Chapter 21: Charming forehead.

The room was unbearably chilly. The fabric covers on the couch made the backs of her thighs feel like ice, and as the night stretched on Sakura found that her arms and legs physically began to tremble.

She had eyed the thick blanket atop of Sasuke's feet—only his feet, as he was the type of person to sleep with just a sheet—but she knew better than to take it. Sasuke had just fallen asleep only hours ago after staring at her disinterestedly. It was almost as if he slept with his eyes open—looking, but zoned out of the realities of the world around him.

At first she ate her meal uncomfortably; the heat of his stare sent her hair on end. If she had been younger, his hard, preoccupied gape would have melted her down into a puddle of unrequited love. But, she was different now. (Though, it was only a small, insignificant change in personality.)

She makes her way to the shower and tells herself it will only take a minute. She'd told Sasuke that being alone wasn't a good plan after she'd been attacked randomly, but the air around her was frosty and the warmth of a good wash simply made her ache. It would be what, twenty minutes tops? He wouldn't even wake!

The beads of water run down her face and the length of her body, washing away her blood and sweat. She looks down at her fingers and sees that the fingernail on her right index is split in half, pink and swollen from pulling apart the lid that belonged to GA1. Her tongue slides over the crack, testing the sensitivity.

The exams had been absolutely crazy.

Sakura hadn't believed the rumors floating around—stuff about robots and metal orbs and blah, blah, blah…because hear-say in Konoha was normally spread from unknowing housewife to unintelligent child to oblivious commoner. Ninja gossiped, too, but they were bound by code and seal to keep important information hidden.

There had been a rumor once that Sasuke Uchiha liked girls with long hair. Her pink strands stick firmly to her breast, and she wonders if that was a fallacy or a truth. She thumbs the scar on her abdomen where Sasori had pierced her uterus and ended her womanhood. It didn't make her weep anymore

She looks down and notices that her legs need to be shaved.

There was a kit by the showerhead, and she expertly blades the hairs and finishes her routine—soaping her locks and scrubbing her face and brushing her teeth. After one last onceover, Sakura notices that the water was running clear across her chest…and pink down the drain.

Have I cut myself with the razer?

Sakura kicks out each leg, and notices that the redness is gathered at her thighs. She hasn't had a period in a few months—which wasn't unusual with all things considered. She didn't cramp or bloat, so seeing the blood suddenly confused her. Her body wasn't ill, however, so she shrugged it off as being a spotty cycle.

The rug was luxurious beneath her feet and…it was unfortunately white.

Everything was white—white floor, white counter, white towels. She wrapped herself in the cloth and squatted down, searching for feminine supplies under the sink.

Lord Sasuke would like to communicate with you. Can I open a direct route?

Sakura flails, standing straight as panic floods through her. Oh god, how long was she in here? Were they under attack? Her thoughts are bouncing around: "What an idiot!" she says. "Sasuke's gonna kill me!"

"No!" Sakura replies, hoping he won't take it personally. She's in too much of a tizzy to remember that Cy-Lan supplied toiletries once asking, and she rummages around through every drawer and crevice. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Lord Sasuke would like to communicate with you. Can I open a direct route?

She needs to answer him. He could be battling the last robot and she wouldn't even know it. Clearing her head away from the thoughts of "periods" and "tampons", she allows his voice to filter though.

"Sakura, are you alright? Where are you?"

"I'm in the restroom, sorry! I'll be out in just a—"

The floor has a small puddle from when she'd roamed around too hastily. Her foot slides out from under her and she almost does a split, slamming her right foot into the corner of the counter and her left kneecap on an opened cupboard. She tips over onto the floor and grasps her pinky toe—it had been practically crushed.

"Damn it!" she howls in pain. She repeats the phrase over and over until her words hitch in her throat as the door is swung wide open.

Sasuke looked at her splayed out form for a full three seconds. He sees a patch of red at her middle, and looks around the room for a hidden enemy. Was it camouflaged? Why was she naked?

Sakura sputters until a semi-articulated sentence bursts forth. "I'm okay, I just fell."

"You're bleeding."

Her head immediately looks down at the stained towel, happy at first that it's ridden up to her bellybutton, and displeased that it's so high on her upper thigh. Sasuke had told her immodesty was uncomfortable, hadn't he? She was practically slapping him in the face.

"I'm okay Sasuke, really—I was just looking for the correct…type of gauze for my wound."

"Is that why you showered and abandoned your post?"

She scrunches her face at his peeved voice. Sakura didn't mean to be dishonest, but his glare was excruciating and the fact that she was nude, menstruating, and hurting from practically ripping her pinky toe from her foot didn't help. So, she lied. "Yes, I'm sorry Sasuke."

He opens the mirror and pulls out all sorts of wraps and bandages. "I put them up here."

There's a box of tampons in the upper corner and almost screams with delight. "Oh, thanks so much! I'll be out in a second!"

Sasuke nods and turns his back to her, shutting the door. He had woken up to a cold, empty room that was dark and void. He hadn't been surprised at first, until the realization that Sakura was missing popped in and it made him wonder what the hell had happened. There was no way she'd just leave. He thought that she must have been taken, or ensnared.

