love at first sight
theeflowerchild
deux
She is absolutely everywhere.
She flies around the hospital on a cloud of understanding, soaking up information like a sponge. At face value, she is unmeasurably brilliant, and takes to learning like a moth to a flame, but more than that, her bedside manner is impeccable. She has more to offer than any full-fledged doctor he has ever seen. She burns hotter than a fire, and her kindness is arguably suffocating if not for her smile that could light up a room, or her beauty that is nearly beyond compare.
He frowns and sighs loudly. Yes, she is absolutely everywhere, and he can't walk down a hallway without seeing a flurry of pink, or hearing a melodic giggle that tickles his eardrums and sends his heart flying. The nurses rave about her, along with the patients he sees; she's the talk of the building, and he can't blame them. He easily sees why the head of the hospital chose Sakura as her apprentice, because she is not only wildly intellectual, but her heart swells with a warmth that not many have, and her personality is too captivatingly attractive to turn down.
When she's not running around with snacks for patients, or standing at her mentor's neck, watching her every move, or giggling at the nurses's station, or smiling with the older man in the wheelchair down the hallway, she is undoubtably in his mind. She is absolutely everywhere.
As if on cue, there is a knock at his door, and he already knows who it is. She's right on time, he thinks, with another patient file her mentor has sent her to bring him. He sighs again, and runs a hand through his unwashed hair. He's been at the hospital for almost seventeen hours, and he's exhausted, but he still has more work to do. His frown deepens. "Come in."
The door slowly opens to reveal a glowing smile. Her hair is pulled back today, set in a high pony-tail, showing how round her face is. He thinks she becomes more and more beautiful each and every day. "Good afternoon, Uchiha-senpai! How has your day been going?" she asks, her voice just as melodic as it is loud.
He allows his eyes to linger for one moment longer before they settle back onto the stack of papers at his beck and call. "What can I help you with today, Sakura?" he questions, ignoring her small-talk. He can't, won't get wrapped up into a conversation with her. He knows better.
He doesn't allow himself to learn anything about her, doesn't allow himself to engage in conversation with her. He doesn't allow himself to eat lunch with her, to idly chit-chat, to get to know her. He hasn't spoken to her for more than a moment since their lunch, and it's for the best, he has decided. She is nothing more than an intern, nothing more than a girl he'll have to deal with for a little less than a school-year, and then she'll be out of his hair—at least, that's what he'll keep telling himself.
He sees her smile falter, but she easily catches herself. He knows he hurts her feelings sometimes, when he ignores her attempts at conversation, at friendship, but again, it's for the best. He'd much rather she dislike him, anyway. "Yes, um, Tsunade-sama wanted me to give you a file of a patient."
He looks up at her over the rim of his glasses that are quickly falling down the bridge of his nose. He extends his hand towards her. "Well, then, bring it here."
Her peds pad quietly against the linoleum tiles of his office. It is very rare for a person to become more beautiful the closer they get, but, then again, Sakura is very rare. She places the file into his hand. "The patients name is Kankuro Sabakuu—"
"That will be all," he concludes, and places the folder at his side.
Her smile does fall this time, but he doesn't comment on it. His heart aches when she resigns; she doesn't even say goodbye when she shuts the door behind her.
He pushes her to the back of his mind and delves into his paperwork. It's for the best, he thinks once again. He has to keep telling himself that.
Despite himself, he is very lonely. It's not like he doesn't have any friends—in fact, in contempt of his cold demeanor, he attracts people with ease. Sasuke does not have a problem making comrades, but he often feels very alone in a crowded room.
He stands out very easily. He's handsome, in a conventional sort-of way, with dark dark hair and dark dark eyes and skin like marble. He never wears anything more than black or navy blue or maroon, but he's attractive in the same way Lucifer is. He's got long arms, and long legs, and a long torso, with long hands that extend into long fingers and a long nose just below narrow eyes and just above thin lips. He looks just like his mother, people tell him, and his mother was beautiful. So, by default, so is Sasuke.
He believes Sakura is the same way. She's all smiles, and looks like a faerie, with extravagant features and the body of a minx. She's hard to miss, but anyone with pink hair would be. He wonders if anyone else notices the cracks in her smiles and the flickering light in her eyes where a sparkle should be.
Sasuke knows they are not the same, though. They will never be the same. He is cold, and he is calculating, and arrogant. He is apathetic, and he does not make any attempt to satisfy those around him. In fact, he's can't count on two hands and two feet how many people he has probably managed to make uncomfortable in his life, not that he cares.
Sakura is sweet, and demands attention wherever she is. She does not let her emotions distract her from her company, and uses her sadness as a reason to help others. Sasuke disregards everyone else's feelings along with his own.
Sometimes Sasuke forgets he is lonely. He has Naruto, who is like the sun. He is bright, obnoxious, but necessary; Sasuke will always swear he hates the summer, but without Naruto his life would be a never-ending, harsh winter.
He has his brother, and his sister-in-law, and his beautiful niece. They invite him there for dinner some nights, and he's there on every holiday. Often when he's there it reminds him of what his home used to be like, with his mother fluttering around the kitchen, and his father complaining over a newspaper, and Itachi strumming his guitar in the living room while his future sister-in-law sat next to him, chattering on about something art-related, but that was many years ago.
On most nights, Sasuke comes home to an empty apartment, with white walls, and dark furniture, and a TV he never watches. The walls are bare, save for a few photos of his niece, and a large wooden clock that his father used to house in his study. The apartment is disturbingly anonymous, but Sasuke likes it that way. There's nothing to lose.
He cooks himself dinner, and almost always falls asleep napping on his couch. Sometimes, he has a beer, sometimes he has tea, but always, he is alone.
Sasuke will never, ever admit he's lonely—there's no reason to. Everybody's lonely to some degree, so what makes him so special? At least, that's what he tells himself.
He wonders if Sakura has a mother, or a father, or, perhaps, a sibling. Maybe Sakura has a pretty best friend, or a cute boyfriend that she thinks she's in love with. Maybe Sakura has a lot of posters, and pictures hanging on her walls, or maybe Christmas lights knotted around her bedpost. Maybe Sakura wears pinks, and a purples, and yellows, or maybe she wears pretty dresses and big sunglasses. Maybe Sakura is loved, and maybe she loves, and maybe she isn't lonely.
No, Sasuke is sure she was lonely. Sasuke understands Sakura more than he understands most, and he has barely even spoken to her. It is so obvious, the hollow ache in her heart that he is sure she feels. There is a light in her irises that begs to be fixed, but shutters behind big eyes the color of broken-beer-bottles.
Sakura is not an enigma to Sasuke; she is nothing less than an open book. He is absolutely desperate to read her.
She is unattainable, though, absolutely out of reach. She is forbidden fruit, and he craves her, but he kows better. He can never have her.
Perhaps it is because she was so fragile, and he is so rough. Perhaps it is because he is sure that he will easily break her smile. Perhaps it is their age difference—eleven years, eleven years, eleven years. Or perhaps it is simply him.
As he steps in, and looks around his empty apartment, he wonders how the color pink will look against black, and for a moment, he feels whole again.
edited: 8/11/15
Please please please review, it really keeps me going. Thanks, hope you enjoyed it.
Peace.