Her father leant against the doorframe of the living room, completely at ease, looking as though he owned the place. He looked pretty much the same as ever, same dark hair and eyes, slight thinning on top and thickening in the middle, but he was still handsome.
Sakura felt tears automatically come to her eyes at the sight of him. She ducked her head, wiping at her eyes. She breathed in deeply, staring at the floor from between her fingers, hands pressed against her eyes. Then she slowly, methodically, removed all traces of emotion from her face and looked up at her father, expressionless.
What was he doing back here?
Her mother came into the hall, looking flustered. Her cheek was bright red and her hair was a little messed up. She held her arm awkwardly and chewed at her bottom lip, eyes darting between Sakura and her ex-husband.
"Well?" Her father raised his eyebrows, tapping his watch meaningfully, "I haven't seen my little girl for so long and she won't even talk to me?"
But, Sakura wanted to say, you left us, not the other way around.
Her throat closed up, her mouth dry. None of the angry words bubbling up could make it out.
"Sakura's just tired," Her mother immediately came to her defence, "She's Student Body President, you know. She works hard."
"President, huh? That interfere with your grades?" He looked at her closely.
"No, not at all." Sakura managed to whisper.
"Good. Still getting those straight As?"
Sakura nodded.
"My little genius." He said warmly, smiling at last. Sakura could have cried – her father used to call her that all the time and it hurt, surprisingly a lot, to hear it again after four years.
"What're we having for dinner, honey?" He turned to her mother, slipping an arm around her shoulders.
Her mother blinked, "I was planning on making a cheese and potato pie, but…"
"Honey, I don't like cheese. You know that." Her father chastised her, wagging a finger in her face.
Her mother opened her mouth, probably to apologise, but Sakura cut her off.
"What are you doing here?" Sakura said abruptly.
Something had clicked within her, removing the blockage in her throat, setting the angry words free. How dare he come here after all this time?
He frowned, removing his arm from her mother. He spread both arms out wide and walked towards her.
"Haven't you missed me?" He said, his brow furrowed and twisted, his mouth a hard line.
Sakura put her hands on her hips and forced herself to glare right back at him. There was no point shaking and crying – her father had never cared for hysterics.
"No, I haven't. But then again, it has been four years. You didn't call, you didn't reply to the letters I sent you… Why the hell would I miss you?" Sakura said, shaking slightly with rage.
Her mother's mouth dropped open.
"I called you the other day. And is this what your mother has been teaching you? To disrespect your father?" His eyes had hardened, his mouth a thin line of disapproval.
"Oh, wow, one phone call in four years. Father of the year. Do you think you'll win an award? Maybe they'll build a statue in honour of your fantastic, hands-on parenting skills. I mean, no one could possibly overlook the way you abandoned us the moment a scantily-clad woman crossed your line of sight. No one could overlook the way you didn't even want custody of me. No one could overlook the way you celebrated that woman's son's birthdays but not mine. I called your office, and they told me you were on holiday. For six whole months, I tried to call you. You had your chance with me, so don't come back here and act like you have any kind of relationship to me because for the past four years I've done a pretty good job of erasing you from my memory." Sakura regretted the furious speech the moment she finished speaking, as anger flared in her father's eyes.
"Sakura! Don't speak to your –"
"Now listen here," Her father said, his voice lowering and his hands twitching like he wanted to grab her, "You can't blame me for leaving. Your mother and I agreed she pushed me away with her jealousy. Now, I've tried to be the bigger man here. I've come back and I didn't have to. I shouldn't have to put up with this disrespect from my only –"
"Did she leave you?" Sakura interrupted, perceptive as always, picking up on her father's nervous tension, and the way the lines around his mouth tightened whenever he lied, "That woman you took up with? I bet she dropped you on your ass and now you've come crawling back here like we give a shit about some scumbag who didn't even have the imagination to sleep with someone other than his secretary, like the clichéd moron he really is."
Her mother gasped.
Anger rippled over her father's handsome features, "How dare you speak to me like that? How dare you? Cursing in front of your parents like a common piece of –"
"Parent." Sakura corrected him, arms folded protectively around herself, "I can only see one parent in front of me, and that's my mother."
