Disclaimer: Borrowing Naruto for writing practice is all.
Warnings: Some swearing.
Intermission
prompt: 33. celebrity/fan AU for lilmikomiko
As far as nightclubs and small venues went, the Red Snapper was a brave choice for the final stop of Haruno Sakura and the Cardiac Plexus's tenth anniversary tour. Boasting a seven hundred maximum capacity, its main dance floor and the second floor bar area were reserved for the event and set out with candlelit tables for four or six. The elevated stage, having hosted everything from a burlesque star's wedding to a local kindergarten production of Momotaro, was large enough to fit a grand piano, an electric keyboard, and all sorts of percussion instruments. No doubt the show, projected to take about two hours, maybe twenty minutes more for the encores, would highlight her hits, touch a few personal favorites, and allow for special requests from fans.
Some might call him overzealous, having planned this night months in advance, even taking a week off from work just to make sure no last minute hitch would prevent his attendance. He had been a devoted fan for more than a decade, following her work as a struggling independent artist, rejoicing when her music finally attracted the attention it hungered for, and now this, basking in her moment of triumph. Ten years ago, a hundred live shows ago, she joked that she would become a ubiquitous superstar, her lyrics gracing canned bear meat and city bus flanks. She found something better in a loyal band, full artistic license under an indulgent label, and the freedom to feed her muses wherever her feet and ears brought her.
The VIP packages were tempting, risky, would take him too close to her. He wasn't ready to stand beside her like that, wasn't ready for her to learn that he knew every word and every note to her every song. Still, congratulations were in order. He befriended the door keeper to ensure a bouquet of flowers found their way to her dressing room before the show ended, two dozen yellow camellias to extol her excellence.
"And how do you find the Senju ojousama?"
Not giving his father's question the attention it deserved promised a fight. Sasuke folded the morning papers and pushed them aside in favor of his breakfast.
"Tolerable," he decided, was a safe answer.
"Only tolerable, you say. And yet all accounts agree Miss Senju is an excellent young lady." His father frowned at him as he tolerated the soggy eggs benedict. "If she is as uninteresting as you say, why has it been reported that you've spent every waking moment with her the past month?"
"As it has already been so reported, father, I shan't have to say another word."
His mother spoke this time. "My dear," she said. "We don't arrange these meetings to force you into a relationship with any woman—yes, not even Lady Senju's daughter. Would it be beneficial for our family tree to be graced by their name? Indeed. But if you don't like her, please speak now."
"She is not the sort of young lady you can toy with," added his father. "Do you understand what permanence means, boy? Be careful!"
His mother gave his father a look. "I encourage you to get to know her, Sasuke-kun, but don't dilly-dally and then suddenly rebel at the altar in front of three hundred people." She continued murmuring about stoics boys with flairs for the dramatic and how she just didn't understand...
"I have four back-to-back meetings promising to ruin my appetite for lunch," he told his parents as he stood up and kissed his mother on a temple. "Please don't let me ruin yours. I won't be home."
"Sasuke," his father said warningly.
"Miss Senju is lovely," he said. "She promised to learn how to make wheat noodles by hand with me, so I won't be home for dinner either."
He opted for the additional seating on the second floor of the establishment, where part of the flooring was cut away over what would have been orchestra seats in a proper theater, its best tables hugging the perimeter. He took a seat along the left side, behind a bunch of stage lights, where he could watch her unobstructed. The railing was black and spidery thin, a rather wishy-washy guarantee he wouldn't fly off his seat and down to her.
He had seatmates; he hoped they could encourage his sanity to stay with him all night. The two older ladies were escorted by a much younger nephew, engrossed with his phone and a bowl of edamame. He didn't think he could manage to keep down dinner, so for the required amount of purchase for the seating, he bought his three companions drinks and another appetizer. Have some, the ladies urged with such charm and iron that he had no choice but to eat some of tomatoes. He had a bitter relationship with tomatoes.
He didn't hear the opening act.
When Haruno Sakura came on stage, she came in a whirl of red, bowing gracefully to the adulation of the crowd before launching into a short greeting, her voice calming the applause to a murmur.
She was excited to be there tonight, exhilarated, she said, and it showed in the glow of her face, wholesome and sweet even with the artfully tousled hair and smoky eye make-up. Oh, but she would play a harlot tonight, she joked, would leave no genre unexplored, no request unsung.
Her cautious palette of colors used to be pastels in the early days, he remembered, the colors one painted the walls of a residential property being put out in the market. Nowadays, she wore blazing jewel tones that made the pink of her hair glow white, her tan golden, and her eyes virid.
The dress, oh but that dress, damned him as it clung to every curve on her slim body. She had a little ghost of a belly, but her hips and thighs were solidly built, quite obvious through the fabric. Not so lady-like tonight, but was she ever?
On her feet were platform maryjanes, bejeweled with fake rubies, ridiculous, but thick-heeled and steady.
Keep grounded, he had told her once, keep grounded no matter where you fly off to.
Maybe she remembered.
Maybe he was delusional.
He caved and ordered the spiciest bottle of syrah they had available.
She started immediately with an ebullient song that characterized most of her material, airy vocals to counterpoint the rich tones of the strings interspersed with a nonchalant chorus. How very sly she remained after all this years, concealing the despair in her catchy lyrics with her mastery over the piano.
The instrument had been her constant companion since childhood, but she didn't find her voice until she was a woman. Both were irremovable parts of her music; without either her songs would not be hers. She was always careful to present her hard work on both in equal measures, always skirting the limits of her skills in both at each album release and almost always breaking those limits at some point during each concert series.
He drank for her again, remembering everything she had poured into this dream, remembering someone he once knew, someone just like her. He let the burn push the bitterness down his gullet, back down where it belonged.
Regrets had no place at this stage.
"I don't understand," he told her a bit severely, "why you would risk your hands like this."
She was too out of breath to answer, had merely gestured for him to help her up from the polished floor of the local boxing gym. Her jelly legs couldn't find it in them to lift her even with his help. She pulled him down to her instead for all her effort.
"You're overwrought," he said.
"Your dress shirt will stain," she managed.
"Bother my shirt."
"Your butler will be so put out with the young master."
"I don't have one."
"We have two, though we shouldn't be able to afford even half one."
"Let me guess: they're descended from former retainers. Noblesse oblige was it?"
"I want to learn how to fly."
"Shouldn't you be working on your pecs then?"
She laughed, not quite so breathless now though still hiccup-y. "I knew it," she declared as she squeezed his arms. "I knew these guns weren't completely from your warrior class genes."
"My warrior class genes and my lifetime of superfluous warrior training is at your disposal, my lady," he said after kissing her for her impertinence. "Tell me, on whom should I use them?"
"Sasuke—"
"I should be burying that punching bag you've just murdered. Who pissed you off?"
"Darling, I'm pissed off on a regular basis. I box so it doesn't ruin my music."
"You can't make everyone happy."
"For even a few moments, I can very well damn try."
"I'm just saying. You shouldn't be smashing your fists into things, so soon to your big audition."
At that point, he had managed to take off both her gloves, had manage to twine a set of his fingers with her long, delicate-looking ones. Her other hand, as if in protest to such description, dug at his shoulder as she pulled herself forward to straddle him.
"They're scheduling interviews for that day."
"Interviews for what?"
"Admissions."
"For formality's sake," he figured. She had already been accepted to the MD/Masters in Health Administration program at Chiyo Womens College. "Do you really need to be so anxious about it?"
"No. Did you know my mother is a co-founder of the medical school?"
"Yes, it's one of my engagement gifts to you. We've bought back your family's shares. We're working on Kuni Medical Center, its affiliated hospital."
"The interview is on the day of the audition. I won't make it back on time."
"Tell them to go f—Tell them, I'll drive you back from Sand city."
"I'll tell them you're a bad influence, upstart commoner." She sighed against his neck. "Teach me how to fly, Sasuke."
"You should take a shower first."
"Bother showers. Fly away with me now."
Much later, she told him she had written a song for her mother.
After a brief intermission, Miss Haruno surprised the audience by stepping away from her piano and taking nothing but the mic with her. He had never seen her sing without the accompaniment of her one true love, much less hear her sing acapella. However, she took the occasion to introduce her bandmates, old familiar names bearing equal or greater talents that he had unashamedly only regarded in terms of how they complement hers, and made it clear that their drums and guitars were accompanying her.
"This is one of my earliest compositions," she said. "It's a little different than what you've been accustomed to hearing from us, but please oblige my nostalgia. It's called 'Room.' I'm very fond of it, and I hope you like it, too."
The song began, led by the bass and snare drums, and the bass guitar coming in steady at their heels. When her voice came, it was well-deep and sorrowful, matched by the individual notes plucked on the lead guitar.
The room again is caving in
Walls constricting
Don't start screaming now-the day has almost ended
What do I do? I just don't know. I'm coming to my senses
Begging oblivion, gods, never again
The world stops
Turning
Only for you. Only for you.
He had known about this legendary song, of course, though he had never heard it himself. The story was that Miss Haruno composed the song to convince her family to allow her to join the audition that ultimately allowed her to make the proper connections in the music industry. She was able to get a regular gig at a bar known for their up-and-coming performers and soon attracted the attention of the mysterious Shino, owner of the independent label, Buzz. Symbiosis at its best, Buzz poured all their resources on their fledging recruit, eventually allowing the label to acquire other musicians until they could afford worldwide album releases and nations-spanning concert tours.
Should I still look back to structures already in ruins
Or cease to move, allow them to just dissipate
What do I do? I just don't know I'm coming to my senses
Begging oblivion, gods, never again.
The world stops
Turning
Oh only for you, only for you
Sometimes, he wondered why Miss Haruno insisted on camouflaging her voice in the intricate layers of at least five other instruments in each song. He knew why now, after hearing this first song of hers, and she must have realized, too, how draining it would have been to perform this, song after song, night after night, songs like these throbbing with emotions at war. Some fool in the audience might decide to cut himself on the rawest edges of her voice and how would she be able to live with that sort of thing on her conscience?
He was only a passive listener, after all, and it was more than he could bear.
But then your candle flickers lit, unlit, it flickers lit unlit your candle
Flickers again yet again yet again yet again
"Miss Senju," he informed her one evening, "you are impossible to keep up with."
"And yet how diligently you try, Mr. Uchiha," she said in between reps. "Charming. Heart-rending. Soul-stealing. Mind-addling."
They had agreed to meet that Thursday evening, even though his schedule for the day threatened to bleed into the night. She had given him a list of things she had remotely thought of doing for that day. He found her in the last place she had listed, in her school library miming the keys to some Russian symphonic poem. (It said so on the cover of the score; he wouldn't have any idea otherwise.) They had gone together to the Uchiha home gym, where she demonstrated, true to her word, an inconsistent bench press form.
He hovered beside her as she did her last rep, watched as the bar drifted slightly to the right, drifted back to center, before she pulled it down to touch lightly at her chest and lifted it straight up with a grunt. She paused, the bar trembling midair, before she managed to return the bar to rest.
"Keep both feet grounded," he advised. "You're still using your lower body and your core to lift. We'll work on your shoulder and your triceps, but for now you shouldn't do this lift without a spotter."
"I wouldn't," she said, after catching her breath and sitting up. "Now that you've volunteered your services. Once a week?"
"We'll see."
Their families had agreed on a wedding date, next March, after the closing of her first year in med school. As far as he could tell, she hadn't slowed down in other aspects of her life, serving as her mother's representative in business and social affairs, playing bimonthly gigs with her band at a club downtown. She insisted on dates like this, too, when perhaps she should be resting instead.
"Maybe we should deadlift some other time," he said. He noticed her attention waning as he was showing her some shoulder mobility exercises.
"No, you promised." Damn him and the promises she plucked from their late-night text exchanges. "You critique my bench press, and I critique your deadlift."
"I'm at a disadvantage with my longer legs, you realize. You have so much less space between your hips and the ground. I have so much more gravity to contend with."
"Excuses."
"May I ask something?"
"Of course, my darling."
"How fit do you want us to be for the wedding?"
"I think you look great as you are." Her brows drew together. She seemed to ruminate on the question as she returned the barbels to weights rack. Her arms were akimbo when she rejoined him, her face still with the frown. "Why do you ask? Do you think I need to lose weight?"
"Not at all, but why are you so fixated on strengthening your core?"
"Oh!" Satisfied with his answer, her easy grin returned. "For singing. I'm doing it to get more power. With all the youthful control of a diva, as Lee-san says."
"Fair enough." He proceeded to remove his sweater. She watched with something glinting in her green eyes. Worshipful, he thought, finding great discomfort in the word. Why should someone like her worship someone like him? "You like what you're seeing?" he prompted to derail his line of thinking.
"Wow. Fishing for compliments from an obviously star-struck person. What's an innocent girl to do?"
He rolled his eyes at her, not a gesture he was accustomed to making, but it seemed the most appropriate one. The shirt he was wearing was threadbare in parts, as he had often tied it around his head in place of a towel during kendo practice with his brother. It was soft and breathable, as were the gym pants he paired it with.
"You should stop looking at me like that," he murmured, tucking back bits of her light hair over her ears. "Or I won't get a single rep up."
She puffed at him, but demonstrated without further quips. She went over the steps in her most fastidious manner-reviewing cues, centering the bar in front of her, positioning her feet properly, and taking a deep breath. He noted her abdominal muscles visibly pushing out through her tank top, before she dropped-back flat, bottom down-gripped the bar, and snapped upright, her hips acting as the fulcrum, dropping the weight back to the floor after with equal efficiency.
"Come here," she said, smiling briefly when he reached her side. "Who's starstruck now?"
"Impossible to keep up with," he repeated as he lowered his lips to hers. "Such an excellent ojousama."
"Focus," she breathed into his slightly open mouth. She took his hand and place it against her belly even as she returned his kiss. "Feel that?"
"Hm."
"That's how you know your abs are tight." She flattened her palm against his stomach and pressed down. "Push against me. Good. Perfect. Now, imagine you're pushing out, pushing out against me each time."
"Pushing against you, you say?"
She blushed in spite of herself and tugged at his shirt imperiously. "All right, then imagine a belt there-actually, I can get you an actual belt if you'd like. For now, imagine something that won't make you horny. Let's start with five reps."
He snorted, but did as he was told, positioning himself before the bar and adjusting based on her suggestions. He lifted once, twice. She placed her hand on his lower back, just above his buttocks, and pushed down slightly. Third rep.
"Where do you feel it?"
Fourth rep. "My hips."
"Good, good."
"Not good," he said, dropping the weight after the fifth repetition. "How am I supposed to distract you from your studies if my hips are too sore?"
"Please. You're already always distracting me."
"You like it. But again. About my hips."
"Exercise your creativity later. You'll think of something."
During the second intermission, his three seatmates had fallen to chatting about the atypical song from after the first one. The distracted nephew had his smartphone out again, now sharing rumors he found online about Miss Haruno. They say she belonged to an old family who had its roots among courtiers of a dynasty hundreds of years long gone. Adopted from the more distant branches of her family and named heir of the current head, she had sacrificed both station and privilege to be able continue performing.
Romantic as the stories were, one of the ladies pointed out, there was little chance of their being true. After all, agreed her sister, no matter how stirring the songs she wrote for this hypothetical adoptive mother, she couldn't have possibly been allowed such freedom to pursue and establish a career in music. Even though the nobility had long been abolished in their nations, such families kept detailed records of their members, obliged to uphold expectations that have long since lost purpose.
He wasn't interested in such rumors and declined to give his opinion on the issue. Instead, he reminded them to submit their song requests; one of the waiters was circulating with a dusty fish bowl and post-it notes.
How far did Miss Haruno's nostalgia extend, he wondered. Despite her earlier profession about leaving no song unsung, she couldn't possibly entertain everyone's request. Even if the unlikely happened and his post-it note was some how drafted, he didn't think she'd sing his request.
Then again, no one thought they'd ever hear the fabled, "Room."
While he was occupied with his theories and thoughts, the band had reconvened on stage, and the drummer-Tenten, her name was Tenten, the one who was married with three kids-was reading out the first five requests they had each drawn out.
"That is an interesting one, Sakura-san," the lead guitarist, Lee, the one who had taken a two-year break from the band to compete for some national martial arts event. "This brings back memories."
"It's been ages since we last played that," Tenten agreed.
Miss Haruno took the piece of paper from her bandmate and fingered it, a curious look on her face. She looked around the room, wincing over the stage lights. She looked up and traced the bannister with her eyes. His first impulse was to shrink back, but then with a firm shake of his head, pulled himself forward, almost leaning over to stare back at her searching eyes. He had always known she wouldn't see him. Overzealous though he may be, he was still just a fan like all the other people here.
"Are we doing it? It's been a while."
"I feel the resurgence of youth spreading through my veins," Lee said. "I think we'll all feel refreshed and reenergized."
Miss Haruno might have chuckled; it was hard to tell over the crowd's speculative murmur.
"All right," she said. "For the first song, we're singing a cover of another special song for our band. It's the song we performed when auditioning for what got us our first recurring gig. It was also the song we played the night we were discovered by Shino-san, our manager then, President of Buzz now."
"For a long time, you've had complicated feelings about this song, didn't you Sakura," Tenten said.
"I did." Her laugh was rueful. "I do."
"No regrets?"
"None that I can't live with."
"None that I can't live with," Tenten repeated and repositioned herself before her drum kit. "Now, enough of our banter. We hope you enjoy our cover of Vienna Teng's Flyweight Love."
He stood up just as the opening chords played. He didn't need to watch her sing this song; her definitive performance of it was carefully tucked away in corner of his mind. Sometimes, he still took it out to listen and relive that night he finally understood what he needed to give her. Tonight, he didn't feel like traversing that particular memory.
Ride on
Glide down
Hide out
My flyweight love, flyweight love
Later, he might indeed come to regret tempting chance like this. For now, he was just glad she could sing this song again.
And now
The years surprise us
How all our times apart
Have become our vows
Sometime in February, one month before the Uchiha-Senju nuptials, the Senju estate sued the Uchiha family for breach of contract. The issue was quietly settled out of court. The Uchiha family retained the stocks they've recently acquired from various establishments and business formerly controlled by the Senju, in particular, Chiyo Women's College and Kuni Medical Center. In return, the Senju family were guaranteed membership on the board of trustees for both institution for as long as the Uchiha family had majority shares, regardless of the Senju's ownership status. Notices were sent out to the one hundred and fifty invited guests, informing them of the canceled engagement. Uchiha Sasuke, the person who requested the cancellation, had discontinued all of the wedding plans within forty-eight hours, returning all engagement and early wedding gifts to the appropriate stores and senders, repaying his parents and her mother the forfeited deposits from canceled services. The only thing he had left to do was to drop off his ex-fiancee to the apartment she would now be sharing with her bandmate, Tenten.
"You shouldn't have to do this," she said after almost an hour of silence in his car.
"It's the only thing I can do for you."
"I'm really sor-"
"Don't. Don't apologize to me. It was just my stupidity for not realizing what you wanted sooner."
"Sasuke, it's not like that."
He didn't know what it was. He didn't anymore. The shock of seeing her turn down the contract offer from a small but reputable recording label made it clear what the rest of their life was going to be like together. See, he had been delusional enough to think that once they were married, she would be beyond the machinations of her family. He would be her patron and protector, he promised himself. She would spend her days discovering her voice, creating music, and devouring all shades of knowledge and skill her voracious appetite for learning demanded. He promised himself he would never hold her back, but when the first major decision in their married life was to sacrifice her dream for the sake of their families' expectations, he couldn't go through with it anymore.
(The ceremony would have been a mere formality after all. He had already pledged himself to her on the day he asked for her hand. He thought she had done the same when she accepted.)
"You wrote that song for me, didn't you?" he said suddenly. "The one you don't sing."
"What?" Her dull tone of voice, for the first time that evening, was touched with some emotion. Incredulity. As if he was about to spew some more nonsense that would completely blindside her. He wanted to shake her. Wake her up. "What are you talking about?"
"You didn't write that song for your mother. 'Room.' I saw the lyrics once. You wrote it about it me."
She had spent the requisite time weeping and storming about. He knew. Her mother, her best friend, even her fucking butler, made it a point to inform him that he was a blackguard, a traitor and predator, breaker of hearts. Oh, he didn't disbelieve her sadness and rage. She was sincere in feeling like her world was ending. It should. Nothing should drag behind her.
After her initial demand for an explanation, however, she had behaved civilly towards him. As it befitted a Senju, she remained ladylike even after being thrown over by the man with whom she thought she was going to spend a lifetime.
"What the hell are you talking about, Sasuke?" she burst out, not-ladylike now. "I told you. I told you. I was able to write that song to finally make my mother understand that I can't be what she needs me to be because of you. Because you, you said, you said it was okay. You said I couldn't always make people happy. You said I should try to be happy, too, and try do what I want."
"Don't try to tell me this isn't what you want."
"But I want you, too!" She punched his headrest, missing his face by inches but still jolting his head. "Doesn't that mean anything at all?"
"You don't mean that."
"And now you insult me by implying that I don't know my own damn mind? Little Miss Senju in her little golden cage, too naive to realize she's stepping from one ornate prison to another. How dare you! How dare you, you fucking-How dare you!"
He parked the car on freeway shoulder and let her cry herself hoarse. He let her because he was too much of a piece of shit to risk changing his mind. He couldn't let her. He couldn't let them.
"One day," she said, once they've arrived in Iwa city hours later. "One day when things have settled, and I've found my footing. Can we try again?"
"No."
"Sasuke, please-"
"I refuse to be your fall back. You're going to have to keep yourself grounded on your own."
"I don't know what to do."
"You're going to get out of my car, grab your things from my trunk, and walk into that studio. You must never look back."
"Fine. But promise me one thing. Promise me that once you've forgiven me, you'll find me? Because I'll make sure you can. I'm waiting for you."
"Fly away, Sakura. Fly away before I lock us both in."
Took a flight far across the globe
Found a calling sweet as a lover
Through the wilderness you find in me
You are in love with all the world
And in the evening I arise
When the sun creeps on your covers
Here I am
Here you are
Breathing a hello
My flyweight love, flyweight love
The last two weeks had taken a toll on her, as it was all she could do to stay standing. At every venue they stopped in, however, the fans were energetic and participatory, making each moment sweeter for her and the band.
Her mother and her best friend had both already called, inviting her to stay a few days in each of their homes for a visit. She promised both she would. She meant to keep her promise even after their brief chats. But now that she was actually here, a short drive away from them, she wasn't sure she could go after all. She wasn't sure if she could risk staying home for too long. What if she couldn't find the strength to leave again after?
She only had a few minutes before having to go back out again for the fans who picked up the VIP package. She never missed those fan meetings. Yes, out of respect for their fans, but also because of her own personal reasons.
On her dressing table, she found a bouquet of flowers. She picked it up, was about to bring the flowers to the rest of the gifts for the band, but then she noticed an incongruous magenta amidst the creamy yellows of the camelia.
"A primrose," she murmured to herself, remembering useless information ojousamas tended to pick up in their socialite training. "Stands for desperation."
In some circles, it also meant, 'I can't live without you.'
"While a camelia stands for excellence."
And waiting, she thought with a frown, it also meant waiting.
Waiting in desperation. I can't live without you? It was a little over the top. Should she be worried about stalkers and such?
"Oh," her assistant said. She had come to usher her back to the lounge reserved for the meet and greet. "That came with a card. Here."
The paper felt familiar, rather heavier than the cardstock sold prepackaged in some corner convenience store. The writing was familiar, too.
Took a train to another coast
Took our time and the time has flown
Oh you never have belonged to me
"W-who gave you this?" Sakura dared ask.
"Hm?" her assistant said. "The doorkeeper handed it to me just now. Probably one of the fans who left early to catch the last trains out of the city, beat the rush?"
She flipped the card for a name. Something.
Or should I say not to me alone
Sakura ran out of the dressing room. Her ruby red slippers with their chunky grounding heels clicked on the polished concrete, and all the way out, clicked on the pavement.
"Sasuke," she called into the balmy spring night. "Sasuke!"
23:10 3/30/2015
Disclaimers: Flyweight Love by Vienna Teng (full lyrics / YT) and Silid by Up Dharma Down (lyrics in Tagalog / YT) are not mine (while we're at it, Naruto is not mine either) though I did try my best to translate Silid from Tagalog to English.