before these paparazzi sharks find out that I'm slamming the prettiest, smartest, sweetest girl in the city, and try and turn her into some media darling when all she ever wanted was success in her own right?

Is it wrong of me to protect what she works so hard for?

I ignore my teammates' idle conversation over the dinner table in the hotel dining room, and instead choose to ruminate on the irony of my life:

I don't give two shits about everyone in the world thinking I'm some cold, fast slut, but when I get into the healthiest, happiest relationship of my life, I treat it like it's something to hide.

She gets it, right?

Since I sucked so much at the game today, I take an extra workout at night. Kind of like a punishment, since I'm so fucking tired and my muscles hurt and I've got a game against Ame in the morning that's gonna be crazy, since it's Naruto's pitching debut in a game.

Suna's still pretty hot at night. I'm sweating like crazy five minutes into my run, and my legs are screaming in protest and I can hear Sakura's shrill, scolding voice in my ear telling me what an idiot I am to work myself so hard, but I keep going. Keep running.

There's something…I don't know. Free about running. And I don't think I've ever felt free. Even when I made my own choices, they were never in my own scope. Always with the influence of my family, legitimate or fictional, weighing on my shoulders, acting as both conscience and discouragement from pretty much everything I've wanted to do. Now I'm a slave to my public image, having to hide the best thing that ever happened to me to protect her from the same personal invasion. My time's taken up with too much of my dream come true, and my only real escape is sleeping peacefully, hopefully in my apartment, back in Konoha, where I can't reach her.

But when I run, when I tuck my head and pump my arms and fire some nonexistent energy into my legs and run, it gives me…I guess the illusion of freedom. Like I could keep running, leaving everything behind.

Like I could keep running till I find her.

I take the longest, hottest shower known to man after my run, and when I'm done, I call Sakura.

I feel bad. It's late as shit in Suna, which means it's even later in Konoha. Probably three am. And I'm a dick, calling her when she should be sleeping, especially since she has class and tests and work and tryouts in the morning, and I'm a selfish dick, too, because there's no hesitation dialing her number.

She answers on the fourth ring, right before it goes to voicemail.

"Hello?" Her voice is dry, raspy from sleep, hazy. I picture what she looks like right now: messy hair, left side of her face red, since she always sleeps on her side, eyes glassy and out of focus. Tired because she works so hard, and I hope she's in my apartment. She'd call it a penthouse, if she were here.

"Hey," I murmur, and I feel all the tension in my body evaporate once I hear her voice. If she's pissed about earlier, she doesn't show it. She answered the phone, didn't she?

"Are you okay?" she asks. "It's…Jesus. It's three am, Sasuke, why are you still up?"

I could tell her I miss her. It'd be the truth. I could tell her I love her, and that's true, too. I could tell her I had a hard day and it's even harder since she's not there. I could tell her why I yelled at her, because she probably doesn't get it.

There's a lot of things I could say, but what comes out is this:

"Tomorrow…lay off the low pitches."

"Sasuke. You called me. At three am. To warn me not to swing at low pitches?"

I hear her irritation and I can't stop the smile; Sakura resents criticism in all forms, even if it's in her best interest.

"You can't lay off 'em, and you can't hit 'em," I tell her, and she's fully awake now. I hears it in her outraged hiss and it makes me miss her even more.

"And I suppose you think you can do better?" she snaps back, a silly argument, since I'm a pro ballplayer now, but she makes it anyway. "Keep in mind, I'm the one who told you first that you'd make a better catcher than a pitcher, and that I came to that conclusion years ago."

"What does that have to do with you swingin' at grapefruits?"

"Sasuke!"

She's pissed and I love it. Because she still doesn't hang up.

"Is that all you wanted? Because if so, I'm going back to bed."

I hesitate, then say, "No. That's not all."

"Okay…?"

I hesitate again. This being a boyfriend shit is hard.

"About…about yesterday." The words sound all wrong coming from me, because they precede an apology, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've apologized to anyone for anything. Except for my dead fucking family, but it's not like they heard 'em anyways.

"It's fine," she says quickly, understanding right away, and it is so NOT fine that she knew exactly what I was talking about. That means she's been thinking about it, that it affected her. That I screwed up the communication somehow, but when did I ever pretend to be any good at communicating? My closest friend is a guy I systemically call an idiot, and I keep my girlfriend under wraps so no one knows she's too good for me and my lifestyle.

Not the hallmarks of a good communicator, but I'm trying, okay? I'm fucking trying.