There was a brief moment of silence as her father digested everything Sakura had said, jaw clenched in anger, a vein bulging in his temple. He pressed his fingers against his forehead as though trying to stave off a headache.
Then Sakura's head collided with the wall, her eye exploding with pain, her vision turning white. She stumbled and managed to cling to the coat rack to stop herself falling.
"Sakura!" Her mother shouted.
She opened her one, non-painful eye and glimpsed her mother grabbing hold of her father's arm, fury written all over her face.
Sakura couldn't choke back the sob that bubbled up, tears welling in her eyes, stinging the one that he had struck. She felt numbed shock, clutching the coat rack like a lifeline, stunned. She had never once been hit by her father, never.
"Look what you've made me do," Her father said coldly, sounding frustrated, "Is it any wonder I left when my daughter acts like this?"
"Get out." Her mother said suddenly.
He looked back at her, confused, "Excuse me?"
"I said, get out. Get out of my house now, and if you ever come near my daughter again I will kill you." Her mother spat.
Her father lifted his hand, seemingly automatically.
"Just leave," Sakura sobbed, barely even feeling her mother's arms wrap around her.
He glared at them both, "Well, remember that I gave you both a second chance. Don't expect another."
And with that, he opened the front door and left.
Sakura collapsed, sobbing, her mother hugging her fiercely.
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The park was empty. She sat alone on the swings, feeling the icy plastic seat seep cold through her trousers. She wriggled uncomfortably, her feet kicking off the ground to send her swinging gently in the air.
A few birds flew overhead, cawing softly, feathers glinting in the weak winter sun.
The frosted-over swings were surrounded by icy, stiff grass and a few discoloured slides and seesaws.
The sky was steely grey and gloomy. The weather forecast had threatened even more snow and ice over the weekend, to Sakura's disgust.
She sat on the swing awkwardly, trying to get her phone out of her pocket.
She scrolled through her contacts and stopped at the name of the only person she wanted to see.
Gaara.
She dialled his number and held her phone to her ear, breathing out clouds from the chill in the air, huddling up in her light clothing, trying to keep warm. The wind stung her bare hands and face.
"Sakura?" Gaara answered, sounding distracted.
"Can you come, please?" Sakura said, her voice shaky.
"What?" His concentration sharpened, his voice alert, "What's wrong?"
"I'm in the park near my house. Don't worry, nothing's wrong, I just need to see you."
"I'm on my way." Gaara said curtly, clearly about to hang up –
"I love you." Sakura blurted out before he could cut off the connection.
There was a slight pause and all Sakura could hear was his breathing.
"I love you too." He said slowly, hanging up.
Why did he hesitate? Sakura ran a shaking hand through her hair, her eye still aching. Gaara was still weird about the whole love issue, having been conditioned by his father to think of love as weak, but she'd hoped he'd get over it when they got together. Evidently not.
She brushed her fingers over her eye gently, wincing as pain flared at her soft touch. That would be a black eye for sure.
Her mother had tried to comfort her after her father had left, but Sakura had burst from the house without even grabbing a coat or her gloves, just desperate to get away.
It had never occurred to her that her father might be violent.
When she was young, he was distant, slightly unfriendly and quite strict. She longed for his attention. She used to sit at his feet when he came back from a hard day at work, presenting him with an essay covered in praises from the teachers and a picture she'd drawn to cheer him up. He would discard the picture with a sneer, but always read through the praises the teachers wrote, his frown unfurling until his expression was almost pleased. It was then that his heavy hand would invariably pat her head in approval, her reward for being so clever.
That was her favourite part of the day.
She had always been a daddy's girl.
Her breath hitched, her hand stilling over her eye, tears spilling.
Not anymore.
A car pulled up and Gaara got out, waving the driver off. The car drove away smoothly, the driver not visible through the dark windscreen. She watched his head turn around purposefully, obviously looking for her.
Before she could call out, his gaze landed on her instantly as though she was a magnet his eyes were inadvertently drawn to.
He strode towards her, kicking up snow as he walked, his expression concerned as he got closer.
Sakura inexplicably felt panicked at the sight of him, not wanting him to see her like this. She put a hand over her sore eye to shield it from sight, shivering from the cold.
He broke into a run, reaching her side quickly, putting his arms around her, his body heat warming her up.
"What happened?" He asked, stroking her hair.
