Title: Someone Else
Prompt:SasuSaku AU with a jealous Sasuke please
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr
Note: I absolutely love this College AU set I've done. There hasn't been one I've felt disappointed with, and they are so much fun.
Continuation of Ten Shades of Red, and Definitely
The cafe they've come to visit every week on Wednesday's after his Principle of Macroecomonics course is quiet, and calm with only the sound of quiet whispers filling the air. There's no missing her soft giggles she tries to hold back with pressed lips as her pale green look over her phone. He can't see what she's reading but it's sparking a hint of curiosity throughout him.
She's been distracted within the recent weeks. They're still doing their Friday study sessions in the library. They're still hanging out when their schedules allow. They're still not together, and they're still not separate.
That distraction is present though—it's in the little things she does. It's in the way she waits for him outside of his class with eyes glued to her screen. It's in the giggles she's spilling without an explanation as they're grabbing a bite to eat. It's within her pale green eyes as she walks from her dorm to his car. It's in corners of her lips as her face beams down at her phone. It's all minor and all little—and almost annoying.
Fingers reach down to cradle his choice of latte macchiato as his obsidian eye her from across the small table she had picked. She's as cute as she always is in her three quarter length sleeved marble sweater, light gray infinite scarf, and black shorts with lace patterns at the end—there's never a point when he hasn't thought she's cute. There's another giggle that slips passed her lips and fingers typing away as he brings the macchiato to his lips taking the warm liquid in. She's not chatting with him but she's very much chatting away with someone else.
There's a clearing of his throat after the liquid has slid down warming his insides to gain her attention. The action has done what he's hoped and brought those pale green upon him and away from her phone. That dusty pink that paints across her cheeks is the very one he enjoys and the very one that brings the hint of a smirk across his own.
Her voice is soft as she sets her phone down and cradles her mocha within her fingers—she likes two extra shots of chocolate in hers, "Sorry. . . have you picked your topic for your economics paper?"
"Ah, I'm doing it on the economic consequences with the increase in endangered biodiversity." he answers with a hum upon his voice.
She sips upon her cup before giving way to her own hum, "I'll be curious to see how you present that." there's humor upon her lips.
"Are you questioning if I can—" he's interrupted by the sound of her phone making his eyes gaze upon the screen momentarily forgetting his teasing question.
There's a name, and there's a message. There's only one, and then there's two. Two becomes three and it's on that third that she's swiping her phone open. There's no missing the messaging screen, and there's no missing words those small fingers of hers tapping away at a reply he cannot understand. The language is foreign and that's what makes him raise a brow.
This woman knew a foreign language. Someone else was gaining her attention once again. That hint of curiosity is back, and it's at another sound of her phone, and what looks to be the loading of a picture that her hand comes down across the screen shielding it from his gaze. There's an odd feeling that follows and now he feels as though he's done something wrong in letting his eyes peak at her messages. Obsidian seek to look anywhere but her own and thick swallow follows it.
That curiosity is back and it's wishing to know what picture was sent her way.
That curiosity holds wonder if who she speaks with is a male.
Fingers curl upon his cup with something close to annoyance. They're not together, but they're not separate. She's not his girlfriend, but she was his girl friend. She's dusted in that pink he enjoys, but he's not the reason she's dusted in that pink.
"Why don't we head to your place? You said you bought a new book you were enjoying right?" her voice is hesitant and holds that touch of shy he likes on her, but isn't one he's caused her.
He gives a noise of a response agreeing within his rise from the table. His fingers grip the bill of his washed out blue baseball cap turning it backwards upon his head, and she's close within his personal space not even moments later clicking the buttons of his baseball jacket of light gray and dimmed black.
She's chatting with someone else—but she's standing here in front of him. She's chatting with someone else—but he's the one walking behind her to his car. Someone else wasn't trailing their eyes up her form—those black ankle boots, and legs covered in opaque black tights. Someone else wasn't opening the door for her—they weren't receiving those infamous soft thank yous as she sat in the passenger seat.
The drive gives way to her small chatter as she comments on the little things she thinks of. Her fingers play with those rose-colored strands that have grown passed her shoulders. There's giggles as he hums, and makes a sarcastic remark to something ridiculous she's said. He thinks he's heard her phone as he turns a corner, but she's made no motion to grab it. He thinks he's misheard it.