Yet, she was simply showering and dressing her wound.

For a moment, he felt as though he was the worst teammate in all of history. Waking up without her there should have immediately sent warning signs though his head. It had taken him a full eight minutes—he'd killed in less time.

And when the hell did she get hurt? He'd been asleep for a few hours, and the blood from her wound was large enough to leave a fist-sized circle on her towel. The bed was cozy and there was icy ventilation drafting throughout the room. Had she bled the entire time? Had she gotten cold?

He seethed, sitting on the edge of the bed with his fingers curled under his chin. Kakashi had been right. Sasuke had the audacity to barge into his office and tell him how Sakura was unfit—yet he was the one that didn't notice immediately that she was missing. He was the one that didn't notice her lesion.

He ran his hands though his hair—too shaggy and in need of a cut—and processed his feelings. Should he be angry that she'd left him alone, or should he be angry that he'd taken so long to notice? Should he, shouldn't he, should he, shouldn't he…

The door opens and Sakura steps out into the freshness of the room. Steam swirls around her as the heat of her bath collides with the air. The dusty rose tendrils she was most likely named after are damp and heavy. They stick to her face hug her body like a veil. She pulls at her sleeve, tugging them over her hands like they're just as shy as she is from Sasuke's piercing stare.

The nebula of confusion that had been tumbling in his head had suddenly halted at her entrance. She looks like she's about to be scolded, like she has a secret to hide/

"I lied to you." She admits, bringing her cuff to her lip, and catching it between her teeth.

What was she going on about?

Sakura gnawed the fabric pressed between her teeth, finding her bare feet more entertaining. Her pinky toe was red, darkening to the deep-purple of a bruise. She doesn't speak, or even try to defend herself.

He was angry at her after all—his silence told her so. Sasuke wasn't one to yell, or belittle. She knew that he would keep silent until she explained. "I took a shower. I told myself it was only going to be a minute, but I ended up shaving. O-Other stuff happened so I got delayed…and…and I'm just really sorry."

She dips her head low, bowing to him like a wife whose husband just gotten home from work. Like a student greeting a teacher; like he was ranked higher than she was. "I left you behind while you slept for self-indulgence. Forgive me."

"It's a good thing." He says suddenly, standing from the edge of the bed and pulling tucking the sheets back in place properly. He doesn't look at her. "You were injured. You could have feinted."

Smoothing the edges, he gestures towards the cot. "Get some rest, I'll keep watch."

The smell of Sasuke Uchiha is mind-numbing. It's the scent of thunderstorms and wilderness. Was there a candle with this scent? If Sakura closed her eyes, she could feel the humidity and electrified atmosphere from the ghost of his body.

Sasuke brushes past her and finds his place at the table, propping his elbows upon it and running his fingers through his thick, tousled hair.

"You need more rest than I do; why don't you go back to bed, Sasuke?"

Sasuke didn't trust that she wouldn't fall asleep or abandon her post again. He wasn't upset that she'd done it—he genuinely felt relieved that Sakura had noticed her wound, but he certainly didn't feel comfortable sleeping again. It had been a wonder he'd rested the first time. "No,"

She doesn't argue, and he hears as she shifts into the bed slowly. Sakura thought that speaking out against him would be akin to poking a rabid bear—which wasn't the best of ideas. She could only apologize, it was his choice to accept or not.

She's asleep in moments. Sakura purrs like a kitten and it's the only thing he can hear in the silence of the room. He makes a glass of tea and leans against the counter, closing his eyes briefly to pacify the soreness.

A dream that does not belong to him enters his mind. It's Sakura—she is lying beneath him, panting and rosy from passion. Her hand trails down his chest, over each abdominal muscle until it hovers only a few inches below his belly button.

The man's eyes snap open. He looks at Sakura incredulously. She down for the count, but her lip is dancing between her teeth and her eyes are moving rapidly under their lids. As she dreams her wet dream, her body tosses a bit, letting the duvet fall from her shoulders and gather at the sensual dip of her waist.

This is a private moment; an erotica that only Sakura should know about and wake up to. But Sasuke finds that he's drawn to it—intrigued by it. His dream self is nude and Sakura is fully clothed. It's an odd fantasy, fascinatingly unsoiled considering the subject matter. He cups his tea and sips, closing his eyes so that he can see her fictional love-making—her wholesome delusions. He wonders if, perhaps, he's done everything all backwards.

Sasuke head dips low, letting his lips run over her earlobe as he whispers sweet nothings. Sasuke audibly snorts, hearing the cheesiest line in the entire world spill from his make-believe lips—"Sakura, you have such a charming forehead."

He can't stand the silliness of it all. Sakura's so pure and untainted—there's not even "sex" in her dirty thoughts. It's just a bunch of hugging and kissing and nonsense words that Sasuke can't imagine himself ever saying. He thinks of how different they are—he was lust and she was chastity, he was black and she was white, he was a demon and she, an angel. But, like a moth, Sakura was drawn into his flame.

When morning comes and Sakura's slept a full eight hours, Sasuke lets her wake up naturally. He finds that poking her with a stick was the best and simplest way to go.