She told him quietly, about her father coming home, about her shouting at him, about him hitting her and leaving.
His arms tightened around her, the side of his warm face touching her own, icy cheek comfortingly.
"It's OK," He murmured over and over again, his hands rubbing her back to get her warm, "Don't cry, it's OK."
She nodded, sniffing, wrapping her arms around him right back, wishing her father had never come back.
"I shouldn't have been so rude to him," Sakura said ruefully, "I really pissed him off."
"Hey," Gaara said, his voice suddenly sharp, "Look at me."
She did so, watery green eyes meeting his confusedly. He squeezed her shoulders and looked at her, hard.
"My father hates me," Gaara said without a trace of self-pity or attention-seeking, "I've pissed him off more times than I can remember, my very existence angers him and he has never once hit me. Don't blame yourself. Blame him. I do."
He rubbed his thumb against her eye lightly, wiping away her tears and peering at the damage. To Sakura's surprise, his touch didn't hurt.
He was trying and failing to supress his anger.
"If he ever comes back," Gaara burst out, "Just call me, and I'll take care of him."
Not wanting to know what Gaara considered 'taking care' of someone, Sakura simply dropped her head down onto his shoulder wearily and said, "Thank you."
"There was something I was supposed to do... But seeing you like this just made me realise how much I love you and how angry I would be if you ever got hurt. I could never be the one to hurt you. So I'll need you to do me a favour. My father wants me to attend an event. He does not want me to bring you. But, if you come, it will show him that he can't stop me seeing you." Gaara said seriously.
"He could just have me thrown out," Sakura pointed out with a wry grin, the pain in her eye dying down as Gaara took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her cold skin comfortingly.
"He won't. He won't want to make a scene." Gaara assured her.
"I've not got anything to wear."
"You can borrow one of Temari's dresses."
"This is all rather random, Gaara. Have you planning this? And what were you supposed to do?" Sakura asked suspiciously.
Gaara took a deep breath, "Nothing. It doesn't matter. If you come to this dance with me, then it doesn't matter anymore."
"I do hope you realise you are being irritatingly cryptic." Sakura said, poking him in the chest lightly until he captured her hand and held it close to him, making the butterflies in her stomach stir and flutter, as they so often did around Gaara. Treacherous bloody things.
He laughed, "Am I? Perhaps. Come back to my house, Temari can fuss about what you'll wear, Kankuro will cook something inedible, it will be… fun."
There was an underlying sense of unease to his words, a false cheer injected into his tone in an attempt to fool her. When he said 'fun,' it sounded more like, 'genuinely awful.'
And yet, she smiled. Gaara was not shy in any sense of the word, he was blunt, forthright and fearless. But he was unbelievably awkward when it came to emotional matters, so she decided to look past the fabricated cheerfulness and help him out.
"OK," She said patiently, the hand not trapped in his own brushing over her injured eye almost unconsciously, "But it better be fun."
Gaara gave a twisted grimace that in dimmer lights might have passed for a smile.
xxxxxxxx
"I'm going to say no to red, green, brown… probably blue. I'd try silver, but… Maybe… no. Not yellow. White? No. Aha!" Temari said finally, triumphantly pulling a dress from her seemingly endless wardrobe. Sakura genuinely feared that the White Witch of Narnia would charge out any minute now. The wardrobe was unnecessarily roomy by her standards, but Temari had filled it with piles and piles of clothes, shelves groaning under the weight of shoes and bags, infinite rows of coat-hangers littering the floor, and beautiful, expensive dresses carelessly flung at the back.
The dress Temari held was no more beautiful or expensive than any of the others she had previously pulled out from the depths of the wardrobe, and yet Sakura's eyes caught on it and stuck there. She wanted it so badly… She had never once desired an item of clothing before, having dismissed obsessions with fashion as ludicrous and somehow shamefully female, but there was something about the cut of the dress, about the flowing material, the subtle glitter, that made her salivate with sartorial longing.
It was simple. Black and long, elegantly flowing to the floor, diamonds (or fiendishly clever imitations) sparkling at the chest, which, for a dress owned by Temari, was oddly tasteful, not displaying the tiniest hint of cleavage in the slightest.
Sakura had once, out of sheer curiosity and mind-numbing boredom, flicked through a fashion magazine.