He's overthinking this. He knows he's overthinking it. He doesn't even know what exactly he's overthinking. He's got that hint of annoyance from something that doesn't even matter. They're definitely not together—he scolds himself. They're definitely not separate—he reminds himself.
Her steps are light behind him as they enter his apartment building. She's become acquainted with this apartment building well before now. She's spent time watching movies with him, and not someone else. She's spent time reading books as he wrote papers instead of spending time with someone else. She's spent the night adorned in one of his shirts—she's not wearing someone else's shirt.
There's that scold that it doesn't mean she's his. There's that reminder that it doesn't mean she isn't his. She takes her scarf off laying it upon the bed as she sits upon his bed looking as his fingers trail upon his shelf to grab the new book she had mentioned. The noise of her phone goes off and he knows here and now he hasn't misheard the noise. There's a halt in his pull and then there's the slow move of his head to look at her. Those pale green are no longer on him they're on the screen of her phone. There's the softest of looks upon her face, and then decorates to almost childish amusement.
There's a tightening of his fingers upon the spine as he pulls it down and a thick swallow to follow it. It's almost annoying watching those changes in her face. It's almost annoying watching her fingers click away at the screen's keyboard as she replies to someone else. It's almost annoying how she looks up at him with those wide pale green eyes as he holds the book in front of her phone. There's a moment of quiet. She's not speaking and neither is she. There's one second, and then there's two. Three comes and he can see the tightening of her jaw as she swallows. Four isn't far behind as her cheeks dust three shades darker in that dusty pink he enjoys.
Small fingers grip the book and take it in hand as he makes his way over to his desk. She'll be reading for a while and he knows she'll fill the air with her comments as he works away at his economics paper. There's the removal of his hat and the removal of his jacket. There's the grab of his reading glasses and the slide of them upon his face. There's a hum from her in the air and a smirk playing upon his lips. Obsidian can't stop their flicker to her between flips of pages, and clicks of his keyboard.
She's far too cute for a woman over twenty. She's far too cute with her lips pursed up and her rose-colored locks spilled across his pillow. She's far too cute but she's so many other things.
He's lost within his research, and he's missed the first noise from her phone. There's another noise, and he's missed that one too. The third and the fourth are in the room but he's too busy to catch them within his typing. It's that fifth, and the sixth though that he starts to hear. It's the seventh and the eighth that make him stop mid sentence within his paper. It's the ninth and the tenth that make his eyes go to her. She's fallen asleep with his book pressed to her chest. The phone that continued it's noise and buzz sits beside her lit coaxing his eyes. It's only a moment—a second if he's really being honest before he's sliding out of his chair and leaning over the bed.
She's far too cute for a woman over twenty. She's far too cute with her mouth parted slightly, and her fingers curled beside her head. She's far too cute but she's so many things. It's that eleventh noise in the air that makes him turn his attention to the object.
The messages are listed, and they're still as unreadable as the ones that he had caught within their favorite cafe. They're still in a language foreign to him that her and this someone else share. There's the listing that three of them are picture messages, and there's the desire to know what this someone else felt they needed to share with her.
That odd feeling is washing over him again as he peaks upon her phone. He knows it's none of his business. He knows this is an invasion of privacy. He knows he shouldn't be this curious. He knows he's overthinking it. They're definitely not together—he scolds himself once more. They're definitely not separate—he reminds himself once more.
Fingers grip her shoulder softly giving the smallest of shakes to bring her from sleep. There's a noise far to cute laced in sleep, and there's the twitch of her fingers as she brings them to rub the sleep from her eyes. The yawn she gives is soft and small and she settles to sit up and clutch the book to her chest in her movements.
"I'll get you a shirt." there's a smirk upon his lips unable to hide in his response as he turns from her to take one from his closet.
"I'm sleeping over?" her voice is soaked in her sleepiness.
"Ah, you are." he holds the smallest humor as he answers.
He's quick to hand over the wide collared t-shirt of royal blue, and grab his own set of sweats and t-shirt of muted red before heading out the door to get changed and give her the privacy she should have—he's already crossed enough of those lines today.
The noises from the kitchen are enough to make him wander in and see her bent with her elbows upon the counter. There's that feeling that's almost annoyance in seeing her giggling as she types away dressed within the shirt that gives him the smallest peek at her panties of pale green. He doesn't understand why it's creeping upon him in these moments. He wants to believe it's a build up of her constant distraction within the little things leading up to this moment. He wants to believe that it's not something more than curiosity, and he wants to believe that it's not as possessive as it feels.