She throws herself out of the bed and lands on the floor with a thump, shaking the furniture as if she weighed a full ton. He knew different, though, because he'd held her and flipped her around on the battlefield. His kusanagi carried more mass.

They eat in silence, because Sasuke cannot speak to her without thinking of her pubescent dream. Sakura, however, has slept too much, and for some odd reason this makes her moody and sharp.

She must not have had her "happy ending", he thinks. Not he would know. He'd dispelled Cy-Lan's mind transfer before anything eventful happened, if it ever did.

They step out of the dormitory and it fades into data, pixilating into the foggy air about them. Sasuke's boots break through the first layer of snow. He'd always liked winter more than the summer he was born to.

Naruto was summertime after all. He was bright and fun and energetic. They were opposites far down the line of history, and adjectives that described Sasuke Uchiha would be more akin to "dark", "melancholy", and "lackluster".

When Sakura stops to use the restroom for the third time in three hours, Sasuke starts to wonder if she's escaping the silence rather than draining her bladder. She exits the portal and it dissipates, but she keeps her eyes on it as if it's the first time she's seen it happen.

"You're being strange again." Sasuke says, because he notices, and because it's bothersome.

Sakura keeps her eyes downcast, enjoying the cold compress of snow on her boots as it soothes her aching pinky toe. It had been an eventful few days—she's drained, she misses home, and she wants to talk about more than the stupid exams. Anything would be better than the awkwardness between them.

Sakura cannot meet him in the eye or even try to converse, because she's had embarrassing dreams about his undressed body and she's afraid she'll stumble over her feet if she looks up. Her inflamed uterus wasn't making anything better. Womanhood shouldn't be a setback.

"I slept too much." It's the first excuse she could spew to Sasuke when his eyebrow quirked up during breakfast.

She'd slept like a newborn baby, after all, and he was running on only a few hours rest. She was aggravated, but her arguing would only win her a: "It's too late now to worry about it," or something similar.

"You're hurt."

When she does not respond or grace him with her chartreuse irises, he thinks that perhaps…he should try a bit harder. She needed more communication—she fed off of it. Sakura had been used to Naruto's constant banter and at least one person on every mission to chew the fat with—it wouldn't be so hard, right?

Sasuke walks ahead, down the nonexistent pathway and kicks a lump of frost out of his way. "…this last cyborg will be even more cunning."

Sakura looks at his taut back—his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his muscular everything—and finds herself smiling genuinely, because he's trying to talk to her and it's about the exam, and she really doesn't seem to care at all.

"Yeah, I guess it's a ninjutsu thing. Stealth and all that…"

Something pops into Sasuke's head. He remembers the book he'd left on her kitchen counter before training one morning, the one that belonged to his mother. It had been locked away in a disarrayed storage building under layers of dust.

"That book," He says, stopping and turning towards her. "Did you understand any of it?"

It was beyond Sasuke's comprehension. He was never the academic type—he learned better by action than by word. The paragraphs upon paragraphs of "summons" and "demons" never really brought him much interest. Scrolls suited him better—graphic imagery that showed correct positions and techniques.

"I did." Jutting her bottom lip out just a bit, she lets her index finger run along the smoothness in a thoughtful gesture. "I memorized each page. It was mostly about the history of summoning weapons—why they were crafted, how they were used and who used them…"

Sasuke listens as she talks, waving her arms as her mouth babbles on.

He didn't really care much about what she was saying, or what it meant, but he listens because it's important to her and he can't remember ever seeing anyone so enmeshed in a subject. Her cheeks are frostbitten and her bare thighs and legs are reddened from the wind, but she pays it no mind. She absentmindedly rubs her hand up and down as she prattles, explaining how she understood the basics but needed to work on actual in-field moves. "I don't know the correct positions."

"I'll help."

Years ago when the Uchiha clan was revered and the offspring were treated like royalty, Sasuke was taught swordsmanship. He had never been interested in the classes, as traditional garb and correct position didn't matter much when a wild boar the size of a house was barreling towards you.

Still, his mind remembered the drawstring against his cheek, and how far his feet were supposed to be placed when he held a bow-and-arrow. He remembered the whip of his bokken as he parried his classmates, slamming the practice sword down on their vitals as he struck a kill-zone.

He hadn't had much practice with axes, but he remembered his teacher's movements as he sliced hay mannequins in two. "Summon your axe."

Sakura had never spoken that much without being told to shut up—without being told that she was too loud about her passions. She could talk for hours about medical subjects and poisonous plants, so much so that even Ino could only handle a few sentences.

Sasuke had looked genuinely intrigued—and not only that, he'd listened and commented on her oration as if he wasn't bothered by her zeal the least. "Y-you want to practice right now?"

He shrugs, pulling out his canister of water and taking a swig. They had time to waste, and there was no doubt that the last robot would meet up with them soon. Sasuke and Sakura could keep trudging through the snow in awkward silences, or they could work on the Haruno battleax (that would be great help in their final battle). It wasn't a hard choice.

He offers her his tumbler without wiping the mouthpiece, and she takes the drink after him like her stomach wasn't as flurried as the weather around her.

"Thanks, Sasuke…for everything."