It had advised to her to ignore Sasuke completely, which she had, stupidly trusting the word of a stranger simply because it was in print (how like her to take solace in books, and to try to live through their words…) but it had also told her something else.
Arms, cleavage or legs, the writer had advised – show one, but never more. This dress covered both legs and chest, but the sleeves were glittery and see-through, the only thing saving it from being a frumpy mess.
It was stylish and chic. Sakura bit her lip and looked up at Temari hopefully.
"Yep," Temari said, one eye closed as she studied Sakura, thumbs and fingers in a frame as though taking a picture, "This is it. Now, for hair and makeup."
Sakura groaned.
xxxxxxxx
Shikamaru lay on the sofa, sprawled out casually as though he owned it.
Which he didn't, Gaara thought to himself, irritated. How very like Shikamaru, to take something for his own and act like it had always been his. That was just not right… it was stealing, that was what it was. Shikamaru smoothed his hands over a cushion thoughtfully, probably miles away solving cryptic crosswords in his head, but it was enough to make Gaara bare his teeth.
Shikamaru did not own the sofa. He could claim no rights upon any of Gaara's furniture. In fact, Gaara truly had no idea why the other boy was even here, in Gaara's house, sitting on Gaara's sofa so casually.
Gaara felt a headache approaching. Could it be – was he actually getting possessive over a sofa?
He was well aware that it was not the sofa Gaara felt possessive over, though he had been getting better at ignoring the direction his thoughts often took these days. Jealousy was a truly idiotic burden. It was purely instinctive, Gaara rationalised, he viewed Sakura as something precious that had been difficult to obtain, it was only natural that he, when challenged by another able-bodied male, would…
Fine.
He was jealous.
Insanely, deeply, to-the-bone jealous.
Gaara chose that particular moment to stop lurking in the doorway and stepped into the living room purposefully. He wore a sharp, perfectly tailored suit that made him look every inch the dangerous, yet cultured predator.
Shikamaru didn't even look up, lost in thought.
It made it easier for Gaara to sneak up on him.
Shikamaru was so lost in thought, in fact, that he didn't even blink when Gaara knelt down in front of him and met his gaze.
"Shikamaru." Gaara said, his voice coming out sharper than intended.
"Hmm?" Shikamaru was making wiggling motions with his fingers, probably rearranging some mathematical formulae in his mind.
"Check your phone." Gaara commanded.
Upon receiving a genuine order, Shikamaru came back to earth with a frown. He lay back upon realising how close Gaara was. "What did you say?"
"Why do you even have a phone?" Gaara grumbled, "You never use it or read your texts or answer your calls…"
Shikamaru blinked lethargically, bags under his eyes. He was visibly resisting the urge to yawn. He dug a clumsy hand into his pocket and retrieved his phone.
It was round about the size of an overly large brick, and just as pretty.
Shikamaru switched it on and peered at the screen. "Huh, I have a missed call from you." Shikamaru said, surprised.
When he wasn't looking, Gaara made a split-second exaggerated expression of shock, widening his eyes comically. "Imagine that," He said dryly, "I would never have known."
Shikamaru glanced at him, but his face had reverted to its usual impassive self, the very picture of innocence.
Shikamaru pressed a button and held the phone to his ear, listening intently.
As he listened to Gaara's message, his face grew paler and paler. Gaara's eyes had hardened by this point.
"What – what the, Gaara, what is this?" Shikamaru demanded, shaking his phone dramatically.
"I'm new at dealing with relationship problems," Gaara said slowly, "But you know me. I dislike losing. I dislike having people encroach upon my business. Can you swear to me now, with total honesty, that you retain no romantic feelings for Sakura?"
Shikamaru stared at him, his dark eyes unreadable. People often underestimated him, thinking he was just a scruffy, lazy teenager, when in actual fact there was a brilliant mind lurking behind those enigmatic eyes. Gaara was practically being complimentary, verbally confirming he considered him a threat.
"Sakura is my friend." Shikamaru said carefully, drawing out every word, fearful of saying something inflammatory and angering his friend. Talking with Gaara when he was like this was always littered with verbal landmines, "I don't think of her as more or less than that."