He wants to believe these things and yet here he is pinning her to the counter as he looks over her shoulder. His breath is caressing her ear as he eyes the phone within her hands, "Sakura—who has you so distracted?"
She's shifted against him and those rose-colored strands tickle against his cheek as she looks to him, "Ah—Well. Sasuke-kun." there's hesitance as she responds and then there's that dusty pink he absolutely enjoys upon her cheeks, "It's nothing—really nothing important."
"Nothing important and yet it has you distracted." he breathes out as the inhale of her vanilla scent fills his nose.
"Ah—well—you see. . .it's just this friend." she's whispering within their close contact with her pale green watching his face decorated in something she wasn't expecting—what she sees he's not sure as he's far to interested in the foreign writing upon her screen.
"This friend speaks a different language?" his fingers tighten upon the edge of the counter, "What does he have to talk about so much?"
"He?" she's pouting within her response, "He's a she?"
That is what makes him look from the phone to her with brows pinched in confusion as he lets out his habitual noise response. There's a blink and then there's another, "Ah, yes, Sasuke-kun—This is my friend from Germany."
The blush across her cheeks is deepening as she shifts her weight between her legs. He cannot stop the heat upon his own cheeks, "Ah?" the hum is rough as he swallows now realizing how close he's put himself to her.
"Yes—we're discussing—we're, uh, discussing this series we both like. Here where it says, 'Die zwei waren in dem Moment so süß!', she has said, 'Wasn't that moment between them the cutest?', and—uh, here where it says, 'Ich bin so rot geworden' I wrote, 'I blushed so hard.'"
"Ah—I—yeah." a set of his fingers leave the counter as they cover his mouth refusing to look at her with the embarrassment he feels hot upon his face.
Removing himself from her is his first mission, and second is putting some distance between them as he heads for the fridge. He can feel her eyes dancing upon him as he keeps himself within the fridge hoping it will cool the heat that lingers on his cheeks. There's a forced swallow as he finally comes out from this sad excuse of a hiding spot bringing the ice tea with him.
That aroma of vanilla is all he can breath in as she comes to stand beside him pulling glasses from the cabinet overhead. There's no words between them as he gets their drinks poured, and there's no words as they sip upon the ice tea in the awkward and lingering silence. He's caved and begun to look to her fleetingly, and then there's that dusty pink upon her cheeks that he enjoys so much that comes over her as she speaks, "Ready for bed?"
There's that moment of time between them before her feet have her standing in front of him, and a press of those lips of hers upon his cheek. There's no doubt she's embarrassed, and while the heat is back upon his own cheeks he cannot help but try to defuse it with a tease to her, "Sakura, what series were you talking about?"
There's a whip of her head and it's with that ten shades of red painted upon her that he enjoys even more than that dusty pink that he feels himself recovering from what heat she's put upon his own, "What?"
There's the knowing that he's got her within his tease, and he only proceeds to press it further, "What series were you talking about?"
Pale green flutter away from him quickly seeking the tile floor of his kitchen, "It—well you see I—" her fingers curl within the hem of his shirt, "It's World's Greatest First Love."
There's a noise of curiosity that falls from him before she hastily speaks again, "It's not that great. Nothing you would like." it's an excuse—and a poor one at that in his books—but he's already achieved his goal of gaining that pretty shade of red she looks so good in.
It's him who's leaving her in the kitchen with the grin across his face now perfectly pale within their normal complexion, and then there's her feet coming from behind as she goes to follow him to the bedroom.
Her steps are light behind him as they head for the bed. She takes her established place beside the wall. He takes his established place on the other side. She hasn't lost those ten shades of red. He hasn't lost that smirk as they get underneath the comforter. She's more than acquainted with his queen size bed, and not someone else's. She's kissed his cheek twice now, and not someone else. She's had more than enough moments with him, and not someone else. She's spending the night in one of his shirts—she's not wearing someone else's shirt tonight.
There's no use denying to himself the feeling he had believed to be something almost like annoyance. There's no use pretending he hadn't felt the sting of possessive upon him. There's no use ignoring the jealousy he had felt at her possibly distracted by another male.
They're definitely not together—but she isn't someone else's either. They're definitely not separate—but she is kinda, sorta, possibly, maybe his.