"It's not," I grind out, even though I want to take the road she's on, and just forget about it. But Sakura's the annoying kind of girl you really have to try for. And I don't want her to be upset about things just because I don't know how to explain myself. "I…don't think you understood why I was…like that."

Silence on the other line, then a sigh. "I think I read into it too much," she says, tone thoughtful, and I know she's playing with her hair right now, I know it. i can almost feel it between my fingers, like corn silk, only thicker, thick enough for my fingers to disappear in. Curly at the ends. "I think I let my insecurity get the best of me. Or whatever. You know I fucking suck at understanding you sometimes."

Is it a flaw on her part, or on mine, for being so indecipherable? Probably mine. Most things are my fault in my life. All she's ever done is look pretty on the sofa and make it hard for me not to smile.

"I'm just…I don't know, Sasuke. Sometimes I worry that…that I'm not good enough for you, or something."

I almost drop the phone. I've never heard something so historically ass backwards, and it takes me a minute to realize she's still talking.

"I was worried you didn't want people knowing because you're ashamed of me," she says timidly, almost a whisper. And that's how I learn that Sakura and I have another thing in common.

Neither one of us thinks we're good enough for each other.

But there's a difference. Because she's wrong, and I'm right.

"If you think that," I hear myself growl, "then you're right. You're shit at understanding me."

"What was I supposed to think?" Sakura snaps, angry now, but I prefer her anger to her sadness, to her insecurity. Anger's something I can work with. "You acted like it was the worst thing in the world for anyone to know about me and you. Like I'm some dirty little secret and you didn't want anyone to…"

"I told you exactly why I don't want anyone to know right now," I cut her off. "Sakura, once the paps find out about you, that's it. No going back. I was trying to protect you from the publicity. For as long as I could. Not for any other fucking reason you made up in your head."

"It…it really was just that? Nothing else?"

"Stupid," I hiss at her. "Stupid girl. I know it doesn't make any fucking sense. But you should trust what I say to you because I wouldn't lie to you."

And I won't. Not anymore. I won't tell her the entire truth sometimes, nor do I expect it from her, since we need secrets, still. Everyone needs secrets. But I won't lie to her ever again.

"Okay," she says simply. The anguish is gone from her voice, and I can picture the way her shoulders must have slackened, tension gone. No more fight in her. She trusts me. "I'm sorry. Just some…lingering self-image issues, I guess."

"Have Ino keep it quiet for now," I murmur. "They'll all find out eventually. But for as long as I can…I want you all to myself."

And I know I'm a shit communicator, and nothing ever comes out of my mouth the way it sounds in my head, and of all the girls in the universe, I understand Sakura the least. But I hear her giggle, her happy little laugh, and know that for once in my fucking life, I said the right thing.

Feels good.

I hang up after that and I fall asleep, and I forget all about the blown game to Suna. There's one to play against Ame in the morning, anyways. Wake up. Start over. Finish the job and go the hell home already.

Naruto's not at breakfast the next morning with the rest of the team. It's weird. And because I guess he's my best friend now (how the hell did that happen?), it's my responsibility to find him. We've got a game in two hours and he's pitching.

So I leave the dining room after eating a protein-rich breakfast and head back up the hotel stairs to his room. Hammer on the door. It's unlocked, so I go in.

"Oi, Naruto!" I call, and I hear groaning from the bathroom. Frowning, I push open the bathroom door, and the stench of vomit hits me like a punch in the face. "Jesus, what the hell's wrong with you?"

He's slumped over the toilet, cradling it like a baby blanket, all the color wiped from his face. Eyes glassy, hair a fucking mess, he looks like some drunken shitshow.

"I can't do it," he moans, seconds before he leans back over the toilet bowl and vomits up everything else in his stomach. "I can't do this shit. I've been a pitcher for two months. I'm facing fucking Nagato today!"

Oh. I get it. It's nerves, that's all. Pregame jitters. Every ballplayer's susceptible, but the pitcher more than any of them. I know from experience, since pitchers are usually the deciding factor in a game. If the pitcher gets tagged for too many hits, too many runs, and the offense can't bail them out, then he gets the big L. No pitcher wants an L.

But it's my dumbass best friend pitching there today and since I'm catching for him, I'm gonna do everything I can to give him a W. Even if this game doesn't count.

"Suck it up," I snap at him, tossing him a towel. "Fucking pussy. We got a game. Get your shit together."

Inspiring words. Really motivational. But I know Naruto. He's not gonna respond to honey sweet words telling him he can do it. And I'm not the type to even think up shit like that; it takes all the forethought in the world to talk to my girlfriend respectfully, when I'm used to being rude and blowing off everyone who tries to get too close.

But it works. Naruto looks at me, then grimaces, flushes the toilet, and stands up. He splashes cold water on his face from the sink, wipes his skin dry with the towel I tossed.

"You're fucking right, man," he tells me, grateful in a weird way that I'm such a ball-busting dickhead by nature. "C'mon. We got shit to take care of now."

I smirk and nod curtly, a silent affirmation that there will not be a repeat of yesterday's performance.

He's a fucking douchebag idiot sack of shit, but he's my best friend, okay?

He ain't gonna lose.

The game's televised, and when a game's televised, I treat it like Sakura's watching.

Not the starry-eyed, senselessly-supportive-of-everything-I-do kind of audience, but the way she really is, the way I love her. Almost ridiculously demanding, critical of what's happening, analytical in the way a sports analyst might be. I can read batters, but Sakura can read everyone. If baseball were coed, I have no doubts she'd be right here with us, sizing up everyone and devising plans on how to get them out in the most effective way.

Anyway.

I play smarter if I think she's watching, even if she isn't. She's a busy girl, has her own life and friends and classes and responsibilities. It would be dick of me to expect her to sit at home loyally tuning into my every game during the preseason, when it doesn't even count. But I pretend, and it makes me think harder about what I'm doing.

I'm not gonna embarrass her by giving the world anything less than my best shit.

Naruto doesn't look nervous at all as he takes the mound for the first time. Crowd response to him is mixed. No one's seen much of his pitching yet besides what snippets of practice have been caught by reporters, and they're calling Kakashi a nutcase for pulling this position switch last minute. It's a packed house; Ame's a good team. Runner-ups in the World Series last year. Nagato's their homerun champion. He scored sixty last year alone. Unheard of.

Anyways. I tune out everything once the first pitch is thrown. Everything except Asuma, making subtle gestures at me, suggestions about each batter so I can tell Naruto what to throw, and then Naruto himself. Their leadoff man is a huge guy named Yahiko.

I think back to his stats over the past years. (You don't get to the pro level without doing some homework.) And I've been watching him play since I was twelve. He's not old, but he's not young like Naruto either. Plenty of power, but not much finesse. Like Sakura, he goes for low balls, and what's more, is he can't hit 'em. Favors his power swing, high and on the outside corner.

I smirk behind my catcher's mask, grip the mouthguard hard between my teeth, pound my fist into my glove to show I'm ready, before dropping a few fingers between my legs to call for a fastball, low and inside, right at the knees.

Naruto nods subtly on the mound to show he gets it, then draws himself up to full height, lifts his leg to get some power. He's got a fucking wild stance, I've never seen anything like it, but the good thing about that is neither has anybody else here. The ball's out of his hands in this ridiculous arc, and Yahiko eyes it up, takes a swing, and misses. Zips right by him into my glove.

"STRIKE!" bellows the umpire behind me, and I smirk wider and throw it back to Naruto, who's got this stupid grin on his face. Who can blame him? First pitch of his career, and it's a strike. And past a monster like Yahiko, who almost always gets on base his first at-bat.

Naruto's first strike is followed quickly by Naruto's first strikeout. The crowd goes fucking nuts.

note.. so sasuke cleared the air, yadig? FOR NOW.

lolz. been gone a minute, yeah? please let me know what you think, yafeelme? hearing from you guys makes me feel guilty about not updating things for more than a few hours. GIVE ME GUILT.

also. i just now noticed these reposted statuses (stati?) people have about stereotypes. like, "i'm democrat, so i MUST have had an abortion" or something i found extremely funny, "i like cats, so i MUST dance like a cat in my spare time." i'm sorry, i just don't understand these stereotypes. the definition of a stereotype is something that is not necessarily true, but is generally accepted as such. i don't think it applies to this, nor do i think ANYONE actually thinks these things about other people past middle school. i think your profile should be things that you think, interesting stuff about you. it helps people get to know you on some level. not things other people thought and you kind of agree with, so you repost it. also the things that say, "repost if you're against mass murder." so...if i don't repost it, i'm FOR mass murder? say whattttt. have an original thought, yafeelme? live and let live, i always say. but every single person on the planet is interesting in their own way: express it individually!

and so concludes my rant against unoriginality and, frankly, the absolutely most irrelevant, inapplicable, and fucking hilarious "stereotypes" as hitherto recorded by modern man. i submit no excuse, except i'm halfway to drunk, therefore two times as philosophical.

review?

love you.

xoxo daisy :)