Gaara stared him down for a full minute, his pale eyes flickering over his guileless face, trying to detect a hint of deception in those lazy features.
"Good," He said finally, a touch of apology in his tone, "Feel free to delete that message. It is no longer valid."
"No way, I'm gonna use it as an alarm clock." Shikamaru grinned, "Something that scary is bound to get me out of bed quicker."
Resisting the urge to quip, 'Does my sister not serve that purpose?' because it would genuinely horrify him to verbalise, Gaara merely offered a strained smile. Being around Sakura too much meant that he continually suffered from thinking up tasteless jokes. A rather bad habit, in his opinion.
He was still fuming about Sakura's violent, idiotic, morally reprehensible father. It had taken every ounce of his willpower not to pick up the phone, dial a number and choose the way Mr Haruno would meet his untimely end. Sakura's reaction was the only thing that had stopped him. Well, that and the fact that the only hitman he knew was a rather disagreeable fellow, whom Gaara disliked greatly.
The moment he turned away to peer upstairs and wonder what was taking Sakura so long, Shikamaru heaved a sigh of relief.
xxxxxxxx
Sakura spread her hands over her hips and turned around to examine her back in the mirror.
Temari truly was a miracle worker.
Despite their differences in size and height, the dress fitted Sakura like a glove, furthering her certainty that it was her sartorial soulmate.
Her hair was softly curled, almost hanging in ringlets, sparkling from the glittery hairspray Temari had teased it into shape with. Silver hairclips held her fringe away from her face. Her eyes were thickly lined, smoky grey eyeshadow painted across her eyelids, her eyelashes coated in mascara, making her eyes look huge. Concealer, foundation, blush… Temari had painted and smoothed so many different products upon her skin that Sakura had feared she would end up multi-coloured. She needn't have worried, however, because all that had happened was every blemish had been hidden and her pale skin had been replaced with a healthy, golden glow. Her lips had been smeared with very pale pink lipstick with a hint of gloss to make them shine.
Temari had been furious when Sakura had shown up with a blossoming black eye, but had kindly covered it up for her.
Sakura held the dress' skirts in both hands, lifting it up and twirling around gleefully, not caring that she looked a fool.
"I am good." Temari whistled admiringly, examining her own handy work.
"Thank you!" Sakura nearly squealed in delight. She had never once felt this beautiful.
Temari laughed, pushing the other girl lightly in the direction of the door, "Don't worry, I'll take my payment in the look on Gaara's face when he sees you. Wait! Let me get my camera."
Sakura slowly walked down the stairs, cursing the spiky heels on her shoes, lifting the hem of her dress up.
Shikamaru saw her first. His eyes widened to the extent of actually looking rather painful, his mouth gaping open.
"Holy…" He said in an awed voice, gazing at her.
Gaara, in his smart suit, his red hair slicked back, adjusting his diamond cuffs, turned to look.
It was not shock, as far Sakura could see, on his face. Some deep emotion was clearly at work, leaving him thoroughly speechless, a vacant smile appearing, his cheeks flushing with colour.
Snap!
Temari, grinning like a maniac, took a picture of Gaara's smiling face.
"That one's a keeper." She waved the camera at him tauntingly, drooping with disappointment as she realised he didn't care one bit that she had taken his picture, still just staring at Sakura as though her face was new to him and he wanted to memorise every inch.
"Right…" Sakura raised her pale eyebrows, hiding a smirk behind her hand, "Shall we be off, then?"
Gaara nodded numbly, offering his arm like a true gentleman.
I'm so sorry for the genuine lack of updates on all the stories! I'm trying my best, but life is a tricky little bugger and it keeps getting in the way :(
Ah yes. A few of disliked Sakura's dad the moment he showed up. You have been proven right! Well done you.
Gaara's being cryptic and possessive of his sofa. 'Tis a terribly nice sofa, though, and worth making Shikamaru piss his pants over it.
For the curious, the hitman Gaara knows is fifty-three, gay as an episode of glee crossed with Sex and the City and rather dashing in certain lights.
Shikamaru remains neutral. When will you offer an opinion?
Sakura and Gaara are heading off to a party! Yay!
It will be as fun as Gaara's twisted smile ;)
Quick poll for fun: What is your favourite book? (Out of curiosity!)
No suggestions, naturally.