I'm perfect for this job, aren't I? Ino thought desperately to herself as she clicked through the unedited photos her manager had emailed to her an hour ago. Shot after shot of her modeling up-and-coming designer Huriko's newest line of Art Nouveau inspired swimwear and lingerie. Her favorite among them all was a tiny navy blue bikini with little cut out daisies falling down to hang over her midriff. Playful and lovely.

Her phone buzzed and she swiped away the notification without blinking. She sighed as she lifted her head from the bathroom stall she had been resting it on. Around her, toilets flushed, high heels clicked against the floors, and girls talked in shrill voices about the DJ's set. Ino, who had been typing a confirmation message to her manager (These r looking great! Will u post to my socials when they drop?!) was incredibly fucked up.

She slipped her phone back into her clutch. It was her new one. The old one, which she had unceremoniously thrown into her father's greenhouse the day before, had unfortunately not survived. Luckily she was due for an upgrade.

Standing from the toilet, Ino walked out of the stall on unstable feet. When she got to the sink, the girl standing next to her gave her a curious, long look of recognition. Ino washed her hands, staring into the mirror hard.

"Hey," the girl said, unabashedly looking. "You look so unique and familiar. Are you related to––"

Ino continued washing her hands without speaking. She checked over her appearance. Her hair was slicked back and sat high atop her head. Her top was strappy, black, and tiny. And her skirt was ultraviolet, skin-tight, and leggy. She looked good. And she didn't look like anyone.

When her campaign with Haruki dropped in a couple of days, she would become her own entity entirely.

"No, I'm not." Ino responded flippantly. "My name is Ino Yamanaka."

"Oh," the girl responded, disinterested. She walked out of the bathroom.

Ino thought of the photoshoot. Her body was a temple. It had been draped in fabrics. She had posed against the rocky beaches that existed an hour from Konoha. Her hair had been teased and pulled all around her head like a golden halo. Blush covered her cheeks. She was made to look like a glorious, skinny, cherub.

In front of the mirror, she looked the opposite. She turned away. It was time for another drink.

-:-

Sakura filled her mug up with warm coffee and sweetened it to good heavens. In this dim kitchen, she took a long moment to pause and breathe slowly through her nose. In. Out. In and out again. In, out.

Here, the refrigerator had a television attached to its front door. The screen was the only light in the room, blue and lovely with frightening news on mute. A mugshot of the late Orochimaru appeared on screen, and Sakura felt herself shrink away from it, her body colliding with the kitchen island. She felt the hard granite press into her lower back. It was cold to the touch, even through her t-shirt.

Below him, words flashed: Breaking: victim comes forward, confirms now-dead organized crime leader, Orochimaru, involved with sex trafficking ring. Authorities are asking other victims to step forward-–

She almost dropped her coffee in her anxiety. Orochimaru had never done anything to her, they had never even met, but she had been bringing him money. She'd been fueling his "lifestyle." She had known that he was vile, but did not know the extent. The thought made her sick to her stomach. The truth was on the news, in the victims faces. Her hands shook as she poured more coffee into a second cup.

This one had no cream or sugar. It was for her.

When she burned her fingers by gripping the ceramic handle too hard too soon, she didn't even flinch. She slowly padded across the penthouse with a learned quiet. Socks on hardwood floors. Rich people made it easy––they liked their spaces empty save for architectural furniture and the occasional avant garde sculpture. Sakura could never walk around like this at any of the foster homes she'd lived in. Those had creaky floors, old and dusty furniture to navigate, toys and shoes littering the hallways. One thing Sakura had learned in her brand new life was that wealthy people liked to look like they owned nothing at all.

This was mostly true, until Sakura toed open the door to Uzumaki Naruto's bedroom with two cups of coffee in hand and promptly stumbled over a bass guitar that had been lazily discarded at the entrance to his room. Naruto was a mess, even with his broken bones prohibiting movement. All over the room were his belongings, scattered in the most grandiose of ways. It was like he was trying to make a show of it, his wealth and his uncaring. Sometimes, it made Sakura sick. All of them did.

She didn't spill the coffee; it wouldn't have been like her. Instead, she sidestepped the bass and maneuvered to the corner of the room that Naruto had taken to sulking in. It was a corner with a bookcase, an orange L-shaped couch, and an ocean view. At night, the water looked like a vast darkness. All consuming. Sometimes, if you looked at the right time, you could see the lights of a ship skating across the ocean. Sometimes, there were even stars.

It was dark tonight. Sakura placed the coffee cups down on the table and sat stiffly next to her friend. He was scrolling through his phone, his face devoid of all emotion. It was unlike him. Perplexed, Sakura watched for a moment, as the light from his phone played different colors on his face as she scrolled. Blue, then red, and sometimes yellow. Nothing felt soft enough for the moment.

"Thanks," he said lowly. All the energy was gone from his voice, too.

Sakura hummed, you're welcome, and drank her own cup.

They sat in silence for a few moments until Naruto looked up at her, his brow even more furreled than before. "Are you okay?" He paused, then. "I saw the news about..."

"We don't have to talk about that." Sakura said quickly. She didn't talk about her childhood with people. Not even Naruto or Sasuke, her oldest of her new friends. Naruto only knew that Orochimaru had always been a touchy subject, and had connected some dots from between the lines of Sakura's righteousness. Naruto wasn't dumb, even if he acted like it sometimes. "I came here to check on you, remember? How are you doing?"

Naruto sighed heavy heavy, she didn't think she'd ever heard him sigh so hard. A part of her, the biggest part, wondered what exactly this rich boy had to sigh like that for. He was an absolutely wealthy shithead, and his parents would love him no matter what he did. Hell, everyone would. That's why she was sitting right there next to him on his couch.

The other part of her understood his anxiety, his depression, his listlessness. He had been robbed, dragged from his car, and beaten to near death. His parents were pissed at him, incredibly busy, and expecting a new child. He had alienated his own fiance. He had broken her heart before they'd even dated. He had become a snitch, his own worst enemy, because he was intimidated by the people around him. He might've messed up his father's shot at Hokage. His parents wanted him to become something he wasn't. He liked drugs too much. He needed constant attention or else something might go wrong. He and Sasuke were barely on speaking terms, and he missed him. He missed him. His body hurt all the fucking time. He got headaches now after crashing his favorite car. The media wouldn't stop talking about him. The police kept asking him questions that he could not answer, and now––now Neji had gotten them all into something new, more dangerous, and more costly because he and his friends did not have their priorities straight.

Sakura understood it all. She could empathize, but she was still on Hinata's side. That much wouldn't change. Everything else? Well, there was always therapy. He could afford it.

"I've seen better days," he cracked a smile as he took his sugary coffee with his un-casted arm. Across it, Ayame's name appeared in red sharpie. Sakura ignored this for now, to save herself the headache. "You look cute," he tugged on a piece of her hair with his fingers that stuck out the cast. It was growing past her neckline; getting longer by the day. "You growing your hair out, pinkie?"

"Fuck off," she swatted him gently. "Don't change the subject, you freak. You know I can't hit you because you're damaged."

"'Damaged?'" Naruto brought his casted arm to his chest in mock-pain. "Ouch. I prefer the term 'gently used.'"

"Don't change the subject," Sakura repeated, taking a sip of her own coffee. "I see right through you, Uzumaki."

"And what do you see?" he challenged her, like he wasn't a wreck right before her eyes. She wasn't Ayame, and she wasn't Hinata for that matter. She could see through his acts.

"A scared little fucking boy," she said, frankly, quietly. It was what he needed to hear, and apparently, she was the only person willing to tell him. "who can't take accountability for his actions, and doesn't know how to ask for help. Even though he can fucking afford it."

Naruto flinched, but hid the movement by smacking his lips and waving his hand dismissively. "Why is everything about money to you?"

Sakura stared at him for a long, terse minute. Neither of them moved or even blinked. "If you can't have a conversation like a real person, I'm going to leave."

Naruto knew she would make good on that promise, and he didn't want to be alone. Not when Sakura was the only person who had even thought to check on him, to ask about him in a very real way. Naruto cut his losses and said he was sorry. About everything.

-:-

If Ino's mother was to look into a mirror, Ino would be her reflection, making every choice as if she were commanded to move by invisible strings. Like her mother; she had a weakness, and that was a boy.

Of course, circumstances were different––even flipped, if you considered, but when Ino spotted his slouched shoulders across the space of the bar, she didn't know what to do. Until she did.

It was the alcohol, and the drugs, that lead her straight into his path. Her hair a long stream behind her as she walked confidently up to him, in a swipe taking his raised drinks right from under his mouth. His watch glinted as his hand hovered next to his face. His eyebrows rose. He looked tired.

"Ino," he sighed, watching her drink his rum down to nothing. No matter, he could afford more where that was coming from. Lazily, he gestured to the bartender and asked for four more. "I would've offered you a drink had you just asked politely."

"Oh," Ino said meanly as she slammed his empty glass down on the counter. "You have your rich-boy voice on."

"It's just my voice," Shikamaru was unphased. By now, he was used to Ino's erraticacies. He was used to the way she pushed and pulled until she had decided what she wanted. Half the time, the pushing was because she didn't know, and didn't even want to think about it. Half the time, she didn't think at all. But then..when did Shikamaru think? All the time and all too much. He over thought himself into nothingness, which made everything fair game.

When his drinks arrived, he gave Ino two of them. He watched her squeeze a lime into the glass, her nails were pointy and bright red, and she looked like she could cut him. "How are you?"

Ino scoffed as if the question was irrelevant. "I took the Plan-B, you know."

Music pulsed around their shoulders. This was a bright club near Shikamaru's house, cool enough that he could pay off the bouncers to let him in, but underground enough that his friends wouldn't think to look for him there. There was a secret entrance; a gate which had to be slid open, instead of pushed, next to a couple of industrial garbage bins. No one had ever thought to look for him there. But still, Ino had found him, and she hadn't even been looking.

Shikamaru didn't know what to say. That's a relief seemed in bad faith. Thank you seemed presumptuous. Instead, he settled for, "I'm sorry."

Ino looked startled––her eyes were wide when she looked at him. She drank down her drink in big gulps, taking in more alcohol with each sip. "What are you sorry for?" She asked, then burped.

He laughed and leaned closer, took it as a good sign that Ino did not move away. Her bare arm was covered with purple flecks of glitter, the tale-tell sign of her disarray. "I shouldn't have given it to you like that. We should've talked about it but you just––you ran away."

Ino shot him a dirty look that he wasn't expecting, but she didn't move away so the Nara boy took it as a good sign. "I ran away? You're the one who all but bolted from the car that day."

Huffing, she turned to the second drink. She knew her ears were bright red. From the alcohol, not embarrassment. She didn't get embarrassed. "We're going to need some more drinks," she said under her breath.

Shikamaru followed her lead, swallowed down the two rums he'd order, before flagging down the bartender again. This time for shots. Maybe four of them?

"Heavy drinker," Ino commented, eyeing him. He was wearing a button down shirt with tiny birds on them, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had all his rings on. She could practically feel how they felt knocking against her jaw line, when Shikamaru would hold her head in his palms.

"That was one time," Shikamaru grunted out. He was unsympathetic, and Ino was upset that she was surprised. "I had a call. Besides, you run out on me all the time."

"And that makes it right?" She was indignant and drunk. The shots of alcohol gleamed in front of her like crystal gems.

"Yeah," Shikamaru said, placing a shot down on the bar counter, empty. "It makes us even."

"So you wanted to hurt me?"

"Did you want to hurt me all those other times?"

Ino considered for a moment. The lights in the club flickered purple on Shikamaru's face, making it look childish and open. She took it as a sign. "It was just self-preservation, Nara."

"Likewise," Shikamaru said. His hand slid around her waist and rested on the small of her back. His brain was foggy when he bent his head to kiss the place between neck and shoulder.

Ino saw pink. She said, "I know a place we can go."

-:-

Neji was sweating under the neck of his business suite. It felt tight around the collar, his tie tied tight against his throat. When he moved to shake the hand of an important partner, he felt like a machine in need of a little more oil.

"Neji, you've shot up like a weed," the partner said, looking up and down at him. "Looking just like Hiashi. And where's your sister these days? I've got a son she might like," he nudged Neji's arms like he was in on the joke.

Neji just smiled and pretended like he wasn't uncomfortable. Usually, he was fine in these business meetings where he shadowed his father, but today he just felt exhausted. All night, he had dreams. He woke up in cold sweat three times. He kept seeing faces. Tenten's and then his mothers, all swimming together in an endless mass, until they became one. Sometimes, they spoke to him. They said things like Don't betray yourself, Neji, and, No one knows you like I do.

Whatever that meant. The dreams scared him. He'd had to take an ambien just to get a good nights sleep.

"My sister is well," Neji said briskly, but not unkindly. "I'll speak to her about the son," he joked.

In reality, Neji has scarcely spoken to his twin. She hadn't been responding to his texts. All he knew of her were from seeing her in the hallways of school, or from the Instagram stories from Ino or Sakura, who routinely posted candids of her around the city.

It hurt him to think she was upset with him, but if she was he certainly understood why. At this point, he was an agent of his father, doing only what Hiashi demanded of him. It worked for him, for now. Because he's learned that thinking for himself has gotten him into worse situations.

Like the one in his phone. It buzzed incessantly in his pocket, and he knew that when he pulled it out, he'd have to deal with its realities. Smiling, he excused himself from the gentlemen and stepped to a corner of the banquet hall. He could feel his father's eyes on his back as he did so.

"What Tenten?" He whispered harshly into the phone.

"I'm outside," she hissed in response, sounding like she was already irritated with him.

"Why?" He responded with just as much vigor. "How did you find out where I am?"

"Sasuke told me," she said casually, as if it were natural for her and the Uchiha to be in contact. "Now do you want me to barge up there or are you going to come down here and fucking talk to me?"

Neji hung up and apologized again to his father and his colleagues. He swiftly left out of the side exit and jogged down the stairs, feeling like there was a log sitting in the back of his throat. God, he was tired.

When he reached the back of the venue, Tenten was leaning against a brick wall, picking at her fingernails. When he cleared his throat, she looked up to glare at him. He noticed that her eyes had circles as deep as his. He had to stop before he opened his mouth––was this his fault?

But then he shook himself out of his thoughts. Everyone makes their own choices. He was sure about that. "So, what do you want?" He forced himself to say.

Tenten rolled her eyes and kicked off the wall with the pad of her sneakers. She was wearing a cropped hoodie with large bleach stains (probably done on purpose, Neji decided as he stared) and a pair of camouflage biker shorts. She was in direct contrast to Neji's dark trouser, and maroon Brunello Cucinelli deconstructed blazer combination. He winced as he watched her left foot carelessly step into a piece of discarded gum.

"Chill out pretty boy," Tenten said as she dug into the pocket of her hoodie. "If I had come to see you because I liked you, I would've worn a special Nordstrom's dress."

"What's Nordstroms?" Neji muttered without humor. He knew what Nordstroms was, but it was funnier to watch her squirm. But she didn't squirm, she just looked at him,

"Anyway," she said without changing her expression. "I came to drop this off."

Finally, she fished two copper keys from her pocket and placed it into Neji's palm. He looked at it in confusion. "What's this for?"

"Our first pick up is tomorrow night. We have to be there at 8. Wear something dark, and not," she gestured to his entire body. "Like that."

"8 am?" He asked, pocketing the keys into his breast pocket.

"No, dumbass," was all Tenten said.

"Well––" Neji shuffled uncomfortably. Tomorrow night was Hinata's welcome-home dinner. He would feel bad missing it, especially when he knew she would need support. "I kind of have a dinner––"

"Oh, save it rich boy," Tenten turned her back on him. "You wanted this, remember?"

This much was true, and that was the part that hurt.

"Send me the address of the restaurant and I'll meet you there at 7:30. Danzo told me where to go from there," she turned around and left without another word.

"I'm driving though," Neji called after. Tenten's retreating back did not even shutter to hear.

AN. These tricky teens, always getting into